I was born to Venezuelan parents
in Broward General Hospital on August 11th, 1996. I am the youngest of
three children, and when I was born, my parents had both already been living in
Florida for a few years, having left well before the reign in government got
any worse. Originating from Maracaibo, Venezuela, my parents had
experienced a life and culture alien to the one they would find in
America. They are all about family, about getting to know people and the
uniqueness each person brings, about being too loud sometimes, a little more
carefree, and a little too crazy. We have well over 200 cousins on my mother's
side alone, and we know each of them by name. I only wish I had grown up a
little less-Americanized and a little more Venezuelan in my habits and
personality.
I suppose, even at eighteen, I've
struggled to become that girl with no fear on her mind, with a loud enough
voice, and with a sense of boldness to the point of stupidity. And I feel as
though I can attribute these feelings (or lack thereof) to the quieter ways
I've been raised. I felt like if I were born and raised in Venezuela, I would
be bolder, more courageous, less affected by people's opinions, more driven by
my own ambition. I was offered a chance to woman-up and finally be that
dauntless girl. On Christmas weekend of 2014, 26 teenagers and some of their
parents packed up and drove for about three hours up for a three-day camping
trip. We were set on depending completely upon the land-no cheating by using
electricity (except for the bathrooms, of course). Day One was for the drive
up, preparing food, and getting settled, Day Two for adventure, and Day Three
for the packing up again, driving, and getting home and back to everyday life.
Day Two arrived and so did my challenge. The group split into two, half
went canoeing, and half went to jump-the-rope. Now, in both the waters that
half of the group went canoeing, and the waters in which I would yet discover
what it meant to "jump-the-rope," the presence of alligators was well-known.
We traveled at least two miles by foot to get to the area of the campgrounds
where there where two fragile-looking ropes tied to the trees. After coming to
a very close call with an alligator, the group stopped jumping in. I was
relieved that I had just barely gotten out of the dare to jump in with them
into that menacing water. Ten minutes later, I spot another rope swaying in the
distance and I panic, realizing we were heading towards it. I, try to talk my
way out of it, making excuses to no avail. I had taken on a dare and I had to
honor it. I looked at the water, searching avidly for any resemblance to evil
breaking the surface. I saw nothing but a multitude of warning signs posted in
the grass around the waters. After about fifteen minutes of convincing and me
forcing four of my friends to jump first, I decided I had to do it. I started
making my way up to the roots of the tree, and even that was
intimidating. After one of my friends instructed me on the technique of how to
grab on to the rope and how to avoid landing on the rocks, all I had to do was
jump. I hesitantly grabbed the rope as tight as my little hands could and
picked up my feet! I opened my tightly-squinted eyes and I was swinging over
the "alligator-infested" waters! "Wow! A year ago, I couldn't
even ride a mild roller coaster, and here I am, swinging on a rope over
threatening rocks and the risk of getting eaten by hungry gators!" Then I
realized I was still swinging and I jumped! My friends cheered
as I rushed out of the lake, and I felt on top of the world. I got a minor
scrape on my knee from the rocks, but it became like a patch on the sash of my
story; a small reminder that I am brave; that I can be courageous.
As the official first day of school came closer, I started preparing myself mentally. I knew that it would not be the same as high school, or anything else I’ve done. I didn’t expect hand-holding or anything of the sort. I expected high expectations of me, more seriousness, more value of academics, less on popularity, and more maturity. I was right for the most part. However, I must share that I was most surprised of my professors. Especially in this semester, with subjects like American history, English and speech, I have had the privilege of being instructed by very qualified, intellectual, and genuinely engaging professors. I expected rigid, demanding, robotic professors, I imagined an overload of work that I probably wouldn’t be able to handle. I expected a surplus of tests, all-nighters, barely making it to the finish. What I found instead was much better. I found good professors. They teach the class, but don’t lecture; they contribute to discussions, but don’t take over them; they teach the curriculum, and exceed it by incorporating the matters that truly matter, the pressing issues of our time that others don’t find significant/relevant enough to bring to the classroom. But I find myself not only seeking a degree, but an expansion of my capacity to think, to read, to reflect, to take a stand on the issues that matter, to discuss my thoughts with other peers who want to learn. I can say that my college experience exceeded my expectations.
