Dear Mexico, a letter of sorrow for you

It was until some years ago that i had first noticed. The mere thought of it brushing across my mind made me sick and so fearful. It had poisoned me for the time being, and everything seemed to turn a gray black. My culture, where i had come from...i had forgotten of it. It all started, i suppose, when i first set foot upon this new country. Everything was so different, just as i had suspected it to be as i had seen the streets i had grown upon stay behind. and there in the seat i watched my dear Mexico unable to catch up , the car running so fast, it seemed it couldn't wait to take me away some place new. At first, i didn't quite understand why we were leaving. we were happy. we had the love of our family, our country, and our beloved culture sorrounded our every step. I thought something must be terribly wrong to leave such sanctuary of a home behind, but i suppose my mother thought our (My aunt's and my own)education would be better in the U.S, and that's where it began. Funny thing is, i was born in San Diego. Days after i was born, we went back to Mexico, where i spend my first 7 years of life. and then, it was time to live the rest in a foreign place i should have known as home. When i fist entered that classroom, i noticed the difference. the kids were different and their language immediately set a barrier between me and the others. i grew up most of my childhood alone in school, until my tongue got used to their language. I felt happy i could finally communicate though even then the past still hunted me. The fear of being rejected once more, so even then, it was hard to speak to anyone. As i grew up, i noticed the crave for 'the material'. Once entering middle school, I was moved to the north. My friends had those wonderful rings and those adorable bracelets. and so it happened. my love for the new 'culture'. though i don't think you can call it that. but i noticed this. my obsession for fitting in, for having such things had made me forget what was important. My perspective, and everything had suddenly not been the same as it had. My new way of life seemed to be taking over, and this meant fitting in and being like the other girls. The girls with those blue eyes, and golden hair. And how prefect they were through my eyes. They were Barbies. Perfect. I wanted it. i wanted to be like them so very badly... As soon as i realized it, I felt so miserable. how could I try and deny what i was for something i wasn't. The long-ago thought of it tells me how wrong I had been. now i that i look back at it i feel so stupid. Now i think of how beautiful the colors of my culture are, and those wonderful stories that are among it. The taste of it, and the smells that perfume it. it was all the way it had to be. And it still is. I suppose this is why i love it even more now. I am eternally in fear of forgetting about it again. i love all cultures, they are beautiful and bright and so very rich. I hope to spread the word to more youth, many have forgotten like i once had. I want to spread the message to them. They live in a world of material, and meaningless selfishness. Now i love to learn about cultures other than my own, because they are so wonderful. I know this is one true love, and it will last eternally <3