My mom grew up in a small town called Nochixtlan in the city of Oaxaca, Mexico. Her family had a restaurant that took over their lives. She would tell me that they would get up early in the morning to be the first ones in the market. Their days were filled with loud clashes of pots and pans. When they were not in the restaurant their mom would send them door to door to finish selling their tamales. Her mom always gave them some money for them to spend on the weekends. There were times where she would get tired of getting up in the morning to the same routine. The only escape she had was when she went to school, so she always tired her best to have the chance to go to college. Once she achieved that goal she moved to the city but after a few months her mom got very sick and she was the only one that was able to take care of her, so she had to drop out of school. Her mom was not getting better and after a few months her mom died and short after her dad died. It was a very tough time for my mom so she decided to not go back to school and decided to open the restaurant but business was not the same as before. Her sisters were already in the U.S. so she decided to join them. She packed the few bags she could, the few items she remembers clearly packing was miniature plates, pots, and cups like the ones she had in her restaurant. She was not sure when she was going to back so she wanted to have something that reminded her of the times she would spend with her mom in the kitchen. Now she has them around her kitchen to feel as if she is back home. 

– Julissa

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant