OFF THE RECORD (First Person)

8. Repercussions

May 2014
Perla
When I was eight years old, my father, Mr. Roberto Elizondo, made me try every extracurricular activity I could. Sports, gymnastics, church, the arts. I was the center of attention, used to fulfill my father's broken dreams that he had left back in Cuba. He reminded me constantly of the sacrifices him and my mother, who had come from Mexico, had to endure so I could have the life that they never could.

So, guiltily, I took upon myself to try my best on every aspect that I could. I wasn't ugly, but my looks were not striking. I didn't think my beauty would be of any help. She had a round face, with soft brown eyes full of eyelashes and sand skin. Every other feature in my face was little. My hair laid under my shoulders, dark brown and thick.

My strength, I found, had been sports. I was fast, agile, and I could hit, throw, bounce, and kick a ball as any other skilled athlete could. I was flexible, energetic, and loved to compete.

That made my father very happy. Seeing his only daughter play softball reminded him of the many times he had stepped in a grassy diamond himself. But, unlike him, here in the land of the free, I had the best equipment, the best coaches, the greatest fields, and the best chance to succeed, whether it be attending the college of my choice, or financially.

I started feeling the pressure. I was smart, a straight A student. I didn't have to be good at anything else, just academically. I could have made something of myself. But now, my father pushed me, enough to not have a weekend off, enough to be home when the sun was down on a weekday.

I had to be appreciative. Thanks to all the grinding, I was able to attend one of the most prestigious universities in the country, if not the world. I had just graduated with my bachelor's degree in communications, magna cum laude, but I would stay in the fall, and three more years, to complete my law degree.

Ever since I had moved to California my whole mindset had been shaken. I wasn't used to the 'liberalism', and I had grown accustomed to keeping my mouth shut and learn.

Back in Corpus Christi, I thought politically I was middle ground, not too conservative, not too liberal. But here in Stanford, I realized I was redder than I thought. It didn't bother me, being out of my comfort zone. On the other hand, I wanted to soak in every aspect of the blue side I hadn't experienced back home, to understand it better. I started thinking that there was no right or wrong way to live, just different.

Another surprise for me was enjoying my major. I had picked communications just to get my bachelor's degree and move up to law school, which was what I really needed to become a judge. But to be the best, I had to adapt and assimilate, so I got a job at a local TV station.

I was shaken when I found how the information was managed to follow the TV chain guidelines, or even omitted. I wasn't allowed to divulge, let alone be in front of a camera. So naturally, it was itching in the back of my mind to speak the whole truth to whoever would listen.

I felt confused. I wanted to be settled in my goal, like I had advised all of my friends while getting out of high school, but now I felt that I had found my calling. I would have told anyone to be realistic, to be smart and to follow the road that was safe and known, instead of focusing on a hobby. Now I felt I understood Tomas better. I could kick myself in the butt if I could.

I had arrived early to a one-on-one meeting with my manager. I fixed my now long dark brown hair parted in the middle to the back of each ear. I rubbed my palms against my skirt, nervously.

I hoped I wasn't in trouble, but it was hard to tell since I had all but open my mouth around school. It wasn't only my fault. I had decided to open a discussion in The Big Local News Project of the university's journalism and democracy initiative, putting me on the spot for my accusations against political figures being involved with the illegal exchange of guns and drugs with the southern bordering countries.