Tamales and Translations by Isabella

Tamales and Translations by Isabella - February 2025 Scholarship Essay

“Grandma” was my first word, well- no. My first word was a butchered pronunciation of the word “abuela” which is Spanish for the English word grandma. My first memory was when my abuelos, tias, and tios assembled to conquer the load of making our sacred Christmas tamales. The daylight faded from our backdrop as we worked to perfectly spread the mixture of masa, while maintaining the satisfactory amount of filling that gets enveloped and tucked gently in the steamer. After our work was done, my Abuela and I huddled snuggly, singing our songs, and saying our prayers as the shards of moonlight that escaped from the cracks of the curtains shone down on our toasty Mexican blanket. Dawn brought the most treasured moment: opening the precious Christmas presents wrapped in corn husks. I climbed my wiggly body onto a stool to reveal the view of puffs of savory steam followed by the lingering scent of spiced nostalgia that rapidly intensified as the lid was uncovered.

Since birth, my Abuela and I have been forever paired, our conversations endlessly
stretched all across our neighborhood and tethered me to my roots. I was always by her side, but
my cherished memory was always the visit to the doctor's office with her. I was captivated by the
doctor’s stethoscope, medical phrases, and the delicious sterile smell of the office. At age
three, I would have endless questions spouting from my mouth in Spanish about every step of the
examination, my tia translating for the doctor. What I was always fascinated with the most
though, was the assurance that my Abuela was able to gain from each visit. The thought of
administering care to patients was something my little mind craved so desperately, that I would
replicate the same steps of the check-up on any doll I could get my hands on the second I got
home.

With age, my fluency in English flourished, but my Spanish became fragmented like the
moonlight I saw on my Mexican blanket. Sentences in Spanish became shy, and so did my growth in the language that once made me feel grounded. This new sense of displacement overcame me as if the memories of Christmas tamales were starting to smudge like the cheap plastic pencils I used in school. Starting high school Freshman year in Spanish class I was determined to relearn and rebuild the vocabulary of my first language. Through this journey I magically became reunited with my first memories; ones filled with medical questions and seeing the satisfaction and care of others. I became more closely passionate about the idea of becoming a healthcare professional.

Determined to utilize my bilingual skills, I began volunteering at a hospital. When I volunteer I dismantle cultural barriers as I alleviate the fear of a difference in language. Doctors often call on me as a translator, allowing me to bridge communication gaps and enhance patient care. Spanish is consistently forcing me to learn and grow as a person and provide support to my community through healthcare. Stumbling over my words and having incorrect grammar is always a battle, but every new room I go into helps ease every jagged pronunciation.

Through my volunteer work, I intend to carry the legacy inspired by my Abuela. I will use my bilingualism as a way to connect to those who are unheard or unseen in society. Spanish has been a form of self-discovery in exploring my determination and curiosity. My skills will be utilized to better understand what may have been a cultural barrier to support better patient care. I envision finishing a long day at a free clinic, removing my white doctor’s coat, returning home to prepare my own batch of tamales, and celebrating the intersection of my heritage and my journey in medicine. My future holds a commitment to care for others and keeping my cultural traditions alive, powered by the compassion and strength of my Abuela.