I was born in the second poorest country in the western hemisphere. My mother took great pains to ensure that my two sisters and I were shielded from the specter of impoverishment. Against of all odds, she graduated from university with honors and secured an amazing job in a country racked by oppressive paternalism and endemic sexism. Still, it was only a matter of time before I began to realize the reality of poverty and misery engulfing my childhood environment. In 2001 my life took a dramatic turn when I was presented with a green card, allowing me to legally immigrate to the United States. In one fell swoop, I was whisked away from my childhood home to the storied land of opportunity. I have now lived in the United States for almost half of my life. I have availed myself and my children of all the advantages of living in the United States: the veritable antithesis of Honduras. Yet I still have dreams of my homeland. It has proven impossible for me to completely forget the land of my birth, and to ignore the stark contrast of my present home to my former. And now, as I assess the changes that have occurred during my absence, I cannot help but to inwardly mourn Honduras’s steady decline into violence.