In middle school, I used to scrub and wash my face constantly in hopes that I would wash off my Hispanic heritage. I hated my skin color, I hated the structure of my face, and I hated the stereotypes. I hated being Hispanic.
I hated being Hispanic until I came to college. I am not entirely sure where hating myself because I was Hispanic began, but I recall that many instances had to do with beauty or status.
In the first grade, I noticed I was very different from a lot of my classmates. My skin color was different, and I noticed that the most popular girls weren't like me. They had flawless porcelain skin, light colored hair, stable homes, and friends.
I always felt the stereotype of failure was stamped across my forehead because of who I was or was associated with. Growing up, nothing helped that I was a child of a teen mom and divorce. I came from a family full of alcoholics, gang members, and drug addicts.
My heart sank every time I looked in the mirror, because I looked like "them." My role models only knew poverty and how to party. The women in my life looked for sustenance and meaning in men, fighting other women over men, and trying to be like men.
Nothing about my heritage looked beautiful to me, so I always tried to fit in. I hated who I was, so I did everything in my power to erase who I was. Every time a survey was given, the boxes I check-marked were Caucasian or White.
As the first woman and generation in my family to come to college, the fear of being Hispanic began to fade away. I worked hard to change the stereotype associated around me. I fought off the desire to be something that I was not. Instead, I focused on wanting to be that role model I never had growing up, and I made it to the finish line.
College is such an incredibly diverse institution. I saw the uniqueness that every person brought with them to Eastern New Mexico. Now, the women that surround me hold the same heritage as I do, but they are bold and not sorry for it. They speak Spanish, devour bean burritos, and are not quick to fight to prove they are beautiful, smart, or worthy.
These young women helped me love my heritage. I am in awe of the struggles we conquered together to let people know we are a part of the human race, and we will do great things regardless of the stereotypes anyone places on us.
Now, I save the tortilla and green chili stew recipes my family has passed down. I speak life to those doubting their individuality and culture. I love the color of my skin, and I proudly check mark the box Hispanic. I am not sorry for coming out of the womb tan and with tons of hair anymore. I love being Hispanic.
