2 days ago
2
I was brought up with this promise that life was fair. That if you tried, then you would succeed. So much of my family came to America thinking it would be better than the home they left behind. They came here with the dream that they could easily make millions, have at least two kids, and buy a home — complete with the white picket fence.
In my household, we were taught the importance of service and work. Especially as a Latina, I was taught to obey, nurture, cook, and clean. My life centered on making sure dinner, dishes, and my homework were always done. But as I grew up in a nontraditional household where my mother was the sole breadwinner and only parent in the home, I started to question shows, like "90210," that had two-parent households. And because I grew up living in an apartment, I also wondered how anyone owned a home. That was until my mom would give me the greatest thing that a young mind coping with survival could need: a dream — the American Dream, to be exact.
My mother taught me that if I wanted something, I could have it. All I needed to do was work for it. It was only a matter of willpower and physical effort. And if I didn't have what I wanted, it was obviously because I hadn't worked hard enough. This is the basic premise of my handed-down immigrant mentality. My mom told me that everything I wanted was possible — it was all in my hands and within my power. I just had to reach for it. But my entire life, my hand has been outstretched, and I've seen people who work less get more.
While trying to survive in a world where everything seemed bleak, the American Dream offered me hope. I had taken all the right steps: I went to college, I graduated at the top of my class, I got a job immediately afterward, and I kept working hard. But anytime I started to see cracks in the dream given to me, I would be dissuaded by the ever-changing poster child of the American Dream that the media was currently pushing. When I pursued singing and songwriting as a kid, it was singer-songwriter Lorde, who came from nothing in New Zealand and made a song about it ("Royals"), that topped the American pop charts at the young age of 16. When I bravely chose to pursue screenwriting, the poster child morphed into Lena Dunham, who sold "Girls" to HBO at 23. The American Dream was tied to having succeeded at an early age, but as I look around in my late 20s, almost everyone I know hasn't really "made it" yet.
Anytime I felt a tugging at the seams of this belief, there was someone new who shouldn't have made it big thrown into my face. Whoever they were, they proved that hard work always leads to success. So, now, on top of my mode of survival, I had to contend with my sense of inadequacy. As a result, I buckled down and I worked harder, as my mom taught me to do. Even still, I had it easier than she, who had it easier than her mom, my grandma. But those cracks were still there, even if I tried to glue them with media stars. The American Dream shattered around me when I looked at my country rather than only what my country sold me.
Right now, my country is filled with people struggling to make the American Dream come true. Everyone is working harder with less reward than ever. People are not only unable to buy a home, they can barely afford to eat. According to AP News, buying a home today requires that people are older, wealthier, and able to deal with higher interest rates. There's a housing shortage, and most people do not make enough money to buy homes at their current rates. I have witnessed homelessness increase in many states, including California and New York, observations that are supported by the World Population Review and Cal Matters. And the unemployment rate continues to grow, per Trading Economics, while AI threatens creative and industrial jobs.
Our country is more politically divided, too — either too far right or too far left, depending on who you ask. But I kept my head down, focusing on work until it came time for the election results. Then, I was stunned. All because we believed in the same thing: the American Dream, which sells us perfection — simple, un-nuanced, and great. The best part of the American Dream is that it's already thought up for us when we don't have time to dream; we just need to buy into it.
Let me state this now: the American Dream is not inclusive, and it is only granted to the white, able-bodied, home-owning, educated man. Everyone else who supports that dream is not usually able to attain it. Whenever we are shown the image of the American Dream, we, as POC, are left out. So many of us decide not to make decisions with ourselves in mind. Instead, we trade ourselves in for better, idealized versions of who we might be. What we're struggling against today doesn't matter because one day, at some point, we might attain our wildest dreams — and we vote for them.
Voting is inherently personal, cultural, and political. We make decisions based on stories we're told, legends we believe, and ideals we want to uphold. The very slogan "Make America Great Again" is built out of the American Dream ideal. We're not telling the truth if we don't admit that we are all seduced by the promise that America was once something it is not today. We mostly vote for what we believe will make that great day come sooner, but I want to add that we are ignoring reality for a dream.
I believe we should and can trade in the American Dream that was given to us. If the American Dream allows us to be heard and seen, let's listen to each other; let's see each other. If it offers a coping mechanism to those of us who are trying to survive, let those who are not in survival mode come up with solutions so that people can make time to develop their dreams. If it tells us we are not working hard enough and that's why we don't have what we need, let us make it so everyone has what they need. If we are struggling against what a new American Dream can be, why not start with the possible?
I'm sure this work will not happen overnight. But I want to stop working so hard on a dream that, in my opinion, likely won't come true. I hope that we can start conversations with people who feel unseen and unheard in order to chart a new path forward. I think it's time to start questioning our beliefs, because many are not our own. I know one thing: I'm ready for a new dream. I'm still in the process of figuring out what that is, but I know it's something we have to work out together.
Akaylah Ellison is a screenwriter whose storytelling blends the poetic and long-form narratives. Believing that empathy is a writer's greatest asset, Akaylah creates characters who voice fringe realities and encourages people from different walks of life to connect with them emotionally. Akaylah wants to create content that reflects her real world, which is a blend of people from all backgrounds who coexist without explaining who they are and who never apologize for it.
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