Sorry

Identified by blood or by soil? That’s the question that most American-Latino children have questioned at least once. It’s a struggle I have personally experienced as a Guatemalan-American. To have the skin color, facial features, eyes, hair, flesh, and blood of my Guatemalan parents and relatives but to have the language, knowledge, experience, childhood, upbringing, slang, and school life as an American, like my friends. 

To be American but not look or be originated from the United States along with a foreign culture I did not get to experience led to my confusion as a child growing up. As a child growing up, I was also surrounded by Hispanic children in my diverse elementary school. It had a mostly Hispanic-dominated student population. It created a sense of unity and connection with the other kids, but even as a kid, I knew something was missing from the equation. Listening to my parents’ stories of when they were children growing up in Guatemala made me compare my life as a child with their own experiences. 

They tell stories about trips to the local supermarket, herding sheep and cattle, the mountain trails they would walk on, the ‘Yerba’ and ‘tortillas de maiz’ that they would eat regularly, the clothes they would wear, the dynamic in the community, and the dialect they would speak. All of it was so different from mine. So when asked, “Where are you from?” by other children or adults, how was I supposed to explain that I’m not truly Guatemalan or American? That I didn’t have the typical Guatemalan upbringing or experience, yet didn’t have the white American dream childhood experience either? I didn’t have a picket white fence, lavish toys, vocational trips to museum parks like Disney World or Universal Studios, family or movie nights, or a two-story house with my own designated bedroom to call my own. 

How could I explain all that as a 5-year-old girl in Kindergarten or First grade? How could I tell them that although I look like my parents, I am nothing like them? I couldn’t. So I when asked, “Where are you from?” I would reply with “Here.” 

I knew that I was born and raised in the United States. That legally, I am an American citizen, therefore, American. However, I couldn’t ignore my heritage either. The music, food, clothes, and language were all a part of me too. So my “Here” was a simple way for me to say that my home is The city of Fort Myers, the place where the other person and I would usually be. I don’t have the experience of living in any other country, state, or city. I only know the bits of mixed cultures of America and Guatemala. It was an easy solution, or so I thought. 

In my middle school years, I started to become even more aware of my surroundings. Gears in my head were turning; my self-identity was being more and more incorporated into my language arts studies, and the more it was, the more I questioned it. When they asked, “Where are you from?” and I responded with “Here,” they began to ask for explanations, reasons, and more about my background to figure out where I originated from and who I was. That made me question, “Who even am I?” Did I even deserve to call myself a title I have not earned? Not experienced? I don’t. I didn’t belong with the Guatemalans born and raised in the country—the ones who experienced the culture firsthand and spoke their home language. I didn’t belong with the Americans either, the kids who had white parents and didn’t speak Spanish, the kids who wouldn’t understand when I asked if they preferred ‘Tamales de Arroz’ or ‘Tamales de maseca.’ I didn’t belong there or here, or anywhere. 

My Middle school years were a lonely and confusing time for me. With no group to belong to and no title to call my own. So when asked, “Where are you from?” I simply smiled and nodded, “Florida,” because even if I was having a cultural disconnection and identity crisis, I at least knew that I was born and raised in Florida. Something that I know I had firsthand account experience in. It was a grounding place for me. It put my 12-year-old mind at ease with the reassurance. 

The transition from my middle school year to high school was still lonely, even if I had a convincing response to the daunting question, “Where are you from?”. I had spent years lonely and having no group to belong to, and years confused about my Latino ethnicity prior to that. But I was growing up, things changed, and a better-formulated answer to questions was required now. That’s when I started researching my culture and my parents’ home country. I started to reconnect with my culture and tried to be someone I wasn’t just to be able to own my title without feeling guilty for existing. I knew no one could understand my struggles. Everyone had their background, their struggles, and different circumstances. No one came from my background. I was alone, or so I thought.

 It took me a while, but I realized it after digging into my family tree. I was never alone. I didn’t have to change my behavior, force an accent, or change my personality just because others from my parent’s home country did it differently than Americans. I was never alone, even if I didn’t realize it in the past; I did have someone who had my background and who shared my struggles.

My siblings, the ones who have lifted me through my highs and lows, have always been there for me. They shared my background. Once I realized this, I opened up about my inner conflict and struggles to see if they had the same struggles. They did, and for once, I felt seen. I felt liberated from not knowing who I was or who to claim myself to be. 

I’ve grown since then. I’ve reconnected with both sides of my identity. I realize that I do have a group to belong to. I had the wrong perspective before. It wasn’t that I had no place with either group. Instead, I had a place in both groups. I had a Guatemalan and an American side, making me who I am today. Once I realized that, I began to embrace the best of both worlds. I am proud to say that I am Guatemalan-American, and my roots are a part of my culture and identity, and that’s something no one can take away from me or change.