I grew up in poverty in a $ 1,000-a-month rent-controlled apartment in Hell's Kitchen before the neighborhood became gentrified. My parents immigrated from Mexico and met in New York. They married and had me, my sister, and my brother.
Today it's a bittersweet memory. I'm 28 and live in a luxury one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with my fiancé, Xavi, whom I met in college. Our place reminds me of the kind of apartment my mom used to clean.
Seeing my parents struggle took a toll on me. I remember my dad borrowing money from loved ones or banks to cover the rent. The day we got an eviction letter, my heart dropped twice - once when I read it myself and again when I translated it into Spanish for my parents.
My dad has worked a minimum-wage job at a parking garage for as long as I can remember. My mom babysat, tutored kids in Spanish, and cleaned apartments. She would come home with bags of secondhand clothes and toys her clients had donated to her.
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