America is a casino and I am still here rolling the dice.

On witnessing and embodying history.

If you’re new to Every Tiny Thought, Welcome!

I write about many things personal: growing up in China and finding home in the U.S., the bittersweetness of a life between two cultures, and the stories that gave me strength along the way, from books, films, and real life.

On election day, I took a walk around campus with my colleague and noticed a beautiful Autumn scene that is rarely seen in Northern California.

The Election Tuesday was a remote work day for me, but I came into the office. I couldn’t bear spending the day sitting alone at home.

That evening, I baked for the first time this year, to distract myself from the results. I didn’t plan, so I just went with my go-to yogurt cake recipe, using the most simple ingredients: olive oil, Greek yogurt, sugar, salt, baking soda, baking powder, vanilla extract (optional), and flour.

The cake came out of the oven around 9 p.m. Pacific, just as the results became clear. The recipe says to let the cake cool to room temperature before eating. I left it on the counter for 10 minutes, then cut a small slice to share with my husband before going to bed.

Coming from a country where political campaigns do not exist, watching the U.S. election is always exhilarating - from the news and analysis leading up to it to the post-election commentary, and then the primary cycle starting all over again. It’s like watching the World Cup or the Olympics. I am on the sidelines, but it’s exciting nonetheless.

Working at a university campus, this excitement feels even more immediate. I’m constantly surrounded by efforts to register students to vote—club tables, events, and posters, all encouraging participation. When surrounded by it all, it’s easy to get swept up and feel like part of it - until someone asks, “Are you registered to vote?” Then I wake up to the reality that I’m still an outsider. I am not even an immigrant. I hold what USCIS (US Citizenship and Immigration Services) categorizes as a nonimmigrant visa. My tax status is what the IRS calls resident alien, an upgrade from nonresident alien after a few years of living here.

The precariousness and privilege of a temporary nonimmigrant visa

Before going to bed on Tuesday night, we knew the likely result. Still, waking up to the news on Wednesday, my heart sank a little.

We immediately thought about our work visa, pending green card application, and how a second Trump administration might affect our future.

Half-jokingly, my husband said, “If it doesn’t work out for us here, we could move to Canada.”

I laughed and said I’d seriously consider Vancouver.

The precariousness of having a “temporary nonimmigrant visa” means we could be forced to leave anytime if we lose our jobs. The same impermanence gives us a different kind of privilege: we could choose to leave anytime. We could apply for a work visa to work in Australia or Canada and know it will probably work out. The same mobility is not afforded to those seeking asylum or living undocumented here. I don’t take it for granted.

The first Trump administration quietly attempted to repeal the visa program that allowed us to live and work in the U.S. For months, we panicked and researched moving to Canada until we knew we wouldn’t be impacted in the short term. It’s easy to forget how stressful and uncertain things felt back then. Many people did, and certainly we did.

There is a casino called America

Coming to the U.S. twelve years ago was a gamble. I never felt certain about my future here, but that uncertainty has only grown since last Tuesday.

When I graduated, I had to find a job within three months before my student visa expired. As a non-STEM major, I had to find an employer to sponsor my work visa before my one-year work authorization expired. If I ever lost my job, I had to find another one that would sponsor me within 60 days. It was a lot of counting the days and worst-case scenario planning. My husband, like most international professionals working for a for-profit company, had to enter a lottery that randomly selects petitions for processing. The FY 2025 selection rate is about 30%.

Christiana Mbakwe Medina, an immigrant herself, perfectly encapsulated this sense of unpredictability, of living on the edge of possibility and risk. In the latest episode of What Now? with Trevor Noah, she calls America a casino.

…sometimes you throw the dice and you win big and sometimes you lose everything you have.

What makes America so intoxicating and remarkable is the fact it’s a casino. You go to most of Western Europe, the society is set, caste is set. You can’t get out of your class.

America is the only place where you could get an Obama and you can get a Trump. You could have slavery to Reconstruction, to Jim Crow to present day and see the change in black people. The advancements and the remaining of suffering. It’s so contradictory in that way.

…if there is any country that has the capacity for revolutionary and radical change in an incredibly brief of time, America can do it…The American experiment is a heartbreaking but also very remarkable one. There is a scenario where something completely unexpected comes out of this.

Witnessing and living through history

The day after the election, my husband sent me a panic text reminding me that we would fly back from our international trip after the inauguration. He mistakenly thought the inauguration would happen on January 6th because of how much this date has been mentioned. We were relieved to confirm that January 20th, 2025, is the date, and we are flying back before that. For now, we are not making international travel plans beyond January 20, 2025. We will wait and see what happens.

As unpredictable as it has always been, America is still our home for the foreseeable future, as long as there’s still a path forward for us here. This country has provided us with the kind of professional and personal opportunities we’d never have been able to create for ourselves had we not come here. Without having any family nearby or any established social network, I finished college, went to graduate school, found jobs, made career changes, and am now in a career that I deeply enjoy. I don’t take any of this for granted. My younger anxious self would never have believed how well everything panned out. So even in the wake of this election, I still feel lucky and grateful to be here.

The day after the election, we sat at the dinner table and reflected on all that this place has given us and what it really means to belong here. My husband shared a thought that almost moved me to tears.

Our lives are as American as muscle cars and apple pie, but the story goes way deeper than that. It’s about people making long journeys to this place, hoping for a shot at something better. It’s about how they shaped the land and were shaped by it, connecting with everyone who was already here and everyone who followed. Being American isn’t just about being born here—it’s about being part of this ongoing story that’s been around way before the American flag. We’re all carrying on that story, each in our own way.

My colleagues said that we are witnessing and living through history. I know what they mean. And for those of us who chose America as our new home, we are living out chapters in an American narrative that no election can change.

So for now, I am still here, rolling the dice.