ABOUT ME
I’m a double major in Digital Media Production and Editing, Writing, and Media at Florida State University, with a minor in Art Entrepreneurship.
Art has been at the center of my life since childhood, and I carry that passion into every project I create. I aim to produce multimedia content and written narratives that highlight underrepresented stories, especially those that uplift and shed light on the Latinx community.
As an HSF Scholar, I’m passionate about using media to inspire representation, connection, and cultural pride.
Mosaic - Literacy Narrative
On the first day of school, a young white girl asked me,
“So… what are you?”
Like I’m a riddle with a missing piece.
An image you couldn't quite piece together.
At the time I didn’t understand
the multifaceted ways of my identity.
So I looked down at my hands
and saw shards of glass
pressed into the grout of my skin.
I understood then: I was fractured.
Brunette with the brown eyes
But skin pale as clouds
They looked at me weird
even asked “Are you Chinese?”
Because I was…
Different.
But how could I blame them?
When my passport claimed me American
but my face carried three countries.
Broken pieces glued to my skin,
glued to my tongue,
glued to the way their eyes pinned me
like they were trying to solve a puzzle with no picture on the box.
Couldn’t pinpoint my origin, so they labeled me “other.”
And in childhood?
I believed them.
I believed that different meant broken,
so I bleached my hair pale,
popped in contacts to cover my tale,
Painted with stories that didn’t feel like myself
Just to fit into my “American-ness”
Years later, filling out college forms,
That question found me again:
“What are you?”
They wanted one box to be checked
One color. One tongue.
But what I did instead
was check them all.
Because these broken pieces you see on me
are fragments fused together.
I am not broken
I am Mosaic.
I am the spaces between Spanish and English,
the rhythm of Mexico,
the sabor of Venezuela,
the hustle of America.
They see fragments.
I see a collection.
They drew lines on maps to divide me,
but my blood doesn’t read borders.
So I raised my voice and yelled “Objection!”
I refuse your checkbox collection.
Because I am a thousand shapes fused together,
each piece a gift from my ancestors.
I am Mosaic.
So when my mamá asks, “¿Mija, ya comiste?”
I answer, “Sí, mom, I already ate, pero gracias.”
And when my family calls from Caracas
I flip to “¿Qué pasó, chama?”
They call my tongue broken.
I call it Mosaic.
A tongue raised on survival and sacrifice.
I am Mosaic.
A thousand voices glued together by history,
by abuela’s prayers,
by mama’s sacrifices,
by the dreamers,
by the refugees,
by the hustlers.
So don’t ask me to choose one box, one color, one tongue.
Take a step back, and see the cathedral glass.
See the masterpiece.
Not broken.
Not fractured
Mosaic.
A masterpiece in pieces.
- Carolina Ortega