"Homecoming" by Louis S

On the stone steps of Machu Picchu, Peru, the horizon is skewed by towering ranges and the silence is absolute save for the occasional blow of an ever so gentle wind. The ground I stand on is that of my people, molded by the blood and sweat that now runs through me and yet, as I awe at the view, the pride of shared ownership couldn't be fainter. I’ve only been to Peru three times in my entire life, and this was the first time I was conscious enough to fully retain my memories of being there.

As I peer at the mountains that surround on all sides, I almost gain a sense of revelation, as if the peaks themselves have cornered me in to answer the questions I’ve unknowingly been seeking the answers to all my life. Even though proficiency in academic excellence has always been my associated definitive trait in my family, the irony is that I would all too often feel that the comfort of a certain knowledge escaped me, beyond all the books and the principles and the facts that behind their words ceaselessly yell at you “this is what you are going to need to survive, succeed and shape your own path in the world out there.” I was born in the United States, where any promise of cultural adherence can never find absolute fulfillment: Spanish-speaking households are absorbed by the tide of English conversation, arroz chaufa on weekdays is reduced to an occasional specialty, and traditional items of culture are shelved and shunned as distant reminders of our backgrounds. I’ve never really been fazed by that fact; I would always just press on, completing school, achieving to the best of my ability, and learning to brush off the all-too familiar “aren’t you Mexican?” from a stranger’s first glance with a composed response of where I’m truly from. That is why I found it easy to relate myself to running when I joined the cross country team in high school: the sport demands persistence, allowing little to no room for natural-born skill, and though monotonous in its labor at times, with each thud of your feet you can reflect on your decisions and calculate your next move, all while striding on forward to the next obstacle. The Incas were the same, erecting agricultural storages and astronomical studies buildings with a speed and engineering genius that baffles experts to this day, and although not the same particular type of work, it had to be completed on challenging terrain under unfavorable circumstances, and this is a condition I believe transcends across generations of people with my background. Nowhere does this concept reveal itself more than in the circumstances which even allowed me to reside in the states. My mother and father both came to America illegally, having to learn English and find jobs to support themselves and eventually me along with my two brothers. My father died when I was only two, and when you lose one of the main supporting members of a family, you learn the meaning of scarcity and appreciation for the things you have; for the hand you’ve been dealt. You learn not to ask for much, and though the opportunities before you have been limited, the desire to succeed past your shortcomings remains unimpeded, if not only impelled. This is importantly so, for we exist in a world where all things, whether it may be as simple as a gesture of gratitude or as complex as a confession of pent-up sentiments, are all too fleeting. It is easier than ever to lose yourself in the transience of something you desire in one moment and dismiss the very next, and thus in this process we gradually lose the essential components to our identity. This of course is not to discount the fact that we are a product of the people and experiences that surround us, for there is irreplaceable value in what you take away from the words or generosity of another; yet, as the seeds for a generational legacy we wish to cultivate, the true yield of our endeavors lies in the personal grounds of which we choose to root ourselves to. I found my anchor on that day, as I stared at mountains that were looked at hundreds of years ago with a defiant glare and conquered. I see now that who I am is someone who refuses to absorb the beauty of other cultures and simultaneously forget the value of my own; I won’t settle for having the identity that others of my background share be marginalized or belittled, and as I progress in my education I aim to ensure that the following generations may feel the same way. I realize now that though my future is not clearly outlined for me, it is nonetheless there, and I built the self-discipline and skills I need to take it. All that is left is for me to make it my own.

Back on Machu Picchu, I take in the view, and I am reinvigorated. Taking one last look around me, I break into a run up the dizzying stone steps, an unyielding confidence I had not felt before filling my lungs.