The origin story.

Hey you, 

If you are here it’s because I have made an effort to peel another layer into what it’s like to start-up a food truck project I have called Five O Four. We are on month five of being open as a food truck and entrepreneurship has smacked me in the face in every which way, which I’ll get into detail in a bit. I am very grateful for every single person who comes and drops a spark of joy into the everyday routines. Sometimes I don’t realize that I get so into my own world that I forget people can’t see what is really going on behind the scenes. I am someone who doesn’t gate keep and I call myself a certified crash dummy for this exact reason. Being the youngest of three siblings who are much older than me I tend to observe how-to just as much how NOT to make the same mistakes. With that vantage point in life I like to share so people can learn from my mistakes. To know Five O Four we all have to dive into my family’s history so let’s start from the beginning shall we…

Cinco Cero Cuatro (Five O Four in Spanish) stems from my longing to discover my own identity and learn more about my Honduran roots. I’m the first generation prodigy in the family. My family emigrated to the states with the original immigrant story back in the 80s during the Reaganomics era in which Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) was signed granting legal status sanctioning employers who hired undocumented workers. My mother worked for well-known restaurateur Angela Brown and Rose Dietrich (who became my godmother) in New Orleans at a time where Hondurans had a strong imprint creating a subculture many weren’t aware of. My siblings were much older when I was born and kind of grew as an only child in a sense which instilled a sense of independence at an early age. Blending the dichotomy of being the youngest of all my cousins and being the first American-born in my entire family at the time felt isolating. My mom would bring me to work everyday as a little kid surrounded by all the love that the servers and cooks gave me, plus always interacting with my godmother, helped a little with being raised with Americans per se. What I do appreciate is my parents wanting to instill my Honduran roots since a youngin’ traveling to Honduras for the summers so I could really learn Spanish, try the food, and know where I could have potentially been born if they didn’t make the big decision to move. It’s crazy how one decision changed the trajectory of my life, hell of their own lives, and I always think about how much life could have been different had I been born in Honduras. 

Anyways, I’m grateful I had some sort of connection with my extended family such as my grandmothers, cousins, tias that honestly is a deep memory now. The last time I saw my extended family must have been when I was 16 and I am 32 now. My life continues to be deep memories and not just in the Honduran aspect. I lived a great life in New Orleans with amazing friends and went to a private school that was super tight with community and felt I had an amazing social life as a kid. Things seemed really great at the time and never had any issues from the outside looking in. I had a great family dynamic as well even though my brothers were older I had a great relationship with my older brother which we would travel to watch his soccer games because he was REALLY good. I loved hanging around with him. Then all of a sudden, Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005 and EVERYTHING changed. If I’m being honest, I have been on survival mode since that fucking fuck ass hurricane. My whole life completely changed. I went from being happy to just feeling doubt and just a sense of being distrustful of everything and I’ll explain later. Just as Honduras became a distant memory, New Orleans and the life I had there became yet another memory I wouldn’t get back. We moved to Houston for a couple of months and those were the worst days of my life. My parents had no idea what I went through because they had their own burdens to try and figure out during that time since we lost our entire home/life with no compensation from FEMA. 

Going to a public middle school in Houston was a drastic change from what I was accustomed to. That in itself, taught me how to quickly pivot, even though I hated the experience it really shaped me for the real world like IMMEDIATELY! Kids treated us like we weren’t even human to the point all of us New Orleans kids had to stick together because they would threaten us to fight and other things I’ll fail to mention. I really felt the true meaning of community and having each other’s back at that moment when I was about to get jumped in the locker room and this girl from my hometown jumped in to save me. I knew what loyalty was at that moment. Outside of school it was just me and my mom living at my brother’s house with a bunch of other people cramped up in his house. My dad was working for Chevron at the time back home living in one of those FEMA trailers that later on was discovered to have asbestos. With some personal reasons that I won’t mention my mom decided to pack up and move back to Louisiana, but this time we were moving to my other brother’s college spot in Lafayette, Louisiana. We became his other roommate for a long time but I honestly don’t remember much because at this point we had moved around twice that I kind of just blurred meeting anyone with the hope that this was the last move before going back to New Orleans. 

Well we stayed… and I was NOT happy. This is the beginning of my origin story. 

Stay tuned for my next blog post. 

With love, Grace