When I tell people my name, they automatically think that I’m white. Completely white. Then, when I break the news that I’m half white and half Puerto Rican, their faces look like a deer in headlights. That’s how it usually goes, but it is not something that I’m already used to. I’m the “Other” Girl. The one who is not one thing, but isn’t entirely another. I am in-between.
I have pale skin, blue eyes, and curly hair. The only clue that could give you an understanding of my culture is my middle name. Paola. An experience that told me that I was different was the horrible decision making process of what to put as my ethnicity on standardized tests. Was I White? Or was I Hispanic?
This part of the test gave me anxiety because although I wanted to put white, I didn’t want to let go of my Hispanic culture. I felt like I was cheating on it. For years I put white to get to the next step of standardized testing, but it came to a point where I put “Other”. Only because they finally had it as an option. I remember smiling as I bubbled it in.
It is sometimes frustrating being the “Other” girl. As the years go by, I wanted my identity to be linked to one thing because so many of the people I meet are from one culture. They are either from Haiti, Egypt, or Puerto Rico. I have always wondered what it was like to have both your parents be one thing. While I celebrated American traditions, such as Christmas and Thanksgiving, I also celebrated my quinceanera and sticking grass under my bed for Three King’s Day.
Now I am almost twenty years old and I realized that I am proud of being the “Other” girl. I am proud of the fact that I have a blend of cultures. A melting pot of languages and traditions. I am different. I am spicy, I guess. I have a mother who was born in Truijillo Alto, Puerto Rico and I have a father who was born in Indiana.
I would not have it any other way.
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