Personal Narrative: The Great Recession

The “Great Recession” was not only a hideous word, but a malicious truth in my household. My father being an immigrant lost the position he had held for years and so after that lucky nights for us were when we had just enough beans and tortillas to fill our bellies; other nights, my stomach would gnaw with pain and hunger, for I had given it to my younger siblings. My father was out on the streets, scavenging for jobs that were non-existent and my mother waited in line to pawn that necklace I received for my baptism along with other meaningful objects. Many fights occurred at home, since the stress got to our head and the pain followed us to our bead. Now, I was around ten years old but I understood the chaos around me and I was not empty of ideas on how to improve the

In the midst of the pain, I found myself closer to my Oak Cliff community because they understood our struggle, as their very own struggle. Along with solidarity that came with just one look, our neighbors would knock at my door and bring us Pozole or Tamales anything they had cooked and we returned the favor vice versa, sending Gorditas or Enchiladas. Dancing in the parking lot, made it seem that we didn’t have any worries but as soon as the mailman brought the bills the smiles would be hidden till the next weekend when cumbias would blast. In one of these “nightly meetings”, I realized people in my “barrio” were full of life even if their bank accounts were mutually dead. Through the darkness, mi “gente” taught me that the torch must be passed along to keep the flame burning bright. My contribution to the torch is volunteering with the children of my community and pushing them to strive against the stigmas imposed on their fragile eyes. As for my own family, I work support them in the ever increasing rent and expenses. The activist was awaken that day and as of today I speak from my experiences and let others know “si se