What are my roots?
Culture to me has been one big confusion in terms of what, or who, it is I actually am or associate myself with. Maybe association is the wrong word, it might be more appropriate to say identify, because culture in itself is an identity that one adds to and builds from. Whether it be from their daily habits or small nuances, culture is always there in a form that is so subtle it’s easy to forget if you’re not either A) paying attention or B) part of that heritage. This incredibly important and influential concept in a world where cultural amalgamation is increasingly present, it’s hard not to respect the desire to preserve techniques, traditions, and teachings passed down by previous generations.
My issue? I don’t understand where I fit in all this.
Being a 3rd generation child from immigrant grandparents (yeah, I had no idea I was considered 3rd generation either), I feel like this mishmash of influences really took a toll on my identity. I grew up pulling inspiration from the area I was raised rather than the foundation of my blood, losing those traditional Mexican teachings in favor of a more modern, urban way of presenting myself. My speech was affected, my ideals became less influenced on the family and more towards the self as I aged, I even lost the ability to fluently speak Spanish. The more I grew, the more distant I became with my cultural identity regardless of the numerous trips to Mexico or the exposure to majority Spanish speaking areas in both Vegas and Chicago. I mean, as I type this I realize I just sound completely off and out-of-touch with my heritage.
As a nail in the back, there’s this confusion on how I’m perceived by other people of my culture and how I should/ can act around them. When I travel to Mexico and speak Spanish, I’m spoken to like I’m a member of that community, like they KNOW I can speak the language and that I grew up Hispanic. But when I’m in the states, I feel nothing but judgement; blank stares and a default to English is how most treat me before I even get a word in. The disconnect grows, and the more I face this judgement the less I even want to take part in my Hispanic lineage.
But there are just too many pieces of being Mexican I enjoy: the food, the music, the art, the holidays, the colors, the landscape, the parties, the history, the influence.
I don’t understand where I fit in all this.
Thanks,
Alex.
A time where I embraced my culture through its culinary side, I made pozole de pollo for my family who are the backbone of both my cultural education and my traditional ignorance. I learned that good pozole takes time and requires a respect for the art through patience to feel that satisfaction of “I am Mexican”. They enjoyed it!
