The Opening To a New Identity.
Leaving Everything Behind
“Mijo levántate, despierta, ya es hora. Agarra tus cosas nos vamos.” Those were my mom’s words as she woke me up from a deep sleep. We were about to start our journey to El Norte. The day was September 7, 2000. I was twelve years old when my parents decided to come to the United States in search for a better future and opportunities for the family. It was then when I realized that my whole life was about to change completely. The trip from Mexico City to the U.S. border in Tijuana was a long three day bus ride that included; car sickness, military checkpoints, headaches and bad night sleeps. When we finally arrived at the border, we were taken to a small house some miles away from la linea. There, I was given an Identification Card that read at the top: “Permanent Resident Card”. A picture of a kid that somewhat looked like me. Name: Joseph Mendoza. Date of Birth: June 14, 1988. “Here, I need you all to memorize this. This is your new name and personal information. Aprendanselo lo mas rapido posible.” But sir, this is not me. This is not even my name. I said. “This name sounds more gringo! La migra would think that you are an American” he replied.

“My stepfather’s experience with the Anglicization of his name –Antonio to Tony- ties into something bigger than learning English. For him, the erasure of his name was
about deference and subservience.Becoming Tony gave him a measure of access as he struggled to learn English, and get more fieldwork.” –Manuel Muñoz
I was confused, why would I have to learn someone else's name in order for me to go somewhere? I thought my name was Jorge De La Concha? Mom, Why? What is going on? Many thoughts went through my head as I was trying to memorize my “new” name. Joseph Mendoza, Junio catorce, mil novecientos ochenta y ocho. Voy a visitar a mi tio que esta muy enfermo. Joseph Mendoza, Junio catorce, mil novecientos ochenta y ocho. Voy a visitar a mi tio que esta muy enfermo. Those were the words that kept repeating going over and over around my head as we started our way to the border. As we approached the building where we had to go through in order to get to the other side of the big fenced wall, the guy that gave me my new name, told me not to look back regardless of what might happen. -My dad Mario was the first one in line, then me, my mom Guadalupe, my sister in-law Johanna and at last my brother Santos-. I saw my dad walk to the tall white haired man to show him the card the man had given us. Then it was my turn, as I was walking I kept repeating myself, Joseph Mendoza, Junio catorce, mil novecientos ochenta y ocho. Voy a visitar a mi tío que está muy enfermo. I could not think of anything else but to get to my dad who was already on the other side of the big turning glass door. As I was making my way out, I glanced back to look how the rest of my family was doing, and I saw my brother getting escorted by the tall man to an office inside the building –He was taken into custody-.

The transition

As I was making my way through a new educational system I could not help but noticing the many different cultures that exist in the Unites States. I remember my very first day at a school. I was with my parents, filling out the admission forms and a specific question got me all confused. “Define your race. Circle one”. The options were: White, African-American, Hispanic, Mexican-American and Asian/Pacific Islanders. What was I suppose to circle? I knew I was Mexican, but the lady at the front desk kept referring to me as “Hispanic”. My mind was confused once again. Not only had my name been taken away from me, but now my origin and my roots had also been taken.

“The interesting thing about Hispanics is that you will never meet us in Latin America. You may meet Chileans and Peruvians and Mexicans. You will
never meet Hispanics.” –Richard Rodriguez
I started school in the United States at the seventh grade. School had started a couple of weeks before I got there. When the student Ambassador took me to my home-classroom, a cousin of mine that had not seen in years was seating at one of the desks in the middle of the room. I was very surprise to see him. His name was Ricardo. He quickly got up from his seat and came up to me. “Tu eres De La Concha que no?” I nodded nervously. “No te acuredas de mi? I’m your cousin Ricardo wuey”. -It was good to at least know some-one in my new school- We started building a relationship. He showed me my way around school, friends, teachers, who to hang-out with, who not to. By my third week in middle school I knew my way in and out of there. I felt really comfortable. One thing I clearly remember him saying was; “See those people in that corner? You don’t wanna mess with them or them by the stairs. Te metes con ellos, te parten la madre. If I were you I’d stay away from them.” -Later on I learned that there were small gangs-. Because I did not speak any English I was put in ESL classes. All of my teachers were American and barely spoke any Spanish. The only teacher I had who spoke perfect Spanish was my math teacher. I had a really difficult time trying to adapt to this new form of life. My name had been changed at the border. I was no longer Mexican but Hispanic, and they were trying to force me to speak a new language that was not Spanish; the language that I was raised by. I remember most of the time my teachers calling me George or Hor-ge just because they simply could not pronounce my real name "Jorge". I had a professor in the eight grade that referred to me as JD, as my initials Jorge Delaconcha. It really made me mad that people were not able to pronounce my name. It felt as if I was different, as if I was from another planet where people have weird unpronounceable names. My identity was been taken slowly away day by day.

“I have had a hard time hearing my name said incorrectly, but I have an even harder time beginning a conversation with others about why
the pronunciation of our names matters.” -Manuel Muñoz
Middle School went by smoothly, I graduated in 2002 and now the real deal was waiting ahead of me.

The Experience

It was the end of summer and I was getting really anxious to start High School. I wanted to meet more friends and experience what many students called "The High School Experience". I had been living in the United States for two years and wanted to see if High School was really the way they showed it in Hollywood Movies. Students with big jukeboxes on their shoulders walking around with loud music, cheerleaders at football games and papers flying all over on the last day of classes. It was something that I really wanted to experience.
It was the first day of classes and the need to make new friends was taking over my head. Being a new student at a school, and not having someone to show me around like my cousin had done it in middle school, was really hard. I did not know who were the ones that I could hangout with, the good and the bad ones. My urgency to make new friends lead me to a big group of students that used to hangout by the Food Court during break times. Being the new kid to the group, they offered protection and mutual friendship to what they called "for life". Hanging out with them I quickly gained confidence around campus, and start meeting more and more members of "La Clica" -The gang-. The more I hang out with them, the more I wanted in in this "Hermandad de por vida" -brotherhood for life- they had going on. I finally belonged to something that I knew i would have for life.
"A culture is learned by individuals as the result of belonging to some particular group, and it constitutes that part of learned
behavior which is shared with others" -Kluckohm.
My freshman year consisted of fights, cutting class, after school detentions and failing classes. At the end of my first year, I was pretty well known all over campus. We would walk by through the hallways and students would get to the side to let us through. I had a reputation, I was living "The High School Experience"

"His reputation grew and spread until, finally, he came to be known as the man who couldn't die" -Victor Villaseñor

My First two years in High School were exactly the same. My name was known! The group of people I was hanging out with, influenced my thoughts and the way I was starting to think about myself and society. I remember there was a point, somewhere between those two years that my observations and thoughts towards Americans (Whites), started to be really negative. The constant thought and feeling that they were better than us because they had all the privileges and accommodations that, us as Latinos and Immigrants did not have, started to turn into some sort of hate. I constantly caught myself saying "I hate this people. Pinches gueros tienen todo lo que quieren y nosotros no tenemos nada". I wanted nothing to do with gringos and their culture whatsoever.

My junior year in highs school had started, and a friend of mine from middle school -Juan- was walking down the hallway. I used to call him "white-wash" because of his constant tendency of trying to assimilate into American Society. We exchanged a couple of words, and told me that high school was being really enjoyable for him so far. He had met friends that he hangout with every weekend, going to parties, concerts and of course, couldn't leave out the fact that he was dating a white girl. When he walked away after a ten miute conversation, my mind had a reaction that i had never felt before. I started to quiestion myself if this "experience" that I was having really was what I had seen in Hollywood movies a couple of years earlier.

Assimilation Happens

One day as I was sitting down watching people walk by the food court, Juan came up to me. He was really excited and told me that he wanted to take me to this party that his friend was throwing. He said she was really eager to meet me. That Friday afternoon I went home, took a really good shower, put on my best clothes and headed over to the party with Juan. To my surprise, as soon as I walked in the room it was full of white people. I felt like the bean in a rice bowl. Juan quickly introduced me to Erin, a tall, blond, green eyed white girl. We started talking and by the end of the night, we had exchanged phone numbers and told me to call her if I ever wanted to hangout. After that night, my life gave another turn. Erin and I started dating a couple of weeks later. I had gone from the guy that had a good terrible reputation at school, to the Mexican guy that was dating the White girl. At moments the thought of “I can have whatever I want” hit my head. And that same thought started to take me away from culture, my beliefs and my roots. But did it really matter? After all, that had already been taken away from me for the last a couple of years. It was time for me to find my new persona. I changed my name from Jorge to Jay D, the way I dressed, the way I talked, the people I hung out with and the language I spoke.

“Some Hispanics have too easily accustomed themselves to impersonating a third race, a great new third race in America” –Richard Rodriguez.

I was really enjoying my new life, my new me. The people around me were kids that had everything they could ask for. They already had their college education paid even though they had not even graduated High School yet. They drove the nicest cars in school. They did not have to work. For a moment I started to think of myself as one of them, I started to think that my people (Latinos), were not capable of having all these privileges and toys and I did not want to be one of them. I thought of them as an inferior race. As if they were nothing but people that were only determined to do hard labor. I was ashamed of being Mexican.

“He was crazy, insane, hating the Mexicans flesh he had on his bones”. –Villaseñor

I knew I was doing something wrong, and I looked for help, but who was there for me to help me? I had already hurt many people telling them that I did not want to be like them, that I wish I was from a different color skin. I had no one to go but Erin. She told me that if I was going to live here in this country, I might as well get used to the idea that this was my new home. And that she’d rather date a “white-wash” than a Mexican.

LUCHA and Puente

For about four years I followed what Erin told me one day. If I was going to live here, I might as well give-in and assimilate the culture that Jay-D had absorbed while in High School. During that time, I was having what I called the best years of my life. Traveling, meeting people, working, partying, girls, living on my own apartment, I was already a grown man. I was having the time of my life. However, the need to be more successful and more powerful came around and I realized that without and education and a degree I would never be nothing else than a supervisor at a local coffee shop. I realized that it was time for me to go back to school.

“But mostly, college is and always has been the future.” -Nikki Giovanni

When I apply to Foothill, I quickly started to get involved in Student Activities around campus. When I joined the LUCHA club (Latinos Unidos Caminando Hacia Adelante) I came in as a person that thought knew everything in life. After all, I was already a grown man. During the spring quarter at Foothill the Latino Heritage Month celebration was taking place; and that was how I found out about the Latino presence in College. At first, I thought of all of those students as a bunch of Mexicans that did not want to be part of the American society, and had always refused to show interest to assimilate. As time went by and started to get more involved in the celebration I started to realize that the Latino culture has a lot to offer. I realized that all those thoughts I had about Mejicanos were just wrong. For once, I saw the views and the desire of what I now call Mi Gente, -my peoples. This involvement within the Latino student body, the chance to join the Puente program; a program for first generation college students that believe in the equal education for all. It was through my involvement in LUCHA and the Puente program that I started to learn more about my people. The struggles that we have to go through in order to become successful leaders and role models for our future Latino Generations. Both have helped me gain back the love for mi cultura, mis raices y mi gente. The love for all the things that I once lost because I wanted to be someone that I wasn’t, because I was looking for answer to who I am but on the wrong path. I am not going to deny, at times I stop and think. What am I doing here? Who really is that person by the name of Jorge De la Concha? What is his purpose? And yet, I still haven’t found the answer to those questions. But I am sure of one thing; I am in THE right path, and how do I know it? For once in my life I feel like I am about to find what I lost ten years ago, on that day of September 15, 2000. Mi nombre, mi identidad y mi origen. Like a friend of mine told me, “by the end of this school year, you’re gonna find the answers to those questions. Puente and LUCHA will guide you through, but it’ll be up to you whether you leave it or you take it. It happened to me too. And I am glad I found the answer.”

Summary Self-Evaluation

The most challenging part of writing this summary was to actual put all of my thoughts together and write them in chronological order according to the story. I usually tend to go from point to point all over the story and it was very difficult for me to put them together. Based on the feedback that I got in my paper and information from different handouts I would strongly say that my strengths are my transition words from example to example. I really like the transitions words throughout my summary and I think they’re really strong. For the next summary I will improve my grade by putting more time to it and work on it harder. Putting more dedication to it will get me a better grade.

Anzaldua blog response 2

The difference on the structure on how Anzasldua writes compared to that of different authors is that she uses two different languages throughout her text. Most of the time authors stick to one language around their text. What makes it an academic text is that she follows all of the steps that it requires. Thesis, Paragraphs with main ideas, supporting details and more than 5 paragraphs. What makes it ant-academic is the constant switch of languages that she has all over the reading. I personally have not seen a reading like that before through my educational path. Personally, if I was a critic I would think that her writhing shows a lot of misleading concepts when he switches from one language to the other. I think that Anzulda writes in this way because she wants the reader to feel comfortable and engage while reading. Also because mainly she wants to make her point across that “Chicano Language” is something that we are around every single day and is a language that was created by previous generations in order to have something that they can say belongs to them. We have to keep in consideration that chicanism was a really big issue during the civil rights movement in the 1960’s and Chicanos needed something that they can relate to. What is he trying to accomplish is to let everyone know that the influence a language has to an individual can change and create a whole different perspective to what people think.

Vark Activity.

Kinesthetic.
I was recommended to go see one of my professors during office hours to discuss the way that I learned the best from. I chose my Accounting professor. Since I was having a difficult time trying to figure out our take-home midterm that was due today, I went to see him last Thursday. During the time at his office I brought up the talk about the way that I learned the best from. And I told him that I am a kinesthetic learner, meaning that I learned best by hands-on activities and body movement. We discuss the subject for about 15 minutes and to my surprise, this morning when I walked into class he had an in-class activity that involved movement around the room and “fake” money as our currency for the day. I thought it was pretty cool that he came up with that after I decided to approach him with this issue a couple of days before! :)