I have always found interest in the life of Lidia Salinas, my grandmother, whom I never had the opportunity to meet. To me, Lidia Salinas is a woman of mystery. At times, its easy for me to think of her as a figure in some history book I've only ever bothered reading the title of, or a woman in pictures I cannot recognize. But she's never felt like family to me, and I've never actually said that out loud. But this isn't because I do not care for her legacy; it's more so because all my knowledge of her is limited. In fact, all I do know of her is that she died of cancer when my father was twelve years old. But I have nothing to remember her by, not really, because when I think of her, all I can think about is her death. No memories, no stories passed on, nothing. Growing up, I always wondered about her, and my mind was always full questions. Who was she? What did she enjoy? What was her favorite color? I can recall specific times in my life where I asked my father about her, but he always gave me short answers. I never knew his reasoning behind this and dismissed it as unresolved grief. However, I later found out that my father did not know much about his mother at all. He carried with him many memories of her looking after him, but he did not know who she was. Who was she before she was a mother? What had she been like when she was a teenager? What was her passion? All these questions and no answers. I think it's a beautiful thing to keep the legacy of those you loved alive, just as Freaderick and Bernice Beretta's family has done for them. I have made a promise to myself to discover exactly who Lidia Salinas was. Not to remember her for her death, but for the life she lived.

"It's impossible, I could never do that." Ever since I was young, I have always believed that I was meant to blend into the background and if I fell behind it's because it was ultimately where I belonged. I grew up admiring people who stood out, fought for change, and a better life but never believed that I was capable of doing this myself. Defining your goals, your dreams, and your self-worth by the word impossible instills within a young mind, a heavy burden and an intensely uncomfortable fear of the future. I was in the fifth grade when I used these ideas to form my way of thinking which only worsened as I struggled through high school. I never believed I could actually graduate. Never. But I did. And when I walked across that stage I couldn't stop repeating this phrase in my head: What an odd thing. The word odd shouldn't have been the first word to come into my mind at such a pivotal moment in my life, but it was. What was odd exactly? Well, the odd thing was that my strong self description of the word impossible had shattered. Vanished, after years of being cemented into my mind because I did it. I wasn't really planning on attending college at all. Whenever someone in my family asked me about it I would lie and say I was. But receiving my high school diploma had instilled within me something I had never felt before: accomplishment, pride, and honor. I never once believed those words could belong to me, and now they did, and I wanted to keep them for as long as I could. So I enrolled myself in college and once I got accepted I'd never felt more terrified and excited in my entire life. I will be the first person in my family to attend and graduate college. What a beautiful thing to be able to say. It is true that first-generation students must face challenges that other students won't. But it is also true that we carry with us the honor of breaking the mold of our families history of high school education and lower. I am prepared to face whatever challenges may lie ahead of me because I know that when I walk across that graduation stage again I will share the honor with my family who I know will support me through it all.