by ja132921 | Comments Off on
Dear ReaderEssay#3 I made it ENG3680
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7HObAEr-jM
Dear Reader,
My first proposal for this essay had failed. After countless attempts and insistence to my subject Nancy, she said NO for my initial idea. After that simple word “No”, I panicked because I thought it was the end of my project. I relaxed and I recalled my professor advice to put myself in the place, so, I did and I discovered an indescribable feelings and I started writing about what I feel on that moment. Then I come up with a new idea where I could use my initial photographs, my creativity and all my thoughts.
I spent more than four weeks doing it. I went to Roosevelt Ave and Warren St, almost the entire four weeks. The entire Ecuadorian street vendors now knows me. They greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and they asked me how my project was.
My purpose with this hybrid essay is to pursue you to come, eat and chat with my community that is located under the 7-train line.
I think this final project has helping me to discovered that I’m kind of creative. Also because of this project I re-discovered my identity and I have more Ecuadorian friends.
This final project was the most difficult one and a lot of time consuming, however, I enjoyed doing it.
Thank Professor Smith for this helpful class.
I hope you guys enjoy my project!
Best,
Jessica Ajoy
A Little Ecuador in a Big City
I made it. I’m in the North. I left my country, Ecuador, a decade ago. At first, I was a plant with roots that I tried planting in New York. I was trying to be someone that I wasn’t. I was trying to lose my identity to feel like a bigger part of the United States. Those efforts were in vain. My identity was like a shadow that followed me every step that I made. The more I tried walking away, the closer it got. So, I gave up. I reconciled my origins, my stories and myself. This harmony led me to my inner rebirth and I realized that I am a Latino immigrant in America. This taught me to understand, embrace and appreciate my race and cultural values.
Since then, my pride in my Ecuadorian roots strengthened and grew on an ongoing basis. Now, I’m championing my roots, my language and my values. Far from my native city, I found a place here in New York where I can feel like I am in Ecuador again. This place that contains my culture is located in Queens.
I have to take the 7 train to get to my “Little Ecuador”. I get off at the Junction Boulevard stop. Under the 7 train, a block from the station is Roosevelt Avenue and Warren Street, one of the busiest sections of Queens. It is best known among the Ecuadorian population here as “Guayaquil” because of similarities with my home Ecuadorian city of the same name. Here on these two blocks you can find almost everything you could buy in Ecuador, like CDs of a famous Ecuadorian singer, t-shirts of the most popular soccer teams in Ecuador and traditional food from Ecuador’s coastal and mountain regions.
Did I say food?
Food builds my identity. It is a powerful tool that reminds me of my connections and relationships with my community. This block is characterized by the presence of street vendors from Ecuador’s different regions. It is a typical gathering spot among Ecuadorians. You can see your people and speak your language. Here is my “Little Ecuador” in the big city.
Here at the corner is Nancy, a small woman from Cuenca, Ecuador, that covers her head with a light blue hat, and wears an apron. She sells fritada, which is a typical dish from the mountain regions of Ecuador. She’s been in the business for more than 20 years. She prepares her dishes by putting a handful of corn, pork and mote on a foil container, along with a measure of seasoned onion sauce, a side of blood sausage and a torta de papa (aka llapingacho), before carefully handing it over to eager customers.
Nancy is surrounded on all sides by other vendors who, through cuisine, are bringing Ecuadorian customers a piece of home.
Next to Nancy’s truck is Lourdes, another street vendor from Cuenca. She’s been in the business for five years and sells the same fritada as Nancy. She says that it is not a competition and that God “gives bread to everyone”.
A few steps from Lourdes’ truck is Ivan, another food vendor. Ivan is from Guayaquil, the city where I grew up. His lunch on this day was fish encebollado. The smell wafts to my nose and automatically brings me back to my childhood.
“Dame uno y con yapa!” I said.
He prepares my plate as I requested with yapa. In English, yapa means “extra” or more accurately “Pile it on!” I observe him filling the plastic container with the fish stew and my mouth waters. I feel at home in the big city.
Next to Ivan is Jose, also from Guayaquil. He describes his menu boisterously and surveys the scene surrounding his food cart. Speaking in loud Spanish he says, “Here I see my people enjoying their meals. These flavors remind them of home. People come here from out-of-state just to feel like they are at home.”
I’m at home here. The traditions I grew up with are in my heart. I am what I am and I’m proud of it. I speak English with a foreign accent, Spanish with an Ecuadorian accent and I have an Ecuadorian last name.
Whether you are an immigrant or not and no matter where you are, sharing your roots enriches your life and that of others. If you ever want to come to my country, hop on the 7 train to Junction Boulevard, and visit my “Little Ecuador”.
by ja132921 | Comments Off on COver Letter # 3
coverletter#3
Immigrant
Although I don’t want to go, I’m on my way to the North
I carry everything and anything
I carry my roots because I was pulled out of the land that God had chosen for me
I leave my husband, my children, my parents and my friends
I leave my people, my culture and my country
I have not much but
I still have faith
I still have hope
I still have the dream to get to the North
And I have a heart full of sadness
I have big dreams, the same as all immigrants
Get back and return with my family or
Have the opportunity that they come to me
And live, as God wants every human being live
I am on Roosevelt Avenue and Warren Street, one of the busiest parts of Queens, New York. It is best know among the Ecuadorian population here as “Guayaquil” because of similarities with that Ecuadorian city.
Here on these two blocks you can find almost everything you could buy in Ecuador like CDs of a famous Ecuadorian singer, t-shirts of the most popular soccer teams in Ecuador and traditional food from Ecuador’s coastal and mountain regions.
Here I found a food vendor from Cuenca, Ecuador, who has lived in New York for 20 years. She’s never had the documents that would allow her to visit the home of her culture and family. For her, the warm fritada that she prepares and sells help keep her cultural traditions alive every day right in the heart of Queens.
Nancy, the food vendor, parks one block from the Junction Boulevard subway station. She lives with her three children Maria, 16, Pedro, 6, and Lucia, 3, in East Elmhurst.
The corner where Nancy parks her truck is shared with about a dozen other women and men who also sell Ecuadorian style breakfast and lunch. She works here seven days a week from 6:00am to 9:00pm and on weekends she works even later, usually past 11:00pm.
She is a small woman that covers her head with a light blue hat. She prepares her dishes by putting a handful of corn, pork and mote on a foil container and adds a measure of seasoned onion sauce, as well as a side of blood sausage and torta de papa, also known as a llapingacho, before carefully handing over to customers.
What is behind her face and behind her apron? What did she have to endure to become a street vendor?
She is a small business owner struggling to make ends meet. She is an immigrant. She works long hours under harsh conditions. She works all year long, through cold, windy colds and hot, blazing summer afternoons.
Before she owned the food cart, she sold food from a shopping cart on Roosevelt Avenue. Back then she was arrested several times for selling food without a permit.
by ja132921 | Comments Off on Cover Letter Essay #2
Essay2CoverLetterJA
by ja132921 | Comments Off on
ENCOUNTER
I have heard tons of subway stories about subway crimes, subway suicides, subway terrorism, subway violent assault, subway murder, subway pervert, subway rapist, subway sex and so on. I always though that were an exaggeration and very far from my reality because I considered the subway very safe and reliable where when its doors close, all of us; Latinos, gringos, black, Jews, Catholics, Indian, are riding together. In fact, I considered the subway as a place were you could find a full of weird and interesting people like the mother with her newborn asking for change, Mexican singers playing “ranchera”, drummers, guitar players, saxophonist player, people wearing custom, the sleeping dude with his jaw open, the hipster with Dr Dre headphones, the homeless women or men carrying dozens of plastic bags full of precious memories for them aka as garbage, the hard working guy, youngers with colored hair, people eating fried chicken. Only funny and weird characters I had found in the subway, never a pervert or a criminal, any similar to that. Until June 8, 2002.
The weather was perfect on that Saturday, June 8, 2002. I was living with my sister and friend, in Brooklyn. Everyday, we took the subway from Jay Street station in Brooklyn to Roosevelt Avenue in Queens and back again. On weekends, we always went to Astoria, Queens to hang out. We loved long commutes; we enjoyed that long hour in the subway. But that day something unexpected happen.
There were three of us Latina girls waiting for the E train at Steinway station in Astoria, Queens at three in the morning after being partying the entire night.
The train station was quite; there were just the three of us. The waiting time was long as usual. We were tired and wanted to go home soon. We though in taking a cab but we decided to save that money.
We were seating on the bench as we were hearing steps and voices from the distance. Those voices sound like they were fighting. We didn’t understand because neither of us speaks English. But I can tell when someone is fighting for the tone of his or her voice. We heard their steps when they were climbed down the stairs. We were still. We didn’t move. We exchanged glances while we were trying to be calmed.
The train arrived just on time. We run as the train opened its doors. However, they run too and get into the same wagon.
They were three girls, three creepy girls. As they get into the train they were having troubles balancing their bodies. Their eyes were red and they were sweaty. They sat down facing left diagonal from us. One was chubby, who looked like a man with short red hair and was wearing a white tank top and jeans were a metal chain was showing. The other two were skinny. One was blonde wearing a skirt and a black t-shirt, and the other one had dark long hair wearing dark jeans and wearing gothic makeup.
They were no fighting anymore. Instead, they were passionately kissing each other, creating a physical obsession.
We were in shock!!
“What the fuck is that!!” I said.
The chubby girl was digging her fingers into the blonde’s girl skirt and flesh, their breasts pushed into theirs while the dark hair girl was using her tongue to caress the chubby’s girl ear and using her right hand to tighten her ass. They were moaning and making noises like “mmm yeah’. They were smiling and sexually exited.
They had an audience; the three of us, a skinny man, and an old lady. However, the other two did not pay attention to what had happened.
Our eyes were wide open. We couldn’t believe what had happened. We couldn’t stop looking at them with our jaws touching the floor. It was our first time we saw lesbians, lesbians in action.
We were studying their movements and observing every detail and we were very attentive on where their hands were, until, until the chubby girl shouted some English words, looking mean at us. We trembled and I said to my sister and friend to stop looking at them. I stood up and I sat facing my sister and friend to avoid looking at them. But my friend couldn’t stop and with the corner of her eyes was staring at them.
The chubby girl stood up and got close to my friend and shouted at her “what are you looking at”, at the same time she was pulling a knife from her pocket. We were so scared, and we did not know what to do.
Then, she threw a punch towards my friend’s face but she missed her because my friend could dodge from that punch. Thank God the skinny man who was in the train helped us by holding the chubby girl hand to take the knife away. But this girl was so strong that she decided to fight with this man.
The other two girls were screaming at the chubby girl to stop while we were paralyzed and worried about that poor man. He run and could open the sliding door between car trains and stood there and the chubby girl was trying to open it.
The train made it stops and it doors propped open. We all three run away through the corridor of the 23rd Street-Ely Avenue Station. I turned my head back to see if anyone was behind us, no one, luckily. Our instinct was to report to someone. Tell the police. We saw a man with blue uniform at the middle of the corridor. We scream “police officer! Help, help, help us!”
We reached him and we started to explain our situation. We said “a girl, knife, train, man” We explained with mimics using our hands and talking to him in Spanish. Of course! He couldn’t understand and he called a bilingual officer with his radio. The adrenaline was leaving us. The other one came and we explained what had happened. He asked what was the train car number. I said “What?” Who in this earth after being in the edge of being stab could pay attention on the car train number? What an absurd question. I said, “I don’t know”. He explained that without that information they couldn’t do anything. Immediately, I thought about the poor guy and I wished him good luck. But I believe that nothing bad happened to him because we didn’t hear, see or read on the newspaper any tragedy relate to that night. The police officers drove us home.
That night was our first encounter in the subway. We encounter the subway criminal, and we were very close of a subway murder. My confidence in riding the subway changed because not only funny characters are in the subways there is many crazy and mentally ill people too. Every now and them I ride the subway with much precaution and never ever again I will stare at anyone because something extreme might happen and no one is free from danger.
by ja132921 | Comments Off on Cover Letter
Draft Cover Letter
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