Andrea Ibanez Terrazas shares about her upbringing and how zip codes play a role in accessibility.
I was born in La Paz, Bolivia – a city built between mountains and clouds. From its steep streets, I looked up at airplanes and imagined new horizons. I wanted to live somewhere where opportunity didn’t depend on who you knew, but on how big your dreams were.
That desire brought me to the United States, often described as the land of endless possibility. Yet once I arrived, I realized geography still shapes what we can become. Living in California’s Central Valley, I see neighbors commuting hours to the Bay Area for work.
It feels ironic: People crossed countries for opportunity, yet now face a new migration – inside California itself. For me, my daily commute to school is a mini adventure: an hour and a half on a train for the chance others take for granted. Success isn’t just effort; it’s access. Zip codes quietly decide what schools we attend, what networks we join and which dreams seem realistic. In the Central Valley, distance is an obstacle – universities and industries are far away, leaving first-generation students like me to navigate pathways that are more limited. Though I was fortunate to have support, schools offer fewer resources and advanced courses than those near the Bay area, disadvantages that make top schools harder to access.
I used to think opportunity was a destination. Yet it’s not just how far you’ve come, but where you land and what you’re given once you get there. I wish opportunities weren’t so unevenly distributed, making the pursuit of your goals feel like a daily challenge. Still, I refuse to believe geography defines destiny. In quiet corners of California, hope is loud – in every morning train, every late night studying, every mile traveled to sustain a family. We are the geography of dreams, and we’re not done drawing the map. With a Perspective, I’m Andrea Ibanez Terrazas.