As an Ecuadorian immigrant to the U.S., diversity has always been an important part of my personal story. I was born in the U.S. and sent as an infant to be raised by my grandparents in Ecuador. My parents stayed behind in New York and saved money in order to reunite the family. By the time I was able to join them, I was nine years old and barely spoke English. As a child, many things confused me about the U.S., but one thing became increasingly clear: life as an immigrant required hard work, sacrifice and grit. In America, my father spent twelve hour days as a car mechanic and my mother worked in clothing factories. Although we had stable housing and a car, they were barely around to raise me. When I was twelve, my younger sister was born and as the older sibling, I became her primary caretaker. While my parents worked, I changed diapers and made sure my sister was fed. Much like a new mom, I constantly worried about my sister and relied on parenting blogs or magazines to calm my concerns. By the time I was applying for college, I took my sister to doctor appointments and attended parent teacher conferences. I never resented my parents for their absence because I knew that they had devoted their lives to giving us a different fate than the one they faced. Having to forgo my teenage years in order to raise my sister was the right thing to do; I had grown up alongside indigenous girls in Ecuador who shouldered the responsibility not only of siblings but of entire families.

After several years, our sacrifices as a family paid off and we were able to buy a house in a predominantly lower-middle class neighborhood in Queens where we were one of the few Hispanic families. Being a minority was not easy; we were shaken by a series of violent hate crimes that claimed the lives of Ecuadorian immigrants Jose Sucuzhanay and Marcelo Lucero, one of whom was a member of our community at St. Brigid Parish. Jose’s heinous murder filled us with fear and disillusionment but also united us as we acknowledged the shocking presence of violent racism in the country we had chosen as our new home. We held vigils for both victims and donations were sent to Ecuador where Jose, like many immigrants, had left behind two daughters while he worked in search of the dream that cost him his life.

At one point, I was afraid for the world my sister would grow up in, but I was comforted by the reaction of the government, civil rights organizations, and community groups. In a time when the ongoing immigration debate was fueling anti-immigrant hostility, their reactions indicated that racist violence had no place in America. The solidarity of our neighbors and other strangers allowed me to take heart. I also continued to witness how despite not having many privileges, hard work enabled immigrants to achieve what they could not in Ecuador. This restored my faith in the U.S. every day and fueled my ambition to ease the struggle of those striving to achieve the American Dream.

As I matured, I came to realize that the only way to do this was through education. My parents were too preoccupied to help or guide me, so from the beginning I knew that I would have to make decisions for myself. At first, I attended a local high school which had metal detectors and violent crime. After two years, when it was clear I would have to transfer, I chose to attend another local school within a thirty minute distance because it meant I could easily drop off and pick up my sister afterwards. When it came time to apply for college, I knew that living away from home was out of the question so I applied only to local schools. Pace University was the ideal choice because they offered me financial scholarships and their campus was close enough that I could continue looking after my sister.

While raising my sister forced me to grow up faster, it also gave me a new perspective on life that allowed me to be aware of others’ needs. My assimilation to America occurred though the lens of a wide-eyed child, but also from the perspective of a surrogate parent. My sister is now nine years old and I still feel protective of her influences and wary of outside dangers. Although my sister has never lived in Ecuador, she speaks Spanish and feels at home when she visits. I feel that I have used my own dual experiences to help raise my sister in a way that she finds herself at home in two worlds.

To this day, I am proud to say that I have met my responsibilities to my family and community without sacrificing my own dreams. When I graduate, I will be the first one in my family to have a college degree, and when I attend law school, I will be the first to go to graduate school. As an Ecuadorian-American, I have come to believe that despite the prevalence of racism and poverty, so much of the American dream ultimately lies in the hands of the dreamer. Spending my childhood in an indigenous community, and my teenage and adult years as an active member in an immigrant community, taught me the value of hard work and its vitality in getting one where one wants to be in life. I hope that these experiences will bring an important perspective to the classrooms I am part of.