Growing up, I never thought of my family as different. I felt accepted by my friends and welcomed at school, yet over time I noticed how our brown skin and Spanish accents set us apart. My parents lived with that reality every day but never let it dim the joy of our childhood. That memory has stayed with me, shaping how I understand identity and the hidden burdens immigrant families endure.

Years later, the story of Esperando came to me after watching a video of a mother being ripped away from her small children. I couldn’t help but put myself in that moment, imagining what it would have felt like if it had been my own mother. That thought inspired me to tell this story through two lives: a mother whose day is defined by labor and sacrifice, and a daughter who moves through her day with innocence and joy. That balance reflects my own upbringing, where my parents carried hardship while protecting us from it.

To keep the story honest, I drew from my own life. Lupita was the only other child in my class who spoke Spanish. Ms. Broomfield was my favorite teacher, whose kindness has never left me. And Sonia is my mother’s name, the person who has been my anchor all my life. Their presence is both homage and remembrance, a way of honoring where I come from.

Families are being separated every day. Children are left waiting outside classrooms, at home, and in cars by the side of the road. That urgency compelled me to tell this story now. Through Esperando, I want audiences to sit in the discomfort of absence, to feel the weight of waiting, and to ask themselves if this is the reality we are willing to accept.