I am Latina and also Hispanic; for me, they are synonymous. I am also a New Yorker, born and raised in the city that never sleeps. I have never genuinely questioned myself or my heritage, until pretty recently. To me, it was city girl first, Latina second. For some reason now, something in me has changed; I question myself and my ethnicity. I play my Spanish music anytime I pass 125th street because I need to remind myself that just because I spend half my time in the city, I am not one of them. So when I turn to embrace my culture, I am faced with confused faces. You are not one of us.
My culture is not my own. When did this happen, how did it all change?
It feels like an endless nightmare, running from door to door with the hope that one will accept me. Plot twist: It does not happen.
For the first 18 years of my life, I felt secure with who I was. I was a Hispanic girl from New York City. It was a beautiful combination and one that I soon realized was extremely common. In the neighborhood I grew up in, it was largely Hispanic. So when school came and I met a bunch of other children that were also Puerto Rican and Dominican, it was safe to say that I felt different. They all spoke Spanish as well as English. Many of their parents couldn’t really speak English and for years I thought this somehow made them better. We had things in common though; we all looked somewhat similar, we could tell jokes in Spanish that others couldn’t understand, and we all had this strange fascination with baseball. To us, we were living the life.
As I got older, it felt as though I was a double agent. I had picked up Spanish at a young age but I didn’t speak it often. My mom speaks to us in both Spanish and English, with us responding how we feel appropriate, whether that be in either language. When we go to parties and the Spanish music comes on, others watch in content as you show off those Bachata skills. My fascination was baseball was passed down from my father and I put that same energy into playing softball because to me that was an homage to my father and his love of the game. When I was young, I lived my life as curly sue, with the exception of picture day because those are the ones we want on the fridge, not the ones with the messy, curly hair (even though our fridge is composed of the latter). Later, going on to lose my curls because that is what consistently applying heat to your hair does.
The point being, I went through high school trying to prove to others that I was Hispanic enough. Enough for them? My family? My friends? People I didn’t even care about? Or was it myself? I cared so much about proving to others that I was a true Hispanic that it lost its meaning.
When I started college and was spending 70% of my time in Manhattan, whether it was working or on campus, I began to take ownership of myself. I listen to Spanish music on the daily, not to prove a point to anyone but because I enjoy it. I do not need a party to show others my sick dancing skills, I do that when I can’t keep myself from wiggling in my seat because of the rhythm of the music. I speak Spanish more frequently now but I'm still wary of my mistakes when speaking to non-family members. I am starting the process of bringing my natural curls back because I spent too many years trying to hide my inner curly sue.
While all these pieces help embrace it, they are not my culture. I am doing all these things for me and no one else. I am a Latina before all else and I am a New Yorker as well; they coexist as one inside of me.