Since kindergarten, I remember going to school every day and noticing how there were only maybe two girls who looked like me. Although I was only five years old, I recall comparing my skin tone to those around me and wondering why it was like this. I was constantly reminded of this difference daily. Watching Disney, I constantly pondered why none of the princesses looked like me, or the dolls I would play with only had blonde hair and blue eyes. I wondered how kids asked their parents for help with homework when my parents’ first language is Spanish. They did not grow up in the US, so oftentimes they did not know how to help me.
As I began to grow up, others were observant of this as well. At the age of eight, I struggled with comments from my own peers about my culture and skin, which made me even more insecure. I began to resent my culture, and for a long time, I felt like I was not even American because I didn’t look like the average American. My first language is English, and all of my life, I grew up in Texas. Regardless of this, I felt so out of place.
Not only did I struggle with not looking like those around me, but I also struggled with those who did look like me being different then me. Spanish was frequently spoken around my house, but most of the time we spoke English. I felt there was no place for me. I failed to meet both expectations, no matter how hard I tried.
What hurt me the most was hearing the stereotypical comments people made around me. I heard stereotypes about Mexican men being lazy and illegal criminals, which hurt me deeply. While in some people’s eyes they see my father as someone who fits the stereotype, I know the truth. He’s a legal citizen who is just trying to provide for his kids. I remember how hard my dad and mom worked for me to have a better life than they had. My parents both left everything behind in hopes of a better future for my brother and me, so those comments felt personal. I’ve seen my father come home with tired eyes, and I’ve seen my mom hurt for feeling homesick. I will always see my parents as the hardest workers and the most selfless people ever. Any comment made me really question how others have just had the luxury to just make disrespectful comments. I often found myself wishing they could spend one day in my shoes.“It’s just a joke”. I would get it countless times but to me it wasn’t funny. Those “criminals” had the same skin tone as me and had similar last names, and it pained me to see people like me and it also infuriated me that no one else saw this or no one else agreed with me. It was just another thing that I felt singled out for.
It wasn’t until after elementary school that I began to slowly learn to love my culture. I found myself invested in my traditions and I realized growing up all these years I loved the things my family does. For example a famous tradition called “las posadas.” Every Christmas we made tamales and stayed up till twelve on Christmas Eve to open gifts. I realized I cherished those moments and I loved my culture and it wouldn’t be the same without it.
I wouldn’t be the same without my journey in finding myself. All the aspects of my culture shape me into the person I am today. also fell in love with Spanish, and I loved how I was able to learn it just by growing up around it, and I was able to become bilingual. My fifteenth birthday was coming up, and although I was insecure about my culture at a very young age. There was no doubt that I wanted a Quinceañera. I had my Quinceañera, and I truly felt so special and nothing compared to that day. I felt like a princess, the princess I didn’t have growing up. As a teenage girl currently, like anyone else, I am still growing, and I still struggle with self-confidence. Still, I no longer feel the need to put myself into one category in both; I love being an American, and I also take pride in being Mexican. My journey has been hard and discouraging at times. Still, at the end of the day, I am so happy I was born the way I am, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
