No matter what anyone says, I am as Latina as they come

Growing up, I lived in what most would call the “typical” Hispanic-American Household. I lived through it all. I was surrounded by the loud music that ranged from old Spanish ballads to salsa music. As I would make my daily trips to the kitchen, I often walked in on my mother dancing away as she prepared dinner for my father. Seeing this, I would quickly run back to my room before she dragged me to dance with her. There was no way I was going to make a fool out of myself in my very own kitchen.

At home, I was as Latina-American as could be. I ate the food and even indulged myself with telenovelas at night before I went to bed. Although I couldn’t understand much back then, I felt a connection with the actors I saw on the screen. No, it wasn’t because I found similarities in their dramatic, conflict-driven lifestyles. It was because I finally saw someone who looked like me, for once, on television. (And they served great practice  for when I was learning Spanish.)

But that comfort and familiarity would always vanish as I stepped outside my house.

Picture taken on the day of my Quince

From an early age I was always bombarded with the same dreadful questions, “Why can’t you speak Spanish correctly?” or “Why do you sound so white when you speak Spanish?” In their eyes, I didn’t fit the stereotype that they grew accustomed to. And for my family back in Ecuador, my differences made me less qualified to identify myself as a proud Latina.

Growing up, I noted the pride many Americans had when proclaiming their heritage and racial backgrounds. Many of my close friends during high school even took part in events where they were able to display their culture with music and tasteful food. But in those four years I never felt as if I was qualified to represent my own cultural roots.

Even when I held my first job, many people would giggle at my elementary Spanish speaking skills. Instead of trying to lift me up, they made me feel like I sounded silly. But instead of speaking up, in fear that I would come off “uptight”, I steered away from identifying myself as Latina or Hispanic. Whenever someone would excitedly try to interact with me in Spanish, I would politely tell them that I was from somewhere else. The sad thing is – most of them believed it.

My sister and father during my high school graduation

Somehow my nineteen years of living with native Ecuadorean parents and traditions didn’t fit the particular mold I needed to hold. And as I made my way to college I often found myself conflicted about my own identity; living in a place far away from home I started to feel uneasy. Even with the new faces I still found myself getting asked the same questions. As I reluctantly uttered the words I would occasionally get the “you don’t act like you’re Hispanic at all,” comments once again.

However, college is filled with people around the world with different stories to tell. Throughout my time at Syracuse I was pleasantly surprised to find the occasional people who could accurately pinpoint my ethnicity. These were the people I confided in when I shared my struggles of claiming my own identity. It wasn’t until one day someone questioned why I would ever let a stranger tell me who I should be. “It’s your reflection in the mirror — not theirs.” At that moment I noticed that I was living my life trying to make others comfortable. I was enabling those around me to tell me they knew better.

But if it’s one thing that I will take out of my first year in college is that other people can’t define who you are; In the end of the day, I’m the only one who can decide my happiness.

Surprisingly, I even realized that there were so many people who shared similar feelings of uneasiness. I started to realize how often I let others define who I was when they never understood how my parent’s roots made me who I am today. From that moment on I decided to live as the person I wanted to be. In the wise words of Gina Rodriguez, actress who stars in “Jane the Virgin,” “I am as Latina as they come.” So I say to everyone who feels like they don’t fit a particular “mold” or “stereotype” — fuck it. Blast that Spanish music with pride and dance away in the middle of your kitchen.