One day I will pack my bags of books and paper. One day I will say goodbye to Mango. I am too strong for her to keep me here forever. One day I will go away.

Friends and neighbors will say, What happened to that Esperanza? Where did she go with all those books and paper? Why did she march so far away?

They will not know I have gone away to come back. For the ones I left behind. For the ones who cannot out.

- from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

Some days I feel like Esperanza, except I never lived in a barrio like Mango Street. I never saw nearly all of the women around me locked up, in both a figurative and literal sense, by their husbands or fathers. I saw strong women, those traditionally fierce Mexican women Cisneros writes about.

I feel like Esperanza because sometimes I just want out from the Heights, from my community. I come back from the Westside, 30 odd miles away and wonder what I have in common with the people of this community. I have read so many books, and learned from so many scholars that when I throw off a joke about Disneyland�s fascist nature for Grad Night some of my family members ask me for a quick translation.

I admit that I used to think that my education made me a better person. A vivid memory sticks out in my mind of a time when my T�o Abel yelled at his niece, a sophisticated college educated Chicana. I forgot what the argument was about, but all I remember is Abel�s slurred accusations of cre�da. In his eyes, my Ivy League educated cousin considered herself better than him because she had a degree from an elite institution.

I sometimes look at my brothers and cousins and find them so ignorant. I can�t believe they don�t know about their own history, about our family�s struggle. I sometimes don�t even try to challenge their sexist and homophobic remarks because it is too much and I just don�t have the energy for it.

I could be one of those people who forgets her community because I went away to school for four years and now I have a fancy piece of paper from a big name university assuring that I met their requirements for the degree I earned.

But I don�t want to become like that. I want to use that piece of paper and all the knowledge I gained in my classes, in the meetings, and my volunteer work to return �for the ones who cannot out.� I want to be the Esperanza of my community, of my extended family. I�m going to argue fiercely with my uncles when they insist that their daughters go to the local community college rather than a four year school a little further away even though they are well prepared for college and have so much potential to succeed.

I�ll work with students to ensure that they are not one of the 1 in 4 Chicanos and Latinos who drop out of UCLA and not graduate. I made it out. It�s my responsibility to go back and not only help others to get out as well as in to the schools where they can follow their dreams. And when they come out, they�ll go back for those who couldn�t �out.� They too will have the realization that someone helped them, so they need to help someone else in turn.

I�ll return like Esperanza with my books, papers, degrees, and knowledge of how to work �the system.� And together with la gente of Mango Street, we�ll transform the community so that eventually the conditions are good enough so no one has to leave.

[Note: I wrote this 2.5 years ago, a little after I graduated from UCLA. It reminds me of my commitment to my community and motivates me. I can't stop now, there's so much work to do.]

Me siento: hopeful
Escuchando: los mocosos, "soul mocoso"

M�s reciente:
Searches - 09.16.05
the big move - 07.29.05
mother and daughter: a comparative analysis - 07.28.05
jardineros y dom�sticas - 07.27.05
tough question - 07.25.05

antes // despu�s