In 1997, I was born In Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. My parents, both Nicaraguans, had been living in New York for three years. In my younger years I visited my grandparents in Managua often. Both y brother and I, enjoyed the sense of family that we experienced when we traveled to Nicaragua. When we were in Nicaragua we would reunite with our cousins, uncles and other family members and friends. We were closely knit when we were in Nicaragua. We would celebrate when we were all together. One of these traditions was the celebration of The Pudisima. Yearly the Assumption of Mary is held on December 7. On this day we prayed, sang, and celebrated with food and fireworks. Caheta, caramel candy, and horchata, a beverage made with ground almonds,
The traditions my parents instilled in me at a young age are important to me. They are part of my Latin culture and identity. One of the most important traditions that I value the most is our devotion to “La Virgen de Guadalupe” (The Virgin of Guadalupe), and although I don't go to church or share a specific a religion, I believe in La Virgen as a protector and a guardian figure and maintain her presence in my daily life. The story of La Virgen de Guadalupe goes back to 1531, during the time of the Spanish conquest, an indigenous man named Juan Diego encountered the apparition of La Virgen who told Juan Diego that a church should be built in her honor at the top of Tepeyac hill, where she appeared, which is now in the suburbs of Mexico City.
Feasts and rituals are held in the Virgin’s honor on December 12 of each year, the day she is believed to have appeared to Juan Diego. These feasts and rituals are held throughout Mexico, as well as in cities within the United States cities with large Mexican-American populations. Included in the rituals are imagery and practices native to the Indigenous population Mexico, reinforcing the Virgin’s importance as a deity of to the Indigenous.
As my family and I walked into the plane, we were excited. The plane ride to jamaica stopped in L.A. and, after that, it went to jamaica. When we arrived in Jamaica it was really hot, but it was wet. I immediately took off my sweater I was wearing on the plane. We took a bus to our hotel. Then we started swimming in the water park. Every night there was a show in the main stage. The next day we woke up early to go to chukka. It was awesome. We saw a great house, rode on horses, and did a challenge course. After we came back from Chukka, we went to the water park and swimming pool at the hotel. Then we ate at fresh, which we went most of the time. The next day we woke up earlier to go to the dolphin cove. The bus was an hour late, but the wait
In Latin America some of their traditions and customs are crucial to being a latin american. These traditions are all about the special moments of a person’s life, like birthdays, coming-of-age’s and death.
In the book “Bless Me Ultima”, by Rudolpho Anaya, there were two families represented, the Marez family and the Lunas family. These two families were very different, but were brought together by the marriage of Gabriel Marez and Maria Lunas. Through the eyes of their son Antonio one may see the comparison of the two. The differentiation of these two families is very clearly noticeable, such as in their personalities, the expression of their religion, and their everyday ways of life.
Coming to Haiti I did not know what to expect. As soon as I stepped off the plane I was filled with mixed feelings on weather I would be able to appreciate and take in an environment that I have never stepped foot in. The air smelled different, the pace felt slower than America and the people appeared to have a communal camaraderie that I have never seen before. The sad part is, my mind was conditioned to expect Haiti to be a sloven third world country, however my time here has proven quite the opposite. I look forward to the adventures and experience awaiting to come.
I never understood the American Dream until my mom took me away to the Dominican Republic. I was 7 years old when my life changed completely. I would have to live In a new country, new house, and attend a new school. Everything was different from what I was used to. And although my mom spoke Spanish, when I arrived to the DR I barely knew any. I was In second grade and I was the only one In my class who did not know how to write In spanish, or In script. It was a process for me to adjust to the new life I was given. However since the moment I arrived In the Dominican Republic I wanted to come back to the States. I missed everything, from my friends, to the city, to McDonald's happy meals.
Going back to Mexico after ten years is a little crazy but it was worth the ride. I will always recognize Mexico as my home but America as a special place in my heart.
Our hard times were finally over. When you return to the U.S. after being deported, you’re supposed to go into an office to get your file which contains various letters from lawyers and other important information. My mother and I were looking for the office, quickly turning our heads left and right and right to left, because we couldn’t wait for this nightmare to be completely over. As we were about to head in, an officer denied my entrance. Apparently, our endless plane ride wasn’t enough and we had to wait three hours more listening to the intercom repeating flight numbers and different destinations and arrivals. However, after seeing the look on my mother’s face- which expressed happiness, consolation, and an incredible amount of pride-
I can remember leaving my home in Haiti with only my favorite stuffed bunny in hand as we drove to the airport. As I sat next to my sister I could see the plane leaving the only place I’ve ever known, take off across the Caribbean Sea. My dad brought his family to the United States to give us a better chance at succeeding in life. My parents have always instilled that we could not take this opportunity for granted and that no one in this country would give you handouts. As I grew up, I’ve seen my parents struggle and face many hardships that I work hard to not have to deal with in the future.
I was born in Guatemala in a city called, called Guatemala City. Life in Guatemala is hard which is why my parents brought me into the United States when I was eight months old. Some of the things that makes life in Guatemala hard is the violence. However, Guatemala has plenty of hard working men, women, and children who usually get forced to begin working as soon as they are able to walk. However, unlike many other countries, Guatemala has a huge crime rate. I care about the innocent hard working people that live in Guatemala and receive letters, threatening to be killed if they do not pay a certain amount of money at a certain amount of time.
I remember the day that I felt a call from God to go on a mission trip, I was in seventh grade on my first retreat with my church. I was sitting in this large room with two hundred other kids in middle school, a speaker from Restore Haiti came to talk to us about what he does. I had never heard anything like it, I had never heard about third world countries, or poverty, or world hunger, or kids not being about to go to school. Within the first hour of getting home after the retreat I told my dad that I wanted to go on an international mission trip. I didn’t care where, and I didn’t care when, I just wanted to go. He emailed the missions director at our church and exactly a year later; my dad, brother, and I went to Haiti for the first time.
Warm sun gleaming down and eighty-five outside, a cool breeze and pizza buffet at my own disposal. An escape away from reality and into a relative paradise, no job nor school to worry about, just the concern of applying a generous amount of sunscreen. Sunsets over the cerulean waters are the main event of the evening, along with a fancy meal and a show or two. Adventures in the Bahamas guided by native islanders filled our days. I was accompanied by my family to enjoy a week long cruise on the Carnival Sensation.
“Fist clenched, emulating ‘68 Olympics:” The moment Earl Sweatshirt spit this line during “Hoarse” (Kgositsile 2013) was when I came full circle. My mother is from Mexico, and as a cause of this, I had heard about the 1968 Tlatelolco Massacre, but my comprehension of the subject was low, and I paid no mind to these stories. However, as I grew older and became more interested in politics and social issues, my awareness towards this topic grew. In a way, my stylistic isolation from Mexican culture had brought me back to my family’s roots. For so long, I had little interest in Mexican culture and politics, but now as I've grown, I’ve realized how rich and complex Mexican culture can really be.
Weaver, M. (2009, March 12). Semana Santa(Holy Week) in Seville, Spain. Retrieved March 20, 2014, from National Geographic: http://intelligenttravel.nationalgeographic.com/2009/03/12/semana_santa_holy_week_in_sevi/