By: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer When my family moved out of India a decade ago, I landed in an American school in Dhaka, Bangladesh. It was a bizarre reality to comprehend: students with MacBooks connecting to Apple TV projectors in air-conditioned classrooms, while rickshaw drivers cycled passengers through the humid heat outside. My classmates talked about their first-class flights to the US, while many in the city struggled to afford a daily meal. Meanwhile, I was a 14-year-old with tear-stained journal entries, trying to make sense of where I belonged. Hating myself for not sounding right, I was suddenly confronted…
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