MISTI Blogs

I used to hate my situation. I hated how my parents worked until late hours, so I ended up staying home alone regularly. I hated how I couldn’t discern whether the sound was a firework or a gunshot. Seeing my brother’s own struggles with his past also made me question whether I should be proud or ashamed of my ancestry. I was embarrassed to talk about my circumstances and began to disregard anything related to my situation, whether it was my heritage or my upbringing.

I felt lost. I didn’t know who I was. What I was. I randomly decided to take a 23andMe test, expecting to get some clarity. And that test amazed me because it said that I was 91.5% Indigenous American.

I started looking around in my life for signs of my Indigenous heritage. But I was in NYC, so how could I know what it meant to be indigenous. But I realized that there were already those influences in my life. I used words, like choclo (which means corn) and michi (which means cat), that I thought were in Spanish, but were actually Quechua words. I saw photos of my grandmother in the traditional pollera, a colorful pleated skirt, which was the clothing used for generations. Even looking in the mirror, I realized my brown skin color originated from the native peoples of the Andes. Even though I had been running from my past, I couldn’t run from myself.

On my next trip to Ecuador, I knew I had to visit where my ancestors once lived. My family and I traveled to Ingapirca, a town with ruins of the Incan and Cañari peoples. Looking at the photos of people embroidering clothes and harvesting corn made me imagine daily life back then. But as I imagined those times, my parents reminisced about their past. The photos brought back their childhood memories of when they helped out on each of their family farms. And as they remembered their peaceful lives, I saw the things they left behind.

I realized that my grandparents were fed and sheltered by this land. My parents were fed and sheltered by this land. All of my relatives were fed and sheltered by this land. But I was not.

I constantly remind myself of this knowledge by keeping my indigenous heritage close to me.

I realized I was the first generation not to be born in this area. I was the first to have the opportunity to reach for the stars, all because of my parents’ sacrifices. They worked long hours and arrived home late because they needed to provide for their family. They couldn’t avoid dangerous neighborhoods because my neighborhood was the only place they could afford housing. They could’ve chosen a better life for themselves in Ecuador, but they decided to sacrifice everything they had to help their children live the lives they couldn’t. 

I constantly remind myself of this knowledge by keeping my indigenous heritage close to me. Whether it is getting involved with the Native American and Indigenous Association at MIT or having Indigenous artwork up in my room, they serve as a reminder of my origins and how far I have come. I am happy to have found a welcoming Indigenous community at MIT where I can vent with and work on a rocket with through the First Nations Launch competition. They remind me to always be aware of my indigeneity and to never be ashamed of who I am: a descendant of the Cañari people who wants to make his ancestors proud.