Tack-tack-tack. 

Tack-tack-tack. 

Tack-tack-tack 

Late into the night, all I can hear is tack-tack-tack. What initially drove me crazy, grew to provide me with great solace. Tack-tack-tack, followed by the occasional shuffling of papers. Tack-tack-tack. The sound of my mother’s keyboard typing would go on for hours into the night, long after I had fallen asleep. One of my first memories of childhood is this incessant typing sound late at night, while everything else was quiet. This was the only time my mom had to write her papers for school, without the distraction of kids or work. She gave so much, for so long just so my brothers and I could have a better life. That is why my story begins with her.  

Like many other children of immigrants, my story begins before I was even born, in Mexico. My mother, who was once an accountant, never wanted to get married at all. She grew up mostly fatherless, or with bad Stepdads. She rarely had positive male role models in her life, and saw how her mother suffered daily because she was always depending on someone else to be able to raise her two daughters. They had a very hard life in poverty, so she decided that she never wanted to depend on anyone, especially not a man to live her life. My mom devoted herself to getting an education, and getting a well paying job so she would never need to rely on anyone else to have a place to live. When she met my dad though, she changed a bit. Once hesitant to even date, she fell in love with a man who was her exact opposite, and who lived in another country. 

They faced many hardships throughout their relationship, with people in their families actively trying to keep them apart, and my dad living in the United States for a large part of their relationship. However, they eventually made it work and my dad moved back to Mexico to join my mother and open a small furniture store there. However, once this happened my mother’s cousins did everything in their power to take him out of business. And they succeeded.  

My dad felt like he was out of options, and had to support his family, so he went back to the US, like my mom’s cousins wanted. They tried long distance, but my brother would spend his nights crying for his dad. Eventually, my mom moved to the US with my dad, because she didn’t want her son to grow up without a father like she did. This is where I come in!  

My mom was about five months pregnant when she and my brother got on a plane to come to Chicago. Except, she didn’t exactly tell anyone she was pregnant. Since they came in January, she basically smuggled me into the country by wearing a very large coat to hide her belly. A few months later, I was born, and then a year or so after that, my little brother was born. 

Being my mom’s secret has been a significant part of my life, even though I don’t remember that myself. I’ve been a shy for person for quite some time; so I often try to go as unnoticed as possible. I don’t like attention, so I don’t do anything to attract any. However, I also grew up with two brothers, and in order for me to be heard, I needed to be loud. I was shy with strangers, but loud and ruthless at home. My mom also wanted me to be independent from an early age. She did not want me to be afraid to go out into the world, or have to depend on my brothers, or parents to speak for me. Therefore, she would often force me to ask questions of authority figures, or be her voice in social settings. Although I loathe public speaking, and asking for help, I know that I can do it thanks to my mom. If something needs to be done, I do it. If I need to ask for help I will do it. It’s thanks to my mom that I am able to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. 

She has also always encouraged me to go to school. When she came to Chicago, she didn’t have a job, and she only knew a tiny bit of the language. She went from being an independent, powerful woman, to a meek housewife, and she hated it. She loved her family, but once we started school she wanted to feel useful again. She looked for any job she could find, but was unsuccessful. She cried to my dad because she applied to so many jobs and none would take her. What was one of her breaking points was when McDonald’s, the place that takes high school kids with no experience, wouldn’t even hire her. My dad told her not to worry, that something would come up, and that God had a bigger plan for her. Luckily, he was right! One day when she was picking up my brother from school, she saw a flyer for a job as a teaching assistant at his school. She didn’t expect anything other than to maybe help keep the classroom tidy, but thanks to her degree in Mexico, one thing led to another, and she was able to get a scholarship to study at UIC. She eventually got her Masters in bilingual education, and has been a teacher ever since. Had she gotten that job at McDonald’s, she may have never even seen that flyer, and all of our lives would have been much different. She was in school for most of my childhood that I remember. Since she went part time, it took her about eight years to get that degree. Most of what I remember is her coming from class late at night, staying up late to write papers, and of course that tack-tack-tack. Other days I didn’t see her at all, so when I did hear the tack-tack-tack, it was a great comfort to know that she was home.

My favorite days however, were when she would take my brothers and me to class with her. We would roam the hallways, work on our homework in an empty classroom, or fight with each other until she came to separate us for being too loud. School has always been a huge part of my life. My mom raised me to see an education as the most valuable thing I could possibly get. We did not grow up with a lot of money, so I didn’t have a lot of material possessions, and they didn’t matter to me. School was my way of being independent. It was my ticket to go anywhere I wanted to go, I just had to choose.  

This has led me to be an extremely indecisive person. I love to daydream, and imagine the hundreds of different ways my life could turn out depending on what I decide. What if one day, I just decide to move to Spain, start a new life, and see what happens? My parents have always told me that so long as I go to school, anything is possible. This has led me to not know what to do, because of all the options! I spend so much time pondering over what I will do with my life, and worry about if I’m doing enough to make my parents proud. I worry so much about doing something meaningful with my life. I want to make sure that my parents leaving behind everything they knew in Mexico was worth it. I’ve struggled with anxiety in the past, and continue to worry about what I’m going to do with my life. I worry about my brothers, their struggles, and I worry about my two countries.  

Further, my parents raised me to never trust anyone. They were betrayed once by family, so they told me to always be doubtful of everyone’s intentions. I was also almost kidnapped once, from daycare, but luckily, they caught the man who was hiding down the street with me in his arms. Because of all of this, it is hard for me to trust people, and open up easily. My entire life I have been taught to be independent, cautious, but also kind. I am a person who cares about everyone, but also trusts no one. Because of all the struggles my parents have gone through in their lives, they have raised me to be cautious, and in some ways grow up before I was ready to. Since there were many times when I was left alone with my two brothers, I was taught to take charge, and be the adult when need be. I was the woman, so I needed to be in control. My brothers both followed me very easily, as they knew my mom would leave me in charge. For some reason, I was always the responsible one, even though I was not the oldest. I take care of the people in my life, especially my little brother. Because he was born prematurely, he was always sick growing up. So it was my job to make sure he was okay, make sure no strangers got too close, and make sure we never got lost. Most of my life I’ve taken care of him, and even now that we are both adults, I still feel like he is my baby brother, who needs to be taken care of. I still took him to his first day of college; I still help him with his homework, and still take him to the doctor when he’s sick. My mom has always told me that he isn’t just her son; in some way he is my son too. When asked to say something about me, I often talk of my family instead. I feel like being a sister is part of who I am, and I cannot be my entire self without including my family in that story.  

Along with my family, I am also made up by culture. In elementary school, kids often called me white, because I didn’t learn Spanish until late in the game, so I had an accent when I spoke it. I loved my culture, but I was afraid of embracing it, because I didn’t want to be made fun of. Then, when I got to Loyola, and started having more white friends than Latino friends, I was suddenly very Mexican. I didn’t realize how entrenched my culture was in my personality until I was taken out of that community. All of a sudden, people were telling me that I had an accent in ENGLISH, my first language. It was so strange to me. They didn’t understand all of my references, and sometimes I was at a loss for words, because I could only think of that word in Spanish. I had never been so aware of how important it is for me to be Mexican until I was at Loyola. I feel the most comfortable, with other Latinos, because I feel a sense of community with them. I am not my whole self when I cannot speak in both English and Spanish. I am not my whole self, without the Mexican culture and practices I grew up with. 

In my story, I also include myself as a student. One of the biggest parts of my life is my role as a student, which I feel really changed in high school. I didn’t want to go to my neighborhood high school, as I didn’t want to continue to be surrounded by gang violence, and other bad influences. So, I went to Lane Tech, which was some ways away from home. There, I met my best friend, who opened me up to so many new things. She has taught me how to trust, and how to be careless at the same time. At such a large school, I was opened up to new experiences, new people, and more independence. I got myself to school, and if I wanted to succeed it was up to me. After graduation I came to Loyola, to stay close to home, as my little brother still needed me here.  

To be completely honest, I have always loved school, but my first year at Loyola was one of the hardest times of my life. I almost dropped out multiple times. I was used to being one of the smart kids, and being surrounded by people who look exactly like me, Mexican. At Loyola, that completely changed. Everyone was so much smarter than me, so much whiter, and so much richer. I felt like an outsider. All of my friends from high school had gone to different colleges, so I was left alone. There were many days where I wouldn’t talk to anyone until I got home to my family. I almost failed Biology and Chemistry; I couldn’t connect to any other students on campus, and to top it all off, I was a financial burden to my parents. Everything was going wrong in my life, and I felt like I had let my parents down. They didn’t come to this country to have a child who was such an utter failure.  

It was hard for a while, but I was blessed enough to meet a person who would honestly change my life. Tina Garcia, the off campus coordinator and I first met at one of the Joe & Go events, where I went to her office to get free coffee. From then on we would talk for a bit, and then I’d go on my way. Tuesdays were my favorite days, because it would give me a chance to talk to her and some of the other commuters I met. Tina and I continued to talk, and I told her everything about how I was feeling. She gave me the support I needed to realize that I could keep going. She always made me feel valid. She always listened, and somehow knew when I wasn’t doing well. She helped me get more involved on campus, helped me feel better about my classes, she even helped me get the job I have now. She reminded me that I can do anything, and reminded me how much I value my education. It was hard then, but that did not mean that I wasn’t going to move past that. Tina helped make Loyola feel like home. Without her, I honestly don’t know if I would still be at Loyola. I am so thankful to have met someone who I connected with, and who made me feel at ease in a foreign place.  

Thus, I think to really get to know me, one has to first know the people in my life. I am a person who loves to take care of others. After all, I am a Human Services major; bettering the world for people is one of my dreams. I love school, and have always valued being a smart independent woman. I have had amazing, strong female role models, who have taught me that I can do anything. They have shaped my outlook on life, and have taught me that hard times will always pass to those who put in the effort. Thanks to the people in my life, soy quien soy, y estoy adonde debo de estar en este momento. That tack-tack-tack sound is a part of who I am. At the time I had no idea tack-tack-tack would be so symbolic to the rest of my life. However looking back, I can’t think of a better way to represent the lifelong journey I’ve come to have with school, family, and other hardships along the way. Although I will always worry about what the future holds, I don’t doubt that whatever happens, needs to happen in order to get me where I want to or need to be.