When I was six years old, I never looked at the color of people's skin and classified them under a category. I only looked at people as human beings. At the age of sixteen, I heard my first racist remark. A man around the age of thirty referred to me as a mongrel who deserved to sent back to my country. My country? The only country I have known since I was born is the one my birth certificate says: the United States.
At the age of eighteen, I began my first year of university. University is nothing that the movies claim it to be. I did not go to college to pursue a particular career. I had no idea what I wanted to become. My goal in life, at that time, was to be happy. How does one equate happiness into the curriculum when all these classes are supposed to become a degree after four or so years. I decided to take the classes my advisor told me to take and eventually I walked into a class that discussed things that my high school teachers never discussed: race and politics.
I never thought to question my race until I walked out of that class and looked into the mirror. The girl in that mirror is not the same girl that signed those papers to attend university. I was no longer ignorant and naive girl that was American by birth. I am the struggle of my ancestors. I am the daughter of an immigrant family that desperately desires to become more than just another Hispanic family. I am Ecuadorian and Peruvian. Two beautiful Latin American countries that have been mixed into one courageous daughter. One who is not afraid to admit her heritage and speak the language of her loved ones. I refuse to let my tongue die.
Two days before my twenty-first birthday, I received another racial remark. I work at a fast food service job, and I am not ashamed of it. It pays for my education and the car loan that I took out of transportation to university. One elderly customer told that they did not want to hand me their money because of the color of my skin.
They referred to me as a delinquent. They did not want someone who mooches off their tax dollars to handle their hard earned money. They desired one of the white employees to do it. After badgering them for a bit, their young teenage daughter told him to hand me the money and to be on their way. The fact that this occurs on a daily basis disgusts me.
The reason why I work at this fast food job is that the state does not give me any grant money and only hands me loans to take out. I fall under that bracket. The bracket that says I am not poor enough for grant money, but I can barely afford to pay my car payment on time along with gas money and food.
Fortunately, I have been blessed to have two active parents that always push me to be the best, and I am thankful for them both. But, others are not as lucky. Some people lost relatives in this fight. Instead of a little racial comment, violence is used. Why? I suppose they believe in making their ideology known, they would rather commit acts of murder than words.
These violent acts harm not only the children of those victims but us as a group. We are the remaining generation of that fight. We must stand together and be strong with one another. Instead of violence, let us enlighten each other and demonstrate that we are not the things they say we are.
