I am Hispanic, but never had I let it define me. This is partially because I was born and raised in Texas and was never given the opportunity to know what ‘Hispanic’ meant. It was just as school let out during my junior year that my mother advised me I had short of a week to pack — we were taking a trip to Mexico.
My mind began to bubble with anger and frustration. I was not excited about leaving my friends and life behind and the thought of going to a country which I had no history of frightened me. My first day in Mexico was nothing short of horrible. I am vegetarian and a health freak so I found it hard to get a decent meal there. My only food options were either chips or candy.
I felt very alone. While my mother was in her element, I, on the other hand, had no way of communicating. I had spoken English my entire life and the very little Spanish that I knew was broken and weak. There was no way I was going to make it.
As time went by (two months and half, to be exact) I became accustomed to the laid back way of life. The community was strong and I soon learned to rely on them for certain needs. I quickly caught on to the language and it took me on an adventure I will not soon forget. Last summer I gave up on my fears — I jumped from cliffs into clear fresh water, I explored the depths of countless rivers and lakes. I did things I could not have imagined prior to this life changing trip.
Though my enjoyment was crippled by the struggling economy of Mexico, I saw it for what it was — a land filled with hope, pride and a joy for life, all of which I hope to continue incorporating into my life.
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