Summer in Reynosa
Summer vacation are days without school work, homework, not stressing over a test. Mostly everyone takes the opportunity to explore new adventures or to enjoy the beautiful blue waves, walking through the warm sand. In summer of the year 2012 my sisters and me went to Reynosa, Tamaulipas. Reynosa is located in Mexico, it has good places you can visit. Therefore, its rare that people from United States goes for unreasonable reasons. If people would go its for cheap merchandise and cheap doctor visits. In that year Reynosa was known for all bad things such as, people being cruel and children that lived there would smoke or drink beer because it was all handed to them. The bad people would kidnapped children ages seven and
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It was like if there weren't a law to take order. People were missing mostly the teenagers girl, they were being The news back then would made statements on how children's would get raped or killed. The reporters would describe how stores were being vandalized by people known as “narcos”, “zetas”, or other names. I would also hear from friends that when they would visit is for the food and cheap merchandise.
It was my fist time going to Reynosa. My visit to Reynosa was because my sister and me wanted to meet our father. At first I thought, it’s crazy to even let my sisters and me to take the risk to go to Reynosa. My mom also scared me a bit when she told me that maybe is not a good idea to pack shorts or shirts that it revealing. She said that girls would get kidnapped and raped. Even though it was a hot summer my sisters and me force each other to take jeans. It was understandable that we wanted to know him as, he did too. However, part of me was upset that my father left when my sisters and me were younger. Reynosa was a bad place to visit my dad but, my pride wasn't so strong back then. My sisters and I ended up packing our suitcase. I couldn't get my head straight, I was thinking about how will it be at Reynosa.
The Madres de la Plaza de Mayo, otherwise referred to as the “Dirty War” in Argentina, was instructed from 1976 to 1983, the military government to kidnapped, tortured, and murdered progressive militants, and any person who claimed were “collaborators,” including all political adversaries of the regime. Many of the rebels were young people, pupils and other adolescence struggling to convey their discontents with the regime. The abducted people became described as the “disappeared.” The government destroyed any documentations that would aid the families to discovery the bodies or regain their grandchildren. The regime similarly stole babies born to incarcerated pregnant prisoners.
As my father and I finally fit the statue of the little Virgin Mary in the back of the car, it was time to get on the road. I could already taste the guavas from my great grandfather’s ranch. Feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. The smell of my aunt’s cooking. Hearing the excitement of my great grandmother’s voice. I wanted to be there already, be in the beautiful country of Mexico. My thoughts wandered as we left my house. How much welcome, love, and the sadness of leaving was going to happen. It was too soon to find out.
The moment I’ve been waiting for turned out more hectic than I was expecting. From waking up super early to forgetting what to do, the day had its up’s and down’s. So, what day am I talking about? Well about June 22, 2013, the day of my quinceanera, the day I went from a little girl to a woman.
Founded by the people, a community is made of the people. By minimizing all the drugs, alcohol, and corruptness of family life, we can prosper in a direction that will further our communities wealth, health, services, and outlook on people. It’s not much of what I can do for our community but what us as a people can do for the community.
I, Destinee Belle De La Cruz come from a mixed multicultural and multi-racal background. My mother immigrated to America from Dominican Republic, when she was about 3 years old. She grew up in a Spanish speaking household and growing up in the lower east side of manhattan, which is predominantly a Spanish majority area of New York, she grew up very immersed in the Dominican culture. My father on the other hand, as I, comes from a mixed background, as my fathers mother is white, of Irish decent, and my fathers dad, is of African American decent. My fathers parents are both from the south, Virginia, and they moved to New York City together in their early 20’s as there relationship was not accepted by the people in the south, nor their families.
I wake up at six in the morning barely having slept the night before because of this big day. All possible scenarios played out in my head; good ones and bad ones like driving to the airport an hour or two earlier so I would find parking and avoid traffic on the highways or something as bad as locking the keys inside of the car right before checking into the airport to board my luggage. I stayed in bed an extra five minutes contemplating these ideas with groggy eyes but soon I would be in the shower, wide awake. After getting dressed, I checked the list I made the previous night to make sure I had not forgotten anything for the trip.
My aunt and cousins were so excited to tell us that they are spending their spring break in Colombia. I was jealous. I have traveled all around the world but I haven’t gone to South America and visit the country where I am from. It has always been a dream of mine to visit Colombia. I mentioned it to my mom and she shared the same dream. The next week my mom comes to tell me that we will be going to Colombia. I was so happy nothing could ruin my excitement. She tells me the date. It was after my spring break. My smile turned into a frown. That would mean that I would be missing days of school. I have never missed a single day of school in my life. When I was sick, got into an accident twice and even when my mom
Sunday July 7th was going to be the last day of my journey to reunite with my mother. By then, it had been seven years since she left us to go work in Texas. In Honduras, we had owned a small convenience store a block from our home before we lost it- along with our peace- to gangs. You see, in the late 90s, the United States government had deported hundreds of ex-convicts to Honduras with the majority turned out to be gang members. Most of them, members of Mara Salvatrucha1 (MS13) and Barrio 182 and well those two gangs aren’t exactly the best of friends. By the early 2000s, those two and other local gangs had begun a bloody battle for the territory they all claimed. Along with that they extorted locals and made and distributed drugs to earn money.
So I don’t know what to write for this. Instead of coming up with something actually decent to write about I’m just going to write whatever comes to mind while i'm writing this. I don’t know if I’ll actually keep this but I will definitely finish writing the 400 words because even if I decide to not hand this in I need something to show on Friday and since you just check for a piece of paper with words on it and don’t actually read I can write whatever I want right now and if I decide to I can just rewrite the whole thing before we hand in the full journal.
When we knock on the door my cousin husband Juan Antonio Vasquez open, and welcome me and my sister in. We ask for my cousin and he said she went to get an errant and that she was going to be back around 12 a.m. but we were welcome to settle in ourselves in while we waited for her. It was getting late and my sister and I decided to go to bed, he told us to sleep in the same room him on the bed and us two in the floor. When I felt asleep, I felt like if I was dreaming that someone was touching my vagina. I open my eyes I realized I was dreaming he was touching me. I freeze and decided to move to the side a little and hope so he can stop. He did stop for a few minutes until he figure that I probably felt back to sleep, which I didn’t I was wide awake and scared.
November 12, 1994 marks the day when I, Gabriela Aceves, was welcomed, with open arms into this cruel and beautiful world. I was greeted by two loving parents, Silvia and Jose, three crazy sisters, Vanessa, Daisy, Stephanie, and Jose my kind brother. I grew up in a loving home. Never did I ever feel unloved nor unappreciated. We were all very close, so close that we would constantly take family vacations together. Our hunger for adventure took us to Florida, California, Colorado, Nevada, Arizona, the list is endless. My father, Jose was a hardworking brilliant man whose presence would be felt whenever he would walk into a room, he was loved and hated by many for his success in both his career and family. My mother Silvia was always a nurturing and supportive housewife she and I were much alike in both our looks and personality. I loved both of them very much I couldn’t have asked for better parents. Even though they were much older than me not once did I ever feel excluded from my siblings ' life. Vanessa,the oldest was the kind of woman who never let
Spain is a country on Europe’s Iberian Peninsula that includes 17 regions with diverse geography and cultures. It has many beautiful sights and buildings to see, but not as beautiful as the La Sagrada Familia. It is the most beautiful building I ever see in Barcelona. I still remember that hot, sweaty, I’m gonna die of heat stroke day.
Although summer break is a luxury enjoyed by children across the globe, it is a practice that should be abolished because students forget a lot of the material they learned throughout the school year. Taking such a long vacation from the classroom is something that cannot be afforded. Without being constantly reminded of the information, kids allow much of it to escape.
I took my spot in the crammed back seat, and I couldn't believe what had happened in that endless night. As we drove away, I hoped that we would never return to that dreadful place again. Before the vacation was even over, the Hawke family vacation goal was a success. We managed to spend only $25, and we were to start home the next day. To my dad this was a fun filled vacation, but to the rest of us, it was the most dreadful time we had ever had. Still crammed between my brother and sister, I couldn't stop thinking of our awful experience. I could only hope that our final destination would better than the previous encounter.
On every corner you can see the effects of crime. There was gang affiliated graffiti on numerous walls and fences. In my grandma’s neighborhood, there is a wall with the phrase “Ver, oír, y callar” meaning, “Look, hear, and shut up”. You can see and hear the violence happening in the neighborhood, but if you know what’s best for you, you better keep your mouth shut. While we were there, my sister and I were not allowed to leave my father’s sight. We were also not allowed to stay out late at night, as things can get more dangerous when the sun goes down. This experience has affected the way I perceive crime; it made it more tangible to me. Crime was no longer just something they spoke about on the news that you think ‘oh that could never happen to me’. No, crime can happen anywhere, at any time, under any