Personal Narrative: Living In The USAd Mexico

Coming from a Mexican immigrant family I have learned to recognize since a very young age that because of the status that my parents are placed in they cannot pursue a better future like the one I want. I have been given the opportunity to challenge myself with obtaining a higher education than just high school itself. My parents have demonstrated to me through their hard work that I have to value this opportunity unless I want to end up with low paying job. My life long dedication comes from seeing my parents make sacrifices in order for my education to continue.

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.

As an American born and raised, I have surprisingly, never given much thought on how my race impacts my life and the people around me. It seems as if society today is obsessed with knowing what we are racially and where we come from, rather than our character and how we think or how we carry ourselves culturally.

My parents always wanted to give their children the life they never had. I am Mexican-American, both of my parents immigrated from Mexico to the U.S. before I was born. I have numerous relatives, including my older sister, who do not have the same opportunities I have to achieve success because they are undocumented. For them, college was only a dream that could never be attained. Being the first U.S. citizen out of my entire family affected the way I thought about life. It was expected that I would attend college because I was the only one who had access to all the resources granted to American citizens. Although, I agreed with my family, the pressure to succeed and be a role model to my younger siblings was overwhelming.

Leaving home at the age of 18, loving on my own, figuring how to become an adult, and moving out to college, there were many things being thrown at me in which I was not fully prepared for them. Moving out at 18 is normal for any high school graduate in The United States. Being a Mexican American women it was more than just the net step to life , but a huge accomplishment. Being ascribed into a poor family increased the desire to move forward. My parents did not want me to follow their footsteps into the world of low waged labor, they wanted more. Growing up all I heard from teachers and family members was to go to college. For many it’s the normal thing for a high school graduate to do. For me it was more than socialization it was the path

Then we went back to my aunt’s place and got ready to do some shopping for our new apartment. My aunt drove us to Walmart and then took us to Macy’s. I was amazed to see size of Walmart the first time. Also it

I am Mexican-American. It took me years to finally be able to say that with a sincere feeling of pride. Both of my parents were born in Mexico and moved here before they had a chance to attend college, so my entire life I’ve been exposed to both Mexican culture and American culture. Instead of seeing my multi-cultured world as unique and special, I saw it as a sort of disadvantage, but as time went on and I became more educated on the successes of Mexican-Americans, I had a newfound understanding and appreciation of the culture which consequentially influenced my future aspirations.

The year of 2014 late summer I came to America with dreams and hopes, expecting the better for me and my family. I have family that had came before me; however they weren't that respectful for someone that had been living in Mexico their whole life. I used to get put down by the way I looked, talked or how I acted. I recall that they would talk in english about me , and make fun of me , so I wouldn’t understand what they were saying. I have cousins that don't even appreciate all the sacrifices that one as a parent has to make , so they are able to give a better life for their kids. On the good side of the story I would always keep in mind how I came here? thanks to who?and why?. So I realize that I fitted in the Hispanic community by attending to Hispanic events, playing soccer, and cooking hispanic food.

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

Growing up Mexican-American is similar to living a dual-identity. It feels as if I’m stuck in-between a border where I am unsure if I’m more American or more Mexican. Mexican-Americans have to live a life of proving themselves to the world. Am I Mexican enough to my family and am I American enough to the people of the United States.This idea was new to me even though I had been living with this.

Every year I go to Mexico, during spring break and summer. It's always relaxing laying on the beach or going on a nice refreshing swim in the 70 degree water. It was an average day down in mexico during the summer of 2017; I remember my family and I relaxing at home after a long day on the boat. I was feeding the street dog because I could tell she was either having puppies, or already had puppies. She was starving to death, her ribs were showing, I knew I had to help her. I started feeding her three times a day so she could start producing milk if she’s already had the puppies; or so she could keep the puppies healthy while she was still pregnant. A few days later I walked outside to feed her, and I hear whimpering like the sound newborn puppies

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

As the child of Mexican immigrants, I am always encouraged to work to the best of my ability because of the sacrifices and struggles my family went through to get where we are today. Too young to remember, I am constantly reminded of the difficulties my family experienced as they attempted to rebuild their lives in a new country with nothing but their clothes on their backs and the few cash they had in their pockets. The place we called home was a shabby, old apartment in a neighborhood where the crime rate seemed as if it doubled in a matter of seconds. At a point in our lives my family begged for pennies to afford medicine from gas stations, and even the dollar store when we fell ill. It was never that we were out of money, but we were just financially unstable. We had a roof over our heads, food on our table, clothes, and even a family car, but my father’s income was not always enough to support the life of a growing family and on top of that, enough to invest in my family’s future.

I have light skin and green eyes. It could be said that they’re my defining features, setting me apart from most girls, especially for a Mexican. At first glance, people tend to assume that I’m barely Mexican or not Mexican at all. It was always the same routine in a new class, at first glance people decided that I was not Mexican, then my name, Azucena, is called and they get thrown off. Maybe she is Mexican. It is only when I speak Spanish, which I do often with pride, that they realize that I am Mexican. They’re assumptions didn’t affect me. I liked who I was and kept them guessing. However, I wasn’t always as confident. In Mexico, when I was not yet fluent in Spanish and where I was easily influenced, my defining features became my biggest insecurity.

We started off with a bang. We started with me thinking of what to do how to do it and what were my ideas. Then, a little later we actually started it and not gonna lie, it was scary. I didn’t know that much about my family, yeah i've heard stories but they're stories. Later on we went home i didn’t tell my family anything just unsuspiciously getting all the information and I learned a lot yes. I learned about my names and why they're my names, I learned about my dad getting lost a lot, I learned about my mom moving here to america when she was 14 and how her life was before she moved and why she moved. I learned about my uncle going to jail for crossing the border illegally which is kinda funny. All those I learned but i couldn’t find anything