“I dreamed of another life and I have it, but being born where I was born leaves you with almost no opportunities.”
“You have to study and be independent.” Those were the words my grandmother Helena—or Baba, as I called her—repeated to me all the time. “What was she saying?” I thought, because on the farm, being an independent woman was practically impossible . She herself hadn't been able to fulfill her dream of becoming a teacher.
–It doesn't matter, you have to study and be independent– he repeated to me.
Although I didn't understand them at first, her words left a lasting impression on me. And I dare say that only today, at 26 years old, after becoming the first person in my family to finish high school , graduating with the highest GPA in biochemistry , and moving to Mendoza to pursue a doctorate at CONICET (National Institute of Technology and Communications), can I truly say I fully understand what my Grandma Baba wanted to tell me.
But of course, when I was a little girl, on the farm, my life was very different. It was hard to believe I could make it. I grew up in the Doradito area, where just under 100 people live . It's part of Colonia Aurora, a very small municipality in the province of Misiones, near the border with Brazil. We were eight siblings, two boys and six girls, and only one was younger than me. But we hardly ever all lived together because my family is very traditional: as they came of age, my older sisters got married, had children, and moved in with their husbands.
At home, money was always very tight; there were better and worse months, but my father never let us go without food. And we were always his right-hand man, ever since we were little. Our days started at six in the morning. We all had breakfast together and then we started work . We milked cows, took the calves to the pasture, and, depending on the time of year, we helped with the corn and tobacco crops.
Around 11 a.m., we would swim and have lunch, because the trip to school, which was in the Siete Vueltas area, took an hour and a half . It was six kilometers, and we walked. The first part was a bit tricky because we had to cross a stream, and we did it as best we could. We all suffered falls or stings at some point, and several times a month we had to turn back because the stream was swollen or the weather didn't allow us to reach it.
The school was small and multi-grade. Only one teacher taught the 13 students , each according to their grade level. His name was Walter, and I still visit him every time I travel to Misiones. He was the one who encouraged me to continue studying and reinforced my confidence in my grandmother's words. He quickly realized that I loved going to school. I sat at the front of everything and always asked to be in front of the blackboard. Then, Walter began lending me books, which I read every night before going to sleep. My favorites were chemistry and biology.
I was excited. But the year was ending, and if I wanted to continue studying, I'd have to convince my parents to let me go to high school , which was in another city. But they didn't want to; they told me I had to work and then get married, like my brothers .
Maybe they like that life, but I don't. The farm was about getting up, working, eating, and that's it. We didn't even watch TV. I didn't feel like it was for me. I dreamed of another life, but it was hard for them to understand. My dad can barely write his name, he doesn't even have a phone number, he didn't feel like there was a life beyond the one he led. And my mom was a very young mother, and she didn't agree either, although I recently learned that her grandmother hadn't let her study either when she asked her to. I'm glad I insisted enough.
My greatest ally in convincing them was my grandmother Baba. We were very close; I spent all weekends at her house, which I arrived at by canoe. I helped her clean, kept her company, and she cooked me chicken with potatoes and sweet bread. Although she passed away while I was still in my first year of high school, she remains with me to this day . Not only in my heart, but also in a pink frame I have on my desk, which holds a photo of her hugging me in the middle of a field of roses. I look at it every time I need the strength to continue.
The day they told me I could continue studying, I felt very similar to the day I graduated with a degree in biochemistry: that I had made it. I like to think of myself as a lucky girl, because just that year a new technical school opened, the Agricultural Teaching Institute No. 9, in El Progreso , where I finished high school.
The municipality provided a minibus for the children who, like me, lived several kilometers away. Fortunately, the school grew so much that they asked parents for help building new classrooms, and my dad went every Saturday he could. With that gesture, I understood that, even though we argued at home because he didn't have as much time to work on the farm as he used to, he ultimately supported my decision.
In high school, I also received help from the Conciencia Association. As it did for me, it provides scholarships and tutoring to vulnerable children so they can begin—and finish—their secondary and university studies. They also help them build life plans and promote job inclusion. Like me, 10,000 other children across Argentina were able to finish high school or continue on to university thanks to the foundation .
I used the financial aid I received to buy sneakers, a coat, and hygiene products . And after saving for a few months, I was able to buy a cell phone so I could do my homework .
But the most important thing Conciencia gave me was my tutor, Marce, who was the principal's wife and a dean at my school. She was the one who helped me decide what to study and where. She helped me fill out all the paperwork I needed to enroll, because no one in my family had any idea. They even drove me to Posadas to submit the documentation in person.
The Conciencia scholarship was also crucial in enabling me to move to Posadas to study biochemistry at the National University of Misiones, an institution to which I am deeply grateful. With the money I received each month, I was able to pay the rent for my studio apartment and some travel expenses.
When I was further along in my career, I applied for research grants within the faculty, which paid me a small salary, and to add more income, I worked in a laboratory on weekends and in a bakery during the summer.
Sometimes I wondered why the opportunities couldn't be the same for everyone , and that's when I appreciated the foundation's help the most.
At university, the role of my advisors—first Stefi and then Kriss—was fundamental. That world was completely foreign to me: I had no idea what a midterm exam, a corresponding course, or a promotion were. In addition to clearing up all my doubts, they were there for me whenever I was stressed about an exam or a submission. They were also the ones who showed me the path to research. My whole life, I thought that once I graduated, I would return to Colonia Aurora and work in the hospital, but now I can't imagine myself anywhere other than in a laboratory, doing research .
The summer before I graduated, I won a scholarship to do an internship at the Balseiro Institute, and my mom finally congratulated me and understood that the decision I had made was the right one .
In August 2023, I finally graduated in biochemistry. The day I went to defend my thesis, I couldn't stop crying, and neither could my mom: after so much effort, I had achieved it. Obviously, I earned the medal of honor for having the highest grade point average. It couldn't be any other way: in primary and secondary school, I was the flag bearer every year and even had the highest grade point average among all the technical school students in my province.
Last year , I moved to Mendoza because I won a CONICET doctoral scholarship to research neurodegenerative diseases at the Institute of Histology and Embryology. My dream is to be of service, to be able to contribute to society everything I've learned from others in my field, which is biochemistry.
Every day I arrive at the lab, excited to put on my white coat and gloves and start working on something that makes me happy. And although my research salary isn't much, if I hadn't defied my fate, I'd probably be in a forced marriage or living on the farm with my parents , unable to earn an income or become independent.
Now, however, I've been able to go from living in a studio apartment to renting a two-room apartment with a balcony where I drink mate in the sun every morning. It's a 20-minute bus ride from my work. Thanks to my salary, I was also able to go on vacation for the first time in my life, to El Bolsón, and treat myself to getting my nails done , which made me feel so beautiful.
Plus, they give me several vacation days and, very importantly, health insurance. I was finally able to resume dental treatment, which I had to abandon when I came of age and was removed from my family's health insurance.
But above all, this job gives me a sense of peace, of lightness. I'm no longer thinking about needing to do everything to make ends meet and juggling things to also be able to study and pass all my exams. On the contrary: I'm just happy, incredibly happy to have reached the place I fought so hard for.
And it's only now that I'm beginning to better understand my grandmother's words, which had such a lasting impact on me. First, because she never suggested I would make it alone. Besides her, my elementary school teacher, Asociación Conciencia, my tutors, and every person I met at the various institutions where I studied helped me in some way to get to where I am now. And second, because I finally confirmed something I suspected: that education opens doors , gives you tools to think. It increases your chances of having a better life , or at least, of choosing a life you like. Of changing your destiny.
Conciencia is an NGO that seeks to develop committed citizens who can transform the reality we live in. Its programs promote educational and professional completion, entrepreneurship, and job training and integration for vulnerable youth.
This text was prepared from a series of interviews conducted by journalist Jazmín Lell .
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