Mexico Personal Narrative

Growing up in an area with a large Mexican community I never really understood how much my culture means to me. I grew up with the stories my dad and grandfather would tell me about my ancestors. My people were the raiders from the hills of Mexico City and that we were a family of warriors. I never held much weight to the warrior part of my grandfather’s stories but I did know that my great grandfather was a fighter. He left Mexico and rode the train up to Denton Texas and sold tamales on the square his entire life. He fought to give my grandfather a better life here. I don’t talk about my dad’s side of the family much, in this day in age being seen as white has more advantages than being seen as Mexican. This thought changed as I came to

Waving goodbye from the backseat of the car, as we pull out of my parent’s driveway. Looking out the window at the oddly, white shaped clouds. Thinking, I had never been away from my parents and my younger sister for so long, even though it was only for two weeks. I was excited and scared all at once, but I wasn’t too thrilled about the whole 29-hour drive there. Hoping that the trip would go well and nothing bad will happen to us.

My family and I have gone on many vacations to a lot of locations around the world. The worst trip I’ve ever taken was my trip to the Mayan Riviera in Mexico. This trip was so unenjoyable to me because right from the get go things weren’t looking good for me; when we arrived in Mexico it was raining and very windy. Even so, when we got to the resort and checked in, I found that the lock on my hotel room door was broken and I was unable to get into my room. It took hours for the hotel staff to figure out what was wrong and fix it. The next five days were sunny and warm but unfortunately it was still too windy to do any water activities like scuba diving. Which really aggravated me because earlier in the summer I had spent

I was sitting on the couch with my brother and sister watching television when my mom and dad came to ask us if we wanted to go to Mexico with our aunt and cousins and we said yes we were all excited because we were finally going to get to meet our family members that live there.

In the first place, 1930 was hard for most people even though I hadn’t experienced it but my family and I were one of the survivors that lived thanks to my father. My Father died during the dust bowl due to pneumonia. Since my father died my mom is a single parent so I have to go to school. I go to school with a trash bag and out of nowhere people start calling me names like mentally retarded, but I don't care because they are the rich kids here. A few have passed and I started to do things like work go to school and other stuff people do. During the time of school I had better grades than all the students in my class, but one thing that was hard and distracting was my teacher. Sometimes she’d get mad at other students then she would get mad

During the summer my family and me went on vacation to mexico to see my grandma at her house it took us 2 days to get to her town is mexico when we got there is was 11 at night my uncle opened the garage door to let us in when we got off the car my grandma opened the door to let us in her house she gave everyone a hug the her and my mom started to cook food for everyone. After everyone got their suitcases out of the car and took them to there room my mom and dad slept in one room, my sister and her daughter slept in another room and my nephew and me slept in the living room. The next day my dad showed me around the town he grew up in where his other family members who lived there, and his aunt who owns a store on the corner of the street. When

We were at the border between Mexico and America. I had never been here before and I was anxious. There were so many police walking around. We were going to the place where my dad lived when he was younger. This has shaped me into the person I am today because I saw how hard it is to live over there. I met a lot of my relatives. The food over there was so much better.

December twenty-nine, two thousand and seven is a date that is forever in my mind. The

Narratives often provide the opportunity to hear personal experiences of certain individuals to better understand a struggle and finding of identity and purpose. This is especially true when being presented the stories of a marginalized group. Majoritarian stories, while valuable, may distort and silence the experiences of minority communities, often resulting in unfair assumptions made towards said communities. Being presented with counter-stories not only allows people of various backgrounds to hear a response towards more wide-spread claims, but also prevents the majoritarian narrative from dominating the discourse and understanding towards an experience or a group of individuals (Solorzano and Yosso, 2001).

My eyes reveal my story. Although I was born in the United States, my Mexican heritage shines through my hazel eyes. I am proud of both my American and Mexican identity. My Grandparents on both sides immigrated from Mexico to Southern, California before my parents were born. In our home, we celebrate our Mexican culture through cooking traditional meals and celebrating traditional holidays, such as Día de los muertos. My Family creates an altar decorated with candles, flowers, colorful trimmings and offerings for our loved ones who have passed. I feel fortunate my Mexican heritage is intertwined with my American identity.

Everything was so new and yet so familiar. Places I have seen and places I have not. A new and funny feeling swam through my body unsure what to think about this feeling. Never felt it before, and I somehow knew it wouldn’t be that last.

Everything was as it had always been as the sun rose that morning. The city began to stir as it grew light, and in an hour there were carts and people filling the streets. Down at the shipyards people carried out their business just like they had every day before. In the castle the guards and servants went about their duties. It was peaceful, as it had been for a hundred years.

I got adopted by my step-dad when I was three so I grew up in a Mexican family. I remember eating Mexican food. It’s was so good, the soups were great too. I loved the party’s we always through. My favorite meal was tacos growing up it was so good the tortilla was nice and warm, the meat was perfectly seasoned. I was a happy kid.

When people think of Mexico they think Spanish, but that is wasn’t always the way it was. For thousands of years the Spanish hadn’t even heard of the New World. Or what is now known as Mexico. Various Mesoamerican tribes ruled it.

This past summer I went on a trip to Mexico with my family to visit some relatives. My trip consisted of waking up early to my hair being such a fiasco, to horseback riding, and well just going out with my cousins. I was glad that this time around I got to meet some pretty amazing people for example a guy named Chris, he had the most nonchalant personality, he was very chill and layed back ; Everytime we would hang out would be an absolute blast. What I also remember is having to be very discreet when meeting new people, especially when I in a place I not familiar with.