Students for Fair Consideration

The way that I was swept off my house by a woman that I had just met a couple of months ago stunned me, she was like an angel without wings and she literally took me out of the darkness. My father thought that it had been worthless to apply to UC Berkeley because he knew I was not going. Period. He made me believe that having applied and gotten in had been wasteful, a waste of an opportunity that I could have given to another school near Los Angeles where he would have allowed me to attend, or so he said. Anger was not what I felt, it was a sense of hopelessness, I couldn’t believe that my own father was oppressing me from a higher education, it was not enough that AP classes were scarce or that I did not get to enjoy of any extracurricular activities in high school, he was clipping my wings before they sprouted. After putting all that hard work on getting the UC application in the mail on the postmarked date, when my mother, sister and I rushed into the post office an hour before they closed, when he had promised he would take me there himself and did not happen because his pride would root him to the ground in which he stood with other males that would diss him if he tried to do something nice for his youngest daughter.

We got it in, my ‘ama, and my sister Jeli (pronounced “Heli”), made sure that stamp was placed so that UCs would not reject my application. No doubt they’d call me a procrastinator, but when no one has gone through the process before you, because of the fear of being disillusioned or the fear of being poor and pushed back after overcoming the darkness, it is tough to fight it yourself. Needless to say, turning in that application was an ordeal!!! Exhausting ordeal. Got it in on time and my father did not apologize for almost costing me my ticket to UC Berkeley, the place that I survived just recently, because no matter what happened, despite him rejecting me for a while and not welcoming me at home with open arms but rather with neglect, I overcame.

At first, I couldn’t believe it, I still remember that trip on the plane, the first one inside the country since my first one had been from Guadalajara to Tijuana and then crossed the border trying to fake my slumber. When my angel, the woman that eased the way to Berkeley asked me how I felt on the plane from Burbank to Oakland, I didn’t know how to feel, because it didn’t feel real. Heck, sometimes it doesn’t feel real right now! When she declared that I was free, I didn’t know how to be free, I didn’t know that being away from home was going to help me overcome machismo in a very real scale. My education has channeled through my mother and she has been able to overcome the darkness too, she is no longer with my father who beat her and mistreated her for years and she is now reliving her life, as if a reset button was pressed.

My silence had slowly become a certain type of shout out, not a scream or an imploration but a firm laugh, a yell of freedom and independence. I remember in my freshman year how I did not want to discuss my undocumented status with anyone that didn’t need to know, but now that I’ve come this far, graduated UC Berkeley and maintained myself sane, silence is no longer an option, the need to be HEARD is stronger than me, it is what compels others to help you get through the next step, if you don’t aim for what you need and ask for help, it’d be that much harder. I appreciate it when people ask me what their needs are, their need to be appreciated, understood, comforted, the need to live with dignity, all these things I appreciate, this is why I appreciated when I found the will to talk about my story, if not, life would indeed be much more different. There is nothing wrong with your voice, it is there for a reason. You are in this path for a reason, embrace it!

You can call me “Hope” or “Esperanza” because that’s what I have… HOPE FOR A CHANGE! LA ESPERANZA DE UN CAMBIO! I was born in the beautiful state of Michoacan, Mexico.  Currently I live in the Bay Area with my parents and my little sister.  My father was born in Michoacan, Mexico.  He is 42 years old; his hands can vividly show the necessity of having a few pieces of bread to feed his brothers and sisters when they were left alone, since my grandmother and my grandfather past away when he was a child. 

My father is the youngest of six, and still he managed to take responsibility for his siblings at a very young age.  Despite the fact that he was the youngest of all, he was very mature and responsible.  Due to the few and scarce opportunities that my country offers, my father went completely bankrupt and lost a small family business.  In addition, he began to feel depressed and began to drink.  In 1995, my father migrated to the United States when I was only five years- old.  He left my mother and me in search of a better future. 

On the other hand, my mother, my hero, is a 42 year- old woman that has struggled a lot throughout her lifetime.  She was also born in Michoacan, Mexico.  Since the beginning until now, she has been the light of the family.  I can recall how she used to earn some pesos (Mexican coins), and she rather spend that money on her daughter than herself.  My mother has put her daughters first all the time!  I really admire my mother because of her kindness and generosity, but also because of her braveness and courage to succeed.  Even though sometimes life has been very tough! 

In 1997, my mother migrated to the United States leaving behind her only daughter, heading to “El Norte” in order to give a better life and better opportunities to her daughter, to me.  Later on in 1999, I was heading to “The Land of Opportunity” just as my dad and my mom had done it.  I was only nine years old when I saw my father after four years and my mother after two years of absence.   Deep in my heart I knew that every sacrifice they made was made thinking about me and my future.  That is why I didn’t resent their absence so much. 
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My name doesn’t matter. Where I was born, however, is of great importance.

I was born in a small town in Guanajuato, Mexico. Acambaro, the place where my parents and most of my family members claim their heritage, is also the only link to a past that I have yet to dismantle.

I say this because I, like many, was brought to a country at an age in which our future was to become one of an American. At the age of six months I tagged along with my parents and came to Oakland, where I was to reside for 19 years. Little did I know back then that the border that we crossed was not going to be the last obstacle we were to face.

With immigration came family members. Besides my nuclear family, I am also part of a larger group of immigrants that decided to look for an opportunity for a better life in the bay area. Through word-of-mouth, prior experience, and ultimately a lively web of social networks; uncles, cousins, and anyone else you could call family, all started migrating as well.

Since my first year at the University of California, Davis, I have not lost this vision and therefore I have plans to attend a masters program in Sociology and then either earn a Ph.d in the same field or receive a J.D. Being a Psychology, Sociology, and Chican@ Studies major, I have learned the value of being active and helpful in any way possible.

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