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I had walked those streets many times. The last time I was happy that I had gotten to that point and ready to say good bye to the city. I was ready to just pick up and leave. But I came back. I had to. This time I had two people who love me with me and it was better. I did not feel alone among all the buildings. I felt protected and unafraid. It is funny that building still called me. Well, it called us.

Right next to the building was a bus. A bus full of people that were to say good bye to this country. They were filed out one by one but all attached to each other in hand cuffs. I had to pass right by them. The realization that the only thing separating me from these people was a bit of luck was overwhelming and even unnerving.

Turns out that the guiding building. The one that I kept focusing on when I was lost and confused in the streets of the city is the federal building. The one that houses the offices of immigration. It was the same unmistakable tall brown building. I had barely realized this. There in that building were stored all my hopes and dreams. In that building the people that could change my life ate powder covered donuts and coffee for breakfast and chit chatted with each other around a water cooler in between interviews. That was the building that I was terrified of the one that could potentially be the last place that I live in while in the US.

I know this seems like one giant metaphor. Like maybe the story before where the building guides me to safety and to finally saying good bye to the city is a story to set this one up. But no, it was not and it is not. It is just one of those big coincidences that make us think about how ironic life is.

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