"Where are you from?"
I say, “North Carolina.”
They laugh or smile politely. "No. But, like, where are you really from?"
Not that I’m keeping track or anything, but that has to be the most frequently asked question I’ve ever received in my life. And yeah, I get it. I’m tan, I have dark features, I don’t look entirely Caucasian. And to others, that automatically means that I’m Mexican, which is not only offensive to me, but to anyone who is of Mexican heritage. But we'll get this later.
I don't love that question -- I tolerate it now, but I used to dread it. I went to a very conservative, Catholic private school from kindergarten through middle school and never felt like I fit in. That wasn’t only because I was fat for most of my youth or super weird. I never felt like I belonged, racially.
I felt ashamed for being part Latina. I always refused to participate in the annual “Spanish mass” where the sermons would be all in Spanish and the hymns sung in Spanish. I, along with the 10 or so other Hispanic students in the school, would be asked to volunteer in the mass, to which I always declined, not wanting to be associated with the minority, not wanting to be picked out for being a kind of different that I couldn't change.
The feeling continued in high school, especially since I went from a graduating eighth grade class of 40 to a freshman class of 500. And naturally, with the last name Sandoval, and the way I look, the question came up again: "Where are you from?"
There are one of two options in answering The Question: be a smart-ass and pretend like you don't understand -- "I'm from North Carolina. Oh, you meant what's my ethnic background, oh" -- or play dumb for as long as possible until there is no other option but to answer the damn question. "Parents were born in Chile, Mom's side is Russian and Italian, Dad's side is Spanish."
And I can see that this is coming off as whiny and me being unappreciative of my heritage. Honestly, it did start out that way only because I just wanted to be like everyone else. But I'm writing about this now because of what happens in between being asked The Question and answering it: the awful, ignorant comments the questioner slips in. "So, where are you from? Mexico or something?" Because Mexico is the only Latin American country that exists, apparently. And it's always Mexico -- not Spain or Peru or Venezuela or any other country where the most commonly spoken language is Spanish. I do not know if it is purely ignorance or they’re trying to be humorous, but it’s uncalled for, and that is the part of The Question that I seriously dislike.
The insinuation that comes with the questioning is negative most of the time, like it's bad that being Latina is a part of my life. I have come to embrace my heritage with age and knowledge. I wish that people wouldn't be as ignorant of Latin American history and geography, but it's unfortunately inevitable that someone will assume things about me that are untrue.
I appreciate the mixture of countries that my family comes from. I didn't understand for a long time that it was okay to look different, that it was supposed to be a good thing, not a bad thing. I don't love The Question, but it's not the worst part of my life. In fact, my life's pretty awesome. I have the opportunity to go to Chile for the first time ever with my family, and see the city where my parents were born and the other beautiful parts of the country. I have family in another country that I've never met that I finally get to meet.
The next time I get the question, "So, what exactly are you?" and don't want to respond with "a human," I will be straight up with my answer, and say it with pride, which is what I should have been doing from the start.
