From The Editor's Desk: An immigrant

There's more to tech than conflict, and there's more to life than tech.

When I was nine years old, I was sitting on the sill in my kitchen talking to my mother, and as I looked out on to the driveway a man sprinted through the front games towards me, holding a gun that looked, to my young eyes, to be the size of a bazooka. He motioned for us to be quiet as he hid behind my father's truck, and as I sat there, paralyzed, my mom picked me up and ran to the other side of the house.


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