Santa Clara University

Patricia Castorena

"No Hay Mal Que Por Bien No Venga"
by Patricia D. Castorena

"This world understands nothing but words and you have come into it with almost none."-Antonio Porchia

The above quote emphasizes the importance of words and demonstrates that the effect of not having a voice can be a loss insurmountable to any other. To suppress someone's voice is to deny them the ability to express themselves. The ability to speak, to express oneself, and to communicate can be irrevocably lost in the face of adversity, struggle, and oppression. The inner voice that provides guidance, sanity, reason, and peace of mind can be completely torn away through oppression based on race, class, and gender. Lorna Dee Cervantes portrays this struggle in a poem titled, "Poem for the Young White Man Who Asked Me How I, An Intelligent Well-Read Person Could Believe in the War Between Races," where she broaches the topic of both oppression and racism. "Let me show you my wounds: my stumbling mind, my/ "excuse me" tongue, and this/ nagging preoccupation/ with the feeling of not being good enough. / These bullets bury deeper than logic. / Racism is not intellectual. / I can not reason these scars away," (Cervantes 1981:36). In the first line, Cervantes labels the above traits as wounds inflicted by the dominant race. She acknowledges that her wounds are the result of the oppression and bigotry imposed on her people. By recognizing her "excuse me tongue" the full extent of the effects of generations not having a voice is identified. But in this manner, she is providing a voice for individuals before her that were silenced by years of oppression.

The power and significance of words, spoken and written, lies in their capacity to impact others' lives and in their capacity to reclaim the right to self-expression. They help break the silence, allow women's voices to be heard, put a name to emotions, and chronicle the experiences of other women who might not be able to find their voice. But most importantly, written words give women the acknowledgement that history has denied them. My words are a testimony of the movement from loss to empowerment that has characterized my life and demonstrates that the suppression of the Latina voice can be reclaimed through the art of writing.

"I CAN NOT REASON THESE SCARS AWAY"

My mother and father are originally from the state of Zacatecas in Mexico, between Durango and Aguascalientes. My father was born and raised in Felipe Carrillo Puerto, a small family owned ejido. An ejido is an "agrarian collective set up under the agrarian land reform in the 1917 Mexican constitution" whose purpose was to "return common lands to communities" (Grimes 1998:152). My mother was born in a small town called Loreto but was raised in Mexico City after my grandparents migrated to the city. It was not until I was 13 that I saw the photographs of my parents' wedding; all the pictures were in Mexico until my two older sisters brought them back. As I looked at my parents' wedding pictures for the first time, I realized that my mother was crying in nearly all of the photographs. It wasn't until years later that I found out my father had told her on their wedding day that they would be leaving Mexico and would be moving to the United States. My mom has five brothers and five sisters; she is the fourth oldest and the first daughter. Every time I look at those pictures, I feel an ache in my heart because I know how distraught she must have felt at the prospect of leaving her entire family and friends behind. My parents emigrated to the United States two months after they were married in 1974 to have a better life, more opportunities, and economic prosperity. With the help of a "coyote or pollero6," my parents crossed the border and entered illegally into the United States.

In 1983, when I was three years old my mother, my two older sisters, and I returned to Mexico City where we lived for almost two years. My grandmother did not want us to return to the United States but my mother decided to leave Mexico and return to California after my dad convinced her that he missed us. Our return to the United States was dangerous, more so for a woman with three young daughters. During this time, one of my uncles was studying to be a doctor and was doing the equivalent of the United States residency program. He was in Tijuana and my mom decided to go there and have him help us cross the border. Since my sisters and I are U.S. citizens, we had no trouble crossing the border; a nurse who worked with my Uncle took us across to San Diego where we waited for my mother, who had to cross with the help of a "coyote". She walked through the hills between Tijuana and San Diego for about a day and a half until she reached the place where my sisters and I were; from there we took a train to San Jose. Now that I am older I realize how dangerous it was for my mom to walk those hills with a complete stranger who could have left her to die. I hear so many stories on the news of people trying to cross the border who, for example, die of dehydration. This realization made me aware of the struggle my parents went through to give my sisters and I a better life. But it saddens me to know that there are people just like my parents, trying to make a better life for themselves and their families, who are forced to live in the "land of opportunity" with the stigma of being "illegal aliens" attached to their identity. There are many others who do not make it this far-those who die during the journey to the United States. Fortunately, my parents were able to become legal permanent residents in 1989 with the help of the Amnesty Law7 of 1986.

My father never attended school and did not learn to read or write but I am proud to say that he taught himself to do both, later in his adult life. He has worked primarily in landscaping as a gardener and in construction since arriving in the United States. My father's occupation is not prestigious; there were many times growing up that I felt reluctant to tell my upper-middle class Caucasian classmates what my father did for a living. I was afraid of their ridicule until one of my friends in the seventh grade told me her father was a farmer. Her face did not reveal any fear that I might tease her; instead, her expression led me to believe that she was proud of her father's occupation. After this incident, I slowly realized that my father's job as a gardener was nothing to be ashamed of.

My mother attended school up to the third grade until my grandfather told her that she was too old to go to school. He told her that he did not want her to be out in the street. Part of the logic in this was to have my mother help my grandmother out at home with her brothers and sisters. She learned to read and write but had she remained in school, those skills would have been further developed. When she was 19 and still living in Mexico City, she attended beauty school at a health center and received a diploma upon completion of the course. Here in the United States my mother has worked in a restaurant as a waitress, in hotels as a housemaid, as a janitor for Service Performance, and for a convalescent home, and has babysat children from our home. She worked at the elementary school that my sisters and I attended for about 10 years as a yard duty teacher. This job had a strong impact on me; my other classmates would tease me and say that I received special treatment because my mother worked there. I remember one incident where she told some of my friends to leave the girl's bathroom. I heard them say snidely "she never tells her [me] anything because she's her daughter". During my more rebellious times I got into three fights at this same elementary school. I felt terrible after each one thinking of the shame my mother would feel knowing that her daughter was a troublemaker. Each time I got into a fight I would sit and wait for her in the principle's office and each time I would cry because I knew I was going to get in trouble. During my last fight the right side of my face was scratched and the girl I hit became temporarily cross-eyed. I made a choice that day; I told myself that I would not get into any more fights because I would only end up hurting myself.

One of the hardest things I dealt with growing up is my father's abuse of alcohol. When my father is drunk he is physically and emotionally abusive. The earliest recollections I have of my childhood are of my sister and I hiding in the closet waiting for my father to come home intoxicated. I dreaded and feared those nights because I never knew what to expect. On one particular night in 1986, when I was six years old, things became so bad that the police came and arrested my dad and took us to a shelter for victims of domestic violence; we were there for a few weeks. I do not recall the location of the shelter nor can I provide a description of the place, but I do remember that the room we slept in had bunk beds, that the room itself was dark and gloomy, and that the walls were completely bare of decorations. One of the two most vivid memories I have of our stay at the shelter was when my sisters and I created different animals out of papier-mâché for a contest. I made a whale and my other sister, the second oldest, made a turtle; she won first place and received a 72 color crayon case. At that time, we could not afford such an item, so we were thrilled that my sister won such a wonderful prize. The second memory I have is of a young Caucasian girl of about nine or 10 years old who shared the room with my family and I. She must have been there alone because I don't remember seeing her with any family members. My sister (the second oldest) had a favorite pair of white dress shoes that she brought with her to the shelter. She absolutely loved these shoes; when I asked her about them recently, she got a dreamy faraway look in her eyes. My sister and this girl became friends and during one of their conversations, the girl mentioned that she liked my sister's white shoes. When we were nearing the end of our stay at the shelter, my sister asked my mom if it would be okay to give this girl her shoes as a gift. My mother replied that it was a nice thing to do and told her yes. My sister does not remember handing the girl her shoes and neither do I, but I do remember feeling that by giving her this gift, my sister had done something to bring this girl a small amount of happiness. To this day my sister remembers this girl and her white shoes with great fondness. After our release from the shelter we stayed at the home of one of my mother's co-workers from the elementary school and then at the home of my godmother until my father found us and persuaded my mother to come home.

The literature that I have read by Latina women has led me to believe that the very act of writing has allowed women to express emotions that have been suppressed and ignored by society. Not only have women had to face violence in the form of domestic abuse, racism, discrimination, and poverty, but they have also been forced to remain silent through it all. How many women experience domestic abuse and continue to suffer in silence? The statistics will never do them justice and neither will their silence. The fear and self-loathing that results from abuse creates a world of shame and hurt that becomes impenetrable. Abuse in any form instills fear and traumatizes the soul. My mother's form of silence was her continued acceptance of my father's abuse. This lasted until she found her voice and was able to realize that she could no longer live with the effects of alcoholism. She found strength within herself and she and my father separated before I started my freshman year of high school. Most children feel saddened and depressed when their parents separate or divorce; I did not. I wanted my parents to separate because our living situation was making me terribly unhappy and depressed. Once my father left, I was able to grow and mature without a shadow of fear looming behind my back.

A year before my mother and father separated, my second oldest sister became ill. I was in seventh grade when she was hospitalized. One Sunday afternoon she complained of a headache and we noticed that she had red spots all over her legs. My parents took her to the hospital and the doctors told them that if they had waited any longer to bring her in, she might have had a seizure. She was hospitalized and moved to the Lucile Packard Children's Hospital at Stanford for two weeks and was diagnosed with Lupus. Thereafter she had to receive treatments every month that resembled the radiation treatment cancer patients receive, which resulted in the loss of most of her hair. She had kidney problems, high blood pressure, and lost protein through her urine. During the initial stages of my sister's illness there were many things that I was too young to see or understand. One of these was the fear and worry that my mother felt not knowing English well enough to understand what was happening to her daughter, as well as her inability to communicate with doctors that only spoke English. My mom told me that she was especially scared when she was told that my sister needed a blood transfusion because she was worried about the possible dangers associated with this procedure. I was very ignorant of my sister's illness and because of this I was not as understanding as I could have been. I did not understand why she could not be out in the sun too long, why she bruised very easily, or why she was always tired. Part of my ignorance stemmed from fear because the more I learned about her illness the more I became afraid of the repercussions. During this time no one except my father knew how to drive and when he was at work it was very difficult to find transportation to Palo Alto for my sister's treatments. We relied on close family and friends for support and thankfully, there were many people that offered us their help. In her sixth year with Lupus, my sister was diagnosed with osteoporosis. But thanks to God and her doctors, her health has improved; she no longer receives monthly treatments and the dosage for some of the more harmful medications has been lowered considerably. After my parent's separation, we received very little financial help from my father. His philosophy was that if we wanted to live without him, then we might as well support ourselves without him.

The period that followed can only be categorized as a struggle: a struggle to find transportation, to pay bills and to pay rent. My mother's hours as a yard duty teacher at the elementary school were severely cut. She kept the meager hours hoping that the school would increase her hours but they never did. She has little knowledge of the English language, so finding another job was very difficult for her. Our landlords, who were very nice retired gentlemen, sold the three-bedroom duplexes we lived in and the new landlord doubled our rent from $450 to $900. At this point, because we received no financial help from my father, my mom was forced to get on public assistance. I still remember how embarrassed I would feel when it was our turn to pay at the grocery store because we had to pay with food stamps. I remember telling my sister that I felt ashamed. She asked me "Why?" and proceeded to tell me "It's not like we want to be on welfare; we're on it because we have to." At the time it did not make me feel any better. It was not until I got to Santa Clara University and I read more about how women are stigmatized because they are on welfare that I realized that for many women, getting on welfare is not always an option but a necessity. Many of the women on welfare want to work but find it very difficult to do so because expenses such as child care and transportation would seriously deplete their earnings. Given my sister's health problems, my family and I had no choice regarding whether to receive public assistance or not; for us it was a matter of survival. When I turned 18 we ceased to receive public assistance and my mother and older sister ceased to receive health care coverage8.

Seeing that there was no possibility in her gaining more hours at the elementary school where she worked, my mother left that job at the end of my senior year of high school. During my freshman year of college she found a job as a housemaid in a hotel. Most of the women who worked there were undocumented (in the U.S. illegally with no work authorization) and were yelled and cussed at by the head manager. After two months of working there, my mother's employment was terminated because she defended herself from the head manager's verbal abuse. Our new landlord kept increasing our rent and we were forced to move into a basement during winter quarter of my freshman year. The summer of 1999 my mother was walking down the steps leading into our new home when she slipped and fractured her foot. When we took her to the hospital the doctor said that she had not fractured her foot but he nevertheless put a cast on her that she had to wear for a month. It took a whole year for her injury to heal and after various visits to the doctor, it was determined that she had pulled a tendon. Because of the injury she was unable to return to her job. For income she babysat other people's children.

My mother's strong Catholic faith was instilled in my sisters and I during our childhood. Our belief in God and in the Virgen de Guadalupe has provided us with faith and hope, which I feel has allowed us to continue despite the obstacles that have been put in our path. We have been attending the same church for more than 13 years. Our involvement with this faith-based organization has been a primary resource that has provided us with spiritual guidance, support, and networks. Social capital can be defined as resources provided by social networks and used by groups of people to navigate and facilitate their livelihood. Our local parish has been a strong provider of social capital. When we could not pay our rent, my mother went to talk with our priest and he gave her the money. When my mother was unemployed, she found a job at a convalescent home through a parish member and later a job at an electronics company through another parish member. The significant amount of resources my family and I have received from our church and from our friends have been invaluable. My mother's brother, Juan Arturo Dávila, and another member of our parish who has been like a father to me and my sisters, Aaron Curioca, have helped us tremendously, both financially and emotionally. Although my parents did not receive an education, I have learned the most important lessons from them. I have learned the importance of faith and patience, of getting a good education, and of treating people with respect. My mother has showed me with her strength, faith, and perseverance that no matter how bad things get, one should always be grateful because they can always get worse. One of her favorite sayings (mine also) is this: "No hay mal que por bien no venga." Translated into English this means "There is no bad that will not bring with it good."

"RACISM IS NOT INTELLECTUAL"

In 1994, I became part of the Esperanza Talent Search Program in eighth grade at Castillero Middle School. I do not know who sponsored the program but I believe it was for minority students and/or students who were doing poorly in school. Through that program my classmates and I visited UC Berkeley; that experience was in one word, traumatizing. College life and the unwelcoming atmosphere intimidated me. Everyone on the campus seemed intent on getting somewhere and there was a sense of competitiveness in the air. The buildings and the people were formidable; for example, there was an older man with a long beard and a white robe who was preaching to no one in particular on the steps leading to a large building. I thought he was ill but everyone else just ignored him. That day I told myself that I would never go to college.

Since the beginning of my sixth grade year at Castillero in 1991, I was placed in accelerated courses where the majority of the students were Caucasian. Although I was a good student at my elementary school, I do not know why I was placed in these courses. My guess is that it was tracking, which is the practice of placing students that show or do not show promise through their test scores, on a track that either leads to academic excellence or a lack of academic opportunity. I felt alienated in these classes because I was the only Latina. My friends during this time were both Mexican and Caucasian. Some of my Caucasian friends were in my honors classes and although they were nice, I felt closer to the friends that shared my Mexican ancestry. When I chose my classes for my freshman year at Abraham Lincoln High School, I chose to be in the honors classes because they were similar to the courses I had been placed in during middle school. I did not realize that I was beginning to take college prep courses. My sophomore year at Lincoln I met Cindy Bugarin in a folklorico dance class and Lidia DeLeon at the bus stop where we waited together for the school bus. Their earnest motivation to go to college and to get good grades rubbed off on me and I began to improve my grades. Through Cindy I learned that I had to have a good grade-point-average, take Advanced Placement courses, and that I had to take the Standardized Achievement Test to gain entrance into college.

When my senior year of high school came, I still had not decided whether I would go to college, much less what school to attend. I was involved in Latinos Unidos, a club for Latino students. It was through my involvement with the club that I met Marc Pinate, the club's advisor and an alumnus of SCU, who told me about Santa Clara University. We had a retreat for the club in the Multicultural Center (MCC) at the university and when I saw the campus I knew that this was the school I wanted to attend. It was not just the beauty of the campus, with the lush green grass and sweet-smelling roses, it was the atmosphere that gave me a sense of security and a sense of belonging. What also appealed to me was the location-it was about 10 to 15 minutes away from where I lived. Marc encouraged me to apply to SCU and wrote my letter of recommendation even though I was concerned about being admitted because I did not have a strong GPA and my SAT scores did not reflect my potential.

The Esperanza Talent Search Program, the placement in honors courses, friends that offered their advice, and my participation in Latinos Unidos were all direct influences in my decision to attend college. Other influences, who motivated me without their knowledge, included my parents and close relatives. My parents always told me to "keep studying" and to not let other things (i.e. boyfriends) distract me. When I was younger my dad would joke and say that I could not have a boyfriend until I moved out. But when I was in high school, both my parents told me that it was my decision whether to have a boyfriend or not but that they felt it would be better for me to wait until I was done with my education. My uncle and Aaron provided me with accounts of their attempts to receive in education in Mexico and through their stories I gained an appreciation for what it takes to pursue an education. My parents came to this country to have a better life and because of all they went through, I knew that I had their unconditional support. They may not have been able to instruct me with specific questions I had about college but they gave me the courage I needed to figure them out on my own. My parents never pressured me about college; I knew that they would stand by me and support me no matter what I chose to do. I think it was their support that enabled me to have faith in myself and enabled me to pursue an education so that their sacrifices would not be in vain. Whenever I feel that I am facing a difficult situation, I find motivation to keep going whenever I think of the struggles my parents have gone through.

FINDING MY WORDS

I received the letter that I had been accepted to Santa Clara University on St. Patrick's Day, "el dia de mi santo" (the day of my saint), as we say in Spanish. I was ecstatic at the prospect of attending Santa Clara University. But my first year here I felt what some have named the "imposter syndrome." My high school GPA was barely a 3.0 and I had an F and a D plus on my transcript. I felt that I had only gotten in to SCU because I was Mexican. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my transcript did not reveal the type of person I was or the obstacles that I had faced. I believe that my letters of recommendation (one from an alumnus and one from our parish priest) and my personal statement revealed that I was a student with an enormous amount of potential. With this in mind I put away all negative thoughts.

My adjustment to Santa Clara University and living in the dorms my freshman year was difficult because I am very close to my family and by living on campus, I no longer had the stability and support I received at home. Although I tried my best to go home every weekend, I also needed to stay at school to work on projects and to study for midterms. My mom got used to me coming home every weekend and it became an expectation that I could not always meet. There were many times that year (and subsequent years) that I felt torn between school responsibilities and family responsibilities. For example, when we moved into the basement, I was unable to help my family move because I was living at school and did not have time. My adjustment freshman year was made even harder when I began to have problems with my roommate.

I thought that I would receive friendship and support from my roommate but instead I received disdain. The first week of school she made it clear she did not plan on eating dinner with me in Benson. We had spoken on the phone before school started and we had decided that she would be the one to bring her CD player. When I put on a Spanish CD one night, her face showed disapproval and she told me that she really did not like me playing CDs in Spanish. I would go to bed early and she would stay up the whole night and leave the radio and the lights on when I went to bed. The first week living with her was enough for me to know we would not get along. I felt uncomfortable sharing a room with her because I never knew what to expect. Friends that lived on our floor would come and tell me how she would say bad things about me. Aside from not playing my Spanish music on her CD player, I did not try to change my personality to accommodate her. One evening we were in our room and a student came in and said hello to her. I asked her who he was and she said, "You don't know who that is?" When I told her no, she said, "Well, a lot of people don't know who you are. Maybe you should go and knock on people's doors and introduce yourself because a lot of people don't know you." I felt that she was putting me down and I told her "I would rather have a few good friends then have a lot of friends that don't really know me." By the end of fall quarter we asked housing to move us with other people and they agreed. During winter break I received my credit card bill and saw that the amount due was over $400. Since I had not purchased anything for $400, the first thing that came to my mind was my roommate. Once school started, I reported it to Campus Safety; they questioned her and she confessed to stealing the money and was forced to pay it back. It seems that during finals week of fall quarter, she went through my desk, found my planner, stole my credit card, and somehow found my pin number. She went to the school's ATM and took out $400 in cash. Although I never imagined that someone you knew for only 11 weeks would violate your privacy and belongings to the extent my roommate did, I did not press charges against her. I firmly believed in the three C's (competence, compassion, and conscience) that Santa Clara University promotes. I wanted to be compassionate and forgiving but I was very disappointed with the school because I felt they did not take the incident seriously.

The first quarter of my freshman year was the hardest. I have always been a shy person and it was difficult to meet people and make new friends. I also did not know about available resources such as the Drahmann Center, the Counseling Center, and the Student Resource Center. My first quarter at Santa Clara I received the worst grades because I did not know how to study, even though I had taken college prep courses in high school. I was shocked and intimidated that, not only were the majority of the students at SCU Caucasian, but I had little in common even with the Latino students. Many of them came from private schools and from wealthy and upper-middle class backgrounds whereas I came from a public school and had a lower class background. Even though I lived in Unity House, the multicultural residence hall on campus, I still felt alienated from my peers. The majority of the students had computers and came from families who lived in houses that they likely owned. I did not have a computer and my family and I lived in a basement apartment. I could not relate to the students at SCU because they had not experienced the same problems that I had.

I enrolled in the Emerging Leaders program thinking it would be a great opportunity to gain leadership skills, get rid of my shyness, and meet new people. The first day in that class I noticed that I was the only Latina. There were two Asian-American students and the rest were Caucasian. I made an effort to approach the other students and although they were friendly, they had already formed cliques that did not include me. I had never felt so out of place as I did in that class; I dreaded going, but because I am stubborn I refused to drop the course. I attended most of the sessions and only spoke up once when the class was about racism. Even then I did not feel that my opinion mattered much to anyone else. The reason I had a hard time expressing my opinion was because I could not find my voice. There are times I regret that I was not opinionated enough in that class but I understand now that it was a learning experience. By the time spring quarter came around, I had made new friends and had a new roommate. I met and befriended some of the women from my floor because we shared classes and would study together; through them I also had the opportunity to meet other people. Spring quarter I also had three jobs. I worked in the Psychology Department as a research assistant, as a proctor for the Student Resource Center, and at Robinson Robert Ng & Associates Professional Law Corporation as a clerk. When my grandfather became ill that quarter, I had enough money to buy my mother a plane ticket to Mexico. I found that with three jobs I was able to schedule my time better and I received straight As that quarter but I had no social life; the only places I went to were class, work, and the library.

Balancing family and school continues to be a struggle. When my mother, who does not drive, began to work at an electronics company, my sister and I took turns taking her to work at 6:30 in the morning, five days out of the week. My sister became ill again winter quarter of my junior year and I dropped my studies to go to the hospital. I was very frightened because I thought her Lupus had flared up but everything turned out to be okay. I believe that one of the reasons that I felt different from other students was that I did not know many people who struggled to balance their family responsibilities at the same time they were attending school full-time. Two people at SCU that understood what I was going through are two of my close friends, Rebecca Ruano and Melissa Ovalles. I have known Rebecca since elementary school and our families are paisanos, what you call someone who is from your same country, state, or town. Her family is also from Zacatecas and we attend the same parish. Rebecca helped me out tremendously my first three years at SCU by offering me her guidance and support. I met Melissa my freshman year when we both lived on the same floor in Unity House. She has been a tremendous source of comfort and support. Our junior year we shared in apartment in Sobrato Hall and it was wonderful to live with such a caring person. I always feel better talking to them because they are two of the few people I could relate to at SCU. My adjustment was facilitated my sophomore year when I had the wonderful opportunity to become a part of Sigma Lambda Gamma (SLG) National Sorority, the largest historically Latina-based sorority in the United States. SLG is an academic, cultural, and social organization dedicated to promoting the empowerment of women in higher education. Our primary goal is to promote our evolving and diverse cultures by sharing it with others through five principles: Morals and Ethics, Community Service, Academics, Cultural Awareness, and Social Interaction. Being a member of this organization made my adjustment to SCU less intimidating because I found a system of support that I had not found elsewhere. Through my membership I have been able to gain self-confidence, leadership skills, and have had the opportunity to meet an extraordinary group of strong women.

"I'M MARKED BY THE COLOR OF MY SKIN"

My race has created a number of obstacles that have affected my experience in college. Stereotypes dictate that Mexican people are criminals, drug dealers, lazy, and that Mexican women are baby machines. Images perpetuated by the media, such as cop shows, portray the "bad guy" as being of Mexican or of Latino descent, and in Hollywood movies Mexican women are portrayed as either the object of men's desire or as housewives with 10 kids. These images are fed by ignorance and continue to influence society's perceptions of Mexicans, but most importantly they influence policies on immigration and education. Proposition 187 is just one example of how stereotypes can manifest themselves into outright racism. The proposition was intended to deny illegal immigrants the right to receive an education and to receive health care. Latinos predominantly populate public schools in East San Jose and the education they receive is mediocre compared to public and private schools in better neighborhoods. The high school I attended was an even mix of Latinos and Caucasians, but because it was a public school, educational opportunities for advancement were not available to all the students. There were only four other Mexican students beside myself who went on to four-year universities after graduation: Octavio Barba (Cal Poly), Cindy Bugarin (UCLA), Paul Corona (SCU), and Francis Martinez (SJSU).

The socioeconomic status of my family has also affected my ability to go to college. I grew up in a low-income family where we struggled to make ends meet. I started working during the summer when I was 15 years old and since my junior year of high school, I have worked during the school year. Growing up, I think my parents were so concerned with survival (e.g. paying bills, housing, transportation) and the constant struggle to make it in a foreign land, that they did not know how to encourage my sisters and I to continue our education. I was able to get fee waivers when I applied to several colleges because I did not have the money to pay for all the application fees. I thought that I would not be able to go to college because of the cost until I learned that there was financial aid available. I was told that some of the students at SCU resent the fact that other students get a "free ride," but the way I see it, they can afford to pay tuition because their family is not economically disadvantaged. Being Mexican and low-income has made my adjustment to SCU somewhat of a struggle. I feel like I am affected by racist stereotypes of Mexicans every time I walk into a classroom at SCU, where the majority of the students are Caucasian, and I am treated with stares. I sit in some of my Sociology classes and I am confronted with material that represents my life. Through this material I am gaining a whole new understanding and perspective on issues of stratification and inequality other than that which comes through my own subjectivity. My friend termed it "the realization of my reality" (or the epiphany of understanding my reality). I understand with more clarity the way that race, class, and gender affect people's life chances and outcomes and how these three factors have affected me. But despite the barriers I have faced because of these factors, maintaining my cultural identity continues to be important to me.

EMPOWERING MY VOICE

In writing my story, at first I was uncomfortable about people knowing that my family and I depended on welfare and about our present living situation. But I realize that I need to tell my complete story so that other students experiencing similar things will not be ashamed of their own background. I feel that it is somewhat of a miracle that I am where I am today. I reflect on my past and I do not think that it ever entered my mind that I would attend a private and expensive Jesuit University. All my life, whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I never knew what to say; I just knew that I wanted to help people. Santa Clara's emphasis on social justice has reaffirmed that goal. During the past three years, I have overcome my shyness and learned to have more self-confidence. My junior year at SCU I have been in more leadership positions than I ever was in high school and have been more involved in projects that promote diversity and give back to my community. Although life has presented me with many obstacles, I feel that they have not deterred my path to success but have strengthened me. I owe everything I am to my family; I do not think I would be where I am if it had not been for their love, support, and encouragement. The high cost of living in Silicon Valley and the rising cost of rents forced my family and I into a difficult living situation, but I thank God that I have a roof over my head and that my family and I have each other for support.

Being the first in my family to attend a four-year university is in one word, empowering. As a first generation college student I am opening a door of opportunities not only for my family, but for other students as well. Sandra Cisneros writes, "They will not know that I have gone away to come back. For the ones I left behind. For the ones who cannot get out" (Cisneros 1984:110). I believe that as a first generation student I have the ability and the duty to help underrepresented youth achieve the same educational success that I have been granted.

Through the Eastside Project, now known as the Arrupe Center, I began volunteering at the East San Jose Community Law Center, a project of Santa Clara University's School of Law. I was hired in April of 2000 and hope to continue working there. The agency serves the low-income population of East San Jose by providing them with free legal advice and representation. It is an important organization because it informs documented and undocumented immigrants and non-immigrants of their basic human rights. I remember reading an article in an issue of Marie Claire about a woman fleeing her country to escape female genital mutilation. She arrived in the United States seeking freedom from oppression and was detained by the Immigration and Naturalization Service and incarcerated for two years in inhumane conditions. I felt completely outraged and powerless, but I thought to myself, how could I make a difference? It was at that moment that I knew I wanted to be a lawyer. My experiences working at the Mental Health Advocacy Project, Robinson Robert Ng & Associates, and the East San Jose Community Law Center, have reaffirmed this goal. I do not remember where I read the following quote, but it inspires me because it shows that no matter how many barriers individuals are faced with, they should not be viewed as obstructions in one's path.

"Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition."

REFERENCES CITED

Cervantes, L.D. (1981). Emplumada. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press.
Cisneros, S. (1984). The House on Mango Street. New York: Vintage Contemporaries.

Grimes, K.M. (1998). Crossing Borders: Changing social identities in Southern Mexico. Tuscon: The University of Arizona Press.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Primero, quiero dar gracias a Dios y a la Virgen de Guadalupe por darme vida y por darme la oportunidad de recibir una educación para ayudar a mi gente. Segundo, quiero agradecer a mi familia por todo su apoyo y amor, no habría podido hacerlo sin ustedes. A great big thank you to the Sociology staff and faculty for your wisdom and for making my experience at SCU memorable. It has been a privilege knowing all of you! A special thanks to Dr. Laura Nichols for being a friend, a great advisor, and for giving me the opportunity to share my story through this book.