Everyday I dress in my sister’s clothes, her monto, a sort of dress to cover the shirt under, and her scarf. I even put some light lipstick of hers, something I never do in America. Then I take my small purse, put on my jeans and Nikes, and walk out the door with her. I become another girl. This girl goes to the streets and looks at everything. EVERY thing. As many things that fit her eyes. She looks at people with different eyes than about four years ago when she would hardly look at them. She smiles because the moments are too precious. She feels sorry for her people because they’re trapped. She wishes to alter things but can?t. After all she is only a teenager. Can a teenager change a society? I doubt it. So she keeps on walking and looks for familiar places. Places she had been during her childhood. Why does everything look different? She wonders. Was it that long ago? It seemed only yesterday that she had been there with her family, going to school as always and hating it. She had wondered what America would be like? What could be better than what she had? Then she knew. She found her answer later.