I had never felt uncomfortable in my own skin. That changed two weeks ago.
I grew up in a household that I thought was relatively normal. The only difference is that my mother is Dominican and my father is Caucasian-American. We still have the three-bedroom house with the dog. I have a pesky little sister who I have shared a room with since the time she was born, and we went to fairly good public schools. From an insider’s perspective, everything felt normal.
The neighborhood I grew up in was diverse, multi-cultural and multi-ethnic. My neighbors across the street are Jamaican, the ones to the left of them are Ecuadorian, and to the right Cuban. Down the street we have neighbors from Honduras, Colombia, India and Panama, and those are the neighbors I know. My best friends from home are all Jamaican, and I think I still get more excited over bun and cheese, a Jamaican specialty, during Easter than they do. Never in my life did I think that the life I was living was any different than the ones I saw on TV or in movies, just a little more diverse.
When I decided to attend a school in Maryland, I never really thought about the possibility of leaving the culture I was so familiar with or people not understanding where I came from or what my race was. Race was never an issue for me. My Hispanic friends would joke about me not being Latina enough, but I never aligned myself with a particular race (White or Black) because I never saw myself as being either. When I got to college, I realized more and more people were asking about where I came from, and I spent more time thinking about what I considered myself to be, and less on what I saw myself as.
According to the U.S. Census, Latino/Hispanic is an ethnicity, not a race. In the Dominican Republic, my mom is considered Indio or Indian, but in the United States she’s considered a Black Hispanic. My dad, who was born in Ohio and grew up in California, is Caucasian with his family ancestry coming from England and Scotland, even though many people in Miami confuse him being Cuban because of his fluent Spanish.
Two weeks ago, my softball team and I were getting ice cream when a group of white males in a black van threw what sounded like a firecracker near me. I turned around scared that it might be a gunshot when my eyes came in direct view of the black van. The white male, who looked about my age or younger, looked right at me and screamed, “White Lives Matter.”
Because of my lighter skin tone and the diverse nature of my friends and where I grew up, I understand what is meant by “white privilege.” I know that my experience when I’m with my dad and sister are much different than when I’m with my mom or my friends from home, but never have I felt personally attacked for what I looked like. I don’t know what about that day made me look any different than usual, maybe my hair was extra curly, or maybe my softball tan alluded to my background? Although this experience was the worst of what I’ve had to face during my time in a different state, I found myself reflecting on what made me different.
Even before that moment, I was the designated “expert” on all things minority. I was happy that some of my friends were asking questions about my culture and my circumstances growing up, or how things were like for my friends growing up, but it felt weird to put labels on things I had thought were normal life. I never felt myself thinking how black I actually was, or how white I actually was, and now I feel like I need to believe in the identity others have given to me in order to prove that I have a Dominican background.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that college has taught me to embrace my mixed heritage and not to be afraid to be an advocate for things I believe in. My friends might joke about me not being Latina enough back home, but at college, I have no problems playing a Marc Anthony song as my warmup song, or begging my mom to send me arroz con pollo when she comes to visit because I’m proud of where I came from. I’m also less afraid to speak my opinions on issues of race or other controversial topics because even that one moment when I was verbally attacked reminded me that movements in society like “Black Lives Matter” are crucial to making America and the world ask questions and debate issues that need to be confronted. So in that sense, I am happy I moved away. Not everyone understands where I came from, but I do, and I’m happy and proud to share it with them.
