Tía Carmen M.

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USA250 Journal Project

Personal Chronicle: July 4, 2025 – July 5, 2026
A gift for reflection. A record of now. A story for what’s next.

tiacarmenm

JOURNAL ENTRY — June 30, 2025
📍 Phoenix, Arizona
📝 Prompt One: “Who am I?”

I am Carmen Márquez.
Not just Tía. Not just a laundry worker. Not just anyone’s shadow.

I am the woman who knows how to fold a sheet perfectly and still curse the system that keeps me doing it for minimum wage.

I am a daughter of Mexico, a sister to Isabel, an aunt to Luisa and Diego—but also a student of history.
A quiet resistor.
A fire that never learned how to go out.

I carry newsprint on my fingers and old protest chants in my throat.

I’ve held the line in silence for years. But I remember how to speak.

I believe people forget too easily.
I believe truth doesn’t need a microphone—it just needs someone who won’t look away.

Deep down?
I think I’m still the girl who believed the world could change.
And maybe… the woman who still does.

Even if change starts in a laundry room, with damp hands and tired eyes.
Even if no one claps.

JOURNAL ENTRY — July 2, 2025
📍 Phoenix, Arizona
📝 Prompt Two: “How did I get here?”

I got here by surviving.

I followed my sister north when her health began to break.
I packed light but carried everything—memories, guilt, old convictions folded into my jacket.

I took the first job I could find—stripping bedsheets and scrubbing away the lives of people who don’t notice the women behind the laundry chute.

I didn’t expect to stay this long.
But life rarely asks what we expect.

I got here by watching people talk about justice on TV while ignoring the brown women cleaning behind the cameras.

I got here by learning how to hold two truths at once:
That the world is broken.
And that it can still be healed.

I stayed for Luisa. For Diego. For Isabel.
Because families are not always soft—but they’re real.

And I got here because someone has to remember.
Someone has to teach the children how to question the silence.

That someone, it turns out, is me.

I am not the hero. I am not the saint.
But I am the witness.
And that matters, too.

Family, Friends & Associates

Isabel Márquez  – Sister.

Luisa  – Niece.

Diego  –  Nephew.