STORY BY LILY CAFFREY-LEVINE
ILLUSTRATION BY SYDNEY KYSAR
Franciluz Lizardo has reflected on her mother’s words ever since she left the Dominican Republic nearly a decade ago.
“Without education, you're nothing…everyone can take everything from you, except your diploma,” Lizardo said, recalling the most important thing she has learned from her mother.
After her family fell into financial hardship in her home country, Franciluz moved to Sleepy Hollow, New York with her mother, brother, and sister. Her mother—having gone back to school to become a pharmacist after having children—now worked as a housekeeper. They moved into a studio apartment with other family members, and 10-year-old Franciluz entered school not knowing the language.
“I was really depressed,” she recalled of her time in middle school. “I was getting in trouble in school, but my grades were still good.” Despite knowing other students who spoke Spanish, the feeling of isolation and loneliness prevailed; simply, she missed her old life.
High school rarely proves easy or painless, and most experience it without a language barrier. As she continued to learn English and come to terms with a less-than-ideal situation, things slowly began to change. “High school was high school, she shrugged. “I understood why my mom came [to the United States],” she remembered with a look of uncomfortable understanding on her face.
Where she found solace in focusing on her education in her darkest times, her mother’s advice never changed, even when the situation did. “It was basically school, school, school, school,” she remembered. When her friends were off hanging out after school and being “typical teenagers” together, she shook her head and respectfully declined: “this [experience] is temporary, but school will be there all the time.”
Franciluz remembers her high school schedule with the specificity with which one might remember yesterday: what time school started, the 3:26 p.m. bus to work, her late arrival home. It was all-consuming, leaving no minute for the thought of college applications or SATs: “It was just school, work, home.”
Franciluz applied to schools close to home, struggling with the idea of being far from her family. With her work ethic in school, she was accepted into the Higher Education Opportunity Program, putting Marist College within reach, and within a train ride from her family. “It was a hard decision because then I couldn't go to the family parties and reunions…” she trailed off smiling at the thought of those fond moments.
Even with the struggles of being away from her family, her dedication to her work and her goals to help others through becoming a physician assistant continued to provide her with a way to cope. “I like to make others feel better,” she explained. “I'm not a really talkative person. But then if you need help, I can be that person to help you.”
Working with organizations like Nobody Leaves Mid-Hudson, a grass-roots non-profit advocating for immigration rights and universal healthcare fulfills her hope to help others. “I’m pushed to go into service for people in my community because I know their struggles. My drive is God, and I am meant to serve.”
With college also came new people—as it does for many—and a new mindset. “I'm not the social one. I'm not going out like crazy and being the center [of attention]. But you know, I like my group,” she explained. “I got to know myself in a way. And I knew I was hanging out with the wrong people before and that's why I felt isolated.”
Franciluz’s connections to her culture continue even through any missed parties or reunions. Her involvement in clubs like the Black Student Union and Latin American Student Organization links her to her culture, as well as others. However, her focus never shifts far from the center of her life, even when it’s difficult. “It makes me understand that I need to sacrifice some things to get other things in the long run,” she realized. “I might be here for four years and miss a lot of family reunions, but long term, I'm going to have a better job [where] I can be close [to] home.”
Her education has been her priority—that much is clear. She sees the path it can propel her on, with hopes that it can bring her closer to those that instilled this value in her from the beginning. She pursues it passionately: when it brings joy, but more vigorously when it is a distraction from pain, a way to break from a feeling of isolation or to find where she belongs.
Now, sitting at a shaky metal table in the lobby of the Cannavino Library, her backpack leans against her chair and her glasses sit actively on her nose. She sits with comfort—the highest level of comfort probably available to a sophomore biology major looking to become a Physician Assistant—as though it would be senseless for her to be anywhere else. But the comfort comes from where she is and what she is doing: pursuing her education where it can take her furthest, even if to bring her back to her roots.
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