Karah Hughes- This I Believe: I believe in Guarana

It was a hot day in Los Angeles last June. My friends and I decided to walk two miles from the
LA County Museum of Art to Sunset Boulevard instead of ordering an Uber. We walked through
residential areas in awe of the houses and the cacti that lined the streets. Halfway through, we
reached a farmer’s market, full of candy shops, confectioneries, and cafes. But nestled in the
back was a stand that housed a churrascaria, a Brazilian Steakhouse. That was the day I
realized that I have every right to take pride in my heritage and no longer had to hide it to be
accepted.

Growing up, I went to a small predominantly-white farm school, and while I’m white, my homelife
very rarely resembled stereotypical American life. My mom raised me Brazilian in every way
except for teaching me how to speak Portuguese. We’d listen to Brazilian music, we’d do
mini-Carnival celebrations, she’d cook Brazilian food for most of our dinners. I grew up with little
quirks, like putting mustard, mayo, and ketchup on pizza. But after hearing remarks like “You’re
mom talks funny” or “Where are you really from” or “Eww, that looks gross,” I learned to keep my
Brazilian side at home and developed a more American side at school. And it was fine for a
while, but I never really related to the kids around me. That is, not until I became friends with
other first-gen Latinxs.

My two closest friends are both first-gen Mexicans. They went with me on my senior trip to Los
Angeles last summer. They knew I was Brazilian, but they didn’t know that once I heard there
was a churrascaria, I would not shut up about my family. While they were looking at carnelian
and quartz in a gem shop, I wandered off to the churrascaria, got pão de queijo, fried yuca, and,
most importantly, Guarana. I brought the munchies to them and made them try it while telling
them how the foods this shop sold differed from how my mom and vo make them. I told them
about how Guarana is a staple at my house; how when my sister and I were allowed to drink
soda, we drink Guarana; how when my tio comes over, he raids our fridge for Guarana.

While I was rattling on about stuff that didn’t really apply to them, they drank the entire can of
soda. I had to go back and buy another one to sip on as we finished our walk to Hollywood. I
had never talked so extensively to anyone outside my family about Brazil, and I had never had
anyone as ready to listen as they were. Since then, for special occasions, I bring them Guarana
to celebrate. Guarana is a celebration of heritage, it’s something sweet that reminds you of
home. Guarana is holding on to something from your culture, it’s nostalgia, it’s pride. I believe in
Guarana.