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Dónde están mis hijos

Mariano Moreno is an 11th grade student at Valley View High School in Hidalgo, Texas, located 4 miles from the Texas-Mexico border. He won the Youth Creative Writing Contest hosted by Valley View ISD and Beyond Borders Books. Read his complete story below.

The prompt for the contest: "What is life along the U.S.-Mexico border truly about?"

The Rio Grande River.jpg

“¿Dónde están mis hijos?” A mother's life priority is her children. They may look up to us, but we look up to them and explode with pride over their accomplishment and who they are changing into. They may be massive failures, but we'll never see that. They may be the biggest letdowns but we'll never feel that. They may be the world's biggest disappointment, but in our eyes, they are our superheroes with capes longer than what we ever wore. My children have gone far from home, farther than where I could have ever taken them, but I prioritize them. I still worry for them, and I still feel them close to me even if they never look back to see where they came from.


I grew up in a household beyond the American Dream. I was my father's favorite child raised in a child's safest place: home. Everyone I knew was my family. They took care of me by giving me a happy home to be proud of. I still feel the tightness of my dad's long, pale arms as they wrapped around me like band aid over any wound. His heartfelt songs of love and culture splattering the wooden walls of the house with enriching tones and vocals, and his bursting love keeping me up at even the hardest of hurdles. My mom had a staple outfit, floor-length skirts overgrown with colorful flowers that would reach down from the ground up to her luminant soul. She would give me life lessons I would one day come to understand. My family was all I knew. There was no American Dream to chase after. Just us against the world and a bright future ahead of me. I ventured outside of their protectful zone into school, thinking it would be the only thing that would matter. I was the smartest kid in school, filled to the brim with a hunger for outside knowledge.


I may have been a child, but I stood taller than any mountain dared to rise, farther than mankind would risk traveling. I continued my studies and worked harder than those who came before me. I became recognized for my smarts, graduating high school in 2 years and continuing to major in computer science. I had received scholarships upon scholarships, winning many prestigious awards before I had the chance to start my first job. Then life began a new adventure when I met a man who could make me feel lost in a whirlwind of blitzing emotions, yet found and grounded once I saw him. We grew up as neighbors, although I never noticed his presence near me. He came from humble beginnings, but I never met a dime. I felt a sense of self and safety whenever we talked. I let everything go, and that would be the first time I went against my family. I remember writing him a letter so long and heartfelt with a smile across my face and a growing sensation in my eyes. When he read each word, the world and its boundaries grew larger and larger, each period and comma opened a new possibility to what my life could become. When his mouth kissed the last word goodbye and his lips stopped moving to rest, we realized we would soon become a family of our own.


The perfect sanctuary away from all problems, away from the sense of adrift. Family protects us and holds us close to their heart in a place where they’ll take the harshest hits and whips from the outside world to shield us from what can hurt. What isn’t told is that a family can also turn its back on a soul and leave them for hungry wolves and predators of the outside jungle. I went against it all. I followed my own dreams outside their reach, and for that I paid a price. But as a mother, it was nothing more than a stepping stone in the right direction. My husband was a U.S. citizen, and he had expressed his desire to have his first child in America. I was afraid. I could see the helping grasp of the family slowly moving away like driftwood by the ocean; however, I knew for my child I could do anything and I would do anything, even if that meant going places where I would leave my identity behind. When immigrants cross into the U.S. it can feel like a monarch butterfly who’s had its wings clipped and damaged from the long journey. As an individual, it feels like losing a piece of the soul from within; no longer bright beautiful sunset orange wings, now just the bare bones of an identity that used to be there. As harsh as it’s described, a mother would still risk it all to give the best opportunities to her children. I gave up what made me so my children could live on reaping the benefits of what leaving my culture would do for them. There’s no one to blame, and I’m more than okay with living with the fact that I've lost my family, culture, and myself so my children might live a life I couldn’t. I love my children.


Love is a power that defies even the greatest odds. Yet love is not a medicine for all sicknesses. Stress is a silent killer that creeps up slowly, growing and feasting on the very flesh and soul. This mute illness can come in a variety of ways, but it's never easy to depict and even harder to confess to feeling. The stress of bills, life conditions, and wondering if my children are safe all manifest into one single point. I thought it was normal until I started to see the walls move up from the room, which turned into a spiraling wall of misfortune that would drown my body at night, leaving me with nothing yet keeping me alive. I became a carcass filled with nothing but emptiness and worry. Love is powerful, but it can also be deadly. It becomes a shackle that keeps you down in thoughts, not letting your eyes peer up and even say hello to those around you. I lived silently with my condition, never telling anyone a word, for I feared they would worry for me. That was my job. I stay up at night like my mothers before me, wondering and wishing that my children and their children are all safe with a roof over their heads, and a safe place to call home like I once did. Life is so long, yet it never quite gives enough time for everything. I would live with the anxiety and the depression all over again if it meant I could have another chance to experience motherhood one last time.


I now lay silent in a place far from where I once came. I now rest far away from my sanctuary, far away from my first home. I still worry for my children, and I still love them just as much as the first day I knew they were there, and I still wonder now deep beneath the ground, “¿Dónde están mis hijos?”

About The Author

Mariano Moreno grew up finding his passion for writing through school. Although he aspired to one day become a writer, the idea never presented itself until reaching high school. While indulging himself in the fine arts, Mariano Moreno has taken the chance to begin expressing himself in a new way through writing. 

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