2025 Camila Rios Viewmont HS

Fit In

Being the child of immigrant parents in a first-world country has profoundly shaped my mental and emotional outlook. Watching my parents work long, grueling shifts has transformed the way I value education. Seeing them go to work even while sick because we needed the money has redefined my understanding of needs versus wants. Knowing my mother sits in her room, under a blanket, crying in front of the TV because she cannot communicate with anyone outside our home has shown me how difficult change can be. Watching my parents strive to give me the world, even though they can’t, has changed me in ways I’m still learning to articulate.

When I was thirteen, my mom packed our bags and booked plane tickets without much notice. Suddenly, I found myself living in the United States. Before that, I had spent the pandemic in Peru, confined to my home, unable to see friends. When my mother told me we were moving, I was furious, but deep down, I knew it would be better than drowning in my own thoughts at home. Within a month, we were in Utah, staying at a friend’s house.

Life in the U.S. felt foreign and isolating. I couldn’t understand what people were saying, why they stared at me, why it was so cold, or why I sat alone at lunch every day. The only constant in my mind was how much I missed my grandparents, my uncle, my cousins, and my friends. Being Hispanic had always been a part of my identity that I took for granted, something comforting and natural. But after moving, I became acutely aware of how I was different. My skin color, hair, eyes, traditions, culture, language, and even my parents set me apart from those around me. At first, I wondered: What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I look like them? Why did I move to a place where I don’t belong?

Years ago, my stepdad shared a story with me that has stuck ever since. He has worked as a CNA for nearly 20 years, meeting people from all walks of life. One day, while speaking Spanish with a coworker who had just moved from Guatemala, an older white man in the room interrupted them. With disgust on his face, he said, “This is America. Learn to speak English or go back to your country”. As a professional who values respect and work ethic, my stepdad chose to stay silent and leave the room. But as a seventeen-year-old girl, I know those words would have broken me. I don’t know that man or what he has been through, but his words embodied every doubt I had about myself—doubts I had tried to suppress but couldn’t ignore.

Looking back, I realize that moving to the U.S. has been transformative. Without it, I wouldn’t be who I am today. The challenges I’ve faced have profoundly shaped my perspective on life. My drive to succeed, to make my parents proud, and to love the person I’m becoming is stronger than ever. I am the daughter of dreamers—parents who left everything behind in search of better opportunities for themselves and their children. Over the past three years, my longing to fit in has faded. I’ve learned that it’s okay to be different, and in fact, that difference can be inspiring.