|By Brandi (Brandi) on Saturday, August 30, 2003 - 10:34 am: Edit|
Im not afraid to post this since nobody will want to copy it and it wont really apply to a lot of people.Please tell me what to do.I know that teh middle and ending paragraphy are weak.I am planning on appplying early decision to Wellesley.
The smells and sounds hit me first. Aromas of “Lechón y Arroz con Frijoles”, cheese “Arepas” and tobacco wafted through the air as I passed block after block from 5th Avenue to 27th on Southwest 8th street. The captivating pulse of Latin American music vibrated and bounced off the buildings. The “Merengue”, “Cumbia”, “Salsa”, and Spanish Rap caused people to dance rather than walk in the street. Along with over 1 million other people I am at the 25th anniversary of “Calle Ocho” Carnival: the festival that has become a celebration of unity for Hispanics in South Florida.
The street is filled beyond its capacity with wall-to-wall bodies. It’s a blistering hot day. Walking through the dense crowd people are saturated with sweat. “Calle Ocho” looks like the street of any major Latin American city. How could something only 30 minutes away from my house seem like a totally different country? The food from every Latin American nation was for sale at street vendors lining the sides of the streets.
Everywhere I looked I saw people celebrating their heritage, eating their native food, listening to their music, remembering their homelands, and reveling in their cultural diversity and unity. People were buying beaded necklaces in the colors of every Latin American Country. This is what I would see everyday if my mother had not come here from Columbia. They were wearing their Nationality like logos- on their hats, t-shirts, jewelry and tattoos.
My mother is Hispanic and my father is American. I have fair skin and light eyes. Since my father does not speak Spanish, I heard little Spanish at home. I was raised like an all American child; I grew up on pizza, McDonalds, and grilled cheese sandwiches a lot more than “empanadas” and “pastelitos”. All of my mother’s friends who were like mothers to me jokingly call me la gringa. Meanwhile my father’s family felt that I was amazing for speaking Spanish. English is my first language but I studied Spanish in school. I wish I could Salsa dance but I know how ridiculous I look. They always told me it was in my blood somewhere. I would hear my mother switching from English to Spanish to “Spanglish” in her phone conversations and was able to learn and understand.
The sun has begun to set but nobody seems to notice or have any intention of leaving. Some People young and old are dancing to the music that comes from the massive stage speakers and others are dancing listening to music from small radios in the back of restaurants and empty lots. All the songs are different but everyone is dancing together. Puerto Ricans, Colombians, Cubans, Mexicans all for a second forgot the animosity they had towards each other. It was an ocean of colors and people and music and noise and the tide brought me in. Me, La gringa was dancing freely maybe not exactly to the beat of the music and maybe not as well as Shakira. But it didn’t matter It was in my blood, Just like my Heritage.
|By Justwannahelp (Justwannahelp) on Saturday, August 30, 2003 - 11:23 am: Edit|
smooth it out, use italics instead of "" for the foreign words, heritage never capitalized, make the transition to the last paragraph better.
i think this has the potential to be a very good essay.
Report an offensive message on this page E-mail this page to a friend
|Posting is currently disabled in this topic. Contact your discussion moderator for more information.|
|Administrator's Control Panel -- Board Moderators Only|