I remember that night as if it were crystal clear. The night in which an unfortunate realization took place, a reality check if you’d rather. It was the beginning of my freshman year of high school, I was at home along with the rest of my family. My older sister was doing homework and i was surfing through the channels, bored as usual. I recalled my mom being in the laundry room, so I proceeded to go in that direction in hopes of being entertained. As I arrived at the door, I could, by the thick mexican accent, infer she was on the phone with someone who didn’t speak Spanish. As I opened that door, I could never forget my mother’s frustrated, anxious, and hesitant face. She forced the phone to my face, and asked me to translate. Since, this …show more content…
We are a very Catholic Mexican traditional family. What does that imply? Well, we were raised to follow strict guidelines from our ethnicity and religion. Things like: no sex before marriage, don’t move out until wed, always serve men as a priority, etc. And a big one, my mom had never let me forget, “Allow God to give you as many kids, as He sees fit.” Basically preventing us from taking any kind of pregnancy prevention. And I followed these guidelines word for word because of the great example my parents had given me, at least until …show more content…
However I could only concentrate on my mom’s anguished face. He stated my mom’s full name and confirmed an order for birth control, I ignored it knowing my mom would never. My mom then snatched the phone away and confirmed it. My mom, my hero, my saint, the only person I looked up to had, indeed, confirmed it. At that instant I felt my stomach drop. I felt myself fading away. I didn’t know what to think, what to say, how to react. I was stuck. I could hear in the distance my mom justifying herself and asking me to not tell anyone, as if I could. The walk back to my room seemed like an endless tunnel with no light at the end. I spoke no word to no one and blankly went to sleep. I realize this might all sound a bit over dramatic. But you must have known my mom to understand my feelings. Through my eyes she was the purest soul you could ever think of, who would never hurt a fly, capable of an immense tolerance, and the kind of person who always took the right turns in life. See, when you follow something word for word from a person that once preached it and discovered them commit exactly one of those sinful acts, your world tends to falls apart. Their pedestal crumbles down, and you’re lost for a while. At least that was my
I remember our first days in US were difficult for me and my mother; especially, one night when I woke up and saw her fainting in the cold floor. I had panicked, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have a car, or phone to call anyone. I felt a shame of myself, I couldn’t help my own mother at the same time. Thankfully, one of my neighbors was awake, and she helped me with everything.
Grabbing the railing next to me. I scurry to pick my sheets up. Gripping my sheets tightly to my chest. unnoticeably a hand grasped my shoulder. I turned to face my mother, her reassuring face was all the reassurance
As I slowly walked over to where my mom was sitting I dreaded the conversation that was about to happen. As soon as she handed me the phone I said “hi” and after a long silence I finally heard my father’s booming voice through the phone. “Hey sweetheart, I’m sorry to hear about you and your boyfriend.” When I heard this I couldn’t help but fight back the tears. Crying was never acceptable so I already knew better then to let him hear me cry.
The One to Blame Growing up in a big Hmong family, I was never the right child to begin with. It was believed and practiced that boys are the one and only person that will carry on the family clan name to the next generation. Women on the other hand, were viewed the opposite compared to men. Women were expected to marry at a young age and leave their family behind to go live with their husband side of the family. Because of this, women were often not being supported in getting an education.
When I saw the flash of my mom 's headlights my body shook with fear and I held in a sob. My mom opened the front door and I ran to her, clinging to her like I did when I was a child. I felt the warmth of her skin against mine and listened for a moment to her heartbeat. “Can we talk about something?” I asked, letting go of my mom.
Growing up in the United States from a very young age made me stray away from my Indian heritage, so in 2008, my parents saw the need to send my siblings and me to India in order to replenish the Indian culture in us. Initially, I had no idea as to how long we were going to live in India for, but by the third year, all I wanted was to come back to New York. Everything in India was just so different, convoluted and fruitless; just because I was American, I was treated differently–both negatively and positively. Peo I didn’t like India because of how corrupt it was.
I come from an authentic Hispanic family, who is traditional in plenty distinct aspects. We treasure all the memories that have occurred to all of us and we laugh about the embarrassing moments we all had. We hold traditional customs and we accept new traditions as well. All of us are over protective of each and every family member, meaning that if anyone in the family has a problem we will not stop until it is fixed. To every family member, family is always first.
I come from a strong Hispanic background on both sides of my family, my ancestors from my father’s side of the family originally came from Spain and migrated to Mexico. My family still holds true to Mexican culture and most traditions, despite becoming Americanized. However, all the schools that I attended were mostly white, especially my current school. With that being said, I had a hard time making friends at my high school, I felt that I couldn’t really connect with anyone. I still remember my freshman year in Art class, however.
Throughout my life, I have always considered my grandparents to be the foundations that allowed me to establish a sense of who I am and what is important to me; thus, my grandparents (on my mother’s side in particular) are my key ancestors. As my parents were often occupied by work when I was younger, I spent much of my childhood with my grandparents at their house in Madera, CA. Indeed, the fondest childhood memories I have are simply the moments I spent interacting with my grandparents. Past the fond sentiment my grandparents hold in my heart, I can objectively conclude that they are the sole connections I had to my Mexican heritage- without them, I would have had nowhere else to learn how to connect to my heritage. Everything from the family
Jack’s mom was calling him to come downstairs. Jack was in his room which was upstairs. But after his mom had said,”Come down now, It’s important.” When his mom said that Jack’s stomach churned. His mom was talking in a serious voice that filled him with fear.
At the time I was four and Kaden (my brother) was 4 months. The day started off normal, Kaden was sleeping as usually and I was looking out the window watching raindrops race each other. At that moment I remember feeling happy and content just ready to drift off to sleep, when Suddenly the tires started Squealing. My mind was then cast into a sea of darkness that seem to have no escape.
Started from the bottom is not only a well known line in a song it visualizes where I came from. From having the bare minimum to growing up in middle class. I will never forget the times I was less fortunate. I plan to become a success and I know it will be true.
Consequently, I realized that wasn’t my mom, I got scared. I felt like a kid in a horror movie. The lady who I thought was her she told me I’m not your mom. Then she took me to the clerk, who asked me if I remembered what she was wearing.
Years later, I found myself staring out of a high school window, wondering how I ended up in an abusive relationship with a girl that I knew didn 't love me. That scene wasn 't uncommon for me as it had gone on for most of my adolescent life. As a teenager, I considered myself misunderstood and alone. It felt like I was compressed into a small, dark box that was chained shut and placed in a bigger box with a padlock, and that box was in a dark closet that was locked in a small room that resided in the dark house that was haunted by the ghosts of my abusers. Through a small little hole in my box, I could see a light.
dad Is it wrong that i dont pray for you? I dont know im not sure. i wish you were here. I hate school. But oh well.