The road to higher education is rarely motivated within the classroom; for many First-Generation Latinx students, the motivation blooms in the fields, under the vineyard.
In December, I would wake up to the cold, freezing fog, and move my shivering arms slowly as I picked the practically rotten grapes from the vineyard, my bones ached, and my vision blurred and watered from the cold that latched itself to my face. My only source of relief and distraction from the biting weather is accepting that I am, at least, breathing out vapor from my mouth. I wake up again in July, the heat is excruciating and sore as the dry ground—I am under the vineyard. I take a sip from the communal orange “Igloo” water cooler and spit it out in surprise, the water is warm. My lips are dry, and my body is exhausted, but I persist as I wipe the sweat from my forehead and look at the sun.
It is undeniable to claim that my life has not been affected by the conditions of field work; for all my life, I have lived in these dreams where I are under the vineyard, exhausted, and hoping to one day be plagued by dreams where I am living in a better future.
As a bilingual First-Generation Latinx college student, succeeding at CSUB meant stepping out from under the vineyard and navigating a world I wanted to thrive in. My parents came from Mexico, where they left their family for “El Norte” (America) and broke their backs to gift me and my younger siblings the opportunity to “become more.” My life is structured by the fields, in the endless rows of vines where our hands worked before they ever wrote a single essay. My background is the vineyard; my family is from the soil that fed us, both here and there. Being First-Gen from a Latinx family meant that I had to forge the path ahead for my siblings and create a sustainable foundation for my parents to rest. I was expected to do this during my first year at CSUB, away from home and living in a dorm without a roommate to rely on.
Still, a community found me and directed me to a home away from family. That community was found at CSUB’s CAMP.
The College Assistance Migrant Program (CAMP) offered resources backed by employees and other First-Gen peers who were familiar with the expectations we carried and made it their mission to help us achieve a more profound version of “becoming more.” CAMP taught me that I had become enough for me, and that there wasn’t a need to live with thoughts of a future. The staff and my cohort let me feel safe and fostered at CSUB, where I could laugh until the night.
As I reach the finish line—and graduate from this academic institution—I feel myself dragged to those moments before CAMP closed, when life was laughter and I have to reconcile with the fact that at just 20 years old, I will be entering CSUB’s Single Subject Credential Program in Spring 2026 to become an English Teacher.
The path of my major (English with Credential Emphasis) has been humbling. I was certain, as I am now, that I would become an English teacher, but thankfully CSUB’s professors always made sure to address my flaws and praise my thinking within the context of academic discourse. I am surrounded by staff and peers that I am always ecstatic to meet and greet. While the coursework was challenging at times, I have become a little more lenient on myself and the expectations I’ve decided to carry. I choose to “experience becoming” over becoming more or being satisfied with waking up every day. Every day, I will choose to experience with whimsy and spectacle for this world is presented, not for the sake of viewing, but for the sake of climbing—each to individual peaks. Even if you, the reader—the future graduate—struggle, reach out to others for a laugh or for advice.
After graduation, during winter break, I plan to rest for a while. A promise that will not last more than a day (it is the thought that counts) and will be ignored henceforth for the sake of writing. I will be a scribe to the experiences under the vineyard, work on endless drafts of a fantasy work, and bear witness to life as it is presented in front of me.
After, when the winter has faded and the spring has risen, I want to use my new position as a participant of Spring 2026’s Single Subject Credential Program to study and plan for new futures for my family, community and future students. I will inspire, if I wake up tomorrow, to fight generational cycles that trap so many under the vineyard’s shade. My degree is not simply mine; it is an offering—proof that the sacrifices made in cold mornings and blistering summers are never in vain. Intelligence, or any skill for that matter, as a teacher is not a privilege, but a gift. Writing is my way of helping others step into the open sky and dream without fear.
The American Dream is not dead, dreamers will fight for it, write it, and carry it forward. I am like many First-Gen students, I will take my turn with that wish—not because I am the first to dream, but because I refuse to allow it to end, and I deny the notion that I will be the last of dreamers. Like many, I wish to help my parents rest and the goal, for me, is to one day rest—I am doubtful that they will be next to me, but I wish to rest regardless. It is my dream to promote upward, outside movement—away from the shade of the vineyard.
