I grew up in two different worlds. I grew up in the world of Barbies and red, white, and blue streamers flowing out of my bike handles. I grew up standing up every morning to say, "I plead the allegiance to the flag," and playing on bright colorful playground equipment.

Then, there was my other world. I grew up with teachers screaming. I grew up going to school doctors' appointments, where we stripped down to our underwear. A world where, we said hello by kissing each other on the cheek. I grew up skipping down the block to buy freshly made bread. The baker always gave me a special little piece to eat on the walk home. I grew up playing soccer in the dirt with a squished juice cup.

I lived in two different worlds. Growing up in an immigrant household, I found myself jumping back and forth from the patriotic world of America to the vibrant mondo de Italy. I held a dual citizenship, and I was fluent in both tongues. As a child growing up, balancing the different cultures was always a struggle.

In America, we were taught to eat fast and then run back and play with our friends. Lunch in elementary school was a daze of 15 minutes that rushed through one another. Meanwhile, in Italy, my Nonno would scold us if we tried leaving the dinner table early. Mealtime was at least an hour event and schools would release us from their grip to enjoy the meal with our family. Food was culture. It was a moment of bliss. Not a chore.

However, there was always this awkward divide, no matter which world I was in.

In Italy, I was seen as the "Americana." I was always reminded how I did not belong in their country since my blood was mixed. And in America, I got called "Italian Princess." And in the country where we were supposed to be free, my love for Italian rap, Sardish folk music, and obsession of meat was never truly understood. My Italian ways often left me up for ridicule and racist taunts and remarks.

Despite both worlds always seeming to battle against one another, my bi-culture world was one that I loved. There is so much beauty in this world often halted and forgotten in the midst of the battle against racism. Living in both worlds, I got to see the beauty of two sides of life, and build a deep understanding. There are so many times that we catch ourselves caught in the crossfires of a world moving so fast around us that we forget to take the time to listen and understand. Instead, people find themselves making fast judgment calls in order to make a discussion on a matter, rather than sitting down and thinking about it.

Growing up it was beyond difficult hearing people talk poorly about immigrants. My mother, who immigrated to the States after meeting my father in 1994, was someone I admired and looked up to. However, around me, I saw our political leaders and members of society talking down on immigrants. And no matter what the ethnicity they talked about, I just thought of my mother, and the other mothers and children and friends who were also immigrants. How could someone just so hastily define someone off of the origins of where they were born?

In Italy, despite that my blood bleeds the same colors as theirs, I was still labeled as the idiotic American. I would be sitting in class and ask a question or be confused, and my teacher would just say it was because I was American that I did not understand. She'd tell people not to bother with me because I didn't know better.

I was from different worlds, but I saw and heard the same story. Immigrants, citizens, residents, we were all the same bone and flesh. My pale Italian features and your deep blue eyes are all the same. No matter the ocean between, there is no difference. At the end, we are all one force.

Una persona, one community et un monde, that divided itself with walls and boundaries.

We are all still children playing around on the playground. We all are living in different worlds. But remember when you were three and anyone you met was your new best friend? How has the time changed? It hasn't. We are still playing on the playground. It takes a moment to stop and think. It only takes a moment to break down a wall. If we can stop moving as fast in the world that we made it that way, we can start to see the beauty that each culture has. We can start building an understanding. We can be the children we once were on the playground.