“Sofia, *Spanish*!” my abuelito called out to me in his heavy accent. “Okay, I got it!” I called over the thunderous noise of hearty laughter, children squealing, and another Joe Arroyo song. I squeezed between the numerous bodies that towered over my seven-year-old stature as I tried to reach the kitchen. My house wasn’t particularly big, but it always seemed to have an abundance of people in it; most speaking in a language which I only partially understood. When I stumbled into the kitchen, my nostrils filled with the overwhelming aroma of food, both cooking and already prepared to be served. I spoke to my mother in my native tongue, Spanglish, asking her for some seasonings, a lime, and two beers. Somehow my stubby fingers managed to carry
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To provide an image to what extent, my abuelito was one of seventeen children and my abuelita was one of six. A majority of those siblings moved to the U.S. from Colombia and, later, many settled in Texas. I was very fortunate to get to know most of my relatives and even get to grow up with cousins my own age. Just as it was in my mother’s home growing up, my home became the center of all our family get-togethers, parties, and casual events which occurred, respectively, on a weekly basis. Major events that were hosted at my house were the annual Tamales Parties and the annual Pig Parties. On those days, a plethora of relatives would come and join in on the making and eating of tamales and sausage commonly found in my family’s country. The parties were always fond celebrations that brought my family closer together and fortified our roots; they’re easily the most prominently pleasant and valued memories in my …show more content…
It was an eye-opening journey that immersed me in the culture and strengthened my love for the country where my heritage began as well as a humbling experience that made me appreciate my life in America. One of the most beautiful places in Colombia is its countryside where the brightly colored clothes of its citizens resembled greatly with its equally vivid colored homes and plants. The rolling hills and mountains that peaked through the clouds above and the ability to pick and eat the fresh fruits and vegetables that grew from low hanging branches of tropical trees truly made the experience surreal. However, despite the country’s natural beauty, my heart broke for the poverty-stricken people that filled the city, and it became clear why my family left. Because poverty was so common, my grandfather was going to take the extra step by getting his college degree. However, his degree was put on hold due to his professors constantly going on strike. Seeing no other option to support himself, my grandfather left Colombia and came to the U.S. with only the clothes on his back and a small bag containing an extra shirt, a letter for his professor’s family who had moved a few years prior, and one hundred dollars to his name. Due to an accident, which prevented him from meeting his future colleagues, my grandfather had nowhere to go so he went to
To provide an image to what extent, my abuelito was one of seventeen children and my abuelita was one of six. A majority of those siblings moved to the U.S. from Colombia and, later, many settled in Texas. I was very fortunate to get to know most of my relatives and even get to grow up with cousins my own age. Just as it was in my mother’s home growing up, my home became the center of all our family get-togethers, parties, and casual events which occurred, respectively, on a weekly basis. Major events that were hosted at my house were the annual Tamales Parties and the annual Pig Parties. On those days, a plethora of relatives would come and join in on the making and eating of tamales and sausage commonly found in my family’s country. The parties were always fond celebrations that brought my family closer together and fortified our roots; they’re easily the most prominently pleasant and valued memories in my …show more content…
It was an eye-opening journey that immersed me in the culture and strengthened my love for the country where my heritage began as well as a humbling experience that made me appreciate my life in America. One of the most beautiful places in Colombia is its countryside where the brightly colored clothes of its citizens resembled greatly with its equally vivid colored homes and plants. The rolling hills and mountains that peaked through the clouds above and the ability to pick and eat the fresh fruits and vegetables that grew from low hanging branches of tropical trees truly made the experience surreal. However, despite the country’s natural beauty, my heart broke for the poverty-stricken people that filled the city, and it became clear why my family left. Because poverty was so common, my grandfather was going to take the extra step by getting his college degree. However, his degree was put on hold due to his professors constantly going on strike. Seeing no other option to support himself, my grandfather left Colombia and came to the U.S. with only the clothes on his back and a small bag containing an extra shirt, a letter for his professor’s family who had moved a few years prior, and one hundred dollars to his name. Due to an accident, which prevented him from meeting his future colleagues, my grandfather had nowhere to go so he went to