Dream

Tamara Kurt

10.10.16

AP English Language

Mrs. North

Home

         Moving brings into question the meaning of a home. If one constantly relocates, then what would they call their home? Is a home just a house? Is a home a person? Is a home a memory? What is home?  The dictionary defines “home” as “a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of family, person, or household.” If this is the case then any housing with a roof where a human being resides in is a home, but this is not the real definition. The real definition is left up to the individual to figure out and decide according to them. It took me about fifteen years to even begin to comprehend what a home was to me, and I am still trying to figure it out, but for now when I think of home I see myself and every person I love from all the countries I have lived in. My home is with the memories and people that I love. Therefore, I have many homes, and that is okay with me because each one completes me and has made me who I am today.

        The journey began with the rare eruption of eerie and legendary Popocatétptl.That day marked my day of birth and the next five years of my life in Mexico City. Even though the whole world undermines and belittles Mexico, this country is indescribable. Many do not understand this point of view or statement, but then again I am a proud Mexican who firmly believes that Mexico is beautiful no matter what. Despite the crime and multitude of issues that my country encounters, I am a part of it and those are my people. Mexico was my first home, my first real home, a home that holds a very strong place in my heart and soul. As I said before, each place completes me and has also shaped me as a person. Mexico not only taught me to be proud of my nationality, but time and time again it shows me to be strong. The country itself is an inspiration, for it has endured more than anyone can imagine. It consists of a rich culture that still surges through the streets. My life in Mexico offered me a glimpse of true and genuine people. They are the most hard working and humble human beings one may ever come across. Many may think that a childhood in Mexico is not the most ideal situation, but in all honesty it was the best first years I could have ever asked for. It made me appreciate what I had, it made me proud, it made me feel empowered, it made me dream, it made me compassionate, it made me grateful, and most of all, it made me an authentic Mexican. Being a Mexican in today’s world has a great impact that a lot do not consider or even think about. When I state my nationality, I leave people baffled, and honestly I enjoy seeing them baffled. Then as they process the mere fact that I am not what they thought, they proceed onto either mentioning a stereotypical comment, an unintentional racist joke, or simply saying, “Oh, but you do not look Mexican.” My response is simply to fake laugh, smile, nod, and act like their commentary is the most intellectual and clever phenomenon I have ever heard. These sorts of situations have impacted me greatly, and have enabled me to slightly evolve in a way. For, at first I always used to get offended when encountering such ideas, but now I brush it off since I know they do not mean to insult me because they just don’t know any better. However, this does not mean I will not stand for my country when it is disrespected belittled, or criticized. As some may say, my “Mexican side will come out.”

        The most traumatic move would be when I left my hometown behind and turned to a future in the welcoming Canada. Traumatic applies to this relocation because Canada and Mexico are two completely different worlds. It might as well have been me moving to another planet. Imagine a scenario where a little Mexican girl with big brown eyes, thick brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and tan skin arrives to a small town in the middle of Ontario not speaking a drop of English. Yes, traumatic would be the perfect word to describe that situation, and in fact that situation was my exact case. I remember the first day of school where twelve pale children, fellow classmates, approached me and stared as if I was an unknown exotic creature. Which I was since I looked nothing like the people there or even spoke the same language, but that didn’t matter to my best friend. Emily Vandenberg took me in without a single doubt in her mind. This blonde, blue eyed, and fair little girl guided me step by step, we became inseparable despite the obvious language barriers and spent every second we could with each other. She in fact was my neighbor, and for those short eighteen months that I lived in that small town where time stands still, Georgetown, Emily made me smile and laugh. She taught me to always be happy and see the bright side of situations, to enjoy life, to laugh at yourself, to live every day to the fullest, to not have regrets, to be brave and fear less, and of course, to love everyone for their differences. Canada is truly the most breath taking country I have lived in nature and environment wise. Not to mention, the kind and welcoming people that have no negativity or sign of poor attitudes. I have my teachers to thank, Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Karen, for never giving up on that little Mexican girl. They persisted for two strenuous months teaching me their language, and now I can proudly say that I am an AP English student. Moving to Canada taught me to embrace language, to love nature, and welcome all people.

        When I moved for the second time I felt quiet the expert, for I had mastered a completely different country and learnt a new language in less than two years. I do not remember how I reacted to the news, but I do remember the feeling I had when I parted ways with Canada. It was more traumatic than when I had arrived. However, I was excited for the future. New house, new school, new culture, new people, everything new, and I was ready to take on the challenge. Argentina may be at the bottom of the globe and may be considered the ends of the Earth, but this country has a personality of its own. The people there are just simply exquisite in character, and the culture is filled with history. Many do not realize the precious jewel that Argentina is, and many do not even bother. The thing is, Argentina is only understood correctly if a foreigner lives there and is able to see it as a whole. An Argentinean mindset cannot be used to understand Argentina, for several reasons; therefore an outsider must try to shine the light on the beauty that this country consists of. During my four years in Buenos Aires I attended an American school known as Lincoln, which in fact was named after President Abraham Lincoln. That school will forever remain a home for me. It contained the most impressive amount of diversity, it embraced differences in culture, and it celebrated irregularity and uniqueness, and treated each student as an individual. Lincoln was special because it made me love diversity, as well as, my own individuality. That school was filled with families who were in the same situations me and moved around quiet a bit. However, towards my fourth year I felt like a native and founder of the school. I made friendships there that will never be broken or forgotten, and to this day I have a sister fifteen thousand miles away from me. Carolina Cristaldo has been my best friend for eight years, four of them being apart from each other. Our friendship has grown over time, and every day becomes stronger and stronger. Living apart definitely makes communication challenging, but we make it work, and somehow we have remained inseparable. She changed me just like Argentina changed me. I learned to rally on every culture in the world, sponsor uniqueness, creativity, individuality, and myself. There is nothing more important in the world than diversity. Everyone is different, and those differences should be celebrated.