I am not a Fraction!

By: AnnaMaria Leal

Growing up I was never sure of what I really was, White, Latina, Indigenous, Mixed? These terms were always thrown around but never explained.

Growing up I didn’t know that being Hispanic or Latina was an ethnicity and that because of my physical appearance those around me would perceive me as White. 

Growing up I felt disconnected from my heritage, being raised away from my parents’ families. Rather than referring to my grandparents as my grandparents I often caught myself saying to my parents “you know your mother” or “your father.” It didn’t help that I had lost the language that could connect me back to my roots and that my physical appearance would always have people asking me if I was everything but what I truly am. And when I proudly told them of the beautiful combination that makes me who I am I would be told I didn’t look like “my people, so how could I be one of THEM!” That “one of them” had several different meanings depending on who said it. It could mean that my pale skin would prompt them to ask, “why are you not tan?” Or that my broken Spanish and Portuguese spoken with a gringa’s accent would have them asking me “why can’t you speak the language perfectly?” How about how my slim shape as a CHILD had people asking me “why don’t you have the same body type” which really meant why didn’t I have massive breasts and a ginormous butt. And finally, the one that hurt most of all “why are you not beautiful like them.” 

Several years later and I have heard it all. I have developed thick skin that allows these comments to now roll off my back, and only occasionally sting a bit. I have grown to be proud of myself and to give credit where credit is due. Applauding myself for being able to speak what I can and patting myself on the back when I realize just how much I understand and how much I can say when I have a moment to think. 

Despite being more secure in my identity and understanding my privileges better, I have come to battle a new dilemma. Having taken a DNA test not too long ago and finally getting some answers to the rumors of indigenous heritage that has been passed down as just that, rumors, from generation to generation. I officially have at least a partial answer to years’ worth of questions. 

We are in fact indigenous! However, the struggle now becomes that I am aware of the amount of indigenous heritage I carry with me. I am aware of my physical appearance and the preconceived idea people have of me. I am aware that me being proud of this discovery will cause some to think I am just trying to be seen as oppressed. And trust me imposter syndrome is very trying to convince me that, that is exactly what I am trying to do. 

However, that could not be further from the truth. I am trying to make up for lost time, to correct for a side of my family who would rather forget about their roots than be perceived as something other than White. I am trying to connect with generations of lost history so that it will no longer be lost. 

I am choosing to identify as mixed and claim my indigenous blood because if I don’t then we will continue to lose more and more history and pride in who we are to the very people who oh so many years ago pillaged the lands of ancestors and raped our women. 

I will not feel shame in my identity! I will claim it with pride!