I am the child of a man and a woman who fell in love so young. A preordained love that conquered all. The man: 5’3, the color of his land, with hopes that reached the sky. The woman: 4’11, the color of sand, and a love for her children that no one could match. A family of five, surviving in a poverty land. I am the last of three, la bebé.

Mis papás, determined to give their children a better life, headed to the land of hope, the land of opportunities, the place commonly know for its “American Dream.”

At the age of six, I reached a land I had never seen before. It was culture shock. My ears heard strange words, my eyes saw unusual streets, my skin shivered in the cold November breeze. I reached my new home.

I was just a child. An innocent being. From birth to 12, the world picked a war with me. I saw, I heard, and I experienced things no one should face. I went through hell and back more often than I could remember. I was the target of unfortunate events.

But even with the world against them, mis papás continued to fight: two to three jobs at a time, minimum wage, sleepless nights. They strived for success – not for themselves, but for the three beings they loved the most in the world.

On Christmas 2010, the world took something from me. It stole the only man I could ever call papá. I lost the human being who taught me how to cherish the life of every being, human or not. The man who would make fun of me for having a boyfriend, but walk me down the aisle some day. Life stole an irreplaceable being.

From 13 to 20, I’ve been fighting a different war. A battle in my mind: the darkness wanting to take over the good. Self harm, good grades, depression, happiness, anxiety, tranquility. Joy and misery striking back and forth.

An exhausting life. Except, the good has a stronger drive than the bad. I have had friends, family, teachers, and mentors who love me; who believe in me enough to feel it is an honor to know me. The good in me doesn’t like disappointing those who have fought for me for so long. I could have been a number- a measurement of the consequences of evil in this world- but I’m not. People go through life thinking they’re alone, when they’re usually not. But I get that feeling. The depression – it eats at you like you're it's prey; it takes everything and leaves you empty, so alone, so tired of life. But you have to keep fighting.

I am lucky enough to occasionally defeat the emptiness and remember that I have family, friends, mentors, dogs, and a boyfriend who care so much. I am privileged.

Today I sit at my desk, surrounded by the product of my parents’ hard work. I sit here and study my college material, focus on my research, and contemplate which graduate schools best suit my interests. I do this because I have the drive to succeed in life, because I have a family who has sacrificed so much to get me here, because I have people who have always cared. I am not okay, but I am fighting and I am not giving up. I am strong, and it is because of everyone who has believed in me throughout the years. I would not have gotten to where I am without those who have taken me under their wing. There are good people in this world.

So today I say thank you to everyone who has helped me and believed in me at any point in my life. Your benevolence is appreciated. You are a wonderful human being. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I am not a negative statistic. I am not a failure. I am a Latina, a woman, a first generation college student, and a testimony to the drive of minorities to succeed.