“You were not a U.S. citizen all along?”

That’s what my boss said when I asked him if I could take a day off to become a naturalized U.S. citizen. His tone made me feel that I had done something illegal, even though I was a permanent resident. It was 2004, and I was a full-time employee for a consulting firm in Cincinnati, Ohio. Citizenship was not required for employment.

Before I could respond to my boss, his face warmed up as if he suddenly realized there are legal ways to live in this country besides citizenship. “Congratulations,” he said and approved my leave. He immediately disappeared for an hour and returned with a massive cake with the American flag on it. Everyone in the office dropped all work and celebrated with me. The clarion of cheers, genuine smiles and celebratory hugs warmed my heart. Of all the office celebrations in my life, this was the most memorable.

I came to this country from India as a 10-year-old, accompanying my parents and my 2-year-old brother, in 1993. As a child, I was excited about moving to another part of our planet. I left all real-world worries to my father, who spent countless nights over a decade preparing for many immigration processes.

Still, as my dad called to deliver the good news that we were finally U.S. citizens, all I could think about was having to take precious time off from work for a dreary naturalization ceremony.

The momentous day involved several security checks and waiting in a crowded facility. I was one of the youngest people present. Dressed in their finest clothes, people around me hugged each other and wiped tears of joy from their eyes. After a long process, everyone felt triumphant together. It was indeed beautiful to witness.

After the Pledge of Allegiance, it got even more emotional. The immigration official uttered these unforgettable words: “You are an American now. But please hold on to your heritage. Bring your culture here. Continue to make those recipes and sing songs from your lands. Make America richer with the best of your birthplace.”

His sentiment dumbfounded me. This was after 9/11 when immigrant communities felt they had to assimilate. I expected the guard to ask us to shed our heritage. Instead, he wanted to enrich America with our culture.

At the conclusion of the brief ceremony, the immigration official asked several of us what we would bring from our countries. “Music,” “literature,” “art,” people blurted out. Then he pointed at me since I was one of the youngest. But nothing came out of my mouth. He moved on to others, who continued with “philosophy” and “food.”

I was the only one too flabbergasted to formulate an answer, any answer. I could bring many things from India. However, I thought I was supposed to hide them to make a case for U.S. citizenship, not showcase them. His question indicated that he valued us, our stories, and our journeys.

I got naturalized in July. Every Fourth of July since then, I pondered the immigration officer’s question. I think about what the guard asked me and feel proud of my ability to exchange ideas in this country. I grew from discussing philosophy and literature with my friends and neighbors. I observed people in communities take ideas from around the world and create something new, something American.

This Fourth of July will be my 20th anniversary of becoming a citizen. I finally have my answer for the immigration officer: Yoga.

Yoga originated in India, but its practice has expanded in scope in America. I recently attended a yoga session taught by a Black yoga activist. He used yoga as a tool for practicing and advocating for non-violence in the fight for civil rights. I was already a yoga teacher myself, trained especially in kids’ yoga, but I wanted to learn from others. The sound meditation that accompanied breathing exercises blew me away. The teacher used instruments from around the globe, including the southern U.S., West Africa and Latin America. The instruments created echoes that trembled the room and amplified vibrations in our bodies. The experience brought immediate focus to our breath and clarity in our minds. Then, he spoke about collective community healing and a need to support one another regardless of our skin color. The session calmed the mind and inspired empathy.

Collaborating with yoga teachers from various backgrounds has enabled me to get creative with my own classes. I started adding the banjo to my yoga classes for kids. I keep seeking new ways to expand yoga’s scope and make it accessible to all. Children, people with mental illness, those with disabilities and marginalized communities can benefit from yoga. I’m grateful for my ability to meet diverse people in America who deepen my own practice and understanding of yoga every day.

This upcoming Independence Day, I thank the immigration officer who inspired me with his message 20 years ago. I’m proud to live in this country, benefiting from the exchange of ideas and practices from around our beautiful planet.

Chandana Achanta (yogawithchandana@gmail.com; instagram.com/yogawithchandana) is a kids yoga teacher and mental health advocate. She is a board member of Yoga Alliance.