I owe the state that I am in now, to my ancestors who decided to migrate to the United States. Both

I am a second generation Mexican-American and the last of seven children. My siblings and I were born and raised here in the United States with a mix of Mexican and American values. Our parents migrated to the U.S. at an early age in search of the American dream. Both my mother and father left their families in Mexico to start a better life for themselves and their future children.

Along with much of the Americas, Nicaragua was colonized by the Spanish in 1524 (Weebly, 2013). In 1821 Nicaragua claimed independence from Spain and in 1938 became known as the Republic of Nicaragua. In the 1960s social disorder and a political revolution began to sweep the country. In 1979 a notable shift in leadership from the Somoza dynasty to the Sandinista group came about in the country. In 1990, the Sandinista lost and until now Daniel Ortega has served as president. 1979 was the turning point made Nicaragua, one of the most prosperous countries of central America, to the poorest in its area and second poorest to Haiti in all of the Americas (Parks, 2012).

Nicaragua is surrounded by its beautiful nature including its incredible history. The name ‘Nicaragua’ came from a chief named Nicarao. He was chief to a digenous tribe that settled in Lake Nicaragua around late 1400’s and early 1500’s. In 1524 Hernandez de Cordoda was the first Spanish settler to live in the region of Granada on Lake Nicaragua and Leon Managua. Nicaragua gained its independents from Spain in 1821, making the country part of the Mexican Empire and becoming a member of independent Central American. Nicaragua became an independent republic.

I’m an American grown up with Mexican roots; with all their traditions, religious beliefs, holidays, and foods. I come from a small town of south Texas, called The Rio Grande Valley, where I live with my average size family. I’ve grown up with my family facing hardships, and flaws yet united always. As time has gone by I’ve come to learn that everything around me has shaped me to be the young lady I am today, and I’m grateful for that.

My mother, three brothers, two sisters and I began to travel to places to collect all the required documents we needed in order to prepare for our appointment, which was to take place in Ciudad Juarez. I was more than thrilled to go places and tell people I was soon leaving to the United States, because that 's where everyone wanted to go and we were the lucky ones. On the other hand, the rest of them were leaving everything behind – their family and friendships. I didn 't have anything to lose because they were all to me; they had their lives there and now an unexpected letter was taking everything away. The truth is my father had petitioned for us just for the sake of it, thinking we wouldn 't get approved but destiny proved other wise. The plan my parents envisioned was taking this opportunity and returning to Mexico the following year with our residency status

I do not fit in one box on a federal checklist, I am of several cultures. My experience of listening to my Grandmother’s stories made me acutely aware of this fact. I am not just an American, I am a Mexican-American. Living in the Rio Grande Valley, I am part of this “third country” that Anzaldua calls the borderland (Anzaldua Borderlands 1987, 3). In this third country where the “third world grates against the first and bleeds”, the spilt blood creates a new country; an uneasy fusion of both cultures (Anzaldua Borderlands 1987, 3). In my case I was born to a father from Mexico and a mother from America, I am part of the third culture, the Mexican-American. I am proud to be an American and a Hispanic, yet America devalues me because of my heritage.

As much as I loved living in Mexico as a child I always missed my father, I spend 6 birthdays, 6 Christmases, and 6 Father’s days without him. Even though he called every single day, my sister and I needed him to be in our lives physically. I know it was also very difficult for my parents to be apart and my dad suffered deeply but he was sacrificing to give us a better future. In the summer of 2007, when

On my father’s side, my grandfather’s grandfather moved to the United States in the late 1800’s from Germany. This was just before the federal government took over the immigration process. An American company had advertised in his town that they should move to the United States. Fishman, and a large amount of people from his town moved to Beloit, Wisconsin.1 Wisconsin has a high German population to this day. I imagine that they all had to pass the strict inspectors of Ellis Island. He stayed in Wisconsin and married a German woman. His son stayed in Wisconsin and married a German woman. That son was my grandfather’s father. My grandmother was a Mexican-American, born in East Los Angeles. Her mother came from Guadalajara, Mexico. I do not know why she chose to migrate.

Everyone has a different story of how they ended up where they are. But in many ways, people’s stories are all similar. There are many hardships that every family has to deal with when immigrating to a different country that they are not a citizen of. There are barriers and pulls, but there are also bridges and pushes. Even though people are from different countries immigrating to the United States, they all experience almost all of the same hardships, as displayed in the Pechota Family, John, and René’s immigration stories.

I attended the Common Reader Event El Otro Lado: Central American Perspectives on Immigration. Throughout the duration of this event two immigrants (Gloria from Guatemala and Christian from Honduras) shared the stories of their journeys, what the immigration process was like for them, and their reasonings behind coming to America.

A long time ago, in a land far, far away...there were a group of European immigrants looking for a better life. It was between the late 1700’s and early 1800’s when they first heard about a place called America, a land like no other. So, these immigrants decided to embark on a journey to this new land, because of their desire for freedom and happiness. They were chasing what we now call the American Dream. And guess what? These immigrants so happen to be related to me.

I am an immigrant, many years ago I made the decision to move from Honduras to Texas, the transition was hard and I didn’t have any relatives to help me to deal with the adaptation process. Prayers and humility were my everyday help. I still remember my first job in the USA spraying insulation on new commercial building construction and cooking Mexican tacos at a small restaurant at night. While doing that job, I realized very quickly that education was the only way to succeed in this great country therefore, I quit the taco business and education became my priority.

My family and I left Mexico before I could even form the words “permanently residing.” After that, my life became a story of disconnection. My childhood was built upon the forceful disconnection of my cultural roots from my life that began with the ripping of the Spanish language from my tongue.

I’m an immigrant. I was born in Mexico and it was only until my parents decided to come to the United States that I am where I am. My mother tried to cross the border to come to the United States for the first time when I was still in her womb all by herself as my father was already in the Unites States working in order to provide for her in the way that he wasn’t able to do so by staying in Mexico. My mother was caught by immigration and was sent back. My mother was very disappointed because she knew that if she didn’t get me to the United States some way or another I wouldn’t get very far in life by staying in Mexico. My father returned back to Mexico when I was born and it wasn’t until I was 4 years old that they decided to try to cross the border once again. Although I was only 4 years old I remember the whole experience as if it was yesterday. The amount of fear of getting caught by immigration and having done everything for nothing was always in the back of my mind while going through the whole experience. Up to this day nothing has ever been as terrifying and nerve-wrecking as having to go through that whole experience especially for a 4 year old child but I will forever be grateful for the bravery and strength that my parents had to gather in

explain my mom's journey over to the Americas, and the hardships that came with in.