My "I"

Written by Micaela Rodriguez Steube, Grade 12

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Photo by Michelle Chen

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I was born in America. I’ve spent the majority of my life here. Yet, when I’m asked where I’m from, I always say Argentina. Though my preschool and my street and the aerospace museum off the highway were in Redwood City, my house was Buenos Aires: where my first word was in Spanish and where I learned the taste of yerba by drinking tereré at the plaza. My house was where we would have chocolinas and dulce de leche for merienda.

My parents created a bubble of Argentine culture from the minute they stepped foot on American soil in 2000. They both grew up in Buenos Aires; my mom moved there from Germany when she was three months old. This microcosm of Argentina has permeated through the eight houses in which I’ve lived. It’s traveled with us to Hong Kong and back to Palo Alto five years later through afternoons of mate and late asados that keep us talking outside until our eyelids droop. Though I’ve never actually lived there, my Little Argentina has made it my identity.

But identity goes further: my “I” comes from the generations before me, from my ancestors who built homes for their families on the island of Tenerife. Those very homes still stand today and serve as the gathering place for the paella Sundays of the Rodriguez Torres family. My Abuelo ensured this shared culture would forge a connection with the Torres clan, despite the distant familial relationship.

Abuelo did more for my identity than pride for my culture: he gave me chemistry. Learning fascinates him; in his college years, he studied philosophy, chemistry, psychology, and more. He always dreamed of being a doctor. When I was little, he’d teach me about atomic structure and the elements. Little did he know of the impression those afternoons in his third-floor apartment made.

Walking into my sophomore year chemistry class, I remembered those conversations. The concepts he taught me became part of my formal education and the foundation of my love for chemistry.

When I get jittery at the idea of learning a new chemical principle, I think of Abuelo and the days we spent together and the ones to come. I won’t leave his dreams of being a doctor at that. I wish to water the seed he planted. The dream won’t be abandoned.