2026 Essay Winners

Growing up, my family and I did not always have the opportunity to openly celebrate our Latino heritage. One phrase I remember hearing was, “Tenemos que tener cuidado”—we have to be careful. Being careful meant staying indoors, keeping to ourselves, and avoiding anything that might draw unwanted attention. There was always a fear of being targeted or judged simply because of who we were and where we came from.

My heritage used to scare me. I thought I had to keep it a secret rather than being proud of it. Everywhere I looked, I saw people like my family being portrayed as criminals or as people who did not belong here. That made me afraid, and I learned to be careful about how I presented myself to others. I worried that if I showed too much of my culture, people would not see me as a “real” American. In a way, it felt like I was living two separate lives—one where I could completely be myself and another where I had to hide parts of who I was.

As I grew older, I started to realize that my heritage is a part of what makes me who I am, and it is something to celebrate, not hide. Now, I know that being Latina is part of me every day, not just during a holiday or special occasion. My family and I celebrate our cultura through the way we live, the traditions we continue, and the things that connect us to where we came from.

Food is a big part of that. We make meals using recipes that have been in our family for generations. Each recipe carries a little piece of our past. The tastes, smells, and stories behind these meals help us feel connected to family members who came before us. When we continue making those same meals and eventually pass the recipes down to the next generation, we keep a part of our family’s history alive.

We also celebrate by no longer hiding. We show up. We take up space. We speak Spanish wherever and whenever we want without letting the fear of what other people might think silence us. The language I once felt like I needed to hide has become one of the things I am most proud to carry with me.

We celebrate by sharing stories from our past, especially the stories of the sacrifices our family members made so that we could have the opportunities we have today. Hearing them reminds me that I come from people who are strong, resilient, and capable of overcoming difficult circumstances.

For me, celebrating my Latin roots is really about being able to be myself. I spent so much of my childhood believing that parts of me needed to remain hidden in order to belong. Now, I honor my family’s traditions, speak my language proudly, and refuse to let someone else’s judgment determine how much of myself I am allowed to show. I used to think celebrating my culture meant drawing unwanted attention to myself. Now, I realize that sometimes celebrating it is as simple as refusing to hide it.

Celebration is remembrance. To celebrate my Latina roots is, above all, an act of intentional remembrance. With nostalgia, I remember the smell of the spices from my mother’s cooking. I remember regularly attending the Sunday morning mass, I remember the loud and crowded family gatherings, I remember the sound of the continuous broadcast of Univision channel on our home television. I remember Chalino, Rocio Durcal, and Jenni Rivera being played deafeningly while we all completed our house chores. I even remember the taste from that awful onion and garlic infused tea my mother would make to cure my cold. I remember all of this and more because in doing so, I am reminded of the sacredness that is my Mexican heritage. My heritage is not simply an inheritance but the foundation of who I am, and, without a doubt, it deserves to be celebrated.

Celebrating my roots means sharing with others. With every shared story, with every shared tradition comes the beautiful commemoration of who I am, of who we are. As a mother, I have the vital responsibility and consecrated privilege of teaching the next generations, my daughters, to hold our history in their hearts. I hold the obligation of implementing our native language, not only because it is beneficial but because it is a part of who they are. I owe it to them to teach them the significance of honoring our roots. To remind them of all the blood, sweat, and tears that were shed for us to be here today. I owe it to my ancestors to ensure that the legacy of our people continues to live on. One day my daughters will beam joy and pride over their roots, as I do now and I will be at peace knowing I raised them right.

Growing up, I did not appreciate our traditions. I was unaware of their significance. I dreaded some and was annoyed by others. Looking back now, I am filled with honor and gratitude to be a part of such a community, such a history. I am delighted when a certain smell or a certain taste takes me back and I wish to be taken back as much as possible. With every trip down memory lane, I am reminded of how blessed I am to be a part of the Latin community, and I want to feel the warmth that comes from venerating my culture.

Today I celebrate my Latina roots by proudly remembering and honoring those who came before me. I celebrate my mother’s sacrifices and her humble upbringing. I commemorate my family and my community with involvement and adequate representation. I honor my people by standing against injustice and oppression and being a voice for the fearful. My involvement, my influence, and my contribution are all ways I celebrate and honor my roots. Today, I celebrate you. I celebrate me. I celebrate all of us, who against all odds, are out here making a difference.

Throughout my life, I have struggled at times to identify with my Latina roots because I did not fit the stereotypical image of what a Latina is supposed to look like. My maternal grandfather was fully Mexican and from Chihuahua, while my maternal grandmother was a Black woman from Tennessee. Together, their backgrounds made my mother half Mexican and half African American. My father is also Black, making me three-quarters Black and one-quarter Mexican.

Despite this ancestry, I often felt that my Mexican heritage was overlooked because of my appearance. This led to others seeing only one side of my identity and led to me questioning if I was able to truly identify with that part of me. Overtime, I have learned that no matter what I look like or present as, I am Mexican and belong in that part of my community. I have a connection to my Mexican family and have a right to identify with my Latina roots. I have begun to celebrate my roots by learning and speaking the language my grandfather used with his brothers and sisters and by immersing myself in events centered around latin/ hispanic heritage.

One of the most meaningful ways I have begun celebrating my heritage is by reconnecting with the Spanish language. My grandfather spoke Spanish with his brothers and sisters but did not teach the language to his children, including my mother. As a result, my mother and I have experienced a language barrier that has sometimes made it difficult to connect with this part of our heritage. This disconnect has been especially meaningful to me because Spanish is such a visible part of everyday life in the community around me. I have begun learning Spanish so that I can communicate more confidently, deepen my connection to my culture, and reclaim a part of my heritage that I want to continue.

I am also keeping my heritage alive by joining events that are held on my school campus and in my community. These experiences allow me to connect with others who share aspects of my ancestry and to feel a greater sense of belonging. To me, celebrating Mexican culture means recognizing the importance of family, community, and preserving traditions.

As the mother of a one-year-old daughter who is more than half Mexican, celebrating my roots has taken on an even greater meaning. I want to teach her to embrace every part of herself, both Black and Latina, without ever feeling that she must choose between the two. By embracing my own Afro-Latina identity, I hope to create a foundation that allows her to do the same.

My heritage is a unique blend of both communities, and I am proud of what that brings to my life. I will forever continue to celebrate my roots by celebrating where I come from and embracing who I am.

They say when you add “Afro” to the word Latino, you diminish the Latino.

I say it ignites it.

For me, Afro-Latino is not a contradiction. It is a connection. It connects the Blackness in my history to my Latinidad, and it reminds me that I do not have to separate the two to make either one valid.

I celebrate my Latino roots by honoring the people who came before me—the people who survived, worked, loved, built families, and carried their culture forward even when the world tried to take pieces of it away.

My roots travel deep into the rich Georgia soil.

I remember working beside my mama in the squash fields. I remember the smell of tractor gas. I remember the heat. I remember my mama. My sisters and I—three little girls, all under ten—lined up beside her, picking squash under the Georgia heat. Our hands were too small for gloves, so my mama pulled socks over them instead.

I also remember Black and Brown hands working those fields together. We were out there doing the work, raising families, and trying to make a living. Those memories taught me something about our communities that I carry with me today. Our stories do not exist in isolation. Our histories cross paths, even when people would rather put us into separate boxes.

I celebrate my Latino roots by remembering where I come from and the people who helped shape me. I think about the sacrifices that do not always make it into history books, the mothers who kept going, and the children who learned the meaning of hard work before they were old enough to understand it.

That is part of what Afro-Latino means to me. It is recognizing that our histories have always crossed paths. Our communities have worked beside one another, built families beside one another, and survived things that were never supposed to be survivable.

I carry my mama’s hands with me. I carry those squash fields with me. I carry the little girl who worked beside her mother with socks covering her hands. And now, I carry that girl into academia.

From Georgia fields to the halls of Charles R. Drew University—who would have imagined?

I am standing on the strength of the people who came before me.

My roots run deep through the red Georgia soil, but they do not stop there. They stretch across the waters to Panama and Cuba, carrying pieces of a history that reaches right into me.  Georgia is where my roots took hold, but Panama and Cuba remind me that my story reaches beyond the place where I was raised. These roots are not separate from me; they are woven into who I am. They reach across generations, cross oceans, and come together right here—in me.

So when I say Afro-Latino, I am not adding something that diminishes who I am.

I am naming the whole story.

And I celebrate my Latino roots by making sure that story continues—with me, with my children, and with every generation that comes after me.