“Why is your hair so dark?” “Are you Mexican or what?” “No, where are you really from?” “You aren’t from here.” “You have a weird last name.”
These are actual questions I remember hearing during my childhood.
I was extremely confused and lost as a child and a young teenager. I didn’t understand who I am or what I am. My peers would openly question my ethnicity in aggressive, stabbing questions and statements at me that would hold onto me for the rest of the day. Maybe I was just an overly sensitive child, but everyone knows that kids can be mean and kids are sensitive. Now, I want to address my childhood and reevaluate it.
My parents are immigrants from Brazil, making my siblings and me the first generation in my entire extended family to be born and raised in America. My parents moved to a predominately white community in Texas, where the percentage of whites topped over 95 percent during my childhood. You can tell that as a Latina, it was hard to find some people I could relate to ethnically. But, how did this really affect me?
I was so confused. The majority of my friends were white. My teachers were white. My neighbors were white. I didn't feel left out, I had friends who laughed with me and spent time with me. Although, I always was aware of how physically different I looked. I would get questions regarding my race and I didn't know how to take them. These questions weren’t necessarily deemed to be taken offensively, but it was a sensitive topic for me as a child. I would go home to my family and play with my white-race dolls and question who I was. I was young. I wasn’t supposed to be questioning why I look the way I do.
I started to get older, around 11 years old, and this is when I started pinpointing who I am. I recognized that I was different because of my race and that I wasn’t typical in my community. I only talked about it with my family who kept telling me I was beautiful in my own way. But, was I, socially? The most famous figures in media were women who were white. I remember seeing only one, maybe two at best, women in media who were Latina. I didn’t believe in myself at this age. No one who looked like me was recognized, so I thought, “Why would I be?”
Then I got older. Around 16 years old, I was taking pride in my background. I just started to accept myself for not being white and knowing that it’s OK. I was still exposed to the questions of where I’m “really” from, but I learned to correct the asker and tell them I was born and raised in America and my parents had a different story.
Now, I’ve fully accepted who I am and love my background. I love being different and enjoy it. I’ve become exposed to all types of people and most of these people are now my friends. Yes, I still have the history of my confused childhood, but it’s made me who I am today.
