When I arrived at U.Va., everyone was curious to know where I was from and when and how I got here, as if I was some strange being that magically appeared at the University. Time after time I answered the same questions:
No, I am not Mexican.
Yes, I can dance salsa.
No, I actually hate spicy food!
I was born in Bolivia and raised in Arlington, Virginia. I consider my identity one of being Latina -- growing up in the states but always grounded in my Latin American roots.
My family came to Virginia 15 years ago. Unlike many others, we were blessed with the golden ticket: a legal visitor's visa to America. We were headed to the country my cousins, aunts and uncles called the "Land of Opportunity." My father left his college degree and my mother her nursing background simply to give their kids the "American Dream." I remember selling all our furniture and giving away all my toys to my neighbors. We left our home and even my first dog, Rocky, behind.
Can you imagine leaving all you have known behind? Your language, your culture, your home, your family, even your career -- in order to come to a place where you are sometimes treated like you don't belong, where you feel like a stranger and where the government labels you an alien, as if you were some kind of intruder. My parents sacrificed every possible opportunity they could have had in Bolivia for the sake of my older brother, my little sister and me. I was too young to realize what a huge risk they took when they decided to come to the States. I was just excited to be able to get on a plane for the first time.
The truth is, my parents started from ground zero when they got here. Every family that has migrated here knows what it means to start at the bottom. To be at a place where immigrants are not always appreciated or respected, yet still a country with top education that is worth the risk for millions of immigrant families.
I have seen my parents work endlessly since they stepped foot in this country. They worked for us, to make sure my siblings and I had everything we needed growing up. My father raised us to be law-abiding citizens. "Hija," he would say, "as long as you don't break the rules and follow all the laws, this country will be good to you." Oh, how my father loves this country! We recently bought our first house a year and half ago, and you know what flag was the first one to hang outside our door? The American flag! (Note: Today it has been replaced with the U.Va. Wahoo banner flag!)
Sometimes I wonder if he forgets all the articles published against immigrants stating that Latinos are no good in the States because we don't know how to assimilate. We refuse to shed our culture and language like so many other immigrant groups that have come before us. Or about the people who claim immigrants are taking all the low-wage jobs. Or the bills being passed in Congress that treat undocumented immigrants like second-class citizens. Our people are being stripped of their identity and denied higher education. How can he forget about all these issues?
So I remind him, knowing that my father knows these problems exist, but he chooses to look at the good this country has done for us and all the opportunities it has provided.
My brother graduated from James Madison University two years ago and in just a few weeks I, too, will graduate from college. After all the sacrifices my parents have made, all I've ever wanted to do was make my parents proud of my accomplishments. And I think I have. I was informed a few days ago of my acceptance to the Teach for America program, where I will be teaching elementary school in Miami, working to eliminate the education inequity many minorities face. I have been given the opportunity to teach and work with students just like myself, recent immigrants or first generation Latinos. It is my passion to give back and educate. Teach for America has given me the chance to join their movement, and I could not be any happier to fulfill one of my first dreams right out of college!
So to the reader, I thank you for reading my story and allowing me to share a part of myself with you. Though every immigrant family has different reasons for coming to the United States, they point to the same wish -- the desire for better opportunities for themselves and their children.
I hope you walk away more knowledgeable about the life of immigrants in the states because it is definitely not an easy one. So before you make a nasty comment or joke about people not like yourselves, think about their struggles, think about my story. Remember, to be an immigrant means to know the true meaning of sacrifice. The "American Dream" for most is more like the "American Struggle." The least we can do is respect their struggle.
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