For the Love of Me

I struggled to accept my identity. I felt like an outsider in my own skin, distancing myself from the culture that made me who I am. I would push myself away from the traditions my family held, feeling embarrassed and disconnected. Always wishing to be someone I’m not, my identity, my figure, my hair, the way I talked, looked and why I acted the way I did. I was always instructed to carry myself with confidence, having to stand up for myself, yet I often found myself in a puddle of sadness, trying to fit myself into a standard that could never be reached. I felt like Sisyphus, pushing a boulder up a mountain, without an end in sight. It’s like carrying a secret that sets you apart, making you feel isolated and unsure of yourself.  I walked with a weight of embarrassment.

In first grade, I walked into a brightly decorated room with a smiling colorful teacher. I was filled with excitement and ready to meet friends, instead I was met with judgemental kids who made me feel fear for the first time in my life. It made me feel like I was walking on a stage, guiding my eyes to find something other than darkness. In my mind, I was looking off, knowing I have millions of eyes staring back at me with whispers tangling all around me almost like Christmas lights, feeling the knot in my throat start to form, the animosity pressing hard against my heavy chest. 

 On the other hand, there were a lot of girls similar to me but were unfortunately, unfriendly. I still stuck around even if I felt excluded, hoping to find a friend in one of them. Their small comments got to me as I was constantly asked why does my hair look this way, why do I speak like this or why does my mom dress me in traditional dresses or shirts.

I’ve never directly had a problem with the way my mom would dress me, I loved it actually. I loved the flattering comments my mom would give me “You look like a walking angel” I was always filled with warmth, and love. She always helped me embrace not only my culture but myself. I would have never been able to accept my identity as a daughter and human without her. She made me feel proud, a type of pride you feel after you accomplish something you worked so hard for.

The confidence my mother instilled in me, helped me enter middle school, where I was introduced to new people, bad and good. I was opened up to new opportunities, new foods and many many cultures. This brought so much out of me, I became friends with a whole new category of people. Slowly I started taking baby steps, I started painting posters, handing out flyers, encouraging others to embrace their cultures. After I realized I enjoyed engaging in these activities I took even bigger steps as in dressing up, dancing, singing, face painting, etc. I was so entertained, the thought of being involved in my own culture excited me. This reminded me who I was and what not to be afraid of. I reached the point where I was running instead of taking baby steps. I started to talk about the embark on History of Hispanic Heritage Month. 

In my current stage of life I was able to share my knowledge with a much bigger circle of people. High school gave me a chance to learn more about myself and who I truly am. I was able to feel seen and joyful of my own culture.  The only reason I could accept this new journey was because of the people around me, the ones who accepted me.

 The journey to find my dress was continuous store after store. Every dress I tried on I built a hate and love relationship with them. It felt like I had joy and disguise fighting in my head. At the end of the day I tried on my last dress with no doubt i was met with the same disappointing feeling I had with every other dress. As I walked out of the dressing room already ready to hear my mom say “Oh! Well it’s not that bad..” knowing she hated it as much as i did, but as i glance behind her i see a dress hanging on the rack in front of me, just hanging there as if made for me practically glowing. Immediately I wanted it, I wanted to try it on and that’s what I did. I stepped out and was met with smiles all around me 

The only reason I could accept this new journey was because of my mom, who pushed me to do better and embrace my culture. If it wasn’t for her I would’ve never accepted my identity as a daughter and a human. She saw me struggle, she saw me deny but she never let me go. She taught me to appreciate more than I was given.  

I frequently felt left out because of how different my experiences with most holidays were. I wanted to wake up on christmas morning feeling the excitement run down jumping up and down on my parents bed waking them up and rush to the tree looking for the toy shaped items i circled on the magazine my mom picked up from the walmart around the corner searching for the cookies and milk i left the previous night hoping to catch santa in action. Of course you only see this in movies.

There were times where I was sat down by my parents and asked “do you want a quinceanera or a car?” I always wanted to feel a bit special especially since I wasn’t always seen by a lot. I chose a quince, a night where families from all over the world are brought together to celebrate a moment in life where the once tiny little girl grows into a young lady and is able to have one day all to herself. And I myself absolutely loved how it turned out for me. I was happy and all sadness was wiped away. I was put in a beautiful pink floral puffy dress that went perfectly with my big shiny crown.

In my current stage of life I was able to share my knowledge with a much bigger circle of people. High school gave me a chance to learn more about myself and who I truly am. I was able to feel seen and joyful of my own culture.  The only reason I could accept this new journey was because of the people around me, the ones who accepted me.