First to Be Lonely
Being a first-generation student, I always felt that I was at the bottom of the chain. I felt that not many people understood what I had to go through growing up, nor did people care about my well-being. I had no family living nearby. All my extended family was in Mexico. I did not have any cousins or uncles to go to when life got “too difficult.” I wished I had cousins to play with in the US growing up. Being a first-generation child, I felt lonely. There were limited people I could tell about our family matters and problems. I always thought my mom grew up old school because she was always worried about what people thought of her and of us. When there were problems at home, my siblings and I were not allowed to tell people about them because “people would not understand us,” my mom would say. Growing up, I would talk to people about my day or about things that I would like, anything except family matters, since it was ingrained in me that people would not care.
My cousins and family in Mexico thought we were rich and spoiled, but they did not know the whole truth. My family in Mexico never knew that my family and I were in Section 8 housing. Section 8 Housing is where the federal government helps low-income families get housed. My mom would disapprove if they knew that we were from Section Eight, because to them, we had everything. In the eyes of my cousins in Mexico, we had everything in life they did not. There was a lot of hate and jealousy from my family in Mexico because they thought we had money. I never blamed my cousins for the misconception they had about us when I was little; I just thought we were misunderstood. I always felt there was an invisible barrier between them and us.
When I was growing up, my mom would make us give away our clothes, toys, and anything we did not need to my cousins. My cousins would say they needed clothes or they wished they had these toys that we had, so my mom would go out of her way to get them or highly suggest for us to give it to them. I remember when I was ten, I had a Barbie I really loved, and I had it for three years. It looked old because it was one of my favorites. My mom convinced me to give it away to my cousins because they did not have toys or Barbies to play with, and I refused. My mom would say that I was being insensitive; I was labeled as selfish, a brat, and a mean child. Even if my cousins did not need the toys or clothes, my mom would sell our clothes and give the profits to my grandparents. My mom felt good giving things away to our family; my mom felt a certain type of satisfaction in giving my family the best things or the best clothes that my siblings and I grew out of. Everything seemed great when we were able to provide or help the family, but when we said the wrong word or there was an argument in my family, my siblings and I were criticized as spoiled, entitled, or better than them because we were raised in America. The tables would turn real quick whenever there was a problem; it made that invisible barrier that we had (my cousins and I) more and more visible even within our family.
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Ever since I can remember, my siblings and I have always spent Christmas in Mexico. Leading up to Christmas, I always knew that I had to stay a few feet away from my mom because she would be stressed out attempting to give presents to all my cousins, uncles, and aunts. I remember the multiple shopping trips my mom would take us on, just to find the perfect toys or clothes for my cousins; it was always hectic. We lived in an apartment growing up, and I would wonder how Santa would deliver my toys if there was no chimney? My mom would say that Santa would come through our door lock and leave the money on the table for her to buy us gifts for Christmas. My mom would ask us what we wanted for Christmas, then take us to the store to pick out the gifts we wanted. She would buy it, then we would have to wrap the gifts ourselves—there was no element of surprise. We knew exactly what we were going to get for Christmas. She would also have us wrap the gifts that belonged to my cousins and all our family members in Mexico, well, mostly my sister because she was good at wrapping gifts.
Every Christmas our car was full of food and toys for our family. However, my mom would not let us bring our Christmas gifts to Mexico. She thought it was unkind to open our gifts and “show off” in front of them. I never thought I wanted to “show off” to my cousins. I just wanted to play with my toys like any child would. If we had a gift under $30, then we could bring it with us; it was the only exception to the rule.
Once it was time to open Christmas gifts, everyone had a gift to unwrap, except my siblings and me. If my siblings and I did not bring a gift since it was not under the $30 rule, then all we could do is look at other people opening up their gifts. I felt even more isolated from my family in Mexico since I could not share that satisfying experience of opening my gifts with the people that I cared about the most. I yearned for those happy experiences as a child, where opening gifts and receiving the gifts that you deeply wanted was appropriate. Instead, I get worried about others thinking that I look down on them and them seeing me as a “show-off” or giving the impression that I am better than them. My mom was the only one that bought gifts for everyone; it was nice. Although I would see my cousins opening their Christmas gifts that they received from my uncles and aunts (their parents), my siblings and I never received any gifts from them.
I vividly recall one Christmas when my uncle gave my grandpa some Ferrero Rocher as a gift; they were my favorite chocolates in the whole wide world. I was really sad just seeing over and over again that I would never get a Christmas gift from them, nor should I expect one, even if I deeply wanted to receive one. I had watery eyes just seeing how every Christmas my siblings and I were ignored. I felt my mom could tell I was sad since she knew those chocolates were my favorite. My mom made a joke and told my uncles to try to give my siblings and me some Christmas gifts too; they do not have to be big. I clearly remember my aunt telling my mom that it was always really hard to give us a Christmas gift, since we had it all; we had money. From that incident, I learned that I would never get my hopes up ever again. I learned that my family in Mexico saw my sibling and me differently. The next Christmas I asked for Ferrero Rocher chocolates from my dad.
Being born in America, I felt there was a lot of hate from the government for just existing. My mom would tell me that America is amazing. This was the land of opportunities, but I never felt that way. If this land was great and this country was the land of opportunities, why do people keep putting us down? Why would people keep looking at me like I do not belong? I felt that I had to constantly protect myself from people, or I would be afraid of something “bad” happening. I could not turn to the government or people in my school about anything because I was afraid of my family getting deported. I also could not tell my family in Mexico about my troubles in America because, according to them, “we had everything,” so who could I turn to at a young age or early adulthood? There was a lot of loneliness growing up, and you have no power or control being so young. Life can be challenging.
