Com(m)un Ăcate Hispanic Communicators Association Volume V | Spring 2019
Com(m)un Ăcate
Hispanic Communicators Association Executive Board President Gabriella Diz
Vice President Lilliam Drenth
Treasurer Michelle Martinez
Director of Communications Alyssa Varas
Secretary Brianna Then
Magazine Board Copy Editors Daniel Gamboa Gabriela Yero
Graphic Designer Brianna Edwards
Cover Art Jorge A. Escobar Mata
Com(m)un Ăcate Growth / Crecimiento n. spiritual and personal development through the cultivation of experiences, education and self-awareness
Com(m)un Ăcate
Table of Contents La Belleza del Hermano Thalissa Telleria 6
Angel y Blanca Interview Alyssa Varas 7-8
The Work is Worth it Brianna Edwards 9
American Dream Alyssa Campa 10
A Growing Memory Bianca Gonzalez 11
Es FĂĄcil Gabriella Diz 12
Choose To Be Daniel Gamboa 13
Poem #10 (Wings) Daniel Gamboa 14
Between Dos Mundos Jorge A. Escobar Mata 15-16
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About HCA The Hispanic Communicators Association seeks to provide a space for Hispanic-Latino students to grow as professional communicators at the University of Florida. We are an information source for students interested in exploring the Hispanic-Latino community and business industry, improving their communication and professional skills and growing through career-oriented workshops. We are open to all majors and students of all backgrounds. We have no membership fees or points system. Come to our meetings or reach out to us to learn how to get involved! To stay updated with our association, follow us on Instagram (@HCAssociation) and Facebook (@HCAatUF). Crezcamos juntos.
La Asociación de Comunicadores Hispanos busca proporcionar un espacio para que los estudiantes hispanos latinos crezcan como comunicadores profesionales en la Universidad de Florida. Somos una fuente de información para estudiantes interesados en explorar la comunidad hispano-latina y la industria de negocios, mejorar sus habilidades de comunicación y profesionales y crecer a través de talleres orientados a la carrera. Estamos abiertos a todas las carreras y estudiantes de todos los orígenes. No tenemos cuotas de membresía o sistema de puntos. ¡Venga a nuestras reuniones o comuníquese con nosotros para aprender cómo participar! Para mantenerse actualizado con nuestra asociación, síganos en Instagram (@HCAssociation) y Facebook (@HCAatUF). Crezcamos juntos.
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Com(m)un Ăcate
Message From the Editors Hispanic culture has continues to leave an impact on the United States. As our population increases, so does the need for content that communicates the resilience, beauty and wonders of our culture. We want students at the University of Florida to have a medium to share their professional and creative works. Our goal is to use this medium to open communication across cultures. The issue you are holding is a platform of expression. Students have seen, felt, sympathized and survived what they write about. This year’s theme focused on growth. The pieces surround the journey to growing into a better person, especially in regards to the Latinx and Hispanic community around the globe. The reality is that the Hispanic community is underrepresented. The latinx community faces adversity and struggles as they climb towards their American Dream. The 22 nations that make up the Latinx/Hispanic home need a voice. And, though we might be a minority in the United States, we have the power to be heard. Our words have the ability to change lives and forge the future. The Hispanic Communicators Association works within the College of Journalism and Communications through the Hispanic Student Association, and we publish this literary magazine every year to remind others that we can be a voice that inspires others to pursue their goals no matter what setbacks they face. We want to provide a source of growth. Thank you, and we hope you enjoy the magazine.
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Mensaje de los Editores La cultura hispana ha seguido dejando un impacto en los Estados Unidos. A medida que nuestra población aumenta, también lo hace la necesidad de contenido que comunique la resistencia, la belleza y las maravillas de nuestra cultura. Queremos que los estudiantes de la Universidad de Florida tengan un medio para compartir sus trabajos profesionales y creativos. Nuestro objetivo es utilizar este medio para abrir la comunicación entre culturas. El tema que tienes es una plataforma de expresión. Los estudiantes han visto, sentido, simpatizado y sobrevivido sobre lo que escriben. El tema de este año se centró en el crecimiento. Las piezas rodean el camino para convertirse en una mejor persona, especialmente en lo que respecta a la comunidad latina e hispana de todo el mundo. La realidad es que la comunidad hispana está subrepresentada. La comunidad latinx se enfrenta a la adversidad y lucha a medida que ascienden hacia su sueño americano. Las 22 naciones que conforman el hogar latino / hispano necesitan una voz. Y, aunque podríamos ser una minoría en los Estados Unidos, tenemos el poder de ser escuchados. Nuestras palabras tienen la capacidad de cambiar vidas y forjar el futuro. La Asociación de Comunicadores Hispanos trabaja dentro de la Facultad de Periodismo y Comunicaciones a través de la Asociación de Estudiantes Hispanos, y publicamos esta revista literaria cada año para recordar a los demás que podemos ser una voz que inspire a otros a perseguir sus objetivos sin importar los contratiempos que enfrenten. Queremos proporcionar una fuente de crecimiento. Gracias, y esperamos que disfruten de la revista.
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Com(m)un Ãcate
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La Belleza del Ser Humano Thalissa Telleria Todos cometemos errores, de eso no hay duda. Los errores también son componentes de los seres humanos; está en nosotros fallar en ciertas cosas. Y creo que la situación en sí, cometer el error, no es lo difícil. Difícil es aprender cómo perdonarnos a nosotros mismos, Es poder vivir sabiendo que esas cosas que hiciste no te definen, Es ver más allá del error y moldearlo para que sea una lección de vida. Porque es fácil vivir con culpa o aún peor, culpar a los demás por cosas que nosotros hicimos, Pero poder sentarte a platicar con vos mismo, reflexionar en dónde fallaste y perdonarte; en otras palabras, crecer como persona, Eso... eso es algo que supera cualquier obstáculo.
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Com(m)un ícate
Ángel y Blanca Alyssa Varas Ángel y Blanca Adán are Cuban immigrants who fled Cuba during Fidel Castro’s revolution. I interviewed them in their home in Miami, Florida, about their lives in Cuba, the revolution and their move to the United States. To read the full interview, visit www.alyssavarasyoga.com/the-cuba-project.
Si pudieras describir a Cuba en una palabra, ¿cuál sería? Blanca: Un paraíso. Una isla preciosa. Ángel: Eso mismo estaba pensando yo. Como Colón— Blanca: “Está la tierra más bella que los humanos han visto.” ¿Dónde naciste? Describe tu infancia y tu comunidad. Blanca: Yo nací en San Juan y Martínez en Pinar del Río en 1940. Yo estudiaba piano, jugaba con mis amigas “A la rueda, rueda de pan y canela,” y montamos caballos. Ángel: Yo nací en la calle Máximo Gómez en 1938 en Pinar del Río. Lo más que yo recuerdo es jugar al baloncesto y al escondite (riendo). Mi padre era panadero. Mi hermano Pete trabajaba conmigo en el camioncito donde vendimos galleticas y cosas de la panadería de mi papá. Blanca: Mi comunidad era un pueblo pequeño pero muy divertido. Hacían unas verbenas preciosas y tenían dos nightclubs preciosos. Verbenas quiere decir fiestas en las que preparaban todo el pueblo, trajeron los caballitos, daban bailes, preparaban comidas de diferentes países... Era un pueblo muy entusiasta con muchas actividades bonitas. Las gentes se querían, se conocían, daban muchas fiestas... very nice.
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¿Cuál fue su pensamiento inicial sobre Fidel Castro y su régimen? Ángel: Bueno, el ataque del palacio fue el 3 de marzo de 1957, así que este señor empezó en el ’54 o ’55. Yo tenía 17 años en el ’55, Blanca tenía 15. Blanca: A mí nunca me gustó. Pensábamos que se había acabado el problema tan grande que tenía en Cuba que no podías salir de casa porque tenían bombas en todos los lugares. Te daba miedo a ir al cine, hacer a una fiesta, hacer todas las cosas porque los revolucionarios iban contra de ti. No se suponía que te salieras ni ti divirtieras ni nada porque tenía un régimen que ellos no querían, que decían que era totalitario. Y esto era por como cuatro o cinco años. ¿En qué momento te vino a la mente la idea de salir de Cuba? Blanca: Las cosas se fueron poniendo más malas y más malas con respecto a las personas que no gustaban al gobierno. Ellos sabían los que no gustaban el gobierno, lo conocían. Entonces, era todo muy difícil... Tenías miedo de que te llevarían arrestados, que te llevarían presos a tus familiares. Nosotros nos habíamos puesto para salir de Cuba y llenamos los papeles para que la familia de nosotros nos reclamara en el Freedom Tower. Entonces, ya tú eras mal mirada, ya tú eras enemigo del gobierno. Al mismo Adán [Ángel] lo recogieron una vez para llevárselo a un campo de concentración en Camaguey. Lo pelaron y todo. Pero entonces nosotros teníamos influencias que hicieron que lo soltaran. Ángel: Antes, Cuba nunca tenía un sistema de comunismo. Nosotros no pensamos que podía pasar en esa manera. Pero, un día, Fidel ganó el poder, y el día siguiente ya empezó eso de paredón. Blanca: Paraban la gente contra una pared, y los mataban. Entonces ya nosotros sabíamos que teníamos que irnos, que no podíamos seguir ahí. Ángel: Y eso fue 48 horas después que ganó Fidel. También el gobierno te estaba vigilando. Tú no sabías
si eran del gobierno o no, pero sabías que te estaban chequeando. Blanca: Cuando llegó Fidel Castro, eran dos bandos: los de Fidel y los que no eran de Fidel, y se odiaban. Si podían meterte preso, te metían preso. Y estaban felices que tú estabas preso. Ángel: Y ahora están más feliz que antes porque la mayoría ¿tú sabes dónde están? Aquí en Miami. Describe el proceso del exilio. Blanca: Pues, el proceso del viaje fue que nosotros presentamos para venir, pensado que nos íbamos demorar. Pero nosotros teníamos algunas personas que nos conocían que pertenecían al gobierno y parece que alguna de las personas esas nos quiso ayudar. Salimos de Cuba rapidísimo por los Vuelos de la Libertad. Entonces, tuvimos unos días en Miami. De ahí nos fuimos para Atlanta, Georgia donde Pete vivía. Salimos Sara, Adán, Papi, y yo. Dejamos todo...todo, todo, todo. Te dejaban sacar unas maletas—unos sacos que— Ángel: Un gusano se llamaban. Blanca: Unos gusanos que tú llenabas con tu ropa, nada más. Solamente saqué una maleta de piel que yo tenía para traer la. Y allí me la vaciaron, me tiraron la ropa en el piso, y yo tenía que meter mi ropa en el gusano. Y se quedaron con la maleta porque era de piel. Cuando empezó la revolución, mi papá tenía mucho dinero en la casa en una caja fuerte. Mi mamá empezó a esconder el dinero en cojines y en las cortinas. El día que salimos, todo el dinero que habíamos sacado del banco, nos exigieron reponerlo. Pero como teníamos dinero guardado con ciertas amistades, trajeron el dinero ese para la casa que estaba sin usar en fajos de billetes, y papi y Adán se metieron en un cuarto y empezaron a estrujar los billetes para que lucieron que estaban usados. Tuvimos que devolver como diez mil pesos, que aquí no es nada, pero en Cuba diez mil pesos es como decir aquí dos ciento mil pesos. Aunque hubo
un tiempo que la moneda en Cuba valía más que la moneda de los Estados Unidos. Ángel: Dos centavos más. ¿Porque se querían mudar a Miami? Ángel: Cuando yo estaba en Miami me sentí como si yo estaba en Cuba. Estaban mis amigos y todo el mundo aquí [Miami]. No había frio en Miami. En Atlanta cuando pasa el otoño y esas matas se quedan sin una hojita, te parece como si paso un ciclón por allí. Para las Navidades, la gente cocinaba pavo... y el tin tin tin del Salvation Army para recoger dinero [riendo]. Yo decía, “A esta hora en Miami, están haciendo un lechón.” ¿Crees en el sueño americano? Blanca: Este país lo bueno que tiene es que con todos los problemas que hay aquí, siempre ha sido el país número uno para tú llegar y ganar tu dinerito y vivir. Antes, tú podías vivir una vida no de lujo, pero tener tu casita y tu carrito, que tus hijos estudiaban un poco. Pero, todo eso se ha acabado. La vivienda se ha puesto muy difícil. La clase media está desapareciendo. Antes, tú venias para Miami o Hialeah y estaban llenas de factorías. Entonces, inmediatamente tu conseguiás un trabajito con el que tú podías vivir. Todo eso se han llevado para afuera de este país. Queda poco para las personas en el medio. Ángel: Yo creo que el sueño americano se está poniendo bastante chiquito aquí. Yo no veo mucho futuro en este país... aquí van a haber problemas. Pero bueno, God bless America. ¿Cómo es el futuro de Cuba para ti? Ángel: Bueno, yo creo que el futuro de Cuba está mejor y dentro de poco. Porque ya han pasado cincuenta y pico años del régimen y eso tiene que cambiar. Blanca: Yo no soy tan optimista. Yo creo que los pobres cubanos van a seguir como están por muchos años. Ya Fidel se murió, pero como Fidel no hay nadie. Fidel es el hombre más inteligente que ha caminado la tierra, y está en las mentes y los corazones de todas las personas en Cuba. Ángel: El tipo es un artista.
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Com(m)un ícate
The Work is Worth it Brianna Edwards It would be easy for me to say, “I’m a dancer,” and talk about my dancing skills and technique. I could fill pages about my hip-hop team’s success on the biggest stages – how we didn’t lose a competition for over three years (including multiple national championships), how we took the first ever dance triple crown, and how we won three world championships. Nevertheless, those aren’t the reasons I’ve decided to write about my dance career. Have you ever been so nervous you felt the floor would cave in, or you had to struggle to swallow? Years ago, being the center of attention took me to that scary place. I’d shake like a leaf whenever I had to give a speech in class or deliver a presentation. It was worse whenever I stepped on the dance stage, even if only for my Christmas recital. (Shaky knees being an unwanted addition to choreography.) Seven years ago, however, I walked into a new gym, Legendary Athletics, exclusively for competitive cheerleading and hip-hop dance. With it came with national competitions and high expectations. For a girl who was uncomfortable walking into school without friends beside me, imagine how panicked I was walking into tryouts – the epitome of “center stage.” That year resulted in an intensive learning experience for me. The junior hip-hop team required moves much more acrobatic than anything I had done before. I fought anxiety before every competition, terrified to screw up. My nightmares never became reality, and I went into tryouts the second year with more confidence, hoping to make one of the better teams. It’s always gratifying when reality exceeds expectations. That year, my coach assembled an “elite” team of dancers to attend the biggest competitions. She hand-picked twelve dancers,
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and I was one of the twelve – the youngest on the team! I was shocked, ecstatic, and quite frankly, a little terrified. Though a definite honor, it didn’t help my stage fright much; I was petrified I would let the team down. As our success grew, so did my comfort level. We won two national championships, and I even got my first taste of the Dance World Championship. The following year, we finished 4th in the world. My third year with Senior Elite was when I started to really conquer my stage fright. As we kept winning, I noticed that instead of being nervous before each routine, I was excited, ready to show everyone what we could do. That year, with all eyes on us, we went to the World Championship an undefeated team, lived up to the hype and won gold. Throughout that season, I noticed that my confidence on stage was carrying over to the rest of my life. I worried less about what people thought, about trying new things and about needing to be perfect. After Worlds, my fifthgrade teacher reached out to me asking if I would give a speech at the school’s graduation event. Remember that stage fright thing? Well, I ended up speaking for 10 minutes in an auditorium packed with people – and actually enjoyed it! In that moment, I realized how far I’d come, and how persevering through anxiety rather than giving up helped me grow. I’d become confident enough to speak my mind and express myself freely. Now, I’m usually the friend who gets told to quiet down because I’m too loud. Throughout high school, my dance team continued to be a big part of my life. My junior and senior year, we remained undefeated, and won our second and third World Championships. Ending my career on such a high is something I will never forget. Now, in college, even though I’m no longer on a competitive team, I dance whenever I can. In dance, we have a saying: “The work is worth it.” It’s a mantra I’ve chosen to live by. When I’m feeling overly stressed or discouraged with myself, I refuse to give up. I’m not afraid to take initiative for what I want and fight against my inner demons. I owe so much of who I am today to being “a dancer.”
American Dream
Unlike my grandma who had studied English in the States when she was young, Abuelo was not bilingual. His children were young enough to pick up English quickly, but he found himself hopping from school to school taking English language classes whenever he had the chance. Luckily, he Alyssa Campa had neighbors and friends to help the family in times of need, or even just when they wanted a Miami in the 1960s was not what it is today. family photo taken on Christmas morning. Cuba in the 1960s was not what it is today. My It’s always been interesting for me to watch family in the 1960s was not what it is today! my blond-haired, green-eyed father speak fluent Time passes and with it comes change, but does Spanish, or see pictures of my aunts and uncles change always equal growth? dressed in modern American clothes less than a When my grandparents left Havana in decade since they moved from Cuba. Just looking September 1961, they took their children and fled at these family photos you would never know the to the United States as exiles seeking political cultural background of the people in them. freedom. The young family left their home behind Despite my family looking as white as they to escape the communist regime that had taken did, Miami in the past was not what it is today. over Cuba. The accents and the music that has become In Miami, they were met with what most so synonymous with the city were brand new, immigrants experience upon arriving in a new and some people were not ready for change. country, a combination of challenges and However, like so many other immigrants, what opportunities. My grandpa found a job in his makes all of the hard times worthwhile is the desired profession working as an accountant chance at growth. and in just one year was able to buy a house for My family has definitely grown. They grew out his family to live in. This was rare considering of their leather shoes, purple skirts and beehive the numerous doctors and lawyers who found hairdos. They grew their friendships and their themselves driving taxis and carrying people’s vocabularies. And eventually the kids grew up and luggage. Abuelo says the most difficult part about had kids of their own. For my Abuelos, that was moving to the U.S. was the language barrier. America: the opportunity to progress.
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Com(m)un ícate
A Growing Memory Bianca Gonzalez “Jose, you’re picking me up at 4:40 right?” “Yes, love.” “You won’t forget?” “Darling, please,” He said, defending. “What time?” She repeated. “4:40.”
it passed over a small rock, but when he looked down, he saw two handlebars and was holding on tight.
He was riding through his little village in Cuba. Riding despite what his mother told him, a sort of rebellious act before the big event. Jose was a bit upset that he couldn’t be As he passed the corner, a man with a fedora trusted with simple tasks anymore. He’d been was leaning against the wall, enjoying his cigar. forgetting a lot of things lately, but didn’t want to There was a woman to the left, balancing a big admit it, even to himself. basket overflowing with fresh fruits on her head. The palms were scattered and swaying. The dirt He went on his walk that he walked every road was bumpy, but the ride downhill was slick day. He dreaded walking, doctor’s orders, though, and enjoyable. The air was refreshingly clean, to stay in good shape after the heart attack. He smelling of fresh damp dirt after the rain. As he walked in the afternoons. Not right after the clock passed by Santiago, that already had on his strikes noon, when the sun is scorching and clean, white guayabera shirt, he said, “Jose, don’t people are all out for lunch, but a couple hours you have to get ready for Luli’s quince?” Then later, when it’s calm out and there’s still a nice Manuel, who was sitting on the ground throwing quiet sun overhead. He walked with his cane, step rocks at the curb, shouted, “See you tonight.” by step by step, every step of the way. He usually He even remembers the song that was playing just walked to the park and back, wanting to get from the small drug store with its doors open, the the walk over with as soon as possible. owners sitting at the porch of the shop swaying on a rocking-chair with a gray, shaggy dog slumped Before turning around to head on home he at their feet, he began humming to the tune of– felt a pinch at his shoe, at the left corner, rubbing against his pinky toe. So, he picked a bench and “Excuse me, do you have the time?” sat, bent over and removed the shoe to find a measly pebble roll out. He flicked it away and He blinked and was back at the park looking when he looked up, saw a young girl riding her at a jogger who was looking back at him, bike. impatiently. It might have been the way the shade bled Jose shook his head, smiled at the man and through the trees making a distinct pattern on then checked his watch. her arms, or the slight breeze that flirted with the crevices of his ear in a particular way, or maybe it “4:47.” was even the little ringing sound the bike made as
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Es Fácil Gabriella Diz Going away to college is not easy Living on your own is not easy Making new friends is not easy But calling your abuela, no es fácil
Not because you forget Not because you lost your Spanish Not because you’re busy But because you hear that sweet voice and you remember
You remember the tight hugs You remember the familiar smells You remember the sound her bracelets make But you also remember how you didn’t visit or call her enough
Now more than ever you need that tight hug Now more than ever you wish she’s right next to you Now more than ever you want her advice But what you don’t realize, is that you can have it
Call her, es fácil.
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Com(m)un ícate
Choose To Be Daniel Gamboa Learning math and history can be a breeze. Learning how to be yourself is a lifelong struggle that will always bring new lessons. My identity is always in flux, learning new aspects about myself or letting go of things I no longer wish to be a part of me. My family has all gone to university before me, none of them failing to make a career for themselves, no matter the circumstances. I follow their footsteps, but with very stark differences. To start, I am the first American-born family member, a weight that does not let up easily when my whole family shines their pride and hope on me for my accomplishments. The pride and hope is not the issue here; it’s the pressure I put on myself for my family to make them happy. I hold back my stress when my aunt facetimes me. I choke back tears of anxiety when my parents call to let them know everything is going okay and that school is just “picking up speed” and that “I’m on top of it.” The weight of the conversation about how I feel sometimes seems heavier than the actual conversation may turn out to be, but that doesn’t stop the paralysis.
Growing up in school made these discrepancies apparent. My high school was disproportionately made up of Latinos, but nearly every one of them moved to the US. Colombians stuck with Colombians. Venezuelans with Venezuelans. Even Brazilians had their own group. But I never was “Latino enough” to really be taken in by these crowds. My Spanish, while conversational, lacked the nuance of regional words and general vocabulary. I knew nothing of the relationships between cities, only knowing the capital where my parents were from. Those barriers and stereotypes are hard to escape. They’re even harder to overcome.
I work hard to speak Spanish every day, as often as the chance comes up, to make sure my mother tongue doesn’t lose its grasp. I talk to my parents, as difficult as it can be, to learn about my family and more about Venezuela. I take time out of my day to sit and be comfortable with my body and break down the macho image that is constantly projected in social media and When you are born between the hard lines advertising. Learning to love yourself when you people place on identity, there is a level of have very little to inherit to love is an eternal work disconnect with who you are. Both my parents of progress. I still don’t feel comfortable speaking are naturalized citizens, but I was born in Hialeah. Spanish around such fluent speakers. I make sure I spoke Spanish all my childhood at home, but my voice is heard anyways. I have only seen the English dominated my mind daily outside those capital, Caracas, throughout my youth, but I still walls. I am Venezuelan, but I have no drop of hope to explore my heritage as soon as we can culture and understanding of what life in my reach stability and peace. home country was. I am American, but I don’t have a history of America in my family. I’ve been We grow up. But we are the ultimate deciders asked if I am white, Asian, Pacific Islander and in how we direct that growth. even Native American, but everyone is shocked when I open my mouth with the words of another language and can comfortably listen to English and Spanish, as if being Latino was this exotic moniker that others thought was only relegated to tan, overconfident macho men.
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Poem #10 (Wings) Daniel Gamboa You beat along the path you knew to take You wonder if that path was paved all the way You know that path is meant for the best But you know that path is marred by thoughts you detest The thumps in your eardrum beat to the rhythm of the chants The people coursing through the city veins A body at war with itself, but the cancer is not in the streets. The love of our men and women not in the sheets But in the voices that cry for democracy, The wings beat the air in search for new land. But what happens when paradise on earth falls to the devils in our hearts? Your home does not take you back For its back has been turned inside out Is there a god to pray to when the churches are filled with the moans of the dying, still seeking to fight for their cause? Only God can answer, but he sits sleepless as the phone rings without picking up. Is there a heart still pumping when your guard surround your capitol? Only the people can answer, but the ink of a new constitution must bear blood. Fly now
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Com(m)un ícate
Between Dos Mundos: A Day in the Life of a Hispanic-American Jorge A. Escobar Mata My name is Jorge Abraham Escobar Mata. To be frank, I’m not quite sure how you pronounced that in your head. I guess it just depends on how you feel, where you are from and what you think of me. I was born in San Salvador, El Salvador, and moved to Miami, Florida, at the age of three. I then moved to Gainesville, Florida, at the age of 18 to attend the University of Florida. When I first moved to this country, I was accustomed to living in El Salvador where not only did everyone understand me, but everyone knew how to pronounce my name. Upon introducing myself at my pre-school in Miami and having my name called for attendance, I was promptly greeted by “Hor-hay S-cow-bar,” which at that age already infuriated me. By the time I got to kindergarten, I was forced to give up part of my culture and introduce myself as George. From then, it just stuck.
nobody could take away from me, and it really was like that until I was stuck in a line with a Peter Griffin lookalike with his wife and kids. The man started talking about how my friends and I were probably some of those Mexicans that leech off of them. He continued to talk about how terrible all Hispanics are. After about five minutes of listening to his ignorance, I was done, and I had to say something, so I simply told him, “I speak English, just so you know.” The look on his face when he heard me, a short tan boy, speak perfect English was priceless and gladly, he left the line.
I am 100 percent bilingual in the sense that I can read, write and speak in both English and Spanish. I am constantly told how lucky I am to speak both languages, but in reality, it wasn’t luck at all. It was my mother forcing me to speak Spanish at home. I remember asking for food Now, as cliché as it sounds, if I had a dollar for in English and having her not acknowledge my every time somebody in the United States asked request until it was made in Spanish. Mastering me if I spoke English or was Hispanic, I would be two languages never came easy. a millionaire. If, on top of that, I had a dollar for every time that I was called a “gringo” and Being bilingual seems to have all these perks gotten stared down in El Salvador, I would be a in the future, but it also has its annoying little billionaire. caveats. Speaking in English with your friends and not knowing how to say something because I am typically considered to be an extremely the word doesn’t have a translation to English sassy person, and I don’t take rude judgement and vice-versa when speaking to your parents. well. Sadly, some of my earliest memories of And that is all assuming that I don’t choose to just traveling around the United States include plenty speak my true tongue, Spanglish, where I can just of fulfilled stereotypes and sad realizations. I speak without thinking: “Pero bro, I honestly don’t remember walking through Universal Studios on get how you’re still with aquella loca que no te my eighth-grade class trip with an excitement that deja venir a jugar domino with the bros, drop that girl, dude.”
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On a daily basis, I have an internal conflict as to whether I am Hispanic or American. I am a mix of cultures and do not fit in to pre-established boxes and norms. I constantly find myself caught between cultures. I look in the mirror and don’t know what to think. My tan skin, black hair, and brown eyes tell me I’m a true guanaco. My backwards Marlins snapback, Columbia buttondown, with only the top button unbuttoned, and my Levi jeans tell me I’m a total gringo. I don’t know what I am. The saddest part is that I have nobody to turn to for answers because my parents are in the same boat. I’ve searched for answers both in the United States and in El Salvador, but seem to be greeted with issues wherever I go.
I like being seen as different. I like standing out from the rest. I like being bicultural because it makes me who I am. I am a mix of two great cultures, and I could not be prouder. My name is Jorge Abraham Escobar Mata, and I am proud be caught between dos mundos.
I still have a fresh memory of landing in the El Salvador airport and being sent to the “Tourist and Immigrants” line. I looked forward to returning home so much, but the truth is that I don’t know where home is. Whenever I go to El Salvador, there seems to be this huge schism of culture and traditions that not even my full biculturalism can fill. I seem to be an immigrant in one country and a foreigner in the other. What is even more sad is that my charismatic personality takes a major loss whenever I travel back and forth. Jokes just don’t make sense when they’re translated or simply aren’t funny to the other culture. American pop culture references are almost completely irrelevant in El Salvador, so I sound like an idiot talking about the Ball brothers and their crazy father. But then, I start talking about Timbiriche or RBD in the States and get major stank eye. I have to force myself to change my mental state to match the available conversation topics. Although I do seem to rant on and on about the problems I have with being stuck between two worlds, I don’t hate it at all. In fact, I would rather be in this constant limbo than being stuck in one culture living my life wondering what it would be like to be something else. I am a bridge between cultures. I am breaking boundaries just by talking in my Spanglish, by understanding two cultures, by being Hispanic-American.
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Cover Art: Jorge A. Escobar Mata Graphic Design: Brianna Edwards