I was born and raised in New York City in one of the most dangerous and poorest neighborhoods, the South Bronx. Living apart never kept my family from celebrating traditional events together, therefore on holidays we would travel (by subway) to my grandmother’s apartment in Far Rockaway, Queens. There, my sister and I were surrounded by a poetic grandmother, a hustler aunt, a hopeless romantic aunt, and a performer mother who always sang her heart out when her favorite artist would play on the stereo.

These women lived a lifestyle that represented every aspect of womanhood in the Hispanic culture: broken homes, cooking and lounging in the kitchen all day, struggling on welfare, caretakers of their children – yet their gentle approach always came out when the supper was served on the table.

I remember that one time traveling to Queens to visit the family. On these trips my sister and I would mimic our favorite performer. One evening, during a “rehearsal,” I told her that I wanted to hold the camera and film the performance. My goal was to recreate the same camera shots that were done on a concert I saw the other day. When I told my sister my plan, her response was “there’s more than one camera person there, there’s only one of you, sister.” I rolled my eyes and continued with the experiment.

Two decades later, I’m a working professional and a student. I’m the polar opposite of the women that influenced me when I was growing up, including the lack of cooking. I’m expressive, sentimental, and hard-working, and I owe it to the poetic lady that sacrificed her life to make her grandchildren first generation citizens in the land of the opportunity.