Kristen in Ossining, NY

Growing up as a first-generation child to immigrant parents is a lifelong struggle of unlearning envy-envy in watching your peers have a carefree and normal childhood, in watching girls our age talking with radiating confidence, in watching kids be able to travel around the country or world, in watching them have their parents help with their homework, in watching them never have to complete FAFSA or school papers by themselves. At some point, it feels like you wish you could have been born in another life one in which life was easier and in which our parents understood us and understood our accomplishments. Years and years of having to translate papers trying to explain to them our accomplishments desiring to hear them tell us how proud they are of us. Yet maturing is coming to a realization of what our family lost and what they sacrificed to give us the life that we once wished not to have. From leaving what they knew as home to leaving their child in hope of bettering their life. It might be the best life compared to others, but it was made with the best of immigrant parents’ love a love unkind of any other. It is that love that has day by day motivated me to work efferently as I watched my father come tired from working under the sun all day to my mother’s chapped hands and sweaty face as she has worked for hours in a dry cleaner. When I got teased for not knowing English as a child, I thought of my parents who had been able to secure my family, find jobs and raise me and my sister with their broken English. I figured that neither my barriers make my potential nor value any less, but are a reflection of my immigrant heritage one in which I learned Spanish over English as a way to communicate with my family, a vital piece that made up who I am today. Someone drove and determined to embrace all opportunities that my parents have gifted me through their sweat and tears. My fondest memory of my childhood was visiting the Basilica of the National Vow in Quito Ecuador my parent’s home country. My parents and family had told stories about it before leaving Ecuador and how they all had prayed to god they make it safe to the United States. The beauty of the church was unlike anything I had seen before. I believe it’s from that moment that I realized I wanted to create something beautiful that others will love and enjoy for years to come. I would sometimes wonder: what is it about creating something so beautiful that makes me so happy? After many thoughts, I found the answer for myself: There is no reason because when we start to do things we are in love with, we will start to forget about the reasons because love truly has no reason. Love does not come from the mind but from the heart, I hope by my creating something beautiful will give back someone’s joy fulling my love and passion for architecture.