To exist as a low-income, first-generation Latina woman is to tread a path woven with threads of humble gratitude and note that even the smallest joys cast grand shadows. It is to marvel at the thought of living in a second-story home, to hear a child’s joy on the amusement park ride that is an elevator lift, and to desire the hum of a microwave because it was a symbol of luxury. My journey means growing up valuing socks adorned with designs as treasures, valuing the glint of shiny stickers as fragments of stars, valuing the embrace of fitted clothes, and desiring the feast under the golden arches of McDonald's. It is to perceive the mall as a distant land of wonder, an escape from the realities of a home where mold claims the walls as its canvas and roofs surrender to time. It's a realm where father's presence was a ghost to barely make ends meet, and cleanliness an unattainable dream. In this fortress of solitude, the act of welcoming others became an unspoken taboo. And yet, amidst this landscape of want and whispers, the only beacon of true hope lies in the halls of education, where every heart echoes the same song. My mother is where I got my hope, ambition, and persistence. My mother is where I got my kind heart and open mind, my mother is the founding reason as to why I was able to make it as far as I did. My mother is my Jose Prado. Even though she did not truly understand what going to college meant, even though she did not attend college, and even though all she could offer me was ‘échale ganas, mija,’ over the phone. I learned that my mother lives through me, and for her, I decided that I was going to become the best version of myself. When I graduated high school, so did she. When I got an apprenticeship at a big tech company, so did she. When I got into one of the most prestigious universities in the country, so did she. This also means that the journey that my mother has undergone is also mine. I saw the gap between my mother's and the immigrant women’s restrained recounts of their past and the stark reality of their experiences as they navigated a new country. I recognize an opportunity to realize the effects of structural influences not only on my mother's life or mine but all others who underwent the same story. With this, I embrace my role as a storyteller as I unapologetically confront the broader socio-political forces that perpetuate violence and injustices. Through this lens, I see my mother's story not just as a personal narrative, but as part of a representation of the shared yet varying experiences among immigrant communities. I find myself seeking those who create the very same spaces that I desired growing up, just as I did. This is the very soul of my odyssey, a ceaseless pursuit towards a world not merely recognizing but wholeheartedly embracing our community as integral, vibrant pieces in the ecosystem of human existence. As I navigate a world where “everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed,” I value those who confront the continuous battle against societal and personal obstacles and the continuous triumphs over them. To perceive our history as a mosaic composed of diverse experiences, each piece as a testament to the power of perseverance and the beauty inherent in rising above all odds. Por lo tanto, comprendo que soy la transformación que ansío contemplar en el mundo.

To exist as a low-income, first-generation Latina woman is to tread a path woven with threads of humble gratitude and note that even the smallest joys cast grand shadows. It is to marvel at the thought of living in a second-story home, to hear a child’s joy on the amusement park ride that is an elevator lift, and to desire the hum of a microwave because it was a symbol of luxury. My journey means growing up valuing socks adorned with designs as treasures, valuing the glint of shiny stickers as fragments of stars, valuing the embrace of fitted clothes, and desiring the feast under the golden arches of McDonald's. It is to perceive the mall as a distant land of wonder, an escape from the realities of a home where mold claims the walls as its canvas and roofs surrender to time. It's a realm where father's presence was a ghost to barely make ends meet, and cleanliness an unattainable dream. In this fortress of solitude, the act of welcoming others became an unspoken taboo. My mother is where I got my hope, ambition, and persistence. My mother is where I got my kind heart and open mind, my mother is the founding reason as to why I was able to make it as far as I did. I learned early on that my mother lives through me. When I graduated high school, so did she. When I got an internship where I earned more than triple she made, so did she. When I got a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country, so did she. This also means that the journey that my mother has undergone is also mine. When my mother told me the story of how she crossed the border into Texas, she did not initially mention the various failed attempts before being able to risk her life swimming through the Rio Grande. I choose not to ask her to relive these moments, but her silence speaks volumes, a narrative of resilience and unspoken echoes from the past. I saw the gap between my mother's and the immigrant women’s restrained recounts of their past and the stark reality of their experiences. I recognize an opportunity to realize the effects of structural influences not only on my mother's life or mine but all others who underwent the same story. With this, I embrace my role as a storyteller as I unapologetically restructure the societal framework. I confront the broader socio-political forces that perpetuate violence and injustice against migrant women and encourage conversations about race, gender, sexuality, and class. Through this lens, I see my mother's story not just as a personal narrative, but as part a representation of the shared yet varying experiences among immigrant communities. I find myself creating the very same spaces that I desired growing up, where people can openly share their experiences. This is the very soul of my odyssey, a ceaseless pursuit towards a world not merely recognizing but wholeheartedly embracing our community as integral, vibrant pieces in the ecosystem of human existence. As I navigate a world where “everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed,” I am reminded of the continuous battle against societal and personal obstacles and the continuous triumphs over them. I perceive my history as a mosaic composed of diverse experiences, each piece a testament to the power of perseverance and the beauty inherent in rising above all odds. Por lo tanto, comprendo que soy la transformación que ansío contemplar en el mundo.

To exist as a low-income, first-generation Latina woman is to tread a path woven with threads of humble gratitude and note that even the smallest joys cast grand shadows. It is to marvel at the thought of living in a second-story home, to hear a child’s joy on the amusement park ride that is an elevator lift, and to desire the hum of a microwave because it was a symbol of luxury. My journey means growing up valuing socks adorned with designs as treasures, valuing the glint of shiny stickers as fragments of stars, valuing the embrace of fitted clothes, and desiring the feast under the golden arches of McDonald's. It is to perceive the mall as a distant land of wonder, an escape from the realities of a home where mold claims the walls as its canvas and roofs surrender to time. It's a realm where father's presence was a ghost to barely make ends meet, and cleanliness an unattainable dream. In this fortress of solitude, the act of welcoming others became an unspoken taboo. My mother is where I got my hope, ambition, and persistence. My mother is where I got my kind heart and open mind, my mother is the founding reason as to why I was able to make it as far as I did. I learned early on that my mother lives through me. When I graduated high school, so did she. When I got an internship where I earned more than triple she made, so did she. When I got a full scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country, so did she. This also means that the journey that my mother has undergone is also mine. When my mother told me the story of how she crossed the border into Texas, she did not initially mention the various failed attempts before being able to risk her life swimming through the Rio Grande. I choose not to ask her to relive these moments, but her silence speaks volumes, a narrative of resilience and unspoken echoes from the past. I saw the gap between my mother's and the immigrant women’s restrained recounts of their past and the stark reality of their experiences. I recognize an opportunity to realize the effects of structural influences not only on my mother's life or mine but all others who underwent the same story. With this, I embrace my role as a storyteller as I unapologetically restructure the societal framework. I confront the broader socio-political forces that perpetuate violence and injustice against migrant women and encourage conversations about race, gender, sexuality, and class. Through this lens, I see my mother's story not just as a personal narrative, but as part a representation of the shared yet varying experiences among immigrant communities. I find myself creating the very same spaces that I desired growing up, where people can openly share their experiences. This is the very soul of my odyssey, a ceaseless pursuit towards a world not merely recognizing but wholeheartedly embracing our community as integral, vibrant pieces in the ecosystem of human existence. As I navigate a world where “everyday something has tried to kill me and has failed,” I am reminded of the continuous battle against societal and personal obstacles and the continuous triumphs over them. I perceive my history as a mosaic composed of diverse experiences, each piece a testament to the power of perseverance and the beauty inherent in rising above all odds. Por lo tanto, comprendo que soy la transformación que ansío contemplar en el mundo.