Thoughts, Reflections, and Experiences

"Mr. Smith, Mrs. Jones...." Our examples for 'typical American names'. What do I think about that as a young woman with a last name no one can pronounce? Will the way our demographics are changing in the U.S. affect these names or will it always be "John Doe" ... what about Juan? Reminds me of this article . Not sure what I think, it's more of an observation. What do you think? Unfinished, raw thoughts... probably should get back to class.

"The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference" -Elie Wiesel I remember the first time I heard this quote. It was 7th grade English class. Our class was reading Night by Elie Wiesel, a story of a boy who survives the concentration camps at the height of the Holocaust, based on Wiesel’s own experience. Indifference,” I thought, “...it’s worse than hate?” ...  Click here to keep reading.

The pictures, the message, the stories. Click:  "Beautiful Stories Adorn a Metal Wall" --------- Oh, my heart longs for the day I get to move to neighborhoods like this. The day I get to use my education, life experiences, and God-given talents to positively impact and influence these communities. Their voices are spoken through images.

A good read. It can apply to Latino-Americans, too. "I don’t know if it’ll help you at all, but I feel like it’s a message I should tell you: with Jesus, there is no culture." These were the words spoken to me by a well-meaning church friend... Read Miki Gao's Story

What a great read!! “But you’re basically white, right?”: I’m Latina and I don’t speak Spanish

(unfinished thoughts of an unfinished journey) Yesterday was Ecuador's first game of the World Cup. I was SO excited, that one of the first things I did when I woke up was change my Facebook profile picture to that of an Ecuadorian soccer ball. I dress in my country's flag colors, did my make-up in blue, red, and yellow, and used eyeshadow to draw some flags on my cheeks. I saw the first half before church, which was interesting, actually...but I'll get to that later. Sad to say, Ecuador lost 2-1 in the last minute of overtime. After church, I called my mom to tell her I was on my way. My family was all gathered to celebrate Father's Day and watch some fútbol. The first sight of my family brought a smile to my face. All the yellow, red, and blue. The kids jumping on the trampoline. The sound of my family's commentary over the France vs. Honduras game. That first minute of walking into my backyard brought me back to the reality that I was a part of something ...

Today. Today my father gets released from prison. Hopefully soon, I'll post about my father's experience with immigration, deportation, and imprisonment. Its intent will not to make anyone sad, angry, encouraged, fired up, depressed, or satisfied. The post will simply be a soundboard as I process, as well as invitation for others to journey with me in the processing. But more on that soon. For now, REJOICE! I rejoice with my father, knowing that the day has come! The Lord has been faithful and soon he'll be free again. Praise God.

Using Jailed Migrants as a Pool of Cheap Labor   Interesting read.

As I sit here, I remember the first Panera I ever went to. It was in a strip mall close to my father's job. The memories rush back. One after the next. Fluidly. They move. They dance. The Old Country Buffet, where I was "8 years old" for about 3 years. The Borders, where my father and I listened to CDs in the 'Latin' music section. The movie theater, where I once lost my purse. A Pause. Moving faster, an ice cream place. Dairy Star. "Cherry-dipped vanilla ice cream, please." Every time. A Twirl. It moves west. It remembers the mini-golf course, where I first learned how to 'putt.' A Jump. Still, it moves. It remembers the Backyard Grill across the street from my father's shop, where we would get burgers for lunch. That white paper bag that I just couldn't wait to open. A Slow Fall. His shop. The smell of wood. The sight of so many colors of fabric. The sound of the upholstery stapler. A Tempo Change. Faster. The year I...

As I listen to song and start texting, the voice-to-text button gets accidentally pressed and my first thought is, "will it pick up the lyrics?" At that moment, I think about the enthusiasm with which my father once held up his phone next to my car's speakers. We were trying to figure out what the song on the radio was called, so that we could listen to it later, and I thought we would just wait until the radio host announced it, but nope-- he wanted to show off his cool, new phone app. This app that could tell you what song you were listening to after hearing a few seconds of it. He looked like a little kid with a new toy; it was precious.  ...And the moment is gone as I press "cancel." Te extraño, pa.

Powerful song. "Our folks forced out of their country. You must be crazy, no one crosses the desert ‘cause they want to. It’s a necessity… a sacrifice for the family. You don’t call them illegals you call them Economic Refugees "

An article on Generation 1.5 Hispanics , written by Jose Villa, caught my attention during my researching, with the following sentence: Some are foreign-born and moved to the U.S. as children. Others, however, were born in the U.S. and raised in all Spanish households and neighborhoods, rendering their U.S. upbringing functionally identical to their foreign-born counterparts. They are not second generation but are not first generation in the traditional sense. They are a group functionally, culturally and linguistically in the middle. I attend a church comprised of mostly second-generation Hispanics, although our parish has a lot of 1.5 and first-generation Latinos [and non-Hispanics, too]. Over the summer, our girls’ small group read through Orlando Crespo’s, Being Latino in Christ, and I learned more about the different stories that each one of us had, as well as about the common history that we shared. I can’t say that reading that book was the beginning of my journey towards e...

http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2013/09/04/hispanic-college-enrollment-rate-surpasses-whites-for-the-first-time/ This article should make me feel better than I feel, right? The thing is, I don’t think I’ve truly  known  what it meant for my ethnic group to be  prospering  like this. Growing up, Hispanics always had the lowest high school graduation rate, lowest college enrollment rate, and it seemed that everywhere I went, I saw people of Hispanic origin as the people that were in lower job positions (like cleaning crew, cooks, or waiters).  And I’ve been trying to fight it. To be the change. The hope. For myself. For my family. For my people.  Praise God, I’ve been successful so far… becoming the first person in my family to graduate high school, first to go to college and graduate, etc. But little did I know, other people of my same roots were doing the same. I mean, I knew more were going to school, but I escaped it all. I went to a college...