I don ’ t have any choice but to be American . No choice but to eat terrible greasy fast food that does nothing but tank my health . No choice but to idolize white picket fences , dogs , and a car . That ’ s what it means to be American , and that ’ s how I know I ’ ve made it . I hate my family for that .
I don ’ t want to be American . I want to be who I was meant to be . Who I was supposed to be . That ’ s been taken from me . It isn ’ t fair . I ’ m stuck idolizing my culture through a screen , something that I ’ ll never get to see myself . I envy those people . All of those other Afro-Latinas can recognize and fit in with their culture . They can speak English as well as Spanish without trouble . They don ’ t cringe when they say something in Spanish or get confused when their mother asks something of them .
Their parents don ’ t act surprised and suspicious when their child can finally pick up on something they ’ ve said . So why is that the case for me ? Why does it feel so foreign when I speak a language that is meant to be mine ? Why can ’ t I sympathize with people who are also Puerto Rican ? Why is it that the only thing I know are horrible stereotypes ? Why don ’ t I know the significance of what it means to be Puerto Rican ?
I should have that right , shouldn ’ t I ? Out of my family , I am the only one that can ’ t ever take back those years of a lost culture . My older sister and younger sister have never ever had that problem . They blend in perfectly , while I stand on the sidelines . They get to play The Game of Acknowledgment while I suppose I ’ m just a waterboy .
The Writing Process Rachel Sherman
When I was eleven , I wanted to write a story . I was chest-deep into Brandon Mull ’ s series “ Fablehaven ”, one of my favourites to this day . I was so engrossed in the desire to write like him and to elicit emotion in others , as he did for me . Here is what I wrote .
● If you could have one wish what would it be ?
● M / C would want to have a set number of lights within me and have it so that when people are in need I could give them a light .
● At the end , mine will flicker out due to lack of oxygen .
● M / C will give the last light to someone who needs it . That ’ s all . I was busy with school and lessons at the time so I never expanded on my ideas . Obviously , I had heard the old folk tale about the man who gives all of himself to others and that is where I had taken heavy inspiration .
I didn ’ t start writing again until my freshman year of high school . We had to write a five-paragraph essay about something of our choice . I wrote at least five drafts of different things as I contemplated which one to turn in . While I don ’ t remember what exactly they were about , I do remember my fondness for the writing process . I felt so serene as I was creating that I used the assignment as an excuse to write . Constantly . Those pieces helped me in more ways than growing the creative neurons in my brain . They helped me get through the hard times in my life . We had just moved out of a tragically toxic household away from my deranged father . Writing helped me understand my emotions . It was more for me than for anyone else . Eventually , I submitted one of the pieces and got an A . It was a freshman summer assignment , after all , graded on completion .