I haven’t been in Portland (actually, Lake Oswego) very long but the day I moved here I instantly felt lost in my identity again. A simple trip to the grocery store and a quick look around at everyone else sent me back to a place I thought I was past.
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I’ve always felt proud of my Mexican roots at home. We cook, sing, celebrate and embrace the traditions our ancestors created. But when it came time to explain my identity to the rest of the world, I often felt ashamed of the Mexican part of myself. I’m biracial. I’m Latina. I don’t speak fluent Spanish. There are a lot on instances where I don’t feel I belong, where I don’t know what I should say or do. I’m constantly assessing my surroundings and trying to say or do the right thing. Should it take this much effort to just exist?
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I grew up surrounded by white people, first in Southern Virginia, than in East Texas. I was always the only brown person in the class and no matter how hard I tried to assimilate or not get too much sun, people treated me differently. When I moved to South Texas for college, I finally felt like I could talk about my culture. I didn’t know community could exist outside of your family until I was surrounded by other people who looked like me. It was the most amazing feeling to talk to other Latinx and hear their story and become a part of their family. Then 6 years later, I’m in what feels like the whitest city in Oregon struggling with my identity all over again. It’s a little different this time because I’ve learned to embrace my roots but I still feel a little lost. It’s a learning experience. It’s a journey. It’s hella hard sometimes. But it’s also motivation. Motivation to seek out others like me, to challenge the status quo, and to make a difference.