My Personal Experience
I once heard in a movie about how being Mexican American is tough. It's true. I was born in Seattle, Washington, but my parents are from Guadalajara, Mexico, nearly three thousand miles away. I was lucky enough to visit Mexico in the summer of 2010 with my younger brother. I returned to Mexico in the summer of 2011, by myself, to assist my maternal grandmother who was experiencing health issues. This solo trip to Mexico would open my eyes and help me to see what the world is really like. Now I'm more determined to succeed in my life. I can't thank God enough for my parents and their sacrifices.
Even though Mexico is just to the south, it's considered a third world country. Mexicans don't have the same opportunities that we do here in the north, or El Norte, as it's known. For most Mexicans the dream of going to America is only a dream. Everywhere I went, no matter if it was outside my grandmother's house or downtown, I saw children, teenagers and even adults roaming around the streets knocking on people's doors asking for food, money and jobs. I know we have poverty here in the United States but in Mexico it's different. It was a shock to see the land my parents and ancestors came from in this way. This is what my parents left behind so my brothers and I could live safely.
I'll never forget the face behind Mexico's poverty. I remember seeing an older woman missing a leg, dragging herself all over the city. Her clothes were filthy. You could tell that she hasn't showered for days. Most of the people just looked at her disgusted. Yet I couldn't stop looking at that woman, even as I walked away with my family. I wish I could have helped her. I wish I could have done something. When I think of this woman, I think of myself, and my family. My parents could have elected to stay in Mexico. They could have gotten sick, or gotten into some sort of accident. Things could have been different.
It is hard being a Mexican American. I'm only eighteen, but I've already decided no matter what it takes I will never give up. The thought of wasting what you've been given is scary enough. I want to become a registered nurse and I know it will take a lot of determination but I'm up for the challenge. I feel I became a different person on my return trip to Mexico. My passion for helping others has grown stronger. I'll graduate from high school in 2012. I'm proud to say that because of everything I've learned so far. I have a pretty good idea where I want to go in my life. Maybe my return trip to Mexico was my parents' way of saying, "In order to see Heaven, you have to go through Hell." Maybe...
-Betsy Rodriguez
I once heard in a movie about how being Mexican American is tough. It's true. I was born in Seattle, Washington, but my parents are from Guadalajara, Mexico, nearly three thousand miles away. I was lucky enough to visit Mexico in the summer of 2010 with my younger brother. I returned to Mexico in the summer of 2011, by myself, to assist my maternal grandmother who was experiencing health issues. This solo trip to Mexico would open my eyes and help me to see what the world is really like. Now I'm more determined to succeed in my life. I can't thank God enough for my parents and their sacrifices.
Even though Mexico is just to the south, it's considered a third world country. Mexicans don't have the same opportunities that we do here in the north, or El Norte, as it's known. For most Mexicans the dream of going to America is only a dream. Everywhere I went, no matter if it was outside my grandmother's house or downtown, I saw children, teenagers and even adults roaming around the streets knocking on people's doors asking for food, money and jobs. I know we have poverty here in the United States but in Mexico it's different. It was a shock to see the land my parents and ancestors came from in this way. This is what my parents left behind so my brothers and I could live safely.
I'll never forget the face behind Mexico's poverty. I remember seeing an older woman missing a leg, dragging herself all over the city. Her clothes were filthy. You could tell that she hasn't showered for days. Most of the people just looked at her disgusted. Yet I couldn't stop looking at that woman, even as I walked away with my family. I wish I could have helped her. I wish I could have done something. When I think of this woman, I think of myself, and my family. My parents could have elected to stay in Mexico. They could have gotten sick, or gotten into some sort of accident. Things could have been different.
It is hard being a Mexican American. I'm only eighteen, but I've already decided no matter what it takes I will never give up. The thought of wasting what you've been given is scary enough. I want to become a registered nurse and I know it will take a lot of determination but I'm up for the challenge. I feel I became a different person on my return trip to Mexico. My passion for helping others has grown stronger. I'll graduate from high school in 2012. I'm proud to say that because of everything I've learned so far. I have a pretty good idea where I want to go in my life. Maybe my return trip to Mexico was my parents' way of saying, "In order to see Heaven, you have to go through Hell." Maybe...
-Betsy Rodriguez
