In the tender whispers of my mother’s voice,
Resided wisdom, a promise heard,
“I’m passing down traditions, customs, values,
And that is the greatest heritage you can pursue.”

Yet, in my childhood, those words seemed vague,
Heritage, a concept beyond my young age.
Not knowing that my heritage
Would take me to America’s lands,
Where dreams reside.

At eight years old, I entered my classroom’sembrace,
A world unknown, a foreign place.
A teacher’s gaze, so cold and stern,
Left my young heart to yearn.

Weeks passed by, and silently I observed.
With each push from classmates,
Each hateful stare from my teacher,
Cruel words about my background,
“The poor Mexican girl” rings loudly in my heart.

By the end of the semester,
I had understood my mom and her words.
My heritage defined me.
Even if I wasn’t in Mexico,
My Hispanic heritage followed me everywhere I went.

Even if everyone laughed, mocked, and hated me, my heritage defined me.
Generations of hard work, pride, and familism,
It gave me a spark of strength, a will to fight,
Even if the words cut deep and sore,
My heritage, I would not ignore.

For in the richness of my culture’s fare,
Lies a legacy, a heritage beyond compare,
Of resilience, strength, and unity.
For my mother’s words, now clear and true.

Heritage, a sign, to guide me through.
In the face of ignorance, I stand tall,
Embracing my roots, so deeply proud.
For though the journey may be long,
My heritage, my anchor strong.