Ten percent of the students at my high school — about eighty kids — are still learning English. I’m ashamed to say that until my junior year, I didn’t know any of them. When I was 16, I traveled to Spain on a school trip. I had only taken French, so I signed up for a Spanish class at a community college to learn a few basic phrases. I had no idea that this simple decision would change my life. My passion for learning Spanish continued after I flew home, and I began to notice the isolation that many Spanish speakers in my town felt. I realized that English learners at my school were often dismissed with stereotypes such as “the Spanish girls.” Grouping them like this makes it easier for us, American students, to explain why we’ll never interact with them — why we share the same hallways and cafeteria but never a conversation. I’m embarrassed to say I was part of the problem. It became clear that language wasn’t the only thing that separated us. Layers of prejudice constructed a barrier between us. But I realized that the more Spanish I learned, the more I could begin to break down that wall and reduce the isolation that these students felt. The first step was understanding their language so I could learn their stories. By May, I could understand the girls next to me in the school library talking about their favorite breakfast. By June, I could converse with a coworker in the restaurant where I worked about the tobacco farm in Guatemala where he grew up. Every new vocabulary word opened a window into cultures and traditions I knew nothing about. Each verb tense peeled away a layer of someone’s astonishing personal story. After my junior year, I volunteered in Toabré, a small village in rural Panama, to immerse myself and learn about Latin American culture. I quickly learned that despite our differences, we Americans weren’t so different from the locals. My host family and I loved to talk late into the night, play cards, and throw surprise birthday parties. My host mama Rosario taught me how to make crispy patacones (fried plantains). My new friend Lorenzo taught us how to play maracas, and we played in his band in the town square. Back home, I’ve tried to make similar connections. My senior year, I worked hard to learn Portuguese, too, and I became one of only a few students in Massachusetts to earn a state seal of proficiency in three foreign languages (Spanish, French and Portuguese). My language skills helped me connect with community members who would otherwise have been isolated from me. I helped with English classes at a local nonprofit to translate for Spanish speakers and soon found myself working with people from all over the world, including Egypt, Afghanistan, Haiti and Brazil. In school, I’ve been a peer mentor for immigrant students learning English. After getting to know more English learners in my community, I learned they weren't just “the Spanish girls.” They were funny, creative, athletic and brilliant. I realized they were teaching me more than I could ever teach them, and I could no longer let their inspiring stories go untold. My school’s online newspaper became my outlet. I filled it with their stories. Like the one about my amigas Jennyfer and Monica from Guatemala, whose first language was not Spanish but Q'eqchi, a 5,000-year-old Mayan dialect. Or the one about my timid friend Franklin’s secret dream to open his own restaurante. Or the one about Alejandro, who is working toward a fútbol career to honor his brother, who was fatally shot in Guatemala. Throughout my teen years, I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression. Learning how to overcome them has interested me in a mental health career so someday I can help others overcome them, too. As I’ve gotten to know more Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking friends in my town, I’ve come to realize how much many of them struggle with depression like I do. Imagine being 16 years old and living on a different continent than your parents. Or trying to juggle high school, a social life and a full-time, 40-hour-per week job at the grocery store so you can send money back home to your family. I’ve noticed, too, that there’s a stigma around mental illness in those communities. It’s just not something people are comfortable talking about. I’d like to try and change that because I know it could help a lot of people. In college, I plan to major in psychology and Latin American Studies. When I graduate, I’d like to use my fluent language ability to work as a Spanish-speaking psychologist for immigrants and help to overcome that stigma around discussing mental health. That is a gift I would like to share. The stories that I’ve uncovered by connecting with non-native English speakers in my town have taught me my passion for understanding people and bringing them together. I want to highlight what unites us all: to have a favorite food, to have people you love, to have struggles and dreams. We may come from different backgrounds, but we share our joys and dreams, we share our struggles with mental health, and most of all, we share our humanity. As my English-learner friends have taught me, that is all that matters.