Personal Narrative: The Casite

One of the most common places to tour is Mexico. Many tourists are very attracted to Mexico due to the culture, history and main attractions. Although Mexico is a very poor country everyone whom inhabits Mexico works very hard every day to be able to live. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to travel to Mexico. For me unlike many tourists it wasn’t just to see the attractions but mainly more about seeing my family and learning more about my culture. I am from Veracruz, Mexico, I don’t remember anything about Veracruz, Mexico, sadly because I moved to United States at a young age. Travelling and staying a few weeks in Mexico made me realize how much of my culture I am unware of. I experience the way it feels like to live in Mexico surrounded with culture, family and food. I can honestly say that this has been a memorable experience for me to have exigence, nothing can compare this experience that I had.

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

The first is selfish. As a Venezuelan-American immigrant raised in South Florida, this story is deeply personal. With a chance to return, I will face the reality of life in Venezuela as someone raised in the bubble of Middle Class America. The second though, is selfless. This fellowship inspired the idea of conveying the thoughts, experiences, and challenges of the Venezuelan people to a global audience. Writing this story is a momentous opportunity to speak about my native land to a global audience with familial ties like myself, other seeking clarity on current events, and wandering social media addicts who will quench their curiosity on the National Geographic blog and With Venezuela

I started this journey filled with nervous excitement and anticipation of traveling without my family to a foreign land. On my return trip I thought of what extravagant lifestyles we Americans live. If I had never traveled to Costa Rica I think I would still be taking things for granted and I learned to appreciate what I have. The Costa Ricans had very little, but they made the absolute best of what they did have. They are very different from us, Americans because our happiness comes from material objects. They were pleased with being able to share their knowledge, culture and language with us. As the Costa Ricans say Pura Vida meaning pure

The story of my childhood is very present in my life every time I watch the Spanish programming on television. In the occasions I have free time from my daily routine I sit next my mother in the living room and talk about how different my childhood was in Mexico compared to my son’s here in California. We like to watch documentaries about the thirty two states and rural towns that surround each state in Mexico. Unlike the stories “Miss East LA” and My Ride My Revolution” by Luis J. Rodriguez my story does not begin in an urban city or in a diverse community like the south central area. Not even in a wealthy gated community or in the popular community of East Los Angeles.

Venezuela is just another chapter in my ongoing book. I was born in Tamaulipas, Mexico my home country and got moved 3 months later to New Orleans. It was uncommon for a Mexican family to move so constantly all over the world, we are known to migrate to US or not migrate at all. I don’t remember New Orleans so I regarded to my next move, Colombia as my home. Colombia was everything a 4 year old wanted, friends, close to family, wonderful house and most importantly the school was accepting of others. I felt as if I belonged, I even sang the national anthem with pride, seeing that it was my country. I knew Colombia inside out, I knew the language, culture, food, education which gave me comfort as for a long time I felt ordinary like any

The stone was cold and I could feel the pain swelling up inside. I took a step towards the edge, I thought to myself, “One more step and the worries would end…” if only it was that easy.

I rush into my home and run up the stairs to my room. I jump on my bed and roll over to my laptop and open it quickly. I log onto the One Direction site and see that I made it in time to see the bid. I scroll and try and find my name and I see I'm in third place for the tickets and the time is running out. I've already bid $7000 for three tickets and backstage passes. The reason it's so expensive is because these passes are the last set of passes for their concert. 5sos is also playing so we would be meeting two bands and hearing both of them play.

Growing-up in a predominately Mexican/Mexican-American community as a first-generation girl, like I did, is no walk in the park. Not only was I to uphold my parent’s traditional Mexican values such as: learning to cook and keep to a household, as well as a marriage, but also to uphold my new American values of independence and success measured in money as well as in property. At school I was taught to forget my first language, Spanish, and speak only in English, reminding me that: “You don’t want to speak with an accent.” At home I was reminded that Spanish, was and still is my first language and to leave English for school use only, reminding me that: “We can’t understand you in English.” Through this tug-of-war, between both cultures expectations of who I was to be/become, there was a desperate need to find my own identity, away from either culture. Sandra Cisneros’, The House on Mango Street, documents the need and struggle to find one’s own identity, through the narrator Esperanza’s experiences growing-up in a predominately Latino community in Chicago. Throughout the book Esperanza tries to understand the many different factors that influence her life and identity: in particular ethnicity and gender. Although, Esperanza suggest that she doesn’t want to be identified by either her Mexican identity or her sex; both of these factors play a major role in her struggle to find her own identity, by the way that they are intertwined in her own thoughts and in the descriptions of

For this assignment, I chose to interview the housekeeper for the family I work for (I’m a private chef). Her name is Sylvia Muñoz, and she is from El Salvador. Sylvia has been in the United States for thirty-six years as of July 10th. She grew up in a large family in the city of Santa Ana, which is the second largest city in El Salvador after San Salvador. The primary industry in the area when she lived there was agriculture; coffee was the primary cash crop and there was also abundant subsistence farming. Currently, there is still some agriculture but the economy is primarily based on factory work (many of the factories are owned by U.S. companies) and services provided to the middle and upper class (cooking, housekeeping,

Growing up as a child of two born-and-raised Mexican parents has had a vital, positive impact on my life; it has shaped me into the young, ambitious man I am today. Shortly after I was born, I moved to Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, Mexico, the birthplace of both of my parents and the most of my relatives. I resided in Mexico for seven years; I grew up in a charming town where it was a custom to take a stroll every Saturday evening in Plaza Hidalgo with an elote [Mexican street-food corn on the cob] in your hand.  In 2004, I moved back to the United States to the city I was born in. I have successfully managed to combine both my Mexican and American traditions into one beautiful and unique lifestyle. With the mindset of hoping to make my community proud,

I was born and raised in the beautiful country of Venezuela, in the lively and incessantly colorful city of Caracas until I was eight years old. I underwent the most important period of mental development in Caracas, meaning that my early identity and culture, my attitude towards the world and the way I perceived the greater part of it, were largely defined by the surrounding Hispanic culture of Venezuela. Living in Venezuela, and my entire family being Venezuelan, formed more than just my language and expression habits, it formed the way I see the world and interact with it. As such, “Hispanic” cultures are not merely those that were colonized by Spanish and Portuguese explorers, settlers, and conquistadors in the 16th and 17th century. Hispanic cultures, and Hispanic peoples, even those who have been affected by religious and cultural (even lingual) syncretism, are much more than that, and are more colorful and lively than that. Being Hispanic means that I can sit around with my family on Christmas Eve and eat ayacas, pernil, and pan de hamon, while listening to jovial Christmas songs and see the laughs on everyone’s faces parallel the brightness of the lights on the

I am Evelyn Aguilar, the eldest and only daughter in the Aguilar family, and the first in my family to obtain a degree and continue to earn a higher education. I grew up in a small, South Texas town known as Laredo. This is a town where people do not have barbecues but have “carne asadas;” this is where people are more willing to pitch in money for a get-together than pay extra for any political or academic progression; this is where “machismo” and Hispanic teachings intertwine with American ideals. I lived my whole life in Laredo, Texas, but I have also been fortunate enough to travel to a few places. I have visited the state of Colorado and New Mexico several times, but I have also been able to visit the Bahamas, Mexico, Florida, and Washington D.C.. I am always mesmerized by the sights of each place I have visited, but I could only hope in the future that I may visit places abroad- countries on the Eastern hemisphere.

Puerto Rico was exactly how I had pictured it, the palm trees, the beautiful beaches, the cobblestone streets, the authentic Puerto Rican food; every sight, smell, and sound was intoxicating. I visited the house where my father grew up and spent time with extended family. I began to truly understand more about my background and heritage. One night at a family reunion, while enjoying the company and traditions of family, I began wondering how many other families all over the world were enjoying each others company the way we were celebrating being together. Unable to shake that curiosity, I realized that I not only wanted to understand my culture, but the cultures of many people around the

I am leaving Spain with a multitude of new memories, experiences, perspectives and friendships. I want to call attention to the things that made my trip so wonderful and memorable, but I also want to mention some things that I regret. Being a personal reflection, it would be wrong of me to only focus on the positives of this experience, when there were also a few negatives and bumps in the road that affected my time here. I learned so much about myself, the people of Seville and Barcelona, and the culture of Spain in the last five weeks that I will have stories to tell for the rest of my life. Join me for a tale of siestas, food I can neither describe nor pronounce, drama, observations from an American perspective, and all the rest that comes along with traveling with a group of 34 guiris in Spain.