I used to go on long walks looking for a sign — a sign from God.
I am a first generation American.
Everyone before me was a Mexican.
Most of my ancestors were probably laborers, working in the fields, tending to other people’s gardens.
In other words, my parents and grandparents and great grandparents all grew up in poverty.
So, it was only natural that I grew up working class.
My parents left Mexico so my brothers and I could experience “a better life”.
I’m guessing they wanted us to live the American dream?
One thing I’ve realized is that: growing up in the United States is significantly different from growing up in Mexico.
I’ve never been to Mexico so this is just from my perspective.
And, when your parents are from a different country, it’s difficult to relate to them, and they have trouble relating to you.
At one point I even had an identity crisis because I didn’t know who I was anymore.
I felt like a fish out of water.
I yearned to belong somewhere.
Of course when I tried to explain this to my parents, they didn’t understand the big picture.
My parents usually belittle me: they treat me like a little kid or a big baby.
There are many times when they don’t take me very seriously.
For example:
My father doesn’t believe in my dream of owning a multi-million dollar organization,
And my mother refuses to believe that her son has bipolar disorder.
Growing up is difficult:
I know that I am only twenty years old, but when I ask myself these types of moralistic questions, I feel like I’m an old man.
Life has a way of throwing obstacles and challenges at you.
What’s funny is that you create your own difficulties.
I don’t believe that there is a point to life.
I believe that you have to create meaning.
You won’t be remembered by who you are.
You’ll be remembered by what you gave back.
amateurwriter96 