Welcome back to the Hilltop.
This is my last semester at USF. This school year has been tough, to say the least, but it has also been the most gratifying one of my academic years. I’m finally executing ideas I’ve been holding onto, and I’m reaping the fruits of my labor. Everything I do now has a bitter sweet taste to it, since it could very well be my last.
I knew my senior year would bring up a lot of feelings, but the one I can’t seem to run away from fast enough is grief. I started this academic year fixated on making my time in this role the best this newspaper has ever seen, and although I have 122 years of Editors-in-Chief to compete against, that seemed like a realistic expectation to have.
That is until I realized there is no way to be a perfect writer, editor, friend, student, daughter, girlfriend and boss all at the same time. And it really hurt my ego to learn that at first.
Over the winter break I questioned where I got the gull to think I could pull off so much, and the answer presented itself to me in the form of five women whom I have the privilege to call my family. My mom and my sisters are a freakshow of intelligent, beautiful and courageous women. Their ability to do it all, and more, is shocking. The most beautiful thing about each of them is how they can turn struggle into strength, even when it takes more effort to do so.
My ancestry is full of strong women who never took no for an answer, and never wavered in their commitment to achieving the best they possibly could.
At the start of this new year, I sadly lost my grandmother to a heart condition she silently struggled with for 13 years. For a woman only five feet tall, she was a giant in my life. She fled Cuba at the start of the revolution believing she would never see her parents again, or the ranch they lived on. Once she arrived in San Diego, she single handedly got the rest of her family visas to come to the U.S., despite incredible limitations at the time. She worked at Saks Fifth Avenue for the rest of her time in the states, and put my aunt, uncle and father through private school, all while enduring an abusive relationship.
She never defined herself by her struggle, and never expected anything in return. As I grieve her, I think so much about all the times she wanted to give up. Every moment where she questioned if it was all worth it, or if anyone would notice if she disappeared.
I think about the dreams she held as a little girl, before the world made a woman out of her.
Some of the last few words she uttered before her passing were, “paz y tranquilidad.”
Peace and tranquility. Those words coming from the mouth of someone who has known more struggle than comfort is a testament to the beauty in leading a complex and beautifully difficult life. There are so many reasons to be angry and give up, but there are so many more reasons why you should never quit.
I am one of her reasons. My family is too. We are the hope for a better future that my grandma held onto for so long. Even in the hardest moments, the only commitment you have to make is creating those reasons worth fighting for.
While it seems increasingly difficult to find reasons to keep fighting, I hope my grandmother’s life story serves as inspiration to find some. Don’t let your struggle define you, instead let yourself define your struggle.
Paz y tranquilidad,
Inés Ventura
