Two years ago I lived in Mexico, I am from Irapuato Guanajuato where I lived with my family in one of the most dangerous colonies. for me is not, I am so accustomed to everything that seems normal, my mother said “ I would not be home late” because someone could hurt me, almost every day I walked from my friend’s house to my house in the wee hours of the night and among our colonies. there were many gang members, people who used to steal. One day i was walking to the pharmacy because I needed something for high school, while crossing the streets a man approached me and said “these bastards do not let us pass” I just kept walking and I realized that he started to follow me, he asked me the time I answered I did not know and I kept walking, the man started to ask me if I wanted to have sex with him and let him give me oral sex. I ignored him and kept walking, he and I had talked only 5 minutes. which annoyed me so I was struck him, he began to pull me until a gentleman saw me and decided to help me and call the police. …show more content…
I said no, I told him I will do the favor without charging him. when we were walking he said that we went to an oxxo (gasoline store) and the attempt of the hand hugging me while insisting that the relationship with her was very sexy. he said that if I did not accept the money I will do whatever I wanted with his wife repeating several times that she was a nurse and sexy, I told him that he can’t get alcohol if the people in the store saw him with, when he goes into the store I started running tom house very fast in spite of all, I never considered Mexico as a dangerous country, when I come to live in the United States I understood the dangers and risks where in which I
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As a Cuban-born woman, my expected role in society is clearly defined; my thoughts and personality have a mold into which they must fit. However, a month before my fifth birthday my family made the decision to move to the United States and in doing so liberated me from these expectations and gave me the freedom to explore my own interests and beliefs. Ten years later, they were making preparations for my Quinciañera. Due to my Cuban heritage, my coming of age was set to be commemorated by a very long and very expensive night of food, dance, and family. For the same cost as the down payment on a relatively small house, I would be given the opportunity to put on a show in a dress that restricted my airways and provide food and drink for about
A lot of stuff happened in eighth grade, some good, some bad. For one good thing, every time at the end of quarter, we would do nothing and just play games, eat pizza, and watch movies. All the bad things I can think about is just the bad grades I get on test sometimes like that. So the goods outweigh the bads.
This experience was one of the nicest one’s I have had the privilege to live because I realized what first world problems are and how a relatively trivial or minor problem is in contrast with some serious problems a developing country may be experiencing. Mexico is still a country in need for development. I never really thought of it but after this experience I realized how lucky I am to live the life I am living, for the simple fact of being alive, and it made me want to do something about it and keep helping in whatever way I can of those in
From the stories my mother has told, the journey from Morelos, Mexico to El Paso, Texas was treacherous. From the dirty, murderous streets of Tijuana to the endless hot Chihuahuan desert. My mother and my four older siblings, who were of the ages of seven, five, three, and two, were part of a group of 15 people. They were lead by a guide who knew the desert well and had taken many others before them to the land opportunity. It took 16 days to reach to El Paso, Texas.
Never have I taken my culture into consideration, but I would more than likely classify my culture as Latino/Hispanic. For starters, I was born in a lovely place called Chihuahua, Mexico. This place is the reason I consider myself a Latino. Why is this my culture you ask? My whole daily lifestyle revolves around this Hispanic heritage.
Be who you are and don 't let anyone tell you otherwise. These are some words we 're hearing more and more everyday ever since the recent election. A lot of issues have come up ever since the election. People are literally scared because of what the future has to offer with the new elected president. That isn 't something that anyone should have to go through just because of they who are and what they identify as.
I used to have this grudges in my heart when everything go hard that would made me wanted to blame my parent. But I can’t because I was not raise to think that way. When I come to America, I was eleven years old and no one asked me if I wanted to come it just happen in a second. I was in a cold place with extended family that I never met before and that one person who raise me and made me feel secure was still back in the country. I had to lived months without her and next thing you know I adapted and convince myself they are doing this because the wanted the best for me.
January 11, 2013, I wake up to yelling, prayers, and crying. I walked into the kitchen where all the noises were coming from and I found my mother on the floor crying, talking on the phone with my godmother. My father was there by her side, trying hard not to cry while supporting his wife. I didn’t know what was happening, this was the first time I’ve seen my mom so vulnerable and broken. My parents didn’t tell me anything other than my grandmother was in critical condition at the hospital, but with god's help she would overcome this hard time.
Culturally, family is the base of my Hispanic heritage. As a child my mother taught me that family is the most important aspect of life. I remember my abuelita and uncle visiting every Thanksgiving and telling stories about their youth, from my uncle getting lost in Yosemite National Park to my abuelita regularly being dragged by the ear to Mother Superior’s office. When she came to visit, my abuelita would always share the family albums that she had stuffed in her suitcase. With every picture there was both a story and a lesson.
We got up on a Tuesday morning at 4:30 am, our flight left at 6:00 am for the Dominican Republic but I wasn’t tired. As we walked into the O’hare airport in Illinois I was so excited. We waited in lines that looked a mile long until we finally were at our gate. We sat down in faded,cushy,blue seats and waited to leave.
I am not white, but I am not Mexican either. I am, however, a first generation Mexican American with parents from San Luis Potosi, Mexico. Perhaps I do not know what it is like to cross the border that refrains me from being Mexican, or the color of my skin that refrains me from being white, but my own personal experiences make me the Mexican American that I am today. Growing up I celebrated the Fourth of July with fireworks, and the Day of the Virgin of Guadalupe with matlachines.
I believe the term, hispanic, itself does not define who I am. I define who I am and who I want to become. However, I do come from a Mexican heritage. Coming from a Mexican heritage has influenced and deeply impacted my life. My heritage has taught me a lot.
My mind takes me back to a time when I woke up to the aroma of food from street vendors through the homes that sit in a tightly compacted neighborhood. I remember growing up as a young boy in an area referred to as “La Laguna” in Mexico. This city was dry in rainfall levels and hope, my family were in the pursuit of an improved standard of living when they decided they wanted to move to the United States. Temporary living on the border made it tempting to go across a bridge and never come back. I saw America as elysium and Mexico as fool’s paradise, where the violence was rare and financial stability was so common.
A young man from Brazil said he had no home. He lived on the streets. He said he was always in fear of his life from the police. He road on top of the “La Bestia,” the immigrant train. It is a 1,450 mile trek with a real danger of falling off, as hundreds, and possible thousands have, and the danger of being robbed, raped, or murdered by the Mexican gang known as MS13.
I am a Mexican woman. I have a big, round face, flat nose, and small, squinted eyes. My skin is light brown, an everlasting tan. And I have hair as unruly, and out of control, as a monkey hyped up on drugs. Since the day I started paying attention to the world around me, it has been ingrained into my mind that the only people who have a chance at success would look nothing like me.