“what ARE you?”

Con mi abuelita

Growing up in Canada, where in elementary school we were encouraged to speak about our backgrounds and heritage, I always felt like a liar when I said “I’m Mexican”. My dad is Mexican and my mom is mainly German, English, Danish and Scottish. So mostly I’m Mexican. But I only visited Mexico every four years, my father didn’t speak Spanish to my brother and I as children, we weren’t told about basic Mexican culture or holidays, and we weren’t really exposed to what it meant to be Mexican. I don’t even look Mexican. My brother at least looks Mexican. These days I feel this kind of sadness like something was taken from me. I’m here in Mexico with my family, who are so nice, but I’m still an outsider, I’m different and I’m ignorant. Not that anybody here holds it against me or even expects me to know everything about Mexico. It’s that they don’t expect anything because I’m Canadian. I’m not really Mexican. Not even the half that I should be entitled to by birth. I’d like to be though, and I am happy being here, practicing my Spanish which isn’t as bad as I thought it was.

y abuelito

brown brother, white me, baby brother

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