Her Announcement

“Every step that I took I felt fear for my life, I did not know if I was making the right choice. At one moment I remember closing my eyes for a second and thanking God for letting me have a wonderful innocence.” These were the words my mother expressed to me wile she crossed the desert to America. Learning about my mother’s immigration to America has been both pleasurable and painful to me because as a child I was naïve and did not understand the huge sacrifice that my mother had to go through in order to have a better life.
As soon as my mother informed me about her journey to America I began to feel that my future was more valuable than I had thought. Her story gave me a reason to take school work more seriously and apply self discipline to my daily routine. When I was in the 6th grade I knew that in order to live a happy life and in order to take care of my mother I had to focus in school and not slack off . Just the simple fact that she crossed the desert to live a better life encouraged me to always strive for the best. Her history gave me a sense of who I am and where I came from. In addition to that, her cruel journey motivated me to never find an excuse for fear, “Just get it done!” she would say. I don’t feel a sense of embarrassment, rather on the contrary I feel pride and pleasure for having a mother that exchanged her fear for her child’s happiness. Now I’m able to understand why she emphasizes the importance of an education and of being a citizen. She knew that voting equaled having a voice in society therefore, she encouraged my brothers and I to register when we were eighteen.
On the other hand, her unforgettable story brings pain and tears to my eyes. The thought of my patient, loving mother crossing a disgusting sewer makes me realize that nothing can be taken for granted. Her past is an eye opener for me because I no longer see the world as pink as I thought it was. I feel pain for not being able to understand my mother when she quietly cried and wanted a couple of minutes to herself. I have discovered the true reality that everyone thought was a simple conversation. I feel pain when I watch the news and hear people arguing that, “It was the immigrants decision to cross, there is no one to blame but themselves.” I feel shame for not being able to do anything about her citizenship. My mother has applied and still has not received her citizenship papers. Her case is open, but the process is long and tedious. I feel pain because I know the struggle that she went threw to come to the United States and still be rejected and looked upon as a burden.
I strongly believe that her past made me the person that I am today. I feel fortunate to have a strong motivation in my life, but on the other hand it was painful to know the truth. It was and still is hard to understand her strength. She is a wonderful mother and friend.

Living with “Soledad”

I hate the idea of living with someone else. I know that it sounds outrageous, but it is the truth. Ever since I can remember I have enjoyed laying on my bed on a quiet afternoon in my room. The empty space gives me satisfaction.

I do not mined having a person contemplating my quiet, white walls, but on some occasions, the enjoyment gets lost in a random, awkward conversation. Many people might conclude that as a child I probably had a bad experience while sharing a room with a family member, but I never did. My simple explanation is that I enjoy spending time by myself. The idea of living with someone else gives me the sense of a time bomb waiting to explode or a feeling of a never-ending show. I cannot be myself when someone else is present. It makes me feel like I am a part of a play. I have to put my mask on and pretend that everything is great, but the reality is that they are just getting between “Soledad” and me. “Soledad” means loneliness, solitude, peace and my pleasure in life.

I hate the simple fact that at home I had to share a room and that even while dorming I have to share my personal space with someone else. I cannot wake up on a random day and be mad or sad without having the other person wondering and asking why. I cannot explore the endless boundaries of relaxation. I can’t let go - mind, body and soul. I sometimes close my eyes and picture myself ten years from now. How would it be? Who would I live with? Would I be able to enjoy and be satisfied with my space?

Today, I am required to set a code of conduct and act proper in front of the person with whom I share my living space. I wake up, look away and try not to spark a long conversation.
I brush my teeth; make sure I don’t bump into her. I fold my clothes, clean my space, throw my trash away, do my bed, smile and make sure I don’t get her upset. Today, I have no options because I live one hour away from Mount St. Mary’s College. Therefore, I have to dorm and cannot enjoy or contemplate the quietness of a room.

I hate the fact that I have to ask for permission or opinion from the person I live with in order to do something, giving me the feeling of enslavement. I do not want to be restrained from the pleasure of “Soledad”.

The Component of Reality

Holidays are special days to celebrate happy events, but in many cases they also bring disappointment. Many things disappointed me during the holidays but only two disillusioned me the most: The simple fact that my family was torn apart and the idea that there are many lonely elderly people roaming the streets during the holidays.

Ever since I can remember my family has always been on bad terms therefore, this past holiday my relatives did not gather with us. My grandmother dislikes me and wishes the most resentful things for me. My cousin on the other hand enjoys bringing up a bitter past. Her mother, my aunt, is a jealous, possessive woman who always ends up fighting with her husband. My relatives not visiting during the holidays is important to me because every year I blame myself for not surrounding my mother with enough joy and love. This year, my mother, brothers and I have spent the holidays by ourselves. Seeing my mother’s face on Christmas brings tears to my eyes. The way she expressed, “Well, another year!” made me feel as if she was waiting for something good to occur. Even though she believes that no one notices her empty, vacant heart I am able to see right through her. Her gloomy eyes bring pain and sorrow to my holidays. Her smile is like a broken Mona Lisa painting on the corner of a busy street. Everyone notices the painting, but they act as if the painting is not there.

The second disappointment I experienced was walking on the streets and noticing all the lonely, elderly people. I fear the reality that one day I may be like one of them, wandering the street, anticipating the holidays to end fast, and yearning to have a decent conversation with anyone who is willing to spare a minute. I begin to question myself if they are happy being by themselves. I often believe that they have no one to spend a nice warm meal with or have the satisfaction to open a small present.

Even though holidays are meant to bring joy and happiness it is evident to me that some times they can bring disappointment. From holidays I have learned that disappointment is a component of reality and reality is a significant part of life.