To me community has never held a single shape, or face. It was never something solid that felt attainable, just a fleeing idea of something I could’ve had. When I was younger the concept of a community seemed suffocating and foreign until I started to yearn for one. I felt as if I was going to have to change the way I dressed, the way I walked, the way I talked, even the way I thought. This belief made me resent the communities I wanted to invade, why was I not worthy enough as I was? 

 I was born in Honduras but I immigrated to the United States with my father and Grandma before I even finished first grade. While I was in my home country I went to a school that taught English. I still struggled with reading at my classmate’s level, therefore I often had to be separated from my classmates to either do something easier or to practice with an ESL teacher. I felt alienated and incompatible to my American classmates. I wished one day I could be considered one of them. Once I learned to read I didn’t want to stop, things started to click  and I felt up to par for the first time. On the other hand when I would go home and speak Spanish with my family members I would wonder why the words didn’t roll off my tongue as smoothly. Why didn’t I have the same dialect even though we were from the same place? I questioned if my parents made a mistake along the way or if it was my responsibility to hold on to my roots. 

Even though at school I was trying to fit in I never felt American, I was ashamed to bring cultural food so I would ask my mom to get me Lunchables like the other kids at my lunch table. I had no problem with the food my mother packed but I was scared of the reaction I would get from my peers. Then I met my Chinese friend who would bring the most interesting snacks to school, like shrimp flavored chips. She often let me get from her snacks and some days would even pack double snacks so I could get my own. I never questioned how American she was no matter how odd some of her snacks looked to me at the time. 

The government makes sure I’m aware I’m an alien in foreign land, but if I were to go back to “where I belong” I would be completely lost, I consider the United States my home.  Sometimes when I’m filling out documents I feel a knot in my throat, as I have to categorize myself as an “illegal alien”, that word always brings me back to my elementary school classroom. Back to when I got held back because I could barely understand what my teachers were saying. Back to feeling unworthy, undeserving, unAmerican. The latino community In times like this is my shoulder to lean on. The fear that the government is spreading throughout the community reminds me why I can’t let a label set me back, why I have to be proud of my identity and who I know I am. 

Now I know that I’m my own individual and I won’t fit into one single box, one single community. But I’m not an alien. This is also my home. Just because I don’t check all the boxes to fit into a singular community doesn’t mean I’m not a part of it. I care about the issues that affect all Americans, not just the ones that look like me. Your community is the people you feel like you can be yourself with, the people who are there when you need a shoulder to lean on or a snack at the lunch table. The recent protests have made me feel welcomed to the American community for the first time. Knowing my American peers are willing to fight for us and our rights has healed a wound that I’ve carried since that elementary school classroom.