Personal Narrative: Defending My Cultural Identity

Blurred Barriers “So where are you really from?” That was and still remains the most frequent question I get asked on a regular basis. My peers and strangers would generally weave this question into the first five minutes of conversation. As someone who was born and raised in California, my initial response to this question has always been “America.” My answer to this question rarely satisfied other’s curiosity and my reply often sparked follow-up questions further asking where my parents are from. Growing up this part of the conversation has always made me feel uncomfortable because deep down I knew if I were white I would not be having to answer questions regarding my ethnicity. Oftentimes I did not mind answering questions

Defending my cultural identity has always felt bizarre to me because I grew up in America; therefore, I have always considered myself an American. My father is Italian-Uruguayan and my birth mother is Paraguayan. I grew up in the Bay Area only speaking English and ate apple pie every Fourth of July. I breathed and bled red, white, and blue. Moreover, I did not grow up consuming chivito, a popular Uruguayan style sandwich containing steak, ham, cheese, tomato, lettuce, and mayonnaise, like my father, who emigrated from Montevideo, Uruguay, in 1975. When I was younger, he rarely talked about his childhood, but when he elaborated on his past (basically whenever he said anything beyond “it was tough”), I absorbed all of his mystic stories from his life in Uruguay. Oftentimes I found my father’s childhood stories hard to digest because

Later that year, my grandmother and uncle visited me for the third time in my twelve years. Shortly after my grandmother greeted me for the first time in four years, she immediately asked me if I learned Spanish. Her voice almost pleaded that I would say yes so that we both could have a free, lively conversation in Spanish. After hearing the desperation in her voice, my heart began to shatter into pieces because earlier that year I chose to learn a completely different language ‘because it sounded pretty’ over a language that is arguably vital to deeply connect with my family members. I had chosen self-interest over loved ones and I had never felt more selfish in my entire life. On top of being self-absorbed, the pain I was causing on my grandmother was the same pain I was inflicting on myself. I may not have initially created the distance I felt between my relatives, but I definitely broadened the gap by refusing to learn Spanish. In the past, I resented my dad for not teaching me Spanish, but I did not help myself by preventing myself from learning Spanish. Although I now understand that my father always strived to create a healthy environment for my well being, it will always be my responsibility to decide on what is really best for myself, especially in circumstances regarding my own identity. Recalling my decisions from the past has significantly changed the way I view myself