By all accounts, I am hispanic. I am latina. I am mexican.
But very rarely do I actually feel like I live up to this title. Often, I feel like an imposter parading around as a hispanic woman. Why? Because when people look at me, they often see a white girl. And while I am also half white, that doesn’t negate the part of me that is hispanic.
Growing up, my father didn’t speak Spanish. I don’t know any of my relatives on that side except for my grandmother and grandfather. And we don’t practice any Mexican traditions in our house. The traditions we did celebrate were from my mother’s side. This lack of cultural identity also left me feeling like I was lacking, that I wasn’t truly hispanic. It felt like the only reminder that I am Mexican was my last name: Gomez.
So what did I do? I decided the only way I could truly claim to be hispanic was to speak Spanish. Only after I properly learned the language could I identify with the community.
But what did it mean to speak Spanish? Was knowing how to curse someone out the bar? Was knowing how to hold a fast paced conversation the bar? Was understanding every single phrase and word spoken to me the bar?
Or was the bar something I would always push further away from me, never quite grasping it? Never quite grasping on to my hispanic identity
The attainable goal I set for myself soon became unattainable – and still feels like that sometimes. So even though I did learn the language and have decent conversational skills, I still feel like it’s not enough. If someone inquires about my proficiency with the language I will always downplay it.
But starting today, with the dawn of the Hispanic Heritage month of 2023, I will try to shift my mindset away from the pressure of perfection. I will allow myself to grow more comfortable with the language.
Because no matter what, I am hispanic. I am latina. I am mexican. And no one can contradict that, not even myself.