The great thing about humans is the diversity that exists in every single one of us. I, along with many others, find that aspect a very interesting one, which is probably why there are so many people who use ancestry.com or submit saliva samples to geneticists and wait six to eight weeks to find out the results. It’s cool to know your background and where you came from.

What’s not so cool is demeaning someone else’s heritage by erroneously comparing it to what you think may be your own.

There are a lot of jokes and memes about “white girls” bragging about being .000005 percent Native American, and while they’re hilariously accurate, no one seems to consider the people who are actually Native American. I’ve never been one to get offended by seemingly insignificant things -- and I often poke fun at people who raise unnecessary controversy for attention -- but there came a time in my life, sometime during high school, when I noticed that every one of my conversations about my tribe had something in common. It’s not a good feeling when you realize that someone only asked you about your history, about something you’re proud of and love talking about, as a gateway to talk about themselves.

Of course, I look Native American (most of the time). I have dark features and really long, thick hair -- anyone might be curious about my background. In fact, when my roommate and I first met, she told me about her Irish descent in hopes I would volunteer my own ethnicity. Other times people just ask, and when they do, I'm proud to tell them I'm Native American. I love watching the genuinely confused looks appear on their faces when they find out that I'm not actually "Latina," but the following few minutes are never as fun. I don’t have the time or the patience to sit and listen to someone talk about how their mom thinks they might be Native American because they tan well in the summertime -- but, alas, that’s usually what happens. And I shouldn’t have to tell you, but that’s not the same thing.

I think it's great when people try to learn more about their heritage. As someone with an adopted father, I feel the exact same way. However, my culture on my mom's side couldn't be any more unambiguous. I could tell you my exact lineage, how many members are in my tribe, and any history you may want to know about it. But I know all of this because being Native American is a very important part of my life: I attend meetings, participate in tribal activities, read our newsletter, and I just submitted a story and some birthday announcements for the first edition of our tribal newspaper. I even witnessed the groundbreaking of our upcoming casino and signed a beam to be used in construction. Most of the time, the same can't be said for every person who has told me, “Oh, I’m Native American, too!”

And I get it; being Native American is cool. We have a very interesting and beautiful culture -- no wonder Khloe Kardashian poses in headdresses for her Instagram, right? But that’s the difference: she doesn’t claim to be Native American, or try to fool people into thinking she is. She’s just appreciating our culture. I, myself, frequently participate in “Taco Tuesdays,” and I thought Stephanie’s Indian-themed party on that one episode of "Fuller House" looked really fun. I have seen some pretty dope Pocahontas Halloween costumes in my day, as well. That’s not insulting to me.

What’s insulting is the way you ask me “how much” Native American I am, and the fact that you think your family’s theory about your naturally hairless arms is of the same importance as the tribal identification card in my wallet. I legally identify as Native American, and I live my life every day knowing and appreciating the hardships my family and tribe went through so I could have the life I do today.