I spent my childhood in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. It’s as hot and humid as where I live now – southern Florida – but without the guns and alligators. My hometown was a sleepy, multi-ethnic city of two million people. Still, there was an underlying tension in society. I did not know then that being of the wrong ethnic minority group (Chinese) and the wrong religion (Catholic) I would not be able to easily attend college because of the ethnic quota system that favors ethnic Malays. The fact that I was not a Muslim also meant I faced state-sanctioned discrimination.

I did not know then that there was institutional racism in Malaysia, though as I grew up the more I learned that it existed. Perhaps feeling that there wasn’t a future for me in Malaysia, I moved to Singapore at 16 to attend high school. From there on out, I didn’t look back and kept moving. I went to college and met my first love, a US military officer who had started his first foreign assignment. He was all baseball cap, burgers and baseball. But we were so young and I knew better than to fall for the movie cliché of “an officer and a gentleman”. We parted ways.

I ended up building a career in the United Nations and non-profits in Asia and Europe. I was assigned to the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan before 9/11. I worked in remote villages and wore a salwar kameez and headscarf. I drank whiskey in hiding and stopped craving roast pork. Coincidentally prior to 9/11, I had decided to come to graduate school in New York City.

Several days after the attacks, my student visa was issued by the American embassy in Kuala Lumpur. The consular officer explained to me that my visa would be valid for seven years, longer than the duration of the grad school program. She continued to explain that right after the World Trade Center had been hit, the world had changed forever and she did not know if citizens of Muslim countries would be able to easily enter America. She wanted me to come here, succeed and thrive.

I spent my initial years in NYC and Berkeley and had come to admire what America stands for. Then I left the United States and resumed my work in humanitarian aid. The years passed and I had lived and worked in 12 countries. I was exposed to different countries with civil wars, human rights abuses and the systemic failings of governments.

On January 9, 2009, my Zimbabwean friend and I watched the inauguration ceremonies of President Barack Obama. We were deeply touched and cried. Only in America can there be so many historical and political differences, yet an African American is the US president.

Two decades after my first love and I parted ways, my now husband found me. He was assigned to South Korea and I had returned to work in Singapore. He is a high ranking officer and a patriot who truly loves his country. He is also very much a boy from the Bronx who has to try hard not to break into his New York City accent. He is still all baseball cap, burgers and baseball (New York Yankees!).

We got married and I migrated to America. We are currently assigned to south Florida. I guess moving to different parts of America adds more layers to my immigration story. Just like living in 12 countries and discovering different societies and cultures, I keep discovering that Americans are different.

The 50 states have different perspectives, convictions and ways of life; some that I can get on board with and others that I will oppose. But compared to the failed countries that I have worked in, I continue to believe in and admire my country, that all our states are still strongly held together. There may be guns and alligators in South Florida, panic rooms in the hospital if there are active shootings (unheard of anywhere else in the world!) but I will continue to love this country.