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Identity

By fuentescaro

Latina. That is the first word that comes to mind when I am asked about my identity. It is a powerful word that depicts the struggles my parents and I faced when coming to the land of the American dream. At the age of eight, I knew multiplication tables, I could read legends and dance to cumbia - all as a native Spanish speaker. As the years passed, I became aware that some of the things I valued the most as a little girl seemed to have been lost in translation.

As the oldest of three children, I did not have the option to put my education on pause after I graduated high school. Since I arrived to the states my main goal has always been to graduate from college. I owe that to my parents, who taught me that being bilingual is not only a matter of knowing two languages. They taught me that being bilingual was cooking pupusas for lunch and getting McDonalds for dinner. Bilingual in the sense that as a first generation student in the United States, I was able to hold my high school diploma from an American school system while that same day attend mass in Spanish to give thanks for my acceptance to college.

I am beyond proud of where I come from. When I was younger my accent could have been distinguished a mile away. Sometimes I still feel subconscious about it, but some people seemed not to notice it. Some act surprise when they hear that most of my childhood I spent in Central America. Others, after hearing my story congratulate me and tell me that because of my background I am fighting the odds of graduating college. To those I say, nothing is impossible. Gracias por leer mi historia.