When I was 18, I had to make one of the most important decisions of my life: where I would attend college. There were various factors to think about including cost, major, programs and, most importantly, in-state or out-of-state.
I was incredibly stressed because I knew that this decision wasn’t just about where I would spend the next four years; it would shape my future.
After careful consideration, I decided to attend a school out of my home state: the University of Missouri.
What I didn’t realize at the time was just how different it would feel. The truth is I had no idea what I was walking into.
I grew up in a town on the outskirts of Dallas. I was raised in a predominantly Hispanic town, surrounded by Mexican culture. You would hear Spanish in everyday conversation, walk across the street to grab some tacos and be surrounded by culture and tradition. It was never something I would think twice about; it was home.
That changed the very moment I left.
All of a sudden, I found myself in a place where it was rare to see someone who shared my cultural background. I didn’t hear Spanish as often. I didn’t even speak it much anymore. Even the small things like late-night trips to the paleteria or stopping at a corner stand for an elote were gone. Something that had always felt so normal to me was unusual to everyone else.
That was my first time experiencing culture shock.
It started off subtle during conversations with my new friends — simple things like weddings, Christmases or childhood memories, something that felt universal. I would describe our traditions, the baile de las flores. I would describe how people danced as if they never wanted to stop, like they could feel the rhythm in their bones — how parents would lay their kids across chairs so they could stay longer.
I couldn’t help but notice the looks I would receive. The ones of pure fascination and curiosity. The stories I would tell were just another typical story to me, but to them, it was foreign and unheard of.
Over time, I started to feel like an exhibit in a museum. It was like I was being seen but not understood.
The first few months were the hardest. For the first time in my life, I felt out of place. I felt misunderstood in ways I couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t about the environment: it was me finally realizing how different my idea of normal was.
When I went home for Thanksgiving break, I noticed I was struggling to speak Spanish as easily as I had before. It wasn’t coming naturally, and that terrified me. In that moment, I truly felt like I was losing myself.
Back home, things didn’t need an explanation. We didn’t justify the way we celebrated holidays, or why we switched between languages mid-sentence. It was unspoken — things everyone simply just knew.
Here at Mizzou, it was different.
I remember feeling like people had an idea of who I was before I would tell them. It felt like every question came already with an answer. Like they had this version of my life in their heads, what my childhood looked like, how my family celebrated holidays, even what I ate. Like they were testing just how Mexican I was.
I was being measured against expectations I didn’t choose. And that’s what made me miss home the most.
As a first-generation student, this experience meant more than simply adjusting to a new place.
My grandparents came here to give their families opportunities that they never had. My parents were able to attend high school. Now here I am, attending a college outside of Texas, something neither of them had the chance to do.
Every step I take is not only for my dreams but theirs as well.
Over time, I have learned to exist in spaces that are uncomfortable. My mom embedded into my head that there are always going to be rooms that we are not invited into, but that we must step into them anyway.
I still feel the distance between where I come from and where I am. But I’ve realized that just because people misunderstand me, it doesn’t mean I have misunderstood myself.
I know who I am and where I come from. And that is something I refuse to let go of, no matter where I am.