Frida's cafe

What is privilege? What does it look like? How does it feel for you? For me? We all have some version of it in our lives.

I have been reflecting on my privilege. The privilege to be here – to have opportunities others that look like me may never have. So many kids didn’t survive the civil war in El Salvador like I did. That is a privilege I never forget. I also don’t forget young boys carrying riffles as big as them. I don’t forget the horrifying stories of young girls being raped, killed. Growing up I always wondered if that would be me one day. It could have been me. I always keep this top of mind. It has been a driving force for me.

My journey isn’t unique. Many others have similar stories, upbringings, struggles, and challenges. It hasn’t always been easy for me, but I always remember my privilege.  I always remember those who didn’t have the means to come to this country. Those who didn’t make it out of the violence.

This is what pushed me always to take advantage of everything in front of me.  Imagine putting food in front of someone who doesn’t always have food. I imagine that person will try to eat as fast as possible and maybe try to take some for later.

This was me. I had to take advantage of every opportunity because I didn’t know if I would get another chance. It was now or never… I always stayed hungry, and this is something I’m learning how to appreciate about myself. Hungry for a better life. Hungry to see the world. Hungry to learn and take advantage of everything that comes my way.

I remember the first time I felt that hunger. The first time I got on a plane to the United States. On one end, I felt heartbroken about leaving mi abuela Tota, who raised me since I was two. On the other end, I felt the excitement that makes your heartbeat so fast it feels like it will jump out of your chest. I remember sitting by the window and my mom trying to explain how it would feel when the plane lifted off the ground. She tried to comfort me, thinking I was scared, but deep inside, I could not stop looking down at my window seat. I felt enamored by the sight. This was my first time seeing the world below me. The view was breathtaking. That was the first time I realized there was a world outside of what I knew and understood. I was elated.

The transition wasn’t easy. I had to start middle school shortly after I arrived. I didn’t speak the language or look like any kids around me. I had to adjust to the environment, the weather, the food, and the big, massive buildings. I had NEVER seen buildings so tall. I also remember the freeways and how confusing they seem. I also remember the sounds of the music, specifically Tejano music. The sounds reminded me of Cumbias Salvadoreñas, but not quite. I remember not liking it at first; then, I discovered Selena. She was the first artist I ever saw in concert. I never thought that concert in the Astrodome would be her last. I was devastated when she was murdered.

For a girl in her teens trying to find herself, it was hard to adapt. Most of my childhood was spent with my grandmother. When I came to Houston, I met a brand-new family with siblings I had never met. I arrived at a house with toilets, running water, and carpet on the floor. The home where I grew up had dirt floors, a water well, and an outhouse that served as a restroom. Everything felt foreign. hated trying to explain myself in a language I knew nothing about. I even had to learn to pronounce my name in English so teachers could understand. I hated trying to learn new things I was never exposed to in El Salvador.  I didn’t understand jokes or even when kids at school were making fun of me. I felt lost, dumb. In El Salvador, I was thriving in school. I was the kid who always raised her hand. Here, I was afraid to speak up. I was scared and self-conscious that I wouldn’t know all the words in English when trying to explain myself. I was afraid kids would make fun of me for sounding different. It wasn’t easy, but I never lost sight of my privilege.  A privilege most kids in El Salvador will never have.  

Someone once asked me, “How did you make it?” I suppose they were trying to understand why I didn’t do what “most” expect of kids that looked like me. Why didn’t I join a gang? Why didn’t I get pregnant? Why didn’t you skip college? Things have changed a bit, but during that time, I felt most saw kids like me as an inconvenience. It was always the ESL kids and the rest. We looked, dressed, and sounded different. We were taught differently.  I will always be grateful for having teachers along the way that didn’t see us as inconvenience but instead saw us as kids with the abilities. Ms. Villanueva was one of those who pushed us. I will never forget her telling me, “Don’t just reach for the sky. Reach beyond.” She was not one of those who expected us to fail. She dedicated her life to students who came from other countries and always made them feel they mattered. I always felt that with her. She believed in me when I didn’t.

I could have made very different choices, but I always felt a sense of responsibility. To my mother who sacrificed so much coming here. To my grandmother, who took care of me. To myself. To everyone who didn’t have the same opportunity as I did, even to the man who didn’t take an interest in me. A part of me will always want him to know the daughter he missed out on.  

I know my privilege and always try not to take it for granted.