-I come from a Spanish-speaking family. Mis padres viajaron a los Estados Unidos para vivir un better life, una vida que no tenían en la República Dominicana.
-Pero cuando viajas a otro país, you take your culture with you y cuando hay cultura, there are expectations. La más difícil de todas es la lengua. -When I was a kid, my first language was English and until I reached high school, none of my previous schools had taught me anything about my native language or my culture for god’s sake. -Aprender español fue difícil para mí as my family has been dealing with their own issues en el exterior y en el interior. I learned Spanish the hard way by escuchando ciertas frases de palabras claves de cada una de las conversaciones de mis padres. -In the end, whenever I hear my parents or any of my relatives talking en nuestra lengua materna, sirve como un recordatorio constante de cómo mis habilidades lingüísticas son inferiores to everyone else’s. A veces, tengo momentos de duda. I feel like I could never live up to my family’s example or in anything that I choose to do con mi vida. -Puedo sentir en todo mi cuerpo que he perdido una parte de mi identidad. And I have tried my best to work past it, to move on. Aunque mi español no es perfecto, todavía estoy aprendiendo. -As a wise man once said, “el todo no es más que la suma de sus partes” y parecería que todavía no estoy completo. -En última instancia, no importa cuántas veces lo intente o qué métodos use para encontrarme de nuevo, I will never be whole again. Bryan Rodriguez '22 (BHSEC Queens)
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My grandmother was one of the fiercest women I knew. After immigrating to the States at the age of fifty eight, she remained with my parents in our then two-bedroom apartment in the Bronx. Her decision to leave Nigeria was rooted in the boundless love she had for her first daughter, my mother. A few months prior to her arrival in April 2005, my parents welcomed my twin brother and me into the world after waiting eight years to finally have children of their own. Having recently arrived in America themselves, they were struggling to make ends meet and were in dire need of a babysitter they could trust to look after their miracle kids. So, my grandmother’s presence and support during such an unpredictable period in their lives was the greatest blessing they could have possibly asked for. She arrived in America with the unshakable determination to help nurture her daughter’s kids, and she accomplished exactly that. All the while, my parents worked endlessly trying to navigate a world that still felt relatively foreign to them. They attended both school and work in order to secure the stability of our living conditions.
One of the best gifts my grandmother had to offer her grandkids was the knowledge of our native tongue (Igbo). She spoke to us only in Igbo and expected us to respond in Igbo too. Before I had even mastered the English alphabet, I was well familiarized with the Igbo alphabet. My parents often recall with humorous concern how visibly distressed I was after returning home from my first day of Pre-K classes. I was convinced that my new peers strongly disliked me, but the reality was that they failed to understand anything I was saying. I talked to them in Igbo and waited, with an utterly naive hope, for them to respond to me in Igbo. This of course did not happen and left four-year old me feeling terribly disappointed and outright confused. Up until that moment, Igbo seemed to me to be a universal language and understandably so. It was a language that served as the very foundation for my daily conversations with family members. In my eyes, Igbo was a metaphorical bridge which not only made my Nigerian culture feel accessible, but my loved ones feel accessible too. It provided me with the means of asserting my vast love for the woman who helped raise me alongside my mother, my grandma. Our constant exchange of good mornings (“Ụtụtụ ọma”) and good nights (Ka chi fo) replays constantly in my mind, remnants from a past life I wish lasted just a bit longer. When we unexpectedly lost my grandmother in 2020 due to health related reasons, I felt incredibly overpowered by the magnitude of her absence. I felt I had not only lost a great companion, but a physical embodiment of cultural pride too. My siblings and I slowly resorted to speaking English at home, a place once dominated by the melodic sounds of the Igbo language, after her death. These days, my parents tirelessly reinforce the importance of reviving the language of our motherland within our walls. I have gotten better with reclaiming that aspect of my identity, but still feel I could be doing so much more. Through preserving my language and cultural identity, I immortalize the admirable affection my grandmother had for us and her culture. Ifeoma Okwuka '23 (BHSEC Queens) Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household. No sales. You don’t go out. I feel the knot in my stomach tighten every time I have to ask. One simple question unravels an emotional storm and all hell breaks loose. I feel the adrenaline pump through my body, the fear rush through my veins and the ticking bomb of my anxiety waiting to go off. As I walk up to my mother, I rehearse exactly what I’m going to say. Ma, puedo salir? No, that’s too vague. She’ll be annoyed by the lack of information. Ma, ¿puedo salir con un amigo? Asking to go out with male friend? That’s even worse. I walk in fear as I find the right words to ask her. The right words to ease her worries, and finally get her to say yes. And when my naive hope and optimism overpowers my fear, the words finally escape, I take a deep breath and say - “Ma, ¿puedo salir?” No. Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household. No sales. You don’t go out. But when you do, it is imperative that you cover up appropriately. For your own safety, of course. Algo malo te va pasar si no te cuidas. My mother says. Something bad will happen to you if you don’t take care of yourself. Don’t wear those shorts. They’re too short, y ellos te van a mirar. Don’t wear that dress. It’ll draw too much attention. Don’t wear that shirt either. Usa algo un poco más conservador. She reminds me que es mejor prevenir que lamentar, and assures me that someday I will understand that all the restrictions are for my own good. Quarantine is like being an only daughter in a Mexican household. Believe me. I know. Nicole Mendez '21 (BHSEC Queens)From the Wyndham sisters to the Lindo sisters My mother one of the three, the creator of me My aunts, the extended branches of her & her role in my life Caribbean women, roots beginning in Jamaica Three different buds of the same flower, my grandmother Like the flowers my grandmother grew, she nourished them too. Plumeria vibrant and spirited, makes its statement in the background As a reminder of her to them, ‘I may be gone but I’m still here’ In them she lives on Subjects of my work, elements of my own masterpiece I thank you for being worthy Inspired by the works of Kehinde Wiley Like the realism he captures, I attempt to copy But in my own signature & John Singer Sargent By setting the foundation, I able to build a new and add to you With my own Interpretation and melanin representation I thank you each for your creations, that sparked the inspirations that feed my imagination From my shoe box of paints to my colored pencils, I thank you too This whole image was able to come alive and shine through you Felicia F. (BHSEC Queens)Often I find myself writing about struggle when I talk about my Mexican-American identity, and my immigrant parents. I am immediately reminded of the anger and grief I felt when I left Mexico after having spent 4 years of my life there. I am tempted to speak about the language barriers I experienced when I started Kindergarten in New York, and the struggles my parents continue to face. My mother’s Spanish is unwelcomed, my father’s broken English is misunderstood, and the Mexican culture is very often rejected.
Unfortunately, when I think about immigration and my family, I think of divisions - North America vs. South America, Mexican vs. American, Welcomed vs. Unwelcomed. But, immigration also means unity despite the ongoing xenophobia in the U.S. I see unity in the affinity groups at BHSECQ and events like International Night, which celebrate the diversity in the school. I see unity in the resources and support offered to undocumented students at BHSECQ. I see unity in the integration of an American Immigration course in our school curriculum. I see unity in the different shades of green on the shirts of BHSECQ students to express their solidarity with undocumented folks. Yet, much work remains to be done. I envision a place where no individual feels the need to choose between two cultures. I envision a country where children are not separated from their families and individuals are not treated like prey. I dream of a society where no individual is stripped of their unalienable rights, and they are treated with human decency and respect regardless of where they come from. However, this cannot be attained until all countries work together. I envision other countries creating a trustworthy and efficient government, a strong economy where no individual is subject to inequality and discrimination, and a supportive and uplifting society where individuals do not have to flee to save their lives, and live in the shadows in a country that mistreats them as well. Only then, can we achieve unity. Nicole Mendez '21 (BHSEC Queens) Growing up with Latino parents definitely influenced my morals and shaped who I am today. As a child I always felt like I had to be perfect. I felt like my whole family was counting on me, and there just wasn’t any room for error. Knowing that my family sacrificed everything for my sister and I, is my source of strength and motivation.
Daniel Herreros '23 (BHSEC Queens) An escape, from oppressive governments corrupt politicians greedy capitalist. They paint the picture, that picture, the picture of equality freedom acceptance democracy. Is that reality? Are we granted what they promised, or is it a TRAP? The trap, trapped again by an oppressive government, that calls you a thug for fighting for your rights but fine people when you refuse to wear a mask. The discrimination you face when you speak your native tongue; "It's America speak English" Is that Freedom? False stereotypes promoted as if they were to be true, targeted & harmed by the system meant to keep you safe, Is this equality? The picture painted is not the reality. The things we escape to be trapped again by them. It's an endless cycle that is blinded by the false image. Sheyla Almanzar Abreu ‘24 (BHSEC Queens)I am extremely proud to say that I am Puerto Rican. Although my family is lucky enough to not have to face the troubles of immigration, they have given up so much for us to be able to succeed. Knowing the constant system racism that Latinx people must face in America, I know that I must graduate school and get a job so I can complete the mission my mom was never able to. Jayline Febles '22 (BHSEC Queens)When my mom and my sister moved to the US from the Dominican Republic and my dad from Puerto Rico, they came for better opportunities. They got great educations here and always push me to do better than they believe they could ever. They also brought their culture, constantly reminding me to embrace all of the aspects of my identity- the fact that I am Dominican, New Yorkian, and Puerto Rican. My parents’ and sister’s inspiration and my being from these places make me who I am, and I can’t imagine myself otherwise. Tanya Garcia '24 (BHSEC Queens)Living in Mexico and NYC is like living in two distinct worlds. It often feels like Mexico and the US are at war with each other, and I am left in the middle having to choose between my two places of origin. However, I have learned that I don’t have to choose.
I feel empowered because I represent both the US and Mexico. I look back at the times where I felt like it was necessary to abandon my Mexican heritage and embrace the “American” culture, and I am glad I never continued with such an absurd mindset. I am not just Mexican. I am not just American. I am Mexican-American. Con orgullo! Nicole Mendez '21 (BHSEC Queens) |
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