We Are the Bridge

This book was written by the students of M.E.Ch.A at Venice High School.

The views expressed in this book are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of 826LA. We support student publishing and are thrilled you picked up this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Este libro fue escrito por los alumnos de M.E.Ch.A en Venice High School.

Las opiniones expresadas en este libro son las de los autores y no reflejan necesariamente las de 826LA. Apoyamos la publicación de jóvenes autores y estamos felices que hayan recogido este libro.

Todos los derechos reservados. Prohibida la reproducción total o parcial de este libro sin autorización escrita del editor.

Editor(s): Julia Malinow, Jaymely Zamora, Abisola Afun, Alan Cruz, Mateo Acosta, Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo Cover Artwork and Book Design: Tzasna Perez Espinosa Fons used: Basteleur Redaction Echo Park 1714 Sunset Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90026

Mar Vista 12515 Venice Blvd.

Los Angeles, CA 90066

We Are the Bridge

Written by the Students of M.E.Ch.A at Venice High School

We Are the Bridge

Table of Contents 8

Foreword

11

Unknown Venice · J.J.P.

12

I Was the First · Kristal D.

14

Salvadoreña · Liana H.

16

Hood Isn’t Always Bad · Rory Jimenez

17

Joga Bonito · Thomas D.M.S.

18

My Grandmother · Aaron P.

19

The AP Leap · Amynoemi C.

20

Somewhere in Between · Angela M.

22

One Shot Forward · Brandon V.

24

Combat · Brianna G.

25

A Story Not Everyone Can Relate To · Brianna V.

27

Some of Us Are Seasoned Less Than Others · Bryan C.

28

Born From Sacrifice · C. Walker

30

My Second Home · Chrystal G.

33

The Bridges I Don’t · Want to Cross · David R.

34

Carrying It On · Citlali L.

36

New Identity, Same Personality · Judy H.

38

Recuerda las Mariposas · Edna G.C.

39

Two Worlds, One Girl · E.T.

41

Consequences of Immigration · Crystal G.

43

Wings · Nene

46

Shouldn’t Be a Struggle · Flora H.

47

El Futuro Nuestro · Gilbert L.

48

Speaking Spanish · Gisele S.

5

We Are the Bridge

49

Unspoken Expectations · Giselle M.

50

Forced to Grow Up · Guadalupe M.

51

American Dream · Jackelin S.

52

A Competitive Journey · Jaiden O.

54

The First in Scrubs · Mina S.

56

La Hija Perfecta · Jennifer S.

58

My Inheritance · Joce

59

Figure It Out · Josie

60

Don’t Lose Focus · J.J.P.

61

Para Mis Padres · Karla G.

63

Living Through New Experiences · Kim

64

The Two Worlds · Luna S.

65

Growing Up · Luz G.

66

Between Two Worlds · Michelle M.

67

Mi Vecindad · Miranda A.

69

Mi Río de Preocupación · Morales

73

Trailblazing · Olivia M.

74

La Necesidad de Aprender · Miranda A.

76

A Hidden Burden · Sherilyn F.

78

Learning From the Past · S.B.

79

Los Tres Mundos · Valentina V.

81

Growing Up · Victoria G.

83

Mi Identidad · Xochitl A.

84

Year of Failure · Yesenia G.

85

Dear Pink · Z.N.Z.

6

We Are the Bridge

Foreword Alejandro Arroyo & Maria Lopez Zamudio The main reason I became an educator was to help students with similar backgrounds to mine find their voice. I am a first-generation, working class Xicano. There is a lot that comes with those labels, most of which we do not ask for. We have to navigate institutions without the support many of our peers have. When most teenagers are making mistakes on their way to finding out who they are, most of us have had our parents and families lay expectations on us with no room for error. Having been a Venice High Gondolier myself who grew up in Mar Vista Gardens, I know that a large part of our student population is facing these same expectations. These labels and pressures can make us feel like imposters, like we don't belong in a lot of spaces or, as some students have told me, we are doing something wrong or there is something wrong with US. What I want our students to know is that their experiences and their identities are their SUPER POWERS. Yes, navigating this path will be hard and sometimes feel lonely. The truth is there are so many of us who have already walked this path. What we need to practice is how to ask for and be ok with receiving help, love and support. I think that's what being a M.E.Chista is all about. “La unión hace la fuerza.”

– Alejandro Arroyo When I was a high school student I knew that higher education was the goal.

However, the path for me as an undocumented first generation student looked very uncertain.

Questions like: “How am I going to pay for college?”

“How do I pick a major?”

“What if I am not good enough?”

They were always running through my head. I would create a false narrative of insufficientness in my young mind. This is a story that I see repeating amongst our M.E.Chistas every year.

What I would forget about then is that what I may have lacked in financial

8

resources I made up for bendiciones from my family. As a first-generation student I carried so lessons from my parents, like being grateful and never giving up. Most importantly, my parents taught me to be proud of myself.

While they understood that I faced extra challenges due to my brown skin, they grounded me by reminding me that I was enough. That my story matters, which is what I center in the conversations with my students. M.E.Chistas carry so much cultural richness. Yes, there is grief and pain that we have had to overcome. However, with that there is also pride in the resilience and strength we have to reach the goals we are trying to achieve. One thing I will say is don’t forget to rest while you're achieving your goals. Our parents have worked hard so we have the privilege to have options and choices. One of them is working hard while knowing when to…

REST. – Maria Lopez Zamudio We always grew up hearing that our parents sacrificed everything to come to this country so we could be educated, wealthy, and successful. But somewhere along the way we chose to believe something else. Our parents rejected conditions that would have constrained them to make sure their children had OPTIONS. The best way we feel we can honor the sacrifices our parents, grandparents, tíos, tías, and siblings have made is by helping others find their voices and strengths. If our M.E.Ch.A students can leave our campus with options that their parents didn't have, grandparents didn't have, or even we didn't have, we believe we did our job as first-gen educators.

– Alejandro Arroyo & Maria Lopez Zamudio

9

We Are the Bridge

Unknown Venice J.J.P. Venice once used to feel like a piece of heaven on earth. Where the beach wasn't just sand and water, where families laughed until their stomach hurt, where friends ran toward the waves without fear. Where sunsets felt like they were painted just for us, where the streets were alive with music, art, and people were themselves unapologetically. No one felt judged and no one felt out of place. You could walk outside and feel safe, as if the world around you was protecting you instead of threatening you. Venice wasn't just a location, it was freedom and it was home.

However, now that feeling is harder to find. The same streets don't feel as light as they once did. Before, you could step outside without a second thought, without fear sitting on your chest. Now every time I step out of my house, my family gets scared. I see it in their eyes, even when they try to act strong and hide their emotions. There's this constant worry that something could happen, that someone could be taken away to a country they have never seen before, a place that feels far from the life they built here. People are living with quiet fear every single day carrying it like a weight they can't put down. The joy that once filled the air now feels mixed with anxiety and uncertainty.

What hurts me most is that the children are also living in fear. Kids who should only be thinking about school, friends, and what game they are going to play next, are instead wondering and afraid that their parents may not come home one day. Imagine being that young and already understanding fear like that could exist. No child should have to go to sleep wondering if their families will still be together in the morning. Venice is still beautiful, the oceans still shine, and the sunsets still glow. But beneath all that beauty is pain that so many families are slowly carrying. Whether this place can feel safe and full of joy again depends on us, on how we protect each other, how we stand together, and how we fight to make sure no one has to be afraid in the place they call home.

So when people ask how my community was built, I think about all of this. I not only think of myself, but the aspect of those around me, these feelings and pain that we suffer should be something that we go through. We should be running around freely and happy; not in fear and not in pain. That’s why studying means a lot to me. I know I may not have the best grades, but I will complete my goal of graduating high school and college and getting a good job that pays me well so I can get out of this place. I don’t want my children to suffer the same trauma and fear that I went through as a child.

11

We Are the Bridge

I Was the First Kristal D. My whole life I have always felt like the first. I am the oldest of three siblings and a daughter to immigrant parents, and of course I was the first to start school.

I was the first to learn one-plus-one, the vowels, and all the things you learn throughout your K-12 days in public education. However, many forget the added things that come from being the first. Walking into a school made up of a system completely different from what my parents grew up with and Spanish being the only language I knew, it felt like going down a path with constant dead ends, and the only way to escape was building the path on my own.

I was the first to speak fluent English in my family. Everywhere we went, there was English all around, and being the one who knew the language the most, I had to translate from simple customer-to-cashier conversations to important doctor visits. Sometimes I would get stuck on words by constantly switching from English to Spanish, and younger me would beat herself up over it, thinking that I was a failure for not being able to balance both languages and staying connected to my roots while also getting accustomed to the daily environment I was living in. As I grew older, being the oldest immediately assigned me to being the responsible one, the one who could hold herself up and know exactly what to do on her own. My siblings wouldn’t go to my parents for help with homework, they would come to me. I would have to pause my homework, my chores, and my free time to help them, with a smile on my face.

My grandpa on my mom’s side has suffered from cancer since about early 2023.

I’m not the closest to my family back in Mexico, but I’ve constantly noticed both my parents suffer in silence. It's heartbreaking having to see them watch their family from a distance and only get informed through a phone call or text message. Just like me, they have their own problems without anyone to go to for help. They had to deal with parenthood without the help of their own parents. My mom had to teach herself how to cook, clean, and manage a family without the opportunity of even asking her siblings for a second hand. I have always noticed how alone we were in a country we should have called home.

Sometimes, I felt a little unhappy not growing up with grandparents and having the experience of going to their home and eating my grandma's homemade cookies. Hearing, “Oh, I was here with my grandparents,” or, “I went to my grandparents’ house,” from others growing up always made me feel a little bit left out of the conversation, as if there was a missing puzzle piece in my life.

Now that I'm a year away from adulthood, I see that my parents did an amazing

12

We Are the Bridge

job raising me, even if there were a couple bumps on the road. I’m happy with the way my life is going. I grew up to be independent, I was able to do well in school with As all throughout high school, I’ve applied to many amazing colleges, and I see a future at LMU thanks to scholarships. I hope I can be an inspiration to other young first-generation students—that being the first doesn’t mean failure if you put in the effort and try your best to succeed.

13

We Are the Bridge

Salvadoreña Liana H. Growing up in a predominantly Spanish-speaking community, connection was fabricated through language and background. I found myself unable to truly grasp that kind of relationship when it came to relatives of my own because I, myself, couldn't speak the language.

Growing up, my parents used to brush off the fact that I couldn't understand Spanish assuming I’d eventually catch on as I got older. But the older I got, the more they questioned why I never did. Each expression of those who asked, “¿No hablas Español?” ached, because in a sense it felt like I was abandoning my family’s culture. I would often feel excluded from truly forming conversations with my relatives because of the language barrier between us, blocking me from forming any connection at all.

At one point, I began to feel resentful for the way I grew up because, as a Salvadoreña, I should have known Spanish. It was in my blood.

It wasn't until I asked my mom why she hadn’t accustomed me to the language that I realized I wasn't abandoning my culture, but representing it in a different light. I remember her telling me that she didn’t want me to experience the same struggle she had speaking English here, and even told me she regretted that decision. It made me realize the struggles she must've faced, coming into a country she didn't know the language of.

My resentment surely faded into understanding and admiration for her strength—for being so brave in a place she must've felt she didn’t belong to.

I realized that although Spanish still isn't a language I'm fluent in, I could represent my culture and identity in other ways.

More specifically, in the food I make with my mom—whether it’s pupusas, tortillas, or chile rellenos—I was able to get a sense of the food she grew up with and implement it into my own life as well. Even in the dances my family taught me, I was able to learn even more about my culture in the way we dance and celebrate.

I am constantly learning more and more about my background due to the hardworking people around me. My mom had no idea what this country would

14

We Are the Bridge

be like for her, but she continued to stay in tune with where she grew up and I plan to keep that alive with me as well.

Although I don’t know Spanish just yet, I remember what my family shared with me and I’ve learned to represent that. I’ve decided that I’m proud of the community around me, and I should be proud of who I am as well. At the end of the day I’m just as Salvadorean as all the others. I will continue to keep my background alive just as my community intended for me.

15

We Are the Bridge

Hood Isn’t Always Bad Rory Jimenez Hood has a negative tone to it, and most people are scared to step a foot into my neighborhood. I live in Hyde Park, and most people don’t know much about it besides shootings and gangs. Although it has a bad reputation, it isn’t as bad as it seems. When people think about hoods, most think of gang members and cholos. They aren’t necessarily bad people. When I had my car crash back in 2023, the cholo down the street from me rushed over to defend me from the crazy lady screaming in my face. The community might have its differences, but in the end, they understand when to put their differences aside.

Growing up here was the most random thing. You’d see kids running around while cars drove slowly past them. By the time the streetlights came on, it was quiet outside. Hyde Park being too quiet always scared everyone. By 8:00 to 9:00 PM, you’d hear helicopters flying by, with their lights shining down on the houses as they searched for the guy who lived across the street from me.

They rarely got him, and while he was a criminal, he still respected his elders by greeting them with a polite smile.

16

We Are the Bridge

Joga Bonito Thomas D.M.S. In my own experience, being part of a new whole society is quite a difficult task. I was born in São Paulo, Brazil, where I lived for about fourteen to fifteen years of my life. I can assure you that living in the United States and living in Brazil made me see our world with completely different eyes.

The greatest difference between a teenager living in the United States and a teenager living in Brazil is basically the given resources, especially when it comes to education. In the United States, teenagers receive a lot of support from school and many opportunities for their future. They are prepared from middle school for what they want to be in the future, and through this process, there are many resources provided to them. Something that genuinely makes me disappointed is how many of them don't give the proper value to these opportunities.

In Brazil, due to our country having a very big issue with social economics, only about twenty-five percent of high school graduates are able to go to college right after graduation. As an example, many of my family members could not afford to attend college.

I confess I did commit the same mistake. I did miss opportunities that would help make my future. I let classes go and didn't challenge my own limits. All missed by a simple thing: fear. The fear created this anxiety within me, where I feared being left alone in this new environment and falling behind because I questioned if I was capable in this new language. However, letting these missed opportunities affect me would be betraying what I believe in.

In Brazilian culture, I was taught that the real winners are those that never give up, so I kept my head up even when I felt lost, because after night will always be light. I'm proud of my culture, because I learned to give value to the small things, to understand that there is no perfection, and to fight until the end. I've grown to understand that we make our own luck; I built luck from where I was born, valuing not on what I've missed, but on what I did have.

So always remember, acknowledge and value what is given to you, because you are the only person that defines your future. In my country, we have a word for our national team's playing style, joga bonito, which means play beautifully, and that is how I want to live, beautifully.

17

We Are the Bridge

My Grandmother Aaron P. My grandmother, Romelia, was born in Texas to immigrant parents who had come from Mexico. Growing up, my grandma developed an understanding of English and used it freely at school. At home, however, her mother forbade her from speaking the language in front of her. This was out of fear of secrets being told in a language she couldn't understand. As a result, my grandma slowly lost her ability to speak English.

At some point, her family made their way to California, and found themselves in Maravilla, East Los Angeles. East Los Angeles––an unincorporated community in Los Angeles County––is home to a population of ninetyfive percent Latino/a/x heritage. It is the highest proportion of any census designated place within America’s 50 states. As a family of immigrants entering into a neighborhood of many other immigrant families, my grandma naturally fit in.

It was on McDonell Street where my grandma met my grandpa, a young man from Mexico who came in hopes of earning enough money to bring his girlfriend to the U.S. with him. I'm unsure as to whether or not he ever saw that girl again. My grandfather played around with many of the girls in Maravilla but I believe he only truly loved my grandma. Within a few years they were married, and within a few more, they were parents.

My grandfather worked many tough jobs, coming home so dirty that his stomach appeared black. Regardless of his hard work, the family was poor and my grandma knew she had to do something to make life better for her children. Upon the recommendation of a friend, she found an interest in cutting hair. She knew that her husband wouldn’t let her.

18

We Are the Bridge

The AP Leap Amynoemi C. The moment I felt like “the first” was taking my first AP class this year. When my sister was in high school she didn’t take any AP classes. The thing is, I was going to a much bigger school and had more opportunities for classes. She went to a smaller school, a little more than half the size of what my school was.

At the time I felt like I had no one to turn to and felt very overwhelmed. I felt pretty intimidated by the fact that I was taking an AP class since it was my first and it would be in government. We had to memorize a lot of documents.

My junior year I took AP Language and Composition for like two days and it was a lot for me. There were a lot of complications since I also had to miss class during second semester because of softball. This time it would be different because I would be taking AP Government for the first semester and Honors Economics the second. So it really wasn't that bad. I wanted to at least try and take an AP class before I graduated high school.

At the time, it was a pretty big commitment for me. The first day of class wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. When I found out that my teacher would be Mr. Vivanco, I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders because I had heard great things about this teacher. My friends that had taken his class before told me how he would help them understand the material. His teaching was actually good for retaining information. What made me feel more at ease was having my friend in that class too. But even though I knew the majority of the people in the class, it was still nerve-racking.

Now that I am in the second semester of this class, I realize how much I held myself back from doing things I can do. I have developed better studying skills and learned how to balance school, sports, and my personal life. If anything, I have benefited from taking his class.

19

We Are the Bridge

Somewhere in Between Angela M. Being able to speak both English and Spanish is a big advantage. But, being known to speak both languages can be stressful. Some may say that I am too Mexican to understand the English language, or others may say that I am too American to understand Mexican culture. I love both worlds, I really do. But, the struggle to understand these two languages can take time, as these worlds are completely different from each other.

When I first travelled to Mexico, my grandparents knew I couldn’t speak much Spanish. My grandma accepted me, but my grandpa was harsher on me. He would say I was “not a true Mexican,” or would call me harsh names that should never be told to a child. He would get angry at my parents because I couldn’t understand Spanish. It seemed like I was a disappointment for not being able to speak or understand Spanish. I knew at that moment I had to learn the language because I didn’t want to be left out from the family and not know what my culture was about. I wanted to know my origins and the way my family was in Mexico. When I went back to America, I felt a spark in me. I had a goal in life and it was to learn the Spanish language.

Yet, I still struggled. Not being able to speak Spanish embarrassed me. I was too scared to speak it, too disappointed in myself that I didn’t know it.

Over time, I accomplished my goal. I was finally learning the language that I wanted to learn very much. I pushed myself to talk more with my family as I specifically told them to only talk to me in Spanish. I wanted to prove to myself that I was capable of learning a new language. By learning Spanish, I was able to translate for my parents whenever they struggled on the phone or talking to people in public. When it came to protecting my family, I was able to defend them both in Mexico and in the United States from all the insults we received from going to Mexico, and coming back to the United States.

I was happy that I finally got to understand how different Mexico and the United States were. From the food and culture, to the way each country lived.

It felt like two whole new worlds from how different these countries were. I felt complete when I got to experience both worlds. The world of my parents and my world.

There have been times when speaking Spanish seemed like a crime. I encountered many people who were racist towards Latinos. By speaking

20

We Are the Bridge

Spanish, I encountered many people with a deep hatred towards my language which caused me to feel cornered, like the Spanish language was not supposed to be spoken in public. Especially with ICE going after students of color and students who spoke Spanish, it scared me.

I also spoke English in Mexico. Many Mexicans in my hometown have looked at me up and down like I was a germ. I knew it was because I spoke English.

It made me feel like an outsider, like I didn’t belong in my hometown; a town where I grew up since I was a child. But, that wasn’t going to stop me from speaking my language.

Both these worlds have caused me to realize that even though these worlds are very different in all aspects, the hatred from people won’t stop me from being myself, half American and Mexicana. I will overcome this barrier. I’ll make my dreams come true, so everyone can see how much I have accomplished while being Mexican-American.

21

We Are the Bridge

One Shot Forward Brandon V. Sweet Los Angeles. The most recognized in the “Golden State.” A city that shines on struggle. Growing up between Crenshaw and Mid-City, I learned early how fragile stability can be. Each morning, I walked past reminders of how easily a life could fall apart: the homeless shelter across from my window, the empty lots cleared after gang activity, and a man in a wheelchair rolling into traffic because being hit meant a hospital bed he couldn’t afford any other way. These scenes weren’t dramatic to me; they were normal.

For a long time, this environment shaped not just my circumstances but my sense of self. I didn’t grow up believing that someone like me could take on demanding classes or picture a future in a competitive field. It wasn’t that I lacked ambition, I simply didn’t see academic success modeled around for me. In my community, survival often came before dreams, and I quietly absorbed the idea that rigorous academic spaces weren’t made for people from neighborhoods like mine.

Choosing Venice High didn’t erase that mindset, but it created space for it to be challenged. Venice was the first time I was surrounded by teachers who urged me to step forward instead of shrink back. When they said, “Come to office hours,” I actually did. It became a routine: rushing in with half-finished questions, staying through lunch, asking the same thing in three different ways until it clicked. Some days I sat with my pre-calculus teacher, Ms. Zhao, working through problems line by line. She never made me feel behind, only capable. With every question I asked, something shifted. I wasn’t magically confident, but I was proving myself wrong in small consistent ways.

That reality defined my identity more than I realized. The more I learned in school, the more I saw the contrast between what I now have access to and what too many people around me didn’t. Medicine became more than an interest: it became the way I wanted to bridge that gap. I want to be someone who doesn’t just treat patients, but understands the fear and hesitation they carry. Someone who recognizes the invisible costs of being sick in a lowincome community. Someone who builds trust where the healthcare system has broken it.

My background is inseparable from who I am becoming. Growing up between Crenshaw and Mid-City taught me resilience, struggling academically taught

22

We Are the Bridge

me discipline, and witnessing healthcare inequity taught me purpose. Together, they have formed the identity I carry into every opportunity: a student who learned to believe in themselves each and every day.

23

We Are the Bridge

Combat Brianna G. Growing up, I’ve seen my parents subjected to racism. One moment that has always stayed with me was when my father recounted a time he completed his job, yet was still denied payment solely because of the color of his skin and his non-native English. Situations like this enraged me. How was someone capable of treating a person the way my father had been treated? I felt completely helpless, unable to stand up for them when they needed me most, despite them always being there for me when I needed them.

The guilt was consuming me each day, it developed a deep sense of pressure within me. The least I could do was be a good daughter. I could earn the best grades, never make them worry, and be someone they could always rely on.

I wanted to make their sacrifices worth it. As I grew older, I realized this pressure was building a high-achieving student but slowly deteriorating my mental health. This pressure was not what I wanted for myself. I didn’t want to succumb to the effects of systematic racism through self-imposed guilt and pressure. Instead, I aimed to combat it through my academic success. I turned my experiences into motivation rather than guilt.

My newfound motivation compelled me to work toward academic excellence and obtain the education I needed to defy society’s expectations. I challenged myself by taking AP courses, which no one outside my immediate family had ever taken, so I couldn’t turn to them for advice. Although the classes included students from many racial backgrounds, I noticed that very few students were Hispanic like me. However, it only increased my motivation, giving me a sense of accomplishment for being in the same classes as more privileged students.

Moreover, the injustices my parents experienced inspired me to pursue a career as an immigration lawyer. I want to be the voice for people like my parents, who have been marginalized due to their circumstances. I want to grow up and be someone who stands up for them and allows them to dream.

24

We Are the Bridge

A Story Not Everyone Can Relate To Brianna V. The big, round, yellow classroom. Preschool was a meaningful experience, a part of my life I could never forget. It was a preschool that taught both English and Spanish, but mostly Spanish. All six teachers were Hispanic, so our parents understood them perfectly. There was no need to translate for my parents, but that all changed when I started an elementary school where most teachers didn’t speak Spanish. Even the forms were not in Spanish. I remember when we would get this big orange pack of papers on the first day of school that we needed to sign, and I would think to myself how lucky my classmates are because they don't have to sign or fill out anything because their parents can do it. But, in my case, I needed to fill it out and then translate what each form was about.

Going back to the big round yellow classroom, which I would call like my second home, helps me understand and appreciate speaking Spanish. I learned that it is a privilege and something to be proud of. The different celebrations we would have felt like a party everyday, I remember and hold them tight.

It was the best time of my life. Remembering how we learned to cook small dishes from our culture as a class. I remember making green enchiladas and each person was assigned a role in the recipe. Eating food from our culture was great. Another great memory I have is the unity that my classmates, my teachers, and the parents had. We were all just one big community that saw each other as family. All my classmates were Hispanic and our parents would talk to each other and get along, being able to express themselves with each other since they all just spoke Spanish. But since moving on to elementary school, it hasn't been the same. New kids, new culture, everything is new. In elementary school it felt that speaking Spanish was not some common thing, since nobody spoke Spanish in a normal conversation. It was all English.

This is where I missed preschool. I missed learning about the different Latin countries, Hispanic holidays, and celebrating traditions. It is all gone for the most part, no more learning about my culture. At least, that’s what I saw through my experience.

As I move on through my journey of life, I’ve seen more diversity throughout my school years and the celebrations of different cultures. For example, for Día de los Muertos, some teachers do a project that includes doing an ofrenda of

25

We Are the Bridge

someone you loved or someone you look up to who has passed away. But still, till this day, I believe that not a lot of schools have shown me the proudness of being a Latino. Every Latino has a different story and a different road. They had to go through or are going through life as a first-generation Latino, and sadly some schools don’t recognize that. Hopefully, as the years go by, our district makes some changes, giving more resources to first-generation Latino students.

26

We Are the Bridge

Some of Us Are Seasoned Less Than Others Bryan C.

Spill your love, even to the ill-speakers.

You voice their identities off, strip flags off their skin, leaving them bland; colorless, making them feel weaker, making them isolate.

They embrace your culture through their prayers, through their food.

They follow your steps, steps they were left to self-teach.

They have their fair share of hands to hold, until it comes to culture: snarky comments rather than correcting mistakes, making it a right to even identify as your own, they push you in the crowd of outsiders, after years of drifting away to become a diverse culture.

27

We Are the Bridge

Born From Sacrifice C. Walker Being born to immigrant parents means being born with expectations that were set long before I was able to understand what they meant. As the middle child, I not only inherited my parents aspirations, but I also inherited the standards my older siblings had already set. Growing up, I remember hearing that I had to be better, I had to achieve things my parents never had the opportunity to, as well as surpass what my siblings had already done. The bar had never simply been put in front of me, on the contrary, it was raised each time one of my siblings succeeded in something new. These words were never meant to discourage me. I see now that they were reminders that I was capable of more than I allowed myself to imagine.

This is the inheritance I was left with. Not wealth, property, or material possessions, but responsibility. It was not money but rather the understanding that the opportunities I had only existed because of the sacrifices my parents had made. They had set aside their dreams and goals in hopes that one day I could build a life better than they were able to.

When I listen to my mom tell the stories of the life she left behind, I hear more than just memories, but rather what she gave up. My mom once dreamed of becoming a nurse or working in the medical field. Sometimes we would talk and she would mention the friends she left behind who had continued their studies and were now living the life she had once imagined for herself. She had wished to do the same but due to circumstances beyond her control, she crossed the country in search of better opportunities for her future family. In doing so, she unknowingly placed her dreams into my hands.

From the moment I began showing interest in the medical field, my mom has stood by me. She never forced her dreams onto me. She made sure to remind me that it was always my choice of whether or not I wanted to be a doctor.

On nights in which I would stay up late to work on my homework, she would sit next to me scrolling on her phone or watching a movie, simply to keep me company. She never needed to say much but her presence was enough. During those quiet nights I began to understand that sacrifice doesn't always require being loud or dramatic. Sometimes it simply looks like staying awake after a long day at work.

28

We Are the Bridge

Being first generation means living between gratitude and pressure. It also means understanding that although I wasn’t born with a typical inheritance like wealth and property, I was born with strength, love, and a community. I was born from sacrifice that I carry with pride.

29

We Are the Bridge

My Second Home Chrystal G. The first time I went to Oaxaca, Mexico, was when I was in sixth grade. My grandpa was going to Mexico which was a perfect moment to go since I would be able to go with someone. Because my grandpa was going to stay there for a long time, my mom had to find someone who could travel with me and my sister to come back with them. We ended up going with my aunt. It was my first time on a plane and I felt nervous that something might happen on our way to Mexico. I remember there was turbulence which scared me, but I tried to remain calm. I thought to myself that there are going to be new experiences that I would have to overcome at one point or another. After a few hours, we landed in Oaxaca and it was crowded. While we were there, my older sister’s responsibilities kicked in when it came to taking care of my sister. My parents have told me that I should take care of my sister while I’m away from them.

Whenever I am with my sister, I always keep in mind what they told me and I feel proud that they gave me that big responsibility. I felt like I had that ability of being capable of fulfilling that duty.

Back at the airport, the doors opened up to the visitor side and I felt a bit nervous seeing my family for the first time. I’ve never seen them before since they live in Mexico and aren’t able to come to America. But when I saw them, I instantly knew that they were my family. It felt a bit uncomfortable around them since I didn’t exactly know who they were. After a while, I started to open myself up to them by asking each other questions about anything. This sparked conversations between us all to warm up to each other. Once we were getting out of the airport I noticed that Mexico looked more different than what I expected it to look like. The road was bumpier and drivers didn't need to stay inside the lane, as long as they weren’t crashing with the others, they were good. Once we got to the house after we finished eating, I finally saw the house that my dad spent years on building. In that moment, I could see my dad’s hard work finally paying off. My dad would send money to Mexico frequently so that they would be able to build a two-story house. The rooms were so spacious and it felt as if I had my own room. It was something that I had not experienced because of how expensive rent is for an apartment with more than 2 rooms. I felt happy with what my dad had accomplished. He came to the United States alone at a young age to become a better source of income for his family in Mexico. He built a family with my mom and made sure that me and my sisters would have a good future so that we wouldn’t have to go through the same hardships they went through. It made me realize that I have

30

We Are the Bridge

to work hard for that good future my dad was talking about. For the rest of that week in Mexico, I would talk to my family about my parents. I would tell them stories about my dad, their grown-up son who they haven’t seen in years.

While in Mexico, I was able to experience more of my culture and learn more about where my parents grew up. I found out that every Sunday, a nearby town hosts what is similar to a farmer’s market in the U.S. It gets really busy especially around the afternoon since everyone is out with their families, getting food for the rest of the week or eating lunch. While I was there I felt overwhelmed and surprised that something this big existed. It was something that I wasn’t expecting. The “farmers market” was a big plaza with crowds of people. As I was walking inside, I could feel the hard stone under my feet while listening to people talk in the native language, zapotec. I had to be careful while walking since I could easily get lost in the crowd. I like going to that “farmers market” because there is a variety of stuff one could buy.

There’s a section where people buy and cook the meat on the grills. The savory smell of the meat fills up the whole place. It’s also filled up with smoke that’s coming from the grill. There's also a section where they sell bread and it was wonderful seeing all the different types of sweet bread. Not only that but many small restaurants are located inside the building, selling all kinds of Mexican foods and drinks such as huaraches, tlayudas, tejate (a type of sweet drink), horchata, jamaica, etc. My trip to Mexico was fun and opened my eyes to new experiences. Even though it was for a week since it was my first time traveling with no parents. Eventually we had to say our goodbyes and go back home.

But this trip made me catch a glimpse of my parent’s childhood. I wonder how different my life would have been if my parents never left Mexico. Instead of visiting my family members, I could be right there with them and spend my day doing different physical activities. Having that privilege to go from L.A. to Mexico is something that I am grateful for because I get to have two places that I can call my home. Both of my homes hold a special place in my heart and life.

Once we got to the airport, I broke down when I saw my parents. I tried very hard to contain myself but I couldn’t. On our way back home, my sister and I would tell my parents our stories of being in Mexico. Such as how we would spend quality time together and have conversations at the dinner table. I remember that they would tell us ghost stories like the creepy noises they would hear at night. Me and my sister would be telling our dad funny stories that his family would do while we were there. It was nice getting to tell both sides of the family about each other since they have not seen each other in a long time. My dad’s parents have grown older and my dad is no longer the teenage boy he was when he left them. I have the privilege of leaving the country that my parents don’t have. I take advantage of having that to be a bridge between both countries and connect both stories and cultures together.

My experiences in L.A., I carry with me as I’m growing up and going through

31

We Are the Bridge

new experiences. Similarly, the things that I learn from my trips to Mexico, I carry with me back home as memories to share with my parents on how their hometown changed and how I was able to grow closer to my culture and roots.

Not only that but I met family members who I didn’t even know existed, I got to eat some delicious food and snacks. I was able to walk around more than when I’m in L.A. I felt so at peace when I was in Mexico because of the nature, fresh air, rain and sunshine. In both places I met the people who mean a lot to me in my life, along with creating new memories, and inspired me to fulfill my accomplishments in life.

32

We Are the Bridge

The Bridges I Don’t Want to Cross David R. My life has been nothing but separate worlds from being in Mexico while I was a kid, to being in school with my friends, and at home with my family. My worlds have all been different and it’s been weird melding them together, from how I act with others to how I’d avoid speaking English at all costs in Mexico just so I’m not different from others or get told I sound funny. I’ve also tried to avoid speaking Spanish at school, especially in middle school since there were more white people, thinking that others would find me weird or more different than I already was.

When I think of my worlds mixing, like from home to school, I just get embarrassed. I don’t like feeling different because I feel odder than the rest. I can't even help it. It’s not my fault for speaking Spanish or for being a kid from a Mexican family. Also, not knowing how to do some practical blue-collar thing that my dad’s known how to do since he was ten, makes me feel dumb in a way. Like, "Oh sorry I go to school and can’t tie some knots for you to pull a chainsaw or a pruner up a tree.”

There are also times where I see myself as a bridge. I’m stuck in the middle of things like a sort of transition person. I’m in the process of my family assimilating to being American, stuck doing my school paperwork when it should be my parents doing it. I imagine it’s normal for others. Instead, I have to argue with some office desk lady about not being allowed to ask for enrollment papers myself, then having to go back home and getting yelled at for not getting my middle school papers in order.

33

We Are the Bridge

Carrying It On Citlali L. When you are born, you are expected to carry on your parents’ legacy. They always wish you the best, want you to surpass them one day and see you fly higher than they were able to reach. It’s a great responsibility, but also an honor that they entrust to you, especially as a first-generation child. You sometimes learn hardships different from the ones your parents experienced; however, it is different from what your parents endured.

I learned from a very young age that you’ll be judged by your appearance.

You go into a mostly populated White area and you have a security guard watching your every move, or a worker standing behind you watching as you pay for your groceries. When entering a business, being looked at weirdly for your choice of clothes, or how clean they are after a day of work. As you become more hyper aware of your surroundings, you don’t overindulge in certain activities to ensure that you don’t paint a wrong picture of yourself, as you are already judged just for existing. The expectation is to always look as innocent as possible, not drawing too much attention.

When talking to a worker anywhere, they roll their eyes when they can’t understand your parents or mock them, you have to go in to defend them. You have to be an invisible shield, shielding them from the harsh reality. For other people, it may not seem like a lot, but to you, it means the world. Whether it be in personal conversations or on messages, after the struggles your parents went through to keep you and your family afloat, the least you can do is defend them in their vulnerable moments. Unfortunately, you can’t always be there to help them. In the mornings, when getting dropped off at school, or when you say goodbye to them, you hope they don’t bump into a prejudiced person who looks at them as less than.

Sometimes Hispanic sayings don’t translate to what you want to say, or how you express yourself isn’t understood, but rather misinterpreted, and a feeling of disconnection is felt. Carrying on the stories of your great-greatgrandparents, dichos are told to you from a young age, trying to preserve their memory, as no one else is there to carry them on besides you.

Everyone else is still in Mexico, only the lucky few who made it over. Coming over to the United States, the American Dream, as inspirational as it is in movies, is not at all as it is perceived. Ah, the American Dream. So many people

34

We Are the Bridge

dream and fantasize about it. However, it's ironic. It doesn’t exist. Everyone in Mexico thinks the people who came to the United States are living the life, that we sweep money off the floor. Sure, maybe it’s better compared to Mexico, but that does not by any means make it easier.

So many hardships, so many deep stories, memories wanting to be forgotten, but the body remembers—if not the body, then the mind. The stories are used as inspiration for the younger generation to always strive forward and never forget where they came from. From proud parents who gave it their everything and never gave up. If they could do it, so can you.

“Echele ganas, mija, por que tienes que pasarnos. No vamos a estar toda la vida para mantenerte, pero estamos aquí para siempre apoyarte.”

As one story ends, another starts at the beginning. However, stories get passed, and the hardships your parents lived, always stay alive because you are proof they did it.

35

We Are the Bridge

New Identity, Same Personality Judy H. Feeling distant from my family is a familiar feeling for me. I always felt different from my siblings because I was the reserved, quiet child who unintentionally was “just there” at times. Think of it like a black cat in a pack of golden retrievers. It’s an odd mix. Sometimes it still comes as a shock to them when I speak, given that I don’t say much in family disputes or gatherings.

Instead I observe. I notice the differences between them, how they act, their perspectives, their ideas, their problems, and I listen to all of it. This is just my role as the youngest in a first-gen family (I have three siblings by the way, so sometimes it feels like I’m in a competition.) In reality, I’ve long wanted to become someone who had a say in things, someone who has significance or can make an impact. And yes, while I’m still that quiet girl in the back of the classroom, I’m not so quiet in a crowd of protesters. Being out on the street has been where I’ve felt empowered, where I’ve felt alive, where it felt for one moment that I could make a change. But I couldn’t have discovered the love for advocacy within myself without M.E.Ch.A. See, I learned about M.E.Ch.A. my sophomore year of high school from a friend who introduced me. I didn’t have a solid idea of what M.E.Ch.A.’s purpose was then, so I was skeptical of it at first. Frankly, I was nervous just being in the room because everyone was older than me, and I was intimidated by them. I thought of the club as somewhere where Latin/Hispanic students could express their culture, though that wasn’t an area of my life I was confident in or connected with, so I didn’t feel ready.

Beginning junior year alone, I felt very lost. It was a challenging time, but that just meant a fresh start. Yet, the thing about fresh starts is that they come with anxiety, a lot of it. I had very little idea of who I was without a group to hide in and it was nerve-racking not knowing which direction to go or what steps to take. That was until I joined M.E.Ch.A. Being in M.E.Ch.A. has become more than a place where I can have lunch.

It has opened a door to where I can fully express ideas and opinions about things that go on in our community and discuss what we want to change or implement in our school. It has also contributed to my discovery of what it means to be Chicana. It means to be in between. And that's exactly where I was my junior year, in between worlds of which I didn’t feel a part of. M.E.Ch.A became that world for me. I felt like I finally found my place.

36

We Are the Bridge

I learned a ton about myself this past year, and though it took me all of high school to actually dive into M.E.Ch.A., it’s where I discovered my voice and where I found a new identity. While I’m still the black cat of the family, I am now also the first in my family to proudly be a Chicana.

37

We Are the Bridge

Recuerda las Mariposas Edna G.C. Up until third grade, I was surrounded by a Spanish speaking environment.

My parents spoke Spanish to my siblings and me at home. I went to school and was taught in Spanish. I was taught English too, but that was always less emphasized. I was so used to this being my normal that it was a big adjustment when I switched schools. I still remember the wrongness I felt at speaking English at school, I was so used to Spanish. I painfully missed the comforting environment I was accustomed to.

Years passed and I grew accustomed to my new normal. At first, I still split my time speaking English at school and Spanish at home. Over time, English became my dominant language instead of Spanish. I started forgetting words in Spanish I previously knew. This shift not only affected me but my siblings as well. Whereas I can still speak, write, and read mostly proficiently in Spanish, my sister can only speak and read it. My brother can only speak it but rarely chooses to do so.

Spanish is my first language, taught to me by my parents. There are aunts, uncles, my grandfathers, and cousins who I can only communicate with in Spanish. When I was younger, I felt less of a barrier between us; it was easier to communicate with them because knowing and understanding a language are different things.

Every November 1, my family celebrates Día de los Muertos. That day is to remember our ancestors and reminisce on happy times we had with them.

On that day, I feel the most connected to my heritage. We set up the altar with flowers, fruit, bread, chocolate, and pictures of those no longer with us. I love the process of setting it up with my mom while she tells stories about my great-grandmother. I feel pleased that one day, my descendants will continue the tradition or I will haunt them for all eternity.

38

We Are the Bridge

Two Worlds, One Girl E.T. Learning and teaching.

First, yet second Born with nothing yet still have everything Expectations.

Your Rules My Customs Are my efforts enough?

Two sides One girl.

The middle isn’t enough.

One side is too much.

Lost, between two worlds.

Too tan to be white.

Too white to be Mexican.

Dreams Out of reach.

My goals.

Your sacrifice.

Being a first-generation immigrant daughter comes with challenges nobody can prepare you for. There’s no one to hold your hand, and no one to properly guide you. I was born in this country, a country in which my parents, uncles, and aunts were foreign to, a country where customs aren’t the same, where language is different. My parents raised me the same way they were raised, only speaking Spanish, eating recipes they brought back from Mexico like mole, tamales, tinga, agua fresca, etc. My customs felt different than the ones here. The candies and food I was used to were considered “too spicy.”

When my parents first sent me to school, my entire world shifted. I wasn’t used to being around so many kids my age; a lot of them didn’t speak Spanish so making friends was extremely difficult. Learning English was a big challenge for me; the words just never stuck, and my teacher made no effort to help. I felt dumb, like I didn’t belong, like my culture was something to be ashamed of rather than something to be embraced. By listening to my peers talk and

39

We Are the Bridge

practicing with my older brother, I taught myself how to speak English, an accomplishment I’ll always be proud of.

Another major challenge I face as a first-gen is my parents’ expectations.

My parents didn’t just bring recipes and customs back from Mexico; they also brought their dreams and aspirations. They set expectations for me the moment I was born. I had to be what they couldn't be: a doctor or maybe a lawyer. They wanted a perfectly educated daughter, one with perfect grades, nothing below an A; they wanted me to be exactly like my brother. For some time, I entertained the idea. I tried my best at school all the time because I understood their sacrifice; I knew they pushed me to be the best for my own good. Yet I still wasn’t perfect enough for them.

Anytime my grades weren’t perfect I'd get lectured; their preferred phrase was, “La escuela sobre todo.” School above anything and everything else.

When I was younger, whenever they told me to try harder, I did. I wanted their approval; I wanted my parents to be proud of me. As I got older, I felt drained, tired. I started questioning whether I even wanted to be a lawyer. Was that my dream or theirs? Soon enough I realized I have my own dreams, my own goals, and I will always love and appreciate my parents for what they’ve sacrificed, but now I realize that I must also prioritize me and my future. I will never forget my parents' history, and I will never forget my culture. I am not just Mexican, and I'm not just American. I’m both; I’m a Chicana through and through.

40

We Are the Bridge

Consequences of Immigration Crystal G. Immigrants have been labeled as hard workers. People immigrating to the United States are full of determination for a better future. In return, their children are expected to live a better life and an expectation grows that they will succeed.

As a first generation daughter, it often feels as if I live here conditionally. I’ve lived with the idea that my parents would feel more accomplished if I worked hard enough to compensate for their sacrifices. At the core of my dreams is my parent’s safety, security, and peace. I hope to earn degrees not only for myself, but to show my parents physical proof that their sacrifices led to something impactful. In return, I will be living proof that first generation daughters are capable of so much more than it was deemed possible.

I inherited the belief that I must become a child “worth” the sacrifice. To fulfill this idea, I've learned to follow a routine of rumination. Pressure and selfdoubt filled my head because I wanted to continue to be the best I could. For me, that started at nine years old when I wanted to stay one of the smartest kids in the class.

I had grown up believing stories of my parents fighting for my education.

One story was when I was only eight years old and called into the school bungalows nobody I knew had classes in. I remember being inside an empty classroom with a geometry packet put in front of me. I had no context but simply instructions to try my best on something I briefly covered in class.

I assumed my parents were pushing my school to accept me into a gifted program. Reminiscing back on this short segment fills me with so much pride and emotion. I felt glad I had parents who fought for me even against a system that has systematically placed people like us as unequals.

Later, I found out that my parents did not push for me, but my community did, my teachers and staff did. Regardless, that idea to push for more would be a part of my identity. I achieved it. I worked hard. Even if nights spent studying and afternoons in school are not acknowledged in the way I would like, I still move forward.

My pressure has turned into purpose. Through my parents' journeys, it seems I inherited a lifetime of stress and expectations, but truly I’ve been given

41

We Are the Bridge

multiple reasons to keep on going. Growing up in a family of immigrants and hope, I have turned into a person who is dedicated and longing to be a prominent figure in my community. I want my parents to have someone to show off and a daughter who took the chance to go for her dreams.

I’ve learned that I am more than an immigrant’s child, though it has led me to where I am. I am passionate, resilient, and the continuation of my parents’ hopes and dreams. I live here with a dream and purpose.

42

We Are the Bridge

Wings Nene I’ve dissected my body many times before. I’m a collection of misadventures, but I always choose to start out with the fact that I am the child of a teen mother. The story of my mother is hers just as much as it is mine.

We are all born in the heart of a woman. I am an idea and a feeling: utterly beautiful.

My mom sculpted me with her own two hands—hands colored brown from the dirt, scarred from a stove burn, and grimy from the tiny frogs she would play with as a kid when it rained in Mexico. Somewhere in my flesh resides her childhood. I wish I could find it, but I would have to cut myself open. Finding yourself is a deadly process, but fortunately for me, i cannot die because i am a “Millennial-and-a-half”, the generation that never existed.

My early childhood was spent with teenage Millennials, and my own teenage years have been spent with teenage Gen Z. i’ve kind of been a teenager all my life now that i think about it. i've been stuck in a time i wasn’t meant to be in.

Born too early, yet too late. i am hurting, because i am a multiracial delicacy, but Amerikkka is bleaching me dry. i am a 2nd generation Mexican-Salvadorean-Korean American—quite the flair for the dramatic, yet some days i feel like the equivalent of a white man appropriating my own culture. My ears may remember the sounds of my first language, but with a butchered tongue and a mouth sewn shut, i cannot pronounce a single word in Spanish. i may never have a place in this world, but before you begin to judge the corpse written out on this paper, give me the respect I deserve, and let me undress my own spine for you to reveal a Brown child within: My childhood is the breakfast flavor of frijoles from iconic green packaging, scrambled eggs that are perfectly salted, crema that I often spill, and queso fresco, which never fails to neatly crumble. I almost forgot about the platanos. It took me a while to like them, but they will always remind me of that apartment on Ridgely and Washington.

Waking up under heavy blankets with tigers on them. Laying down with Abu (short for Abuela). Saturday morning cartoons on an old box TV.

43

We Are the Bridge

Sunday afternoons rewinding VHS tapes. Drinking champorrado from a styrofoam cup. Crushed peanut shells in a plastic bag. Street tacos and pirated DVD’s. A truck with every Mexican snack. A Bugs Bunny from the paletero.

A mending aroma from la panaderia. La Virgin Maria above the doorway. El nacamiento with a porcelain bull and baby Jesus. Washing dishes with steel wool. A glass table I would crash into. Sharing a bed with my mom.

A driveway I will never return to. I might say it’s because that entire neighborhood is now gentrified, but don’t let me lie to you. I’ll never be able to return out of my guilt for not being Brown enough.

The only reason I’m capable of thinking this way is because of my political education. It wasn’t my own life experiences, but rather my mom’s, that taught me most of what I know about “imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy". I am now part of the struggle for collective liberation because I have been given the chance to dream… but I also have nightmares: all I can think about is how I’ve become complicit with my own oppression.

It is a privilege to be educated. But tell me, how many mass atrocities do you think I can take?

My mere existence has pierced a delicate veil I cannot repair. Driving nails into my head day after day…i cut deep…no matter what i do, i cannot find my roots… but at least I know I am the gentleness of femininity. I am a childhood nurtured with pozole and pupusas. I am a colibri amidst a garden of cempasuchil. I am protected by the love of motherhood.

No matter what the world says about teen mothers, my mom is a fucking monarch butterfly whose wings have been passed down through centuries of colonization and resistance.

She is the daylight shimmering in my eyes.

Unfortunately I’m not a butterfly like her, nor an elegant moth fluttering in the moonlight. I do not belong to the day or night.

I am the wings of sunset. I am Death and Life. I am reincarnation. I am the second chance you are given. I am the shadow that trails behind you. I am imaginary. I am broken.

I

am alive alive..

I am a specter at dusk, fading in and out of the night and day Are we born sinner or born free Cruel is mestizo indigeneity They rode in on Catholic steeds, white saviors Severing roots with moonstone rapiersDandelion seeds injected into cinnamon skin

44

We Are the Bridge

Such gruesome needs to satisfy their lust Their hunger consumed my forgotten identity Colonization at its finest Maybe you can see the butterflies that feast on me; satisfied I shall be, to be eaten, alive…

You can crush a butterfly or a moth, but you can’t crush me. You’ll never be able to feel the delicate feathers that adorn my body, or see the chemicals that ignite in my brain, nor the romance that pumps through my heart.

Please don’t forget me, because I cannot die.

I don’t really know what I am anymore, but my life used to be the flavor of bolillo and conchas and tamarindo and—and that is how I would like to be remembered.

45

We Are the Bridge

Shouldn’t Be a Struggle Flora H. What does it mean to be a first generation? To me it was always hard to answer this question. I have always been stuck between these two worlds. Since the first grade, I was considered “special” by the adults around my life. I was shown that I couldn't do “anything” because I needed the extra help at school.

They would put words on a piece of paper that made me be separated from the normal kids. Later in life, I was diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia at the age of twelve.

All of these experiences made me feel like I wasn't a first-generation at all.

Having to deal with people constantly doubting me because I wasn't able to speak English properly or how I would struggle with reading and writing. But at the same time, I grew up in an environment where I had expectations on me because my parents were immigrants, and I was supposed to be better than them. How? When I myself struggled with the same things they do? I feel like I didn't belong to this generation.

But I had the experience of a first-generation when it comes to dealing with applying to college. It was a whole new experience, becoming an adult but being told that I should choose a smaller college. “That’s a bit unrealistic going to UCLA, don’t you think?” or, “Let’s try a different college.” I had a hard time expressing how I felt and how I wanted things to change. I was most likely the only person in my whole family to ever go to college and to get my bachelor’s and my master’s.

One thing is that I don't want to disappoint my mom. She was the one person that was there with me my entire life. Although we have our fights every now and then, she was my first supporter even when I was little. It’s something that I have always appreciated even If I didn’t say it a lot. My mom worked so hard for me to not work as hard as her.

When writing this, I was getting frustrated. It was hard for me to write because I want to be seen, but I didn't know how to express that. I shouldn't have struggled as much as I did. A part of me is grateful that I struggled so much because it made me stronger and it made me hard-working. But at the same time, it made my life very challenging sometimes; however, without them, I wouldn't be here today and be who I am.

46

We Are the Bridge

El Futuro Nuestro Gilbert L. Growing up, school has taught me many lessons on how to count, how to write, and how to speak properly. But the most important lesson I was taught didn't come from a class but from my dad. For years, I always saw my dad pull long hours and was only usually home when it came to have dinner and for him to sleep. One day he answered my questions.

My dad never continued his education after third grade. Instead of classrooms and homework, his childhood was spent working beside his dad under harsh weather with limited food and water. When he was finally able to earn his own, he saved everything he could to move to the U.S. He left behind culture and comfort with one goal: to ensure that his future family would never struggle the way he did.

Hearing his story filled me with grief, but also with understanding. I realized that what I once saw as pressure was actually protection. What I once felt as strictness was actually sacrifice. My father’s unfinished education became my opportunity. The day of filling my application for college with him beside me opened realization. Maybe it was a coincidence or a fluke, but filling out the question from FASFA, “When did you come to the U.S.?” brought my dad grief.

The same age he came to the U.S. looking for a better life for his future family, was the same as me currently filling out college applications.

The invisible inheritance he's passed down to me is resilience. It is the belief that education is a privilege, not a burden. It is the understanding that hard work is an act of love. I carry his missed chances in every classroom I enter. I carry my dad's knowledge with me every class I take. I carry his sacrifice in every goal I set.

47

We Are the Bridge

Speaking Spanish Gisele S. One Saturday, at the food bank, an older Spanish-speaking couple looked confused as a volunteer explained the process. I offered to translate, saying, “Hola, buenos días ¿Cómo les puedo ayudar? ¿Para cuántas familias viene a recoger?” Their faces immediately relaxed. After we sorted everything out, they said, “¡Muchas gracias!” and the volunteer thanked me too. In that moment, I realized how empathy and speaking Spanish could provide comfort and dignity.

I volunteer weekly, distributing food and creating a welcoming environment.

Even when the line is long or tensions rise, I stay committed, greeting everyone with a smile and offering help wherever I can. Small gestures, like asking how someone's day is going or remembering dietary preferences, can make a meaningful difference and help people feel seen and respected.

Over time, I’ve learned to notice what makes people feel safe and supported. I notice how people respond and adjust my actions to create comfort. Volunteering has shown me how valuable this resource is, especially for those who might feel embarrassed or hesitant to ask for help. I make an effort to provide reassurance, knowing that a smile, a friendly question, or speaking someone's language can reduce stigma and make the experience more welcoming.

By helping others feel understood and supported, I help foster a more welcoming and connected community. These experiences have shaped how I approach helping others and will continue to guide the new ways I support those around me. I am more mindful now to approach with pspeatience, empathy, and thoughtful communication – skills volunteering has helped me develop.

In many ways, this sense of responsibility connects back to my own family.

Being the first in my family to take paths my parents are not familiar with has shaped how I see my role in my community. It has made me more aware of how important it is to help bridge gaps, especially through language. Speaking Spanish and being able to translate is not just a skill but a way of creating connection and easing confusion. It reminds me that communication can begin with something as simple as helping someone feel understood.

48

We Are the Bridge

Unspoken Expectations Giselle M. In my loud and loving hispanic household, the expectations of being the oldest daughter were never spoken aloud, yet they were unmistakably clear. I inherited responsibilities, an invisible inheritance shaped by culture, family, and necessity. As the oldest daughter, I wasn't just a sibling; I became a mentor, mediator, and caretaker. This role came with challenges, but it also gifted me lessons that shaped who I am.

From a young age I’ve helped with my younger sister. Caregiving became part of my daily life, often shaping my personal choices. While others stayed after school for clubs, I went home to make sure my sister was safe, fed, and cared for. I learned how to balance my own dreams with my family’s needs.

When I got my license my role expanded. I drove my sister to school at 7:00 AM, even though my classes didn't start until much later. At home, I spent hours helping my sister with homework, making it to where she would understand the lessons. In the evenings, I cooked dinner before logging on to my Zoom class, changing my schedule to fit hers.

The gratitude in my sister and the trust my family places in me remind me that this inheritance is heavy but powerful. It has strengthened my relationship with my family in many ways. My parents always trusted me deeply, and that trust brought us closer. My sister and I built a bond that feels stronger than just siblings. I was someone she could rely on, and that created a connection rooted in love and responsibility. With friends, it was sometimes harder. I couldn’t always go out or stay after school like they could, and at times I felt different from them.

Being the oldest daughter in a hispanic household means caring responsibilities that may be unseen. Yet this invisible inheritance has taught me discipline, patience, and resilience. More importantly it has taught me that care shows up through action.

49

We Are the Bridge

Forced to Grow Up Guadalupe M. Thanks to my parents who have sacrificed their own comfort for my future, I have the privilege of traveling from America to Mexico. Whenever I travel to Mexico and see children out on the streets with their face painted and dressed up, selling and working, I see my parents. That little boy selling candies on the street at just three years old to help provide for their family. That little girl who was forced to take care of strangers’ children at just eight years old so that she can also contribute. The kids who were forced to grow up and give up their childhood. The children that lost both a sibling and other family members due to not having enough money to pay to go to the doctor.

They left everything and all their loved ones behind, all because the only thing they wished for was to give their future children the luxuries that they never had. My dad had always wished to go back to his homeland to live happily and visit his mom. Unfortunately, that was unable to happen. He had to witness and suffer through the pain of losing his mother 2,119 miles away. Receiving the news of her passing through the phone hurt knowing that he was never able to properly say goodbye.

Growing up I have seen the miserable look on my parents' faces having to live in a country in which they feel like outsiders. Ever since my parents arrived in the United States, they have worked hard to provide for our family. As a kid, I was really observant. I could tell the worry on my dad’s face and how exhausted he was waking up every single day to work two long jobs to be able to provide my family and I with the luxury he never had.

All this has made me realize that not everyone was born into a loving family or was lucky enough to not have to go through all these struggles. Knowing all of this gives me the desire to do what I can to help out the kids that were forced to grow up. I hope to be able to travel back to my parents’ homeland and volunteer or do work with non-profit organizations, helping out the children that are sick but unable to pay to attend frequent doctor appointments. I hope that with my efforts and studies, I will be able to repay my parents for everything they have done by giving back to those who they were once in the position of.

50

We Are the Bridge

American Dream Jackelin S. As a daughter, sister, best friend, and girlfriend, I’ve learned that being firstgeneration isn’t always the expected “American dream.” My parents came to the United States in search of opportunity ––my dad from a small pueblo in Guadalajara and my mom from the city. Although they came from very different backgrounds, they shared the same goal: to build a better life for themselves and their children. At first, that dream seemed to work out. My dad discovered his passion for cooking, while my mom focused on raising us. I grew up surrounded by my cousins, but when they moved to Wisconsin around the time I was eight, it felt like my world suddenly shrank. Still, I was fortunate. I had a blessed childhood, one without extreme hardship or devastating struggles.

Once I graduated from Elementary School, life got real. In 2021, the global tragedy of COVID-19 happened. Many would think of the normal COVID-19 story of students not caring about grades anymore and becoming lazy, but for me, it was the total opposite. During seventh grade, I locked in, turned in all my assignments, paid attention to my Zoom classes, and got all As. Sure, it was easier passing COVID classes, but it turned my gears in a way where I told myself that I could get good grades and possibly find a good career for myself.

51

We Are the Bridge

A Competitive Journey Jaiden O. After playing a sport for so long, it eventually became a mental commitment beyond having to push past the lack of motivation to play. I wasn't the first to play soccer in my family, but I was the first to ever win a tournament with my team.

I started soccer when I was seven years old, in second grade. I can’t remember what motivated me to start playing soccer, but it all started when I would frequently go to the park with my family. We would play soccer there, but obviously, we didn’t have soccer goals to use so we used anything we had around as a goal. We used backpacks and cans as goals. It wasn’t the best fit but we made it work. One of those days while at the park, I had adapted to how my family members played and was eventually able to keep up as the game progressed. My mom saw this improvement and decided it was a good time to sign me up to a soccer team.

Of course, I wasn't the best in the team; I was very shy, scared of playing on the field, and talking to my teammates. The only thing motivating me were the snack bags they gave to us after the game, whether we won or not. My first two years of soccer, I never took it seriously because I was still young and didn’t know if I wanted to pursue this hobby any further. My skills eventually developed and I improved, which showed on the field as I kept playing and having to join a new team after each season ended.

I wasn’t a striker for the team, but one skill that grew with me was passing.

I hated having the ball in possession for long, so I ended up passing the ball as quickly as I could. It felt natural to me; the first touch I made, and then my second touch initiating the play. Not every time I passed the ball led to a goal, but I could say with certainty that it got my team and I out of rough situations.

I never really thought about soccer that much, as I was only playing just for the love of the game. But I could say I was very competitive when it came to winning those games. Although it wasn’t a serious commitment, I always thought about the mistakes I made during the game and what I could have done better.

In my third year of soccer, I was in fourth grade and I was scouted by a coach who organized a football club, which is a higher league than where I was originally playing. I joined this club because I felt motivated knowing that my skills had improved enough to be recognized by someone who coached a

52

We Are the Bridge

higher division. First day training with this new team was a little frightening, I didn’t know a single face there and it was on a completely different level than what I was used to. My coach was very passionate about coaching this team and so he helped learn and develop many skills I didn’t know I was capable of learning. Originally, I was dominant with my right foot, but my coach trained me to use my left foot. It wasn’t an easy process, but after learning to use it comfortably, it helped me a lot during my matches. It allowed me to play smoothly and not panic so much, and that led to many goal opportunities during that season.

Eventually, we entered a tournament. It was no easy feat hearing that we’d be playing in this tournament, but we pushed through. I remember that last match I played before winning the tournament. Before the match had started, I did not know what to expect, I was very nervous, and scared of playing. It was like nothing I had experienced before. The moment we won, I knew I would carry this for the rest of my life. It was an achievement I never thought I would accomplish. I felt like the first to ever accomplish an achievement like this in sports.

My family was very fond of playing soccer, but they never played for a team yet alone won a tournament. For as long as I can remember, I was expected to play soccer and win these matches. My family is very supportive, but also very competitive. It’s where I got my competitiveness from––those closest to me, my family. That moment feels so special to me because of how much my family loved soccer and watching me play. It was a proud moment, not just for me, but for them as well.

53

We Are the Bridge

The First in Scrubs Mina S. Growing up, my family has faced financial challenges my whole life, which deeply shaped the way I viewed education and opportunity. My older brother decided to pursue a career in community college, stepping back from applying to four-year universities because he didn't want to add more stress to our financial problems. On top of that, he never had someone to guide him throughout the way. Watching him make such a huge sacrifice opened my eyes to how limited our options can be when thinking about money being the deciding factor. This motivated me to work harder so I could take advantage of opportunities he felt he had to give up and to follow that path in applying for top schools and being ahead, not only to make my parents and him proud, but to give me that strong opportunity in achieving my goals. I knew I had to be the first one to continue in college and obtain a career that would make the right amount of money to get my family out of financial struggles. My family’s background with diabetes and cancer opened my eyes to working in healthcare.

As the first person in my family to actually find a passion in continuing my academic journey, I was excited and determined; however, it came with a huge price: imposter syndrome. Once in a while, I would compare myself to others when they take challenging classes or achieve high-end goals while I was glued in the same place. I took the risk in taking my first AP course in order to advance; however, when I stepped into that class, I felt as if I didn't belong. I began to doubt myself if I could even make it to college. I had asked my counselor to drop me from that class, but instead of dropping me, she started giving me motivation to continue my studies––not only to make myself proud, but my family as well.

During my volunteer experience at a hospital, I made lots of connections with healthcare professionals. They increased my passion for being someone in healthcare while giving me advice to help my journey, especially motivating me to apply to top colleges or universities. With this volunteer experience I had an entrance in the healthcare field, communicating with healthcare professionals, and asking questions I've held inside me for someone who actually had experience. I felt proud of myself for putting myself out there.

My parents never had the opportunity to continue their education or reach their goals.

54

We Are the Bridge

As a first-generation daughter, I hope to make their dreams come true by graduating from one of the top four-year universities and to achieve this demanding career.

55

We Are the Bridge

La Hija Perfecta Jennifer S. Growing up as the only child to two immigrant parents came with many struggles and responsibilities. I grew up around the Spanish and Zapotec languages. My parents tried their best to teach me the basics of English –(such as counting and the alphabet–) to prepare me for grade school. My father left his pueblo at the age of eighteen to come to America, and my mother left hers at the age of twenty-two, both to provide more money to their families. They met, had me, and decided to stay and raise me in the land of opportunity, leaving their families behind. As an only child, I felt I could never let my parents down and pushed myself to achieve success to make their sacrifices worth it.

I learned how to speak, read, and write in English in kindergarten, and by the time I was in second grade, I had the fastest reading and comprehension in my class. I even received a presidential award when I graduated from elementary school. Though the award wasn’t a huge deal, seeing my parents proud made it everything. That summer, I took a trip to Oaxaca, Mexico, where my parents were from, and got to meet my grandparents for the first time. It was a beautiful experience where I learned about my ancestry and Indigenous roots.

I saw the beauty of my culture and traditions, which made me fall in love with Oaxaca all over again. I’ve had my share of people looking down on me for being of Indigenous descent, a prejudice many Oaxacans endure, but this only made me even prouder of who I was. I got to hear many stories about my family, how my parents were raised, life in their pueblo, and their journey to the States. It made me realize how blessed I was for their sacrifices and pushed me to embrace my roots and speak our dialect fluently so I could pass it down to future generations.

Unfortunately, those stories began to haunt me, and I began doubting myself in academics, feeling like I wasn’t enough and was never going to be the perfect daughter. In high school, classes got harder, grades began to slip, and it felt like the world was crashing down on me. Applying to colleges as a first-generation student was overwhelming. I was stepping into a process no one in my family had ever experienced, trying to understand a system that wasn’t built with us in mind. I had to navigate applications, financial aid, and scholarships largely on my own, translating forms my parents couldn’t understand.

However, I never let my parents see my struggles nor my pain. I didn’t want them to carry the burden of my doubts when they had already carried so much

56

We Are the Bridge

for me. I didn’t want them to see me struggle in a system they had worked so hard to place me in.

My invisible inheritance is the pressure to succeed in a world my parents never had access to, while carrying the weight of their sacrifices and the responsibility of preserving our language, culture, and traditions without losing myself.

57

We Are the Bridge

My Inheritance Joce I am technically not first gen. I am second gen, but I do resonate with many of the obstacles that first gen endure.

Being firstgen comes with a lot of invisible guidelines that you're expected to follow and be okay with. I would call this the “invisible inheritance” that no one really talks about. Instead of money or property we are left with expectations, sacrifices, and dreams that were never originally ours. Yet, somehow it feels like it's our responsibility to carry them. You grow up knowing everything that your family gave up so you can have the opportunities that you have now.

From a young age, it has been ingrained into you to choose a stable career, make the safe decisions, and live the life that they want for you to show your appreciation for their sacrifice. This can oftentimes create a quiet pressure to succeed in the way they want in order to honor them, even if this means silencing parts of yourself. This is one thing about being first gen that I really resonate with even without being first gen myself.

There are positive aspects that come from this pressure; it motivates you to do your absolute best and pushes you to succeed. However, too much pressure can make anyone feel weary. It can become overwhelming and even suffocating.

Oftentimes, what our families expect from us doesn’t always align with what we want for ourselves.

My parents were first gen but they didn’t live up to the expectations that their parents had for them. So now there’s this extra pressure to be “better” than my parents. I’m constantly held more accountable for my decisions because their tolerance for mess-ups has reached its breaking point from dealing with my parents. I’m constantly told about my parents' mistakes and asked, “You don’t want to end up like your parents right?” I am constantly paying for my parents' mistakes.

58

We Are the Bridge

Figure It Out Josie A moment when I felt like the first was when I was applying to college. None of my family members were familiar with the process, often getting upset when I would ask. Hearing everyone around me talking about going to college and not knowing where to start made me feel behind in everything. I was too scared to ask for help and couldn't ask at home, so I figured it out on my own. Most of my friends were miles ahead of me in the process. It felt like being the only one lost in a group project. Even though I was overwhelmed attempting to do it on my own, I never asked for help from any college counselors, let alone teachers. This whole process began to feel more real when people were asking their counselors and teachers for letters of recommendation. I never got to that step, still to this day. Luckily, I was only applying to Cal States so they weren't needed, but even then I didn't know when or where to begin.

Barely making the application deadline, I applied to Cal State University, Long Beach, San Francisco State University, Cal State University, Northridge, and Fresno State University for interior design and to San Jose State University for forensics crime scene investigation. Recently, I found out I got into SFSU, CSUN, and FSU. Reading the acceptance letters brought me severe relief.

Although I would’ve loved to go to any of these schools, San Jose was my top pick. It was the only one I applied to for forensics, and forensics was about the only thing I wanted to do above interior design. Unfortunately, that was the only school I got rejected from, getting waitlisted by CSULB. Even though I didn't get into the school I really wanted to, I'm still proud of myself for figuring it out on my own and being the first in my family to go to college.

59

We Are the Bridge

Don’t Lose Focus J.J.P. To me, being a first-generation student means achieving what my family couldn't: to graduate from both high school and college. This wasn't always my plan. It wasn't until the seventh grade that I realized I wanted more for my life and made graduation a priority. Before that, I often prioritized extracurricular activities over my schoolwork. However, everything changed during the pandemic. Working long hours doing yard work with my stepdad taught me a valuable lesson. Exhausted after every shift, I realized that I didn’t want to spend my life in labor that left me no time for myself. That experience solidified my desire for an education that would provide me with a different future.

My grandmother opened my eyes and showed me a path of what my life could look like. She told me the things that my aunt went through as a kid and how my aunt was once an amazing student who had so many opportunities but had them taken away from her. She told me to push myself because I have so many opportunities and many more than my aunt. She told me not to waste those opportunities. I have felt so much pressure to not let down my grandma because she has always been there, giving me help whenever I needed it and getting me a tutor. She would work extra hours to help me out with my education. In those moments, I felt really bad. I didn't want her to be working so much, but she told me, “Money is not being wasted if you're using it for your education.” When she said those words I knew that I couldn't waste these opportunities.

Right now my goal is to attend SMC for college and transfer to UCLA in order to become a radiologist or a mechanical engineer. I will do whatever possible to achieve these goals. I want to see my family, and my grandma especially, be proud that I didn't let them down and all those tears didn't go to waste.

Right now, my focus is also graduating high school and enjoying all the moments with my friends and family before college begins. Then, it will be another fresh start where I work my butt off, not only to make my grandma proud, but my family as well.

In the future, I want to look back at all the hard work from these years to come and feel amazing about the goals I accomplished.

60

We Are the Bridge

Para Mis Padres Karla G. “Échale ganas a la escuela, mija, para que no termines como yo.” This has been my father's motto, the one I recall at my weakest points. Although my father wasn’t a failure, I still desire to be better; every new generation should surpass the previous. As a first-generation student, I’m determined to go to college, even if this goal brings a significant financial challenge.

As a child, my weekends were spent surrounded by family and the sounds of my Oaxacan heritage. Those days consisted of my father speaking his Zapotec dialect, the crunch of chapulines on my plate, the crisp rustle of my tehuana, and the soft leather of my huaraches. In those moments, I felt immense pride as a Mexican American of Zapotec descent.

Watching my immigrant parents work tirelessly sparked my ambition to build a future in business. However, being the oldest of three was both a blessing and a curse. “Mija, ven a ayudarme con esto, por favor” was a frequent call.

From a young age, I felt I couldn't mess up; I had to be the perfect example for my siblings. One small slip up made me feel inadequate, and I often blamed myself for their mistakes, seeing them as a reflection of my own misguidance.

Whether staying up late because my brother had a biology project or my sister had a math test, I always put them first. I never had an older sibling to help me, and I didn't want them to struggle as I did. Often, after helping them, I had little time for my own homework, but I tried anyway, even if it meant forgoing sleep.

During my junior year, I found my grades slipping. It was difficult to maintain my GPA while ensuring my siblings succeeded so our parents could rest before work. I never viewed them as a burden, but as "mini-mes" whose futures I was helping navigate.

It has been worth it and seeing my siblings succeed has been rewarding.

They have accomplished things I never imagined. Looking back, I realize my parents didn’t demand perfection to be harsh. They were simply learning alongside their first child. They tried their hardest, and I’m proud that I have accomplished a goal that many cannot.

61

We Are the Bridge

Seeing my siblings succeed today is my greatest achievement. Being the first didn’t mean being perfect; it meant being the one brave enough to try, fail, and clear the path. I am proud that my first step as a leader within my family has prepared me to take my next step into the world, carrying the resilience and empathy I forged at home.

62

We Are the Bridge

Living Through New Experiences Kim Growing up, I always heard people mention being first generation. I never knew the true meaning of it until high school. Once I realized I was, I felt very important to be able to hold that title in my family. Being first generation made me realize the struggle and experiences that come with it.

For example, being little, coming back from school and asking my parents for help on homework wasn't always easy. Because they themselves weren't as knowledgeable or fluent in English. This led me to go into tutoring at an afterschool program to get extra support and do good in school.

Knowing that my parents sought any type of help for me to do well in school showed me how important it was for them to see me succeed academically and pursue college. This made me feel like I had so much responsibility in maintaining my grades high to be able to go to college and make my parents proud.

Growing up, I always heard the phrase, “Do good in school so you can get a good job and not end up like me.” This was something my parents always told me to push me to try hard in school and not give up. Having those conversations with them made me feel like I had a lot of support from them no matter what.

Once I started senior year, I knew I had to do my FAFSA and college applications. Being the first to do that in my family made me feel special and excited because that alone was such a huge accomplishment for me and my parents. I feel happy to be able to do this for myself and live through the experience and emotions that my parents weren't able to.

63

We Are the Bridge

The Two Worlds Luna S. For the past two years, I have been navigating between two completely different worlds: my home life and my school life. The bridge between them is invisible, but I cross it almost every single day. The moment I step out of my house in the morning, I leave behind all my stress and tension. When I return home, the expectations and structure of school fade as I step back into reality.

Learning how to move back and forth across that bridge has been one of the most challenging experiences of my life. Nearly two years ago, a serious family situation unexpectedly resurfaced and changed the atmosphere in my home.

Old wounds reopened, and conversations became centered around fear of what might happen next. I constantly felt anxious about circumstances that were out of my control.

I had to process difficult memories, manage overwhelming emotions, and find the strength to use my voice even when it felt intimidating. The stability I once felt shifted, and I was forced to adapt. Despite everything happening at home, school continued as normal. Assignments were still due and tests still had to be studied for.

When I walked through the school doors, I had to set aside my emotions and step into the role of a dedicated student. My classmates saw someone different from my family. There were moments when I struggled to concentrate because my thoughts were consumed by what was happening beyond the classroom walls.

I realized I was truly living in two separate worlds when I noticed how quickly I had learned to switch between them. Although balancing both was emotionally draining, it strengthened me. Crossing that bridge every day taught me resilience, self-awareness, and the ability to continue striving toward my goals even when my personal life felt uncertain.

64

We Are the Bridge

Growing Up Luz G. Growing up, I never had an educational role model to look up to. "Do good in school" was the only thing my parents could give me or afford. No private tutor. No personalized guidance counselor. Not having things handed to me altered the course of my education, as well as my values.

The self-inflicted desire to reach past this limited environment left claw marks on every single year of my school career. Not being chained down to a future destiny since a young age has allowed me to grow and become who I want to be—not my parents or family.

The only way from the bottom is up, and I do not intend to fall. I could not let all the sacrifices my parents made before I was even born go to waste. My parents came to the United States during their teen years, leaving their studies and home behind. And I have the nerve to complain about a school course at seventeen years old? Funny.

My parents were not given the same opportunities they were able to give me.

At times in my senior year, I reminisced about what I could have done more or differently. Healing is showing up. I showed up tired, stressed, angry, and sad to receive the education my parents deserved but were not able to receive.

This dream to succeed is not just for my family though—it is for me. My parents never forced me to have straight As in school. They tried their best to be involved in my school education and attend every meeting they could. "You know more about what you are doing than I do," my mom said when I told her that school was becoming difficult.

The opportunities that present themselves to me, education-wise, are blessings; homework help, insightful counselors, college advice from teachers. I cannot change the past, no matter how many times I replay it in my head. I can only take those experiences and squeeze every lesson I can out of them.

Growing from where I was planted has been my biggest accomplishment.

65

We Are the Bridge

Between Two Worlds Michelle M. Growing up, I felt the bridge of two worlds because of school. Of course, sometimes it felt “different” being the only little skinny Hispanic girl of my colored friends and having Spanish as a dominant language and English as a second. We would dress two different ways. I would wear my shoes that I would get from the flea market, and the higher class girls had brand clothes and shoes. I was the only one who would speak “fluent” Spanish, who had immigrant parents, and took yummy, smelly food my mom would make. This “difference” became easier for me to understand once I was transitioning into the world like going to middle school, being in high school, and moving into college. I’m able to not just translate words but also complete sentences because of my culture and my parents. The responsibility of having this bridge between these two worlds became much easier and felt empowering.

The constant pressure of translating sentences to my mom was getting harder by the day. Whether it was going to the dentist, doctor, market, mall, etc., big tasks like having to help my mom with medical forms and communicating with my teachers placed a weight on my little shoulders. I usually had the need to protect my mom from misunderstandings. Others would correct her on what she should say and pronounce. This role often had me doubting myself and exhausted from time to time.

Although I still feel the bridge between me and my other world, it sometimes feels nice. The way my parents watch me translate what I say in Spanish to English and English to Spanish. The way their faces change, light up even, seeing me successfully help them understand things and achieve a goal they never could. These little things make me realize how much my mom really needs me and these unique moments make me value my position with her and the power I have from both these cultures.

It was from these occasions that I realized being first generation was awesome.

I have the ability to create multiple words and a richer understanding of life.

Finally, having the bridge between my two worlds shaped my life and my identity in the deepest ways. It has taught me resilience, and given me a better understanding of my culture. Even though I still feel the weight of translating these words for my parents, I know that it takes strength to do so, and I have that because I embrace my parents’ cultural heritage. It is a nice journey to grow from, one that made me who I am today and something I am going to continue to explore.

66

We Are the Bridge

Mi Vecindad Miranda A. “Hola Mija, buenos días. Qué te vaya bien, salúdame a tu mami por favor.”

“Hello my dear, good morning. Have a good day and say hi to your mom for me.”

Growing up with immigrant parents, it was common for me to grow up in an immigrant oriented neighborhood. From a young age, I was surrounded by the people who spoke my parents’ native language, Spanish. Tías would come in to check up on us or go around to give us the latest chismes, and our abuelitas would bring their famous pozoles and loved to share their herbal and natural remedies whenever anyone in the neighborhood fell ill. Holidays were never spent alone as we would all gather in the little patio of the host's home, bringing in the festive spirit and the light that is needed in every party. We all came together to cherish these moments because in the end, we all came from the same roots, same traditions, and culture.

We watched the candle flame dance and sway on the colorful altar, decorated in bright colors that we’ve all come to love. Día de los Muertos was not only about celebrating those who have gone before us, but the life that they had, the life that was left behind as a memory. It was also to celebrate the life that we all had and that there was beauty in life that was worth celebrating. Coming from an immigrant heritage I’ve been taught the beautiful traditions that have been around for years. That rich culture that is embedded deep within my veins and blood. I was proud of being Hispanic, of being Mexicana.

Being a daughter of an immigrant family never caused me to look down or think that I was less than others. When I think of being Mexican, I don’t think about the struggles and hardships that come our way negatively, but instead in a positive way. I was taught by my mom that we were more than just “Mexican.” That we were people who face our challenges head on without fear and that we don’t give up. We do the opposite of that.

“Somos Mexicanos y los Mexicanos nunca se rinden.”

That was what we held onto with pride, with orgullo. When we see an opportunity and the obstacles that stand in our way, we just laugh and push through that challenge one way or another. That is what I remember—that it doesn’t matter whether we speak another language, or have different cultural backgrounds,

67

We Are the Bridge

nosotros nunca nos conformamos con lo que tenemos, miramos más allá.

Now that I’m ending a chapter in my life, I’ve come to realize that although many things may change, my orgullo de ser Mexicana y hija de padres inmigrantes isn’t going away any time. This identity full of traditions, love, culture, and pride will continue to be a part of who I am, and I’m not planning to let go of it.

68

We Are the Bridge

Mi Río de Preocupación Morales Mexico, Oaxaca I encountered myself standing in front of this massive building, structured and made to worship our Saint. Suddenly, a waterfall of memories started to flow through me.

The church bells went off, and the flowing stopped.

Bam, Bam. “Who knew bells could sound this loud?,” I thought to myself. The momentum was following my heart. Everytime it clung I felt the same synchronized pounding in my chest.

As I entered this sacred place a flush of memories went through me once again.

I started to focus on praying and I felt a glimpse of nausea.

I ignored it, but it started to feel worse. “Oh no, not now, hold it in, Lucia. It may be a false alarm, keep calm, don’t worry. It's your second day here, come on now.” I begged myself not to vomit, “Please don't vomit.” I looked up, my mom told me to do that whenever I felt nauseous. “That didn’t help.” I felt a knot in my throat, tightening as seconds went by. My heart started racing. I started to panic. I gave up on trying to relax and I finally stood up.

I made a face that let my grandparents know this is no false alarm. It was coming closer. The knot was about to be cut loose. I felt anxious, with my heart still racing and the feeling becoming worse.

Immediately after, my grandpa put a bag in front of me, I let it all out. There it was. The knot was loose. I lost my focus on my surroundings. All I could think about was the vomit. All my previous thoughts came rushing back like a river of worries. “Why are you like this? Now you’ll worry your grandparents. Now you’ll still be the same little weak girl you were four years ago. Everything changed, but not you.” I was angry at myself. I just had to ruin everything.

“What would my mom think? How is grandma feeling right now? Will grandpa be mad that I, his first granddaughter, is vomiting in the church that

69

We Are the Bridge

he is so dedicated to?” I felt embarrassed and ashamed, as if I were standing naked in front of everyone. My grandpa probably felt that way too. “How will your mom’s family react? They won’t be surprised at all.”

Out went my tears of frustration. My surroundings became a blur to me. I was too busy getting angry at myself to notice that my grandpa and grandma were moving my hair so it wouldn't get stained by my vomit. I continued to cry and simultaneously vomit. Not only was I angry, I was scared. I absolutely detested vomiting. I hated it. It was the worst. The feeling was petrifying. That feeling of uneasiness and stress was my enemy, the feeling of anxiety. Everything about vomiting daunted me. What’s even worse was the aftermath. “When will this end? When will this river stop crashing against me?”

Finally, the moment I had been wishing for came. The vomiting stopped. My focus went back to the real world. I saw the worried looks on my grandparents' faces. I looked down at the vomit with abhorrence and instantly regretted it. I looked away, reared my focus to my hands and noticed that I had been trembling the whole time. Another wave of disappointment came through me.

“Here comes the aftermath.” I felt guilty, scared, yet relieved. My grandparents started to talk to each other in their native language but I didn’t bother trying to translate what they said. I just focused on what had just happened. I felt like a heavy shipping container of disappointment and disillusion in myself.

My grandpa proceeded to clean the mess I had made as my grandma took me outside to wash my face. I was too busy processing stuff to notice how worried my grandparents were.

I entered a state of shock. It felt like getting off a ride, when you become unable to walk. I feel so embarrassed.

I washed my face.

I had no tears left to cry.

I stayed silent.

I was unable to talk.

I felt pure disappointment and embarrassment, nothing else. My grandma must've been so worried about me. I could hear her sigh while I was washing my mouth.

After a while my grandparents told me we would go see a doctor, but we would need to bring my aunt with us. I felt embarrassed. “Great. What will they think now? My mom will surely be mad.” I got in the car, holding a bag. “Just in case,” I told myself. We started driving to my aunt's house and I somehow managed to keep myself together. I tried to put up an act of strength and maturity by not crying. I had a moment of weakness, and I forced myself to show no more. I should have been happy and grateful.

We arrived at my mom’s family home. This isn’t how I had planned to see them again for the first time. This moment should've been a happy moment

70

We Are the Bridge

for me. I would’ve put on a nice big smile for them and I would’ve been a good example for my younger cousins. This moment would've been memorable.

This is how I would see them for the first time and I hadn’t even properly said “Hi” to them since my arrival.

“This is how they’ll see me. Weak and unhappy.” Not only that, they had changed. It wouldn’t be the same. “They aren't going to be the same.” The aunt who once used me as an excuse to not do chores was now married with two children and no longer lived in my mother’s family home. My dear great grandpa was now older than ever. He will be reaching a milestone of 98 years next month. My aunt and grandma were getting older. Everything had changed. I hadn’t communicated with them in those four years I’d been in the U.S. “Will things be the same after all these years? Will they still love me as much as they used to?” I mean, I was no longer nine years old, but now at this moment I felt like the same little nine-year-old who got sick too easily.

We finally arrived and I started to panic once again.

As I saw my aunt open the door, I felt a weight of pressure and anxiousness lifted off my shoulders, and I began to feel a sense of security. I felt my eyes tear up as I saw the rest of my mom’s family come out to see me. I began to feel dejected. I just wanted to hug them. They all came out, just how I expected them to. Normally, I'd be annoyed. “Why do they all have to be so nosy?”

That’s what I would’ve thought. But I didn't. Instead, I was glad. I was glad that they were all still the same nosy people. I missed them so much that I couldn’t get mad. I just focused on my thoughts and came back to earth when I heard my grandma finally say, “I feel worried sick. My poor granddaughter just vomited so much.”

That hit me hard. I saw everyone’s worried looks. I saw how my mom’s family looked at me. It wasn’t pity, but a look of concern, empathy. “They still care.”

They didn’t mind that I was older now, that it was my second day. All they wanted was for me to feel better. That was when I broke. I begin to cry yet again. I sobbed. I was glad they still cared. I was glad they were all still the same comforting people they were four years ago. I was glad that although I hadn’t talked to them in those four years they still loved me. “My family loves me and I love them.” I cried because I was angry at myself. How could I have thought that they wouldn't love me? They are my family. I should never have doubted their love for me.

My caring grandma started crying with me. I didn’t know why, but that made me feel like I wasn't alone. Although no one else was crying I could still feel them closer to me. I could tell that they were as worried as my grandma. My grandma was simply more sensitive.

71

We Are the Bridge

Finally, my aunt got in the car with us. My grandma and I both stopped crying by then. As my grandpa began to drive, my aunt looked at me. I missed her.

My throat ached because of the vomit. Regardless, I felt relieved. I was glad that my family’s feelings towards me hadn’t changed. This experience made me realize, no matter how far we are from each other or how much we don’t communicate, I know that our attachment will always stay the same no matter what. Mi rio de preocupación, my river of fears, was stopped by a barrier of love built by my family, mi familia.

72

We Are the Bridge

Trailblazing Olivia M. From as early as I can remember, I have been told stories about my family’s journey to the United States. My father grew up in the countryside of El Salvador, then moved to the U.S. when he was in eighth grade. My grandparents on my mother’s side came from central Mexico to the U.S. just before my mom was born in order to provide her with a better life. Having been told about their experiences since I was a child, I realize the importance of their sacrifices. In order to give me a better life in the United States, my family sacrificed the familiarity of their home countries and everything they had ever known.

Now, I feel that it is my turn to work hard so that those who come after me will have an easier life. Motivated by my family’s sacrifices, I strive to do my best in school and get a bachelor’s degree before going into the workforce. It is only because of my family that I will be able to go into the field of computer science. I want to set up an even greater foundation than my parents did so that I may live comfortably and without worry. Each time I feel like slacking off on my schoolwork, I remind myself of my family’s hard work and sacrifices that allow me to study in the first place. It is my goal to find success in my work so that I can live an easier life than those before me. As an adult, I also look forward to sharing that wealth with the people who made it all possible.

As a woman of color, I am immensely grateful to be allowed the privilege of studying and pursuing a career rather than being forced to marry and bear children. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet, not relying on a partner for income or stability. It is only because of everything my family has worked for that I’m able to live how I want.

Thank you Mama, Papa, Gamish, and Dad for everything you’ve done. I’ll work hard to make you all proud.

73

We Are the Bridge

La Necesidad de Aprender Miranda A. “Mijo, vas a aprender mucho en el mundo.”

This is a phrase my grandpa has told me all throughout my childhood. He was right, I have encountered many challenges that have shaped the development of my personality whether it be mentally or physically.

In terms of academics, I’ve never really had anyone to assist me with the information I was learning in my classes. The struggles held me down as I’ve undergone immense amounts of pressure since my parents hadn’t pursued much of a college education. It wasn’t just because of financial struggles, but also taking part in aiding their familial needs––something I praise my parents for. Although the pressure continued to build up over the years, it felt like that was something my parents would define me by. It created a feeling of stress and worry that I wouldn’t be able to properly succeed by myself as I really had no one to fully support me.

Coming from a family who is from two different states of Mexico, Michoacan and Guanajuato, both have had their own personal struggles prior to moving to the U.S. during a time when Hispanics were branching out all over the country. The phrase my grandpa had told me, derived from an experience where he struggled financially, similar to my dad, who had to start working from the age of four. I obviously didn’t want him to view me as a failure because I had been open to various opportunities that he hadn’t received.

Over time, that emotional aspect of being a “No Sabo,” a first-generation individual, also created heavy doubt in my mind. The idea of only being able to understand but not being able to communicate with many family members, who only spoke the native tongue that I should’ve known, felt humiliating.

As I entered high school, a shift began when I started to view and critically think about what I wanted to do. It was a perplexing idea as I’ve seen my family not being able to achieve their dream jobs, especially my aunts who have grown up here. When I selected to go down the Mechanical Engineering Pathway, it was when I realized that I’m the first in my family to indulge in a STEM related career. My worry grew since many family members had gone down a career based in humanities or financial services.

74

We Are the Bridge

Despite this feeling, I realized how important it would be to immerse myself further in my interests to show my younger siblings and cousins that we, as Mexican Americans, could achieve beyond the set expectations. I struggled in my AP Biology, AP Chemistry, and AP Calculus classes, but I was motivated to move down a path that is consistently challenging my critical thinking skills.

The phrase may have been pure wind, but I am determined to excel his expectations.

75

We Are the Bridge

A Hidden Burden Sherilyn F. I think a lot of first-generation people of immigrant descent feel as if there are goals, something they should be needing to do, or reach for. An obligation. If you can relate to this, maybe you have the same feeling as me: the feeling of a burden or weight. An expectation that wasn’t specifically announced by our parents, but more so implied. Things in life we feel we should be doing for our parents in order to make them proud or have a great life. It could be going to a prestigious college, owning a house, having a job where you make more money than they did, having a happier life, or just knowing more than they do. It creates an emotional weight that we have in our mind. Well, at least in my mind.

I feel this weight in almost everything that I do, every second I live, and every moment I think. The need to make my parents proud, to do the best, be the best, and give both my current and future family a better life. I feel this weight in school too. I need to get the best grades, be the best, do the most of everything possible. If I can’t or don’t do everything, then, what am I doing?

The pressure makes me feel nervous, worried, sad, and overwhelmed. It feels like an expectation from my parents. They don’t say it or maybe don’t feel it, but I feel like they’re expecting something great from me. They put their lives at risk for a better life for themselves and their kids. Moving from a place they grew up into a place that is completely new to them just to have a fresh start and better opportunities.

I know I have to take the chances I’m given and make the best of them, but the pressure makes me overthink everything. I start thinking, “Should I be doing this or not? What is the right choice? What do my parents want me to do?,” and “What am I doing wrong?” I panic because, should I be doing what I’m doing? Is it the right or wrong choice? Sometimes my mom asks me, “Did you apply to all the colleges? Did you submit everything? Why haven’t you tried…?” That’s when I start feeling the pressure and panic. I start thinking, “What am I missing? What haven’t I done? What am I doing wrong?,” and “Have I done enough?” I panic because I believe I’m doing everything I can and doing it right, but I guess it’s not enough.

Although I have two older siblings who are also first generation and may or may not feel the same as me, I still have that feeling of pressure because if they can’t fulfill that expectation then that means I have to do it. I have to do it because they couldn’t and who knows if my younger sister can either. If I’m

76

We Are the Bridge

not the first, then I’m the backup. I guess because I’m the backup, I probably shouldn’t have to worry about it as much…but why don’t I feel that way? Is it because it doesn’t seem like they’re going to do it? Is it because my parents ask me about school the most? Or is it because I’m constantly asked what I’m doing or what I will do?

Most of the time, I want to get rid of the burden and not need to worry about doing the right or wrong thing, whether it's the best choice to make, or if I’m doing enough. However, there have been a few times where I see the good from it. I feel proud of it and grateful because I’ve been given the opportunity to do something great. I can make my parents proud and do something they or anyone else in their family couldn’t .

At the end of the day, I just need to do my best and be happy with myself.

77

We Are the Bridge

Learning From the Past S.B. My parents came from two different backgrounds. My dad was born in America, brought here by my grandparents from Jalisco, Mexico, and didn’t take education as seriously. My mom was born in Papua New Guinea, raised in the Philippines, and was brought here to America when she was a young child. With my mother’s side of the family, they took education very seriously and her and all of her siblings got master’s degrees. Although they both came from different worlds, they had one thing in common: they both wanted to build a comfortable life for their children.

Taking the experiences that both of my parents had gone through, they wanted to raise me and my sister to be intelligent young girls, especially my dad. On my dad’s side of the family, he was the first one out of his older brothers to graduate high school, and nobody had gone to college. Not until my cousin graduated from LMU, becoming the first person in the family to go to college.

However, after she graduated, none of my other cousins took the same path. It became a large gap in our generation, that she was the only one to take the risk.

Ever since I was little, my dad has always praised my sister and I for how smart we were. He would always be incredibly impressed at everything we accomplished. Even if it was something very minuscule and insignificant, he was proud. I remember him always telling me, “I don’t want you to be like how I was when I was younger. I didn't care about learning. I didn't care about education.” He wanted to make sure that me and my sister were educated.

I feel like when my dad was younger, he didn't have a dream to have higher education, but as he got older he saw the potential and importance of it in his daughters. From his past, I learned that education is something that people take for granted. From this, I plan to be the next college graduate, hope to be the first doctor in my family, and make my parents proud.

78

We Are the Bridge

Los Tres Mundos Valentina V. For me it has always felt like three worlds: American, Ecuadorian, and Mexican.

The American part of it: being born and raised in Los Angeles, California, always surrounded by American culture. The Ecuadorian part of it: my mother immigrating from Ecuador to California when she was in her mid-teens alongside my aunt with my grandma making it possible for them. The Mexican part of it: my dad coming from a Mexican family from Jalisco and Oaxaca.

There has always been a world I felt more connected to out of the three, probably because I grew up with and around one of the cultures more, thus I identify more with that side.

Ecuador, el centro del mundo.

My grandma came from pure Ecuadorian blood, her mother only speaking Quechua and not understanding Spanish. She left Ecuador to come to America through a job opportunity and saw the potential for herself, but more importantly for her children back home in Ecuador. Sacrifices. If I could define my childhood it would be my grandma. My first memories of consciousness go back to her. She taught me everything I felt like I ever needed to know. She didn’t speak English well at all, but I could understand it. Since it was always just her and me, Spanish was our way of communicating. The Spanish she spoke wasn’t the Spanish you hear growing up in the streets of Los Angeles, that you typically hear more Mexican accents. She taught me Spanish, but the kind they speak in Ecuador with a mix of Quechua. For some it's “elote,” for me it was “choclo," or for some it’s “hace frio,” but for me it was “achachay.”

Using phrases and words that were mainly spoken in Ecuador, I always saw it as the words that everyone used. Eating Ecuadorian dishes and snacks like llapingachos, colada morada, humitas, chocolate con queso, thinking everyone had this growing up. It was normal to me.

I think as I got older, interacted with more people, and experienced more of the world, I saw the cultural difference I never really saw as a child. It was less black and white now, podía ver mis tres mundos más claros. I realized I might have also grown up around Mexican culture: the music, the people I saw as family, and the food. Though, I could never really feel in touch with that side. My dad never really displayed his culture to me either. Through friends,

79

We Are the Bridge

growing up, and seeing my three worlds collide, I was able to learn about the side of this heritage that was familiar but completely new to me in a way.

Although I still feel like I identify with my Ecuadorian side more and fully embrace my Ecuadoriana roots, living in Los Angeles and being exposed to various Latin American cultures has allowed me to explore my Mexican roots and learn new things. Mis tres mundos soy yo.

80

We Are the Bridge

Growing Up Victoria G. “Échale ganas,” or, “Ponte las pilas.”

These are the words I have heard my whole life ever since I was little. I come from a first-generation family. Both my parents are from Oaxaca, Mexico. I’ve always felt a big and heavy responsibility on my shoulders. Not just for being an older sibling, but from fearing to fail my family. I remember the stories that both my parents would tell my brother and I when we were younger.

My mom would be the one to tell us about how her life was when she was younger. I remember that it was something we looked up to every now and then. My mom would sit on the couch, while my brother and I would sit on the floor with our blankets. Soon, the words would come out of her mouth, and we would be amazed because she was like a never-ending book. I looked forward to the four white walls, the sun normally coming down, and the sweet aroma of familiarity, of home-cooked food. She would tell us about her life experiences and how she had to start working at a very young age because she lost both her parents by the age of 15. I could see it in her eyes, the pain. Even after many years, the pain was still there, the pain of losing the two people who she loved the most and who loved her. Growing up, I told myself that our story would be different, that I would do anything to make my parents proud.

I wouldn’t make them suffer. Instead, I would envision myself waking up to the stage, getting my diploma, and hugging both my parents, celebrating my accomplishments as their own. But life, I learned, can change very quickly.

One of my biggest fears had become my reality and that was losing a parent, my mother. Losing the person who made me the person I am today was hard.

I remember the special moments where she and I would be in the kitchen and would cook something together. A tradition that we had was making a Mexican gelatine called gelatina de mosaico. I remember that for every birthday, gelatina would be next to our birthday cakes. The process of making this gelatine was something that I really enjoyed doing with her. We would start by preparing the gelatina de agua one night before, let it harden all night in the fridge, and then prepare the part of the gelatina that needed to be done with milk. With so many flavors in one bite, it was one of my comfort pastries, and it still is today. The grief process was brutal.

Two years later, initiating the process to enroll in colleges was not the same way I had envisioned it. I remember thinking about all the sacrifices both my

81

We Are the Bridge

parents had made so I could have it all. Leaving their home country for a new one without anything, without clothes, shoes, money, or food. Leaving their family to start their own family. Being the older sibling meant that enduring the pain of grief was having strength not only for myself but for my brother too, all while also learning from my own mistakes, so my brother wouldn’t have to fail like I once did. In ninth grade, I had been a straight-A student, but with things going on at home and the passing of my mother, my grades had deteriorated. In tenth grade, I failed my chemistry class. At that moment, I felt that all my world had shifted. I changed, and everything around me changed too. That same summer I had to do an online course. I learned that failure was something I was afraid of. But I also learned that I was a very strong person and that everything in life has a solution.

When I initiated this new process of applying to colleges, I realized that it put me in a lot of stress. It worried me day and night. Being the first one to apply to colleges was a very big thing not only for me, but for my family too.

The thoughts that would come to my mind would be, “Ok but how do I do this? What do I talk about? What if I'm not doing this right? Who should I ask for help?” The answers to these questions were my family and friends. They helped me through this process by giving me advice and actually helping me revise my work by giving me feedback. But most importantly, they gave me the strength I needed to keep moving along. All this happened in those same exact four white walls I grew up in.

Being “the first” has taught me that mistakes are normal and that even if life keeps changing and things don’t go as planned, I will still continue to fight, until I no longer can.

82

We Are the Bridge

Mi Identidad Xochitl A. My identity means who I am. It is the core foundation of who I am as a person. I am someone who is proud of her roots, especially within my culture.

In my childhood, I wouldn’t express my identity because I thought it was embarrassing, yet throughout time I slowly started to express myself. I was ashamed to speak a different language that wasn’t English outside my home.

Now, I am proud to speak Spanish anywhere because I grew out of that shell of being ashamed of my parents’ language. What I hold now as a value is my language, along with my family background.

At the start of middle school, I was ashamed of my identity, my cultural identity, because the middle school I went to was culturally different from my elementary school. Throughout my adjustment in middle school, I started off ashamed of who I was. I would suppress my identity and hide my culture.

One of the things I remember being the most ashamed of during that time was my name. My name comes from the Nahuatl language and means flower, but I've never had a connection with my name to my identity. I slowly started to grow out of that insecurity during the last years of middle school. My friends reassured me that I shouldn't worry about what others perceive of me, and I still keep that lesson with me.

My identity matters because it’s a form of demonstrating to everyone who I am and why I’m proud of it. I am so proud of my identity now, and I'll express it to the fullest. I have no shame nor fear of representing my Mexican background, my name, or even my looks. All of these representations make me who I am.

83

We Are the Bridge

Year of Failure Yesenia G. Being the “first” came upon me academically, personally, and emotionally.

Being the first child to be born to my immigrant parents felt like I was carrying a weight on my shoulders to become successful and make my parents proud.

I knew that my life wasn’t going to resemble a waste of sacrifices that my parents had made. My parents were also the type to tell me that everything was possible even when it was hard. I had never realized how genuinely hard things were until I applied to colleges.

As a first-generation student and daughter, I had no idea what I was doing or where I wanted to go. During these months, I felt emotionally drained, knowing that I had to make my parents proud. I had to make them feel that their own sacrifices had inspired me to the fullest. Of course, I felt supported by them, but they never knew how much I had to balance between high school, college applications, and college classes.

Throughout high school, I have taken college courses to get a head start into my career, but this year I decided that I wanted to become a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant). I took courses that helped me for my state exam and for my career. This was the time I felt most drained towards success because this opportunity was given to me, and I had to take it. I was scared of failure especially when I knew this would benefit me for the future and what I wanted to work for. My parents, on the other hand, were so proud that they were telling everyone that I was going to become a CNA. But deep down, I was so scared that I wasn’t going to pass my state exam and not be certified, especially when they had already told everyone. Unfortunately, I didn’t pass one of my exams but I did pass my other exam.

My lessons throughout applying to college, being in high school, and managing my nursing classes were a struggle but motivating since I now know that I carry a part of my parents' sacrifices in everything I do. I learned that being afraid of failure is part of life, but to give up because you don’t know where your path will lead you, isn’t. I take my parents' sacrifices with me even when I fail, because that’s what makes me a first-generation daughter and student: to become stronger because it wasn’t easy for my parents as well.

84

We Are the Bridge

Dear Pink Z.N.Z. March 2026 Dear Pink, Growing up, I hated you, pink. Kind of. A part of me resented the way the sparkly pink dress created a softer, feminine version of me instead of the brave, resilient girl my parents had so carefully crafted. However, another part of me loved you ––I loved twirling in that dress because it made me feel like a princess. But that was my secret.

So, I grew up rejecting you.

To me, you represented weakness. I was taught from a young age to rely on myself only. I was never to trust anyone because I couldn’t ever know their true intentions. Being vulnerable was deadly. And so it began: an identity built around a lie. I kept this mentality though, not for my sake, but to prove to everyone in my family that I could meet their expectations.

Being first generation definitely played a role in this. My parents had sacrificed so much to give me a life in which my voice could be heard, a voice that could spark change anywhere. I wanted nothing more than to succeed and prove their sacrifices were worth it. I catered to every opinion, every value, even if it meant contradicting my morality. I secretly loved you, but I had to replace you with blue: blue shirts, blue folders, blue everything. I didn’t want to, but blue seemed more mature.

As I got older, it became harder for me to cater to their wants, needs, and ideologies. I felt like I was putting on a facade. In eighth grade, our differences led to many arguments. When my parents argued that I would lose sight of school and my goals over a boy, I lost it. Up until eighth grade, I had always prioritized school. This crush wasn’t going to change that. In a way, it felt like I was betrayed. All of my effort and work that my parents had witnessed over the years felt like it was going into the trash. I had rejected the one color I loved most, yet it still wasn’t enough. In that moment, everything rushed to me: the argument, my different worldviews, and my rejection of femininity.

I felt scared and confused. Why was I going against the beliefs I held for so long? Eventually, I spoke to my eighth grade teacher about my new ideologies.

Coming from a similar background and experiencing the same as I did, he

85

We Are the Bridge

reassured me that I could continue to hold my beliefs, all while being respectful.

He stated that this was a pivotal time. A time where I would question society, moral doctrines, and myself. I followed his advice, quietly at first. I spoke on the political climate at home, setting boundaries, but most importantly, incorporating you into my wardrobe. It wasn’t until I got to high school where I combined advocacy with femininity, allowing me to embrace my true self. I didn’t want to put on a facade anymore.

Throughout high school, I stayed in touch with my teacher, updating on the small changes and important events that had happened in my life. He mentioned how incredible it was to see me grow. Instead of remaining shy and hidden, I ensured that my voice was heard. Everything that I did throughout high school had its meaning, tying itself into my culture. The arguments became less frequent during high school. I don’t know what exactly changed.

Maybe it was because I had become more open with my parents that they began to be more accepting of my values. Although we are still working through this, we have found better ways to communicate and express each point of view to ensure that we are all listened to.

I think as a whole, I’ve embraced the softer, feminine side to me I used to reject.

Everything that I hated as a kid such as skirts, dresses, heels, and makeup are all things that I now love and cannot fathom a world where they don't exist. I simply wouldn't be me. However, I use all of this to empower young women’s voices everywhere I go in the simplest of ways. To me, you now symbolize power and vibrancy, and you’ll continue to represent me as I step into college.

86

Acknowledgments 826LA would like to thank the following for their support in making this book project possible:

Maria De Jesus Lopez Zamudio Spanish Teacher, Venice High School Alejandro Arroyo Social Studies Teacher, Venice High School Yavonka Hairston-Truitt Principal, Venice High School Mateo Acosta Associate Director of Community Engagement, 826LA Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo Senior Community Relations Coordinator, 826LA Phil Glist Volunteer, 826LA Stephen Kay Volunteer, 826LA Casey Rentz Volunteer, 826LA Eric Black Volunteer, 826LA Ashley Muñoz Volunteer, 826LA Alan Cruz College Corps Fellow, 826LA Jaymely Zamora College Corps Fellow, 826LA Abisola Afun College Corps Fellow, 826LA

About 826LA Vision: 826LA envisions a Los Angeles where every child has access to quality writing education and is empowered to express themselves creatively through writing.

We envision a Los Angeles where every teacher is supported in their writingbased educational objectives.

Mission: 826LA is dedicated to unlocking and cultivating the creative power of writing for students ages 6 to 18, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write.

How we advance our mission: A nonprofit organization, our services are structured around our understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success.

With this in mind, we provide after-school tutoring in all subjects, evening and weekend workshops, in-school programs, field trips, college access, help for English language learners, and assistance with student publications.

All of our programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s ability to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in their own voice.

Core Values: 826LA values joy in the service of achieving educational goals. Our community norms value diversity, equity, inclusion, and access. We therefore prioritize partnerships with Title 1 Schools, engagement with historically marginalized populations, and training and deploying community-based volunteers in support of our mission. As a teaching approach, we value creativity, authenticity, empathy, and lively, rigorous, and student-centered writing education. As an educational enrichment organization, we value supporting teachers, principals, and other school staff in the pursuit of excellence.

Programs As an educational enrichment organization, we value supporting teachers, principals, and other school staff in the pursuit of excellence.

After-School Writing Programs From Monday to Thursday, students attend 826LA for free individual tutoring in all subjects. Students receive homework help and write stories based on prompts. Students submit their writing for inclusion in chapbooks, which 826LA publishes throughout the year. To celebrate students’ hard work, 826LA unveils these chapbooks at book release parties, where students read their work to thunderous applause from their volunteers, families, and peers.

Field Trips During the week, 826LA invites teachers and their students to our writing labs to participate in a morning of collaboration, creativity, and writing.

Whether Storytelling & Bookmaking, Well-Wishing & Poetry, Choose Your Own Adventure, or Memoir, field trips at 826LA support teacher curriculum and student learning by offering a safe space for students to be their most imaginative and to work on their writing skills. In a few short hours, students brainstorm, write, edit their work, and leave with something tangible—a bound book—as well as a renewed confidence in their ability to tell their stories.

In-School Programs and Writers’ Rooms Because not all students can come to us, 826LA brings specially trained volunteer tutors into classrooms throughout Los Angeles. There, volunteers provide one-on-one or small group assistance with writing projects. 826LA works with teachers to craft all projects, which are designed to engage students while targeting curricular needs. In addition to visiting twenty schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District each year, 826LA has additional sites within Manual Arts High School, Roosevelt High School, and Venice High School called The 826LA Writers’ Rooms.

Workshops 826LA’s workshops bring students together with artists, writers, and professionals for creative collaboration. Whether the subject is journalism or preparing for the zombie apocalypse, our workshops foster student creativity while strengthening writing skills. This program includes two long-running partnerships with Paramount Pictures and the Hammer Museum.

Staff Jaime Balboa Executive Director Diego Quevedo Chief of Staff Shani Foster Director of Education Christie Thomas Director of Development Pedro Estrada Programs & Operations Manager, Echo Park Mike Dunbar Programs & Operations Manager, Mar Vista Mateo Acosta Associate Director of Community Engagement

Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo Senior Community Relations Coordinator Katie Feige Institutional Giving Manager Arisdeysi Cruz Tutoring Program Coordinator Marco Beltran Writers’ Room Program Coordinator Manual Arts High School Wendy Beltran Senior Writers’ Room Program Coordinator, Roosevelt High School Cole Montgomery Development Manager Ariana Ponce Olivares Senior Civic Engagement Coordinator

Carinne Kemp Store and General Operations Manager Time Travel Marts in Echo Park & Mar Vista

Wilson Swain Creative Engagement Specialist

Alma Carrillo Senior Manager of Strategic Partnerships and Communications

Caz Shen Store Associate

Trevor Crown Senior Manager of Volunteer Innovation and Assessment

Julia Malinow In-Schools and Tutoring Program Coordinator

Gabriela Romero Field Trips and Operations Coordinator

Board Karen Van Kirk Board President Customer Experience & Operations Sarah Rosenwald Varet Board Vice President Governance Committee Chair Attorney David Ullendorff Board Treasurer Finance Committee Chair Co-Founder, Mathnasium Ben Au Litigation Partner, Orrick Scott Boxenbaum Comedian & Real Estate Cisca Brouwer Attorney/Writer Joe Ferencz CEO/Founder, GameFam Scott A. Ginsburg Real Estate, Boulevard Partners

Jaya Hathaway Recruiter, CPI Susan Ko Clinical Psychology & Executive Leadership Stacey Han Williams Senior Product Marketing Manager, Google Matt Conway Senior Engineering Specialist, The Aerospace Corporation Mack Jenkins Litigation Partner, Hecker Fink Liane Katzenstein Ly Partner, Liane Ly Law Dave Eggers Emeritus and 826 Founder Holly Thomas Emeritus Circuit Judge, United States Court of Appeals Ninth Circuit

Advisory Board J.J. Abrams

Keith Knight

Judd Apatow

Al Madrigal

Miguel Arteta

R. Scott Mitchell

Mac Barnett

Lani Monos

Steve Barr

B.J. Novak

Joshuah Bearman

Miwa Okumura

Father Gregory Boyle, S.J.

Amber Paasch

Amy Brooks

Jane Patterson

Stefan Bucher

Keri Putnam

Kathleen Caliento

Sylvie Rabineau

Monique Demery

Sonja Rasula

Mark Flanagan

Will Reiser

Ben Goldhirsh

Luis Rodriguez

Rebecca Goldman

Tara Roth

Ellen Goldsmith-Vein

Brad Simpson

DeAnna Gravillis

J. Ryan Stradal

Terri Hernandez Rosales

Natalie Tran

Christine Jaroush

Sarah Vowell

Spike Jonze

Sally Willcox

Miranda July

Julie Wiskirchen

Catherine Keener

Join the Future Bestsellers Club!

Sign up to make a monthly donation to 826LA and you’ll join our Future Bestsellers Club. For as little as ten dollars each month, we’ll deliver writing from our brilliant, emerging authors right to you!

Go to 826LA.org/donate and click on Future Bestsellers Club to join.

Shop the Time Travel Mart!

Visit our Time Travel Mart storefronts in Echo Park and Mar Vista where you can shop for all your time traveling gears and gadgets. From Mammoth Chunks to Robot Milk to original student-authored books, we pride ourselves on being the only Los Angeles purveyor of quality goods from the past, present, and future. The proceeds from the store help to keep all programs free for our students. You can also visit the stores online at timetravelmart.com.

Echo Park 1714 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90026 Mar Vista 12515 Venice Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90066