Today I decided to do some free roaming for my blog. Steering away from my usual blogging and diving into a different topic. In recent news, we have heard a lot about gun control and incidents with guns, yet there is so much more beyond the surface of what we hear on news sites.  Specifically in schools, today kids are taught how to hide and have regular lockdown drills. I live in CT specifically Fairfield County and about 30 min from where the Sandy Hook shooting took place.

When I was in 5th grade, I was in chorus class. we were in the auditorium/lunchroom I went to a very small school so there wasn’t much room. Right in the middle of Defying Gravity from Wicked, the announcement started to say, “Lockdown Lockdown Exterior Threat” and there was a blue flashing light. My music teacher and 2 other assistant teachers had to control 60-ish students and make sure they went to the stage behind a solid blue curtain and hid in between any chairs and tables that were on the stage. Since the cafeteria was spacious but had huge glass windows. On the side of the stage, a small office and a door were leading to the main hallway. We were in complete darkness for about 2 hours until many of us had to use the bathroom and the teachers had us use a trashcan in the office. For the next hour or so we were stuck there until we were clear to go back to our class and then go home. At that time, we didn’t know what was going on or what was happening but later that night they sent out an email saying that there were shooting threats at one of the high schools near us. Everyone in the district was on lockdown since they weren’t sure, and it was for safety. I’m so grateful no one was physically hurt yet it still lives in our heads.

It is disheartening that we live in a world where children and individuals have to grapple with the fear of potential harm while pursuing education or simply going about their daily lives. The fact that there were 13 shootings in just 52 days highlights the severity of the issue and demands immediate attention. The emotional toll extends beyond physical injuries, with victims often grappling with post-traumatic stress disorder. The psychological scars left by such events can last a lifetime, affecting not only the victims but also their families and communities. Despite the alarming frequency of these incidents, there seems to be a lack of substantial action from the government to address the issue of gun violence. It is urgent that our lawmakers take meaningful steps to enact policies that prioritize public safety. We take actions to help the victims with mental, or physical help, but thats not enough. Prevention, remains the ultimate goal. Making sure the we have not only a secure community but also a secure school.

Growing up, I was raised Catholic, and my family attended church every Sunday. Our church was predominantly Latino, with most services conducted in Spanish, shaping my prayer habits in that language. My relationship with religion had always been complex, I had completed all the sacraments by the time I finished middle school yet I didn’t feel fully connected to the church or God. Throughout high school, my mom frequently took me to bible studies and weekday services, urging me to join the Church choir and play at services with my piano skills to the church. My parents made sure I remained close to God and understood the value of religion in our lives.

While I wasn’t deeply connected to God or the church during my early years, as I entered my senior year, I started drawing closer. Many of my friends were not religious, and I respected their choices. I also noticed that it was only me, my brother, sister, and mom going the rest of my siblings wouldn’t go because they didn’t regard the importance of church.

During the summer, I worked at a country club, where I met my best friend, who was Christian, and played the drums at his church. Raised in a religious environment, he had a strong connection with God, a quality I admired. One day, after work, we were on a hike, and I ranted about my struggle with understanding how people could be religious when it had been forced on me. He explained that religion should be a personal journey of discovery, not an imposition. Everyone’s commitment to God differs, and no one should be judged for it. Since then, I’ve been on my own journey, discovering religion and understanding that my relationship with God doesn’t need external pressure. Building this connection should be a personal journey, free from rules and expectations.

The concept that religion should not be forced highlights the importance of individual freedom in matters of faith. In a society that values freedom of religion, such as the United States, the idea is that spirituality should be a personal journey, free from external coercion or judgment. This perspective acknowledges that beliefs are deeply personal and should evolve organically, shaped by individual experiences, contemplation, and introspection.

Emphasizing the voluntary nature of religious exploration, this approach encourages individuals to seek and embrace their own spiritual path rather than adhering to a predetermined set of beliefs imposed by external influences. It reflects the essence of religious freedom, a cornerstone of democratic societies, where individuals are granted the liberty to explore and adopt their own religious convictions without fear of discrimination or censure. By having this freedom where religion is not forced allows for a difference of religion to coexist, promoting tolerance and understanding among individuals with a varying religious perspectives. It upholds the principle that genuine faith is a personal discovery, a journey that unfolds uniquely for each person, rather than a mandate to be imposed upon them. This perspective aligns seamlessly with the freedom of religion enshrined in the United States, where individuals are encouraged to shape their spiritual journeys independently.

At the age of 3, I embarked on my journey to learn English. Despite my parents being fluent only in Spanish, they enrolled me in a Catholic preschool where the language of instruction was English. This was the start of my language adventure. My family, including both parents, communicated exclusively in Spanish. However, it wasn’t until the fourth grade that I experienced a “reintroduction” to Spanish.

In elementary school, our curriculum required a Spanish class at the start of the fourth grade. While I can’t remember my teacher’s name, I distinctly recall becoming her “assistant” due to being the sole Spanish speaker in a class of 25 ten-year-olds. It made me feel unique and capable as if I had found my special ability. Throughout that year, while we studied learning colors and numbers, I not only navigated the journey effortlessly but also assisted my peers, a role I continued to embrace the rest of the year.

Fast forward to middle school, where we faced a decision between French and Spanish for our language requirements. Despite my inclination towards the seemingly easier option of Spanish, my mom urged me to choose French, and that’s when my smooth linguistic journey took an intense turn. Suddenly, I struggled to keep up, grappling with unfamiliar words. Luckily, I wasn’t alone in my struggles, as our middle school years were marked by the constant turnover of seven different teachers in a span of three years. Yes, you read that right seven different teachers in three years.

At the end of 8th grade, a unique opportunity emerged. My school organized a trip to Barcelona and Madrid, selecting students from both the Spanish and French classes. The prospect of traveling abroad filled me with excitement, especially as I hadn’t gone outside the country before. A particular memory during that trip highlighted the importance of being multilingual – we found ourselves in a restaurant where the signs were not in standard Spanish but in Catalan, a Spanish dialect. As two of my other friends were struggling trying to order I helped translate for them, realizing the significance of language in communication.

This wasn’t my first encounter with translation, but it was the first time translating from Spanish to English instead of the reverse, as I often did with my parents. Language, I understood, is not only crucial but also a privilege. The ability to speak multiple languages facilitates communication, a vital aspect of human interaction.

Regardless of the language spoken, what matters is the ability to communicate without shaming others for their linguistic capabilities or lack thereof. Reflecting on my upbringing, I didn’t initially appreciate speaking Spanish and preferred English. However, as I began to forget Spanish and struggled to communicate with my parents, I realized the broader impact: not only losing connection with them but also with millions of others who speak the language.

Growing up with immigrant parents has been a unique and enriching experience, shaping my worldview and perspective in ways that differ significantly from those of my peers. The cultural background and values instilled by my parents have undeniably played a crucial role in shaping my identity. However, one aspect that sets my upbringing apart is the approach to mental health, a topic often overlooked and even stigmatized within immigrant communities. Unlike many of my peers, my parents, like most immigrant parents, did not place a strong emphasis on mental health.

I did dance and track most of my life which of course led me to some physical injuries. I have had a fractured ankle and most recently a radial head fracture. My parents would often make sure that I was doing well physically, I was put in physical therapy after my injuries. It wasn’t until quarantine hit and I was stuck with my family 24/7 that I felt that my anxiety was at its peak. Not only did I worry about getting COVID but I was also worried about going back to school. I felt like it was normal to feel this, we were in a global pandemic of course. Once things went back to “normal” I still felt this way but I didn’t know why. I was tired most of the time, I was nervous all the time. My initial reaction was that I was stressed over school. As time went on I still felt this way.  I talked to my friends about it and they suggested seeing Tim. Tim was one of the school psychiatrists. Everyone loved Tim and went to him for everything. So the next day I went and saw him. He looked at me after talking for a bit and told me what I was feeling was anxiety. My direct response was no I think I’m stressed. He started to explain what anxiety was and how there were different ways to cope with it. That same year I learned different ways to cope with anxiety it was also the spring of my senior year. Knowing that I was about to go to college led to my anxiety increasing but knowing that there were people who were willing to help me learn how to manage my anxiety was a relief.

The reluctance to acknowledge mental health issues within immigrant families can be attributed to various factors, including cultural norms, lack of awareness, and the stigma associated with seeking help for psychological concerns. In my household, conversations about emotions, stress, or anxiety were scarce. The prevailing belief was that one should persevere through difficulties without openly expressing vulnerability. Growing up with this mindset presented challenges as I tried to navigate the complexities of adolescence and young adulthood. Peer conversations often revolved around mental health, therapy, and self-care, topics that felt foreign in my home. I knew what most of these topics were but I never really took part in them. It created a sense of isolation, as I grappled with internal struggles without the familial support that some of my peers enjoyed. Initiating conversations about mental health within an immigrant family presented its own set of challenges. Breaking through cultural barriers and dispelling misconceptions required patience and empathy. My attempts to educate my parents about the legitimacy of mental health struggles, the benefits of seeking professional help, and the destigmatization of therapy were met with a mixture of curiosity and resistance. With time their perspective shifted and had came to terms with the fact that not everyone is perfect. We all have internal struggles and it’s okay to seek help especially when you need it.