Personal Narrative: My Interest In Indigenous People In Ecuador

Much to my own embarrassment, my Hispanic heritage had been a thing I hardly thought of. My Father left my family when I was young, and with him went the hopeful wisps I had of learning about myself. It’s not to say that I wasn’t aware that I was Hispanic, but rather, growing up in a mainly white household I didn’t think I had any right to claim my ethnicity. However, the more I look around me and learn about the community Hispanics have grown accustomed to, the more I find that I understand where I came from. To me, being Hispanic isn’t about what you were told when you were younger, or the traditions you grew up with. Rather, being Hispanic is about learning where you come from, and learning about those who share your same heritage. ‘Hispanic’

“Wow...there is no way you’re Latino. You’re way too white!” was the ignorant remark made by a one of my peers during my school’s annual Latin-American Fest. Initially, hearing this claim made me look into the mirror. I began to stroke my face and examine my physical features. Was this true? Was I not Latino enough? Did the amount of melanin or lack thereof deem me as Latino?

My Hispanic culture is exceedingly unique contrast to other cultures because we have countless of beliefs, holidays, lifestyles, etc. My world of Hispanic culture raised me to become an independent and determined person because being the first generation of a Hispanic family to attend college has my family beyond thrilled for me to put value to our heritage. Putting value in our heritage is a magnificent emotion because people anticipate Hispanics to fail; but, we prove them wrong when we accomplish our goals. The Hispanic culture’s strength is unbelievably astonishing because we are ambitious of our dreams and we don’t cease until we fulfill our wish. Including the Hispanic culture at University of Washington may open people’s mind that we

Growing up, I barely heard the early 2000’s hits blasting from the car radio; instead, Marc Anthony would always serenade us. Growing up, Christmas day didn’t begin Christmas morning; instead Christmas day began Christmas Eve night. Growing up, I didn’t dismiss my heritage; instead, I embraced it. My Latino background defines who I am. Surging throughout my body, my Puerto Rican and Salvadoran heritage has shaped me into the person I am today.

Would you say that life has any sense? Or Is there an answer for everything in life? Three years ago I was completely messed up about this. Gustavo Adolfo Parra Chassaigne that’s how my parents called me and I was born in Maracay a little city next to Venezuela’s capital, Caracas. I used to be the first student of all my high school, also one of the first in tennis of my state and everybody said that my family was “perfect”. So, What did happen to me?

Who am I? Who am I is what I tend to ask myself often, more than I probably should. That question floats around in my head from day to day waiting to be answered. Well to answer my question, I’m my roots. My Mexican roots have shaped me into the person I am today any many ways. Such as, the food I love to eat, the languages I speak, the music I enjoy listening to, the places I enjoy going to, all of my traditions, how I dress, and my name. All of those factors tie into who I am, Alejandra. I have Mexican blood running through my veins, which I’m very proud of. I have my parents to thank for who I am.

My life since childhood was very quiet I was born in Honduras I grew up in a healthy environment with my family my dad, my mom, and the neighbors were very good people but just always had to be someone bad in our community but in the end most people of that community were very good people we help each other.

In rural North America, in present day Billing, Montana, over 600 years ago, there once live a tribe that was fierce as a bear and yet stayed together like a pack of wolves and trickery as a fox. Altogether, it builds an ultimate warrior of pure ferociousness and blunt force. Other tribes tended to more soft than the tribe I was in . While most tribes were farmers and gathers, our tribe was mainly hunters, we raided other tribes of their goods.

Coming from Mexico was a difficult transition, but looking back at that memory, it is a reminder that anything is possible. I remember the sun felt like an oven most days. Sweat ran down my back and through my clothes. One summer day I walked to meet my new future,however, I kept thinking and admiring my beautiful country: Mexico. Time passed by quickly From the time I woke until the time I reached the airplane. My feet weakened with pain and excitement. Pain because I was leaving my family behind to find a better future or myself. I knew,the trees, the beautiful flowers: the lilies, the Violets, The marigolds, and the strong yet satisfying smell of el chile. I felt excitement because I would be able to see something new that would become

The person I interview was a female from el Salvador. She was born here but she was raised by her immigrant mom and aunts. Her guardian never spoke English and she has always been the translator for her mother and her aunts. She grew up speaking two language and basically lived two lives one with her family which was more tradition and cultural to her heritage and one outside her household where she lived like a regular American citizen.

With fingers long and elegant, and nails always red, my mother’s hands once held the magic power to soothe my woes. As a child these hands wiped my tears and pulled me close enough to her to smell her motherly scent — a mixture of Nivea lotion and achiote, evidence that she had spent her morning in the kitchen. Years later, these same hands incited my tears.

Since traveling to Nicaragua, I find myself perplexed by the Nietzchean idea that language is the enemy of experience. It is difficult to explain in words an experience that is both awe-inspiring and awful, edifying and heartbreaking, beautiful and atrocious. If my time on the Bucknell Brigade was either entirely great or completely horrible, it would be easier to write about. But since the memory inhabits a confusing and ambiguous space between two intense opposites, my voice had withdrawn into silence.

There is no slight irony in the fact that their major allies throughout the world are the surviving indigenous communities that have upheld their own versions of the Charter of the Forest. In Canada, the Gitxaala First Nation is filing a lawsuit opposing a tar-sands pipeline passing through its territory, relying on recent high-court rulings on indigenous rights. In Ecuador, the large indigenous community played an essential part in the government’s offer to keep some of its oil in the ground, where it should be, if the rich countries would compensate Ecuador for a fraction of the lost profits. (The offer was refused.) The one country governed by an indigenous majority, Bolivia, held a World People’s Conference in 2010, with 35,000 participants from 140 countries. It produced a People’s Agreement calling for sharp reductions in emissions, as well as a Universal Declaration on the Rights of Mother Earth. These are key demands of indigenous communities all over the

At first, for this assignment, I was going to set up the work with those who viewed the indians in a good light first, followed by those who believe the indians were savages or needed to have European influences to be “better”. Yet, this would prove troublesome and most likely terribly long to do it properly, so instead I shall abstract every point that the authors share, and then speak to the differences; this way I can hold my own natural desire to go over the word count at bay. Back to the task at hand; it is no historical secret that when nations expand into foreign territory there are but two options for that new land’s indigenous inhabitants. One, that the locals will be pushed out of power and land via extortion, or the denizens of the

I’ve always been drawn to Latin America by its rich culture and tumultuous history, and I wanted to learn more about the region so that I could help educate others about it. As a result, I chose to research the 2011 Chilean student movement, a topic that combined my interest in dictatorships with interest in the