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Growing up in the stage of my childhood development surrounded by the traditions of quinceaneras and being a part of my sisters celebration when I was nine years old, connected my Mexican roots to our culture. Seeing my sister hold her last doll that had the same features as her. Wearing a white lace dress with a sweatheart neckline and skin with a golden tone. On the dance floor surrounded by the people she loved the most, in presentation of my parents giving her the last toy of her childhood as they stepped forward and gave the doll to my sister. My sister danced with the doll side to side until she tossed it up into the air and I caught it. Signifying her growth of being a fifteen year old girl who is making her passage from girlhood to womanhood, making me the next one to follow such a beautiful tradition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Connecting the aspects of Mexico living and it's traditions to our lives in the United States, located in Lynwood,Ca where everything took place.

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Nine Years Old.

 

It’s 2012, I’m sitting on the grass under the pine tree in my backyard while ants crawl on my shoulder and eat the last bits of my red apple. Playing with my barbie dolls that look just like me; brown skin dolls with black long hair who cosplay as a fifteen year old quinceanera. Seeing my dolls in cultural attire made me want to wear a sparkly glittery dress with rhinestones that shimmer from the corset top to the bottom of the gown, just like my Hispanic dolls. Which made me want to relive a day as a princess that was once read upon my childhood books. A quinceanera is all I dreamed about, wanting to experience that moment of having the mother and father daughter dance that my sister once had. Filled me up with so much excitement as I brushed my dolls hair, pulling one strand after another. Knowing that even if I step into a huge milestone in my life, I will always be my parents' little girl. Them giving me my last doll will show that huge growth of becoming a woman with the help of their teachings and discipline as they grant me permission to enter womanhood; that was the only thing I actually looked forward too.  

 

Things changed once I entered my teen years because I had a mind of my own and was granted a phone. Oh, was I happy to be able to message my friends outside of school and use all the latest apps that were trending. Social media was an exciting chapter in my life; making an account and  focusing on the little details of my instagram page. Asking myself, “What should my username be?” , “ What should my first post be?”, and  “ Who should I follow?”. It was a fun teen experience that wasn’t harmful, atleast at that moment I thought. Soon apps started to progress in new technology features, surrounded with accommodations of American culture. Society was focusing on the stereotypes of blue eyes and pale skins being the beauty standard. 

 

 

Fourteenth Years old    

 

It’s Summer June 2017, I’m transitioning from being a student at Cesar Chavez Middle school to being a Lynwood high school student where I’ll finish the rest of my four years in preparation for college and the outside world. I’m sitting on my bed eating goldfish crackers as crumbs fall down my face and onto my carpet floor, criss-cross applesauce trying to figure out the next step to my childhood development and maturity. Thinking on how I want to portray myself to others, as I enter a new school with both a different environment and people. Just picturing every scenario that I can possibly think of, “ Should I be the cool kid that doesn’t follow the rules?  NO! Or maybe I should be the mysterious beautiful girl who sits behind the class that's studious among her work yet private, but everyone wants to know about. YEAH! I want to be that girl.”  I sighed with a big grin on my face.

 

 

I started to hear stomps heading closer and closer to my bedroom door; KNOCK KNOCK

 

 

 “ Sweety, I have a surprise for you.” my mother said.

 

 

 “ Yes yes, come in mother.” I raised my eyebrows with confusion.

 

 

 “ Look what came in the mail today, earlier than what we expected.” my mother said as she handed me the latest phone of the year; the iPhone 6s plus.

 

 

I got up on my bed, screaming with joy “AHHHHHH!” throwing my goldfish crackers all over my bedroom floor as I spinned with the phone in my hands. This was huge for me because my parents had made it clear that I wouldn’t get a phone until my quinceanera, since it's tradition. “ Thank you mom, I love you” I told my mom as she walked out the door of my room.

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Months pass, It’s Fall September 2017. It’s a cold rainy day, the branches were hitting the rooftop of my window as the wind swirled through the open cracks and into my bedroom, which let in a fresh cold breeze. I laid in bed wrapped in my Mexican cotton blanket that had a lion which signified my fathers origin in Jalisco. I was shivering so I drank hot chocolate to warm my body with comfort and relaxation. As I scrolled through my instagram feed, I came across white American models on the cover of Vogue. “ WOW! These models are beautiful.”  I said as my eyes lit up like a child getting a brand new toy. I started to compare my own characteristics and physical features among American girls. Their white pale skin that shined through the bright clothes they wore in magazine covers, their bright blue eyes that signified the ocean's beauty that lit up the tv in my living room, and their blonde silky straight hair that amazed me every time an American girl came on. Questioning myself, “Why do I have brown skin, brown eyes, and dark hair?" 

 

 

Looking different made me feel embarrassed so I drifted away from my Hispanic roots. I wanted nothing to do with my ethnic background so I stopped being that Mexican girl who once signified her identity through her cultural beliefs. The quinceanera I always dreamed of having since I was a little girl, meant absolutely nothing to me. 

 

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Three months until my fifteenth birthday

 

It’s Winter January 2018, The chimney crackles with sparks of flames that brighten the living room with an orange tint as the ashes flow through the room making it foggy, almost unable to see, yet warm. I sat on the edge of the sofa reading a book called, “The bell jar” as I snuggled with a weighted blanket that covered almost the entire coach, turning the pages after another as my eyes started to get red and tears started gushing out like a waterfall.

 

 

 " April, it's time to watch our favorite tv show, “ My Dream Quinceanera!” my mom shouted as she came out of the kitchen with fresh popcorn that had a rich buttery smell.

 

 

I quickly wiped my tears with a napkin that I found on the coffee table, sat up straight putting my hair in a low bun, and grabbed a sticky note to mark the last page I left off. Putting my book away as I rolled my eyes and scrunched my forehead until it got sore. My mom turned on the tv, CLICK; the screen showed young girls my age going shopping for quinceanera dresses and planning their special day with their parents as they smiled and giggled throughout the entire experience.

 

 

 

 “ I can’t wait to go shopping for all the necessities for your big day mijia, it’s going to be memorable.” my mom said as she smiled and held my hand.

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I pushed my hand away with guilt. I got up, but the weighted blanket pushed me back down. My heart was beating fast; THUMP THUMP. “ I DON’T WANT A QUINCEANERA!” I shouted as I lost my breath. 

 

 

 “ April!, a quinceanera is something that you always wanted so why change your mind now?"  my mom sighed with confusion.   

 

 

 “ I just don’t think that it symbolizes who I am today and prefer something more modern and up to date because it’s a new generation.” I said.

 

 

 “ You want something more modern than following the traditional aspects of our culture.” she lifted her eyebrows and stared at me without moving a single finger.

 

 “ Well, not when you say it like that.”  I wrinkled my forehead. “ I think I would rather have a Sweet 16 because that’s what all the teens are talking about nowadays."

 

 

 “ A Sweet 16?” my mother crossed her arms and left the room. *the door slammed hard

 

 

 “ MOM! Just understand what I’m going through, listen to me.” I stomped back to my room and slammed the door.

 

 

Not having a traditional quinceanera made me feel more connected to society standards because I didn’t want to initiate myself as a Latina anymore. Not having a traditional celebration felt that I was one step closer to being that American girl seen on the covers of Vogue magazines,  Instagram and twitter.  

 

Few minutes later, I heard someone approaching my bedroom door; KNOCK KNOCK. I opened the door slightly to see my abuelita in the small crack so I opened the door entirely.

 

 

 “ I heard you don’t want a quinceanera any more, is that true mijita?.” my grandma said as she squinted her eyes and looked at me with distress.

 

 

I sighed and swallowed my saliva as I told her the truth. “ I don’t want to be known as the Mexican little girl who wears huaraches and braided hair anymore, I don’t want to be the girl who arrives at school with corridos playing in the background, I don’t want want to be apart of any cultural aspects including a quinceanera.” 

 

She grabbed my hand and took me to go sit down on my yellow bench near my bed. Me and my grandma sat down and stared at each other until she decided to speak.

 

 

 “ What’s going on mijita?” my grandma said. 

 

 

 “ Lately, I’ve been feeling very disconnected from my cultural roots because I want to be and look like an American girl.” I pushed both my bottom and top lip forward as I looked at my grandmother’s face for disappointment.

 

 

 “ I’ve noticed how you don’t want to participate in either the cultural activities that you love; like playing la loteria, la piñata en las fiestas y una quinceanera, most importantly.” my grandma sighed.

 

 

 “ I feel ashamed and embarrassed of my latin roots because society tells me it’s not American enough to fit in today's society abuelita. I want to look like an American girl with blonde silky hair, bright blue eyes that signify the ocean, and pale skin. Not brown eyes that signify the dirt and mud.” I cried.

 

 

 “ Let me tell you a story, when I was just your age, I decided to cross the border. Passing the cold river that made my toes ache with pain and numbed my body completely gave me a terrified feeling of not surviving. The cold nights made my body shiver as my lips turned pale, laying on the edge of trains to ensure security within any men on board. Crossing the border was especially dangerous for a woman. Hiking through rocky trails that were unleveled and unsturdy, making me twist my ankles until I heard a pop. While being so young and having no experience with the outside world, I wanted a better living for my future children, for your mom. ”  my grandmother told me as tears were running down my face one by one, making the floor slippery.

 

 

 “ I’M SO SORRY ABUELITA!” I said as my voice got scratchy. 

 

 

 “ You’re a Latina with strong cultural roots that run through your veins, showing the struggles and obstacles that your ancestors and families faced for you to be here and you should embrace it because it’s beautiful. Looks mean nothing, while cultural beliefs that define your identity mean everything.” my grandma smiled as she gave me a big hug, soon realizing my mistakes.

 

 

 

As a 14-year old girl, who had tanned dark skin and features that demonstrated her ethnicity of being a Hispanic girl, the only thing I wanted was to fit in and not identify myself as one. Social media influenced me on the idea that my appearance was no longer validated upon American society because white girls were considered the standard of beauty. 

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Eighteenth Years old. (NOW)

 

It’s Spring March 2022, I’m 18 years old wearing a pink Mexican embroidered Floral top that’s hand stitched among every colorful flower that brings our culture to life: Roses, dahlia, poinsettia, and mexican sunflowers where I bought from the calles from mexico. My hair is in two long braided ponytails that are tied into a black bow to match my shirt. I’m finally wearing black embroidered huaraches with the same flower pattern I have on my top. I’m happy with myself, my culture, and I’m finally embracing my  identity as a Hispanic. As each morning arrives after another, I wake up feeling more thankful for the privilege of being here with my family, thanks to my grandparents' efforts and determination of crossing the border for a better life. 

 

 

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