Identity and background have always been difficult concepts for me to accept. Normally, children understand themselves and allow themselves to freely develop until they’re adults, but for more than one reason that process never felt natural to me. My mother grew up in an impoverished neighborhood in Bogotá, Colombia. Regardless, she knew an education could help her achieve her dreams, so she graduated from the prestigious Universidad Nacional de Colombia. She boarded a plane to America without any family or connections and with minimal understanding of English. Unfortunately, her application for citizenship was rejected, so she overstayed her visa, and along with my father, lived illegally in the USA for eighteen years.
Somehow, the American …show more content…
My brother and I were raised on government programs, and I am now grateful everyday for the opportunities they provided me. Head Start offered me a place to thrive and Medicaid allowed me access to health care when my parents did not know if our rent could be paid, but along with welfare came shame. My egocentricity as a child made me pity myself. I didn’t appreciate what my parents worked so tirelessly to give me - instead I envied all of the people who didn’t have to worry. To me, it wasn’t just about being underprivileged but also the looks my family would get walking through middle class areas in Long Island. I would constantly hear news stations call my family “illegal aliens”, and nothing stung more than being singled out for ruining an entire nation’s economy. Even in school, my brother and I were bullied for our darker skin. I detested who I was, and now at sixteen it’s tough to believe how desperately I wanted to die back then. I hated my bronze skin, I hated that I spoke Spanish, but most of all I hated my name. “Angelica Escobar” was the eternal reminder that I didn’t belong and every time I scratched it onto paper all I felt was discontentedness. I used to spend my nights praying for a sign. Was God punishing me? I prayed constantly without any response until one day I gave up. I learned to be okay with people
Somehow, the American …show more content…
My brother and I were raised on government programs, and I am now grateful everyday for the opportunities they provided me. Head Start offered me a place to thrive and Medicaid allowed me access to health care when my parents did not know if our rent could be paid, but along with welfare came shame. My egocentricity as a child made me pity myself. I didn’t appreciate what my parents worked so tirelessly to give me - instead I envied all of the people who didn’t have to worry. To me, it wasn’t just about being underprivileged but also the looks my family would get walking through middle class areas in Long Island. I would constantly hear news stations call my family “illegal aliens”, and nothing stung more than being singled out for ruining an entire nation’s economy. Even in school, my brother and I were bullied for our darker skin. I detested who I was, and now at sixteen it’s tough to believe how desperately I wanted to die back then. I hated my bronze skin, I hated that I spoke Spanish, but most of all I hated my name. “Angelica Escobar” was the eternal reminder that I didn’t belong and every time I scratched it onto paper all I felt was discontentedness. I used to spend my nights praying for a sign. Was God punishing me? I prayed constantly without any response until one day I gave up. I learned to be okay with people