At age 13, I found myself on a small boat, along with my brother, who was 11, and 10 other undocumented immigrants. Accompanied only by the darkness of the night and by the ferocious power of the Atlantic Ocean, we were crossing at midnight through one of the corners of the perilous waters of the Bermuda Triangle. Our goal was to reach the coast of Miami undetected by the US Coast Guard. We all thought that we were going to die. We were all praying, and crying, and imploring the Lord to help us stay alive. Almost 40 years later, my feelings during that ordeal are still vivid in my mind. I had not seen my parents for several years, and thus I was asking God for just 1 more second, so that I could see my parents again, and touch their faces,...

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