This article was originally published in October 2017.
Sometimes, a hyphen feels like a tightrope to balance on.
There’s a huge space between Cuban and American, and I’ve been lucky enough to claim both. However, people don’t always think that you can be both. Sometimes, people think you’re either one or the other, and there’s no space in between — or they just don’t think that space in between is enough of either one.
Regardless, growing up, I was convinced that I was too American to be Cuban but too Cuban to be American. In schools, there was always a clique of Hispanic students (whether they be Colombian, Dominican, Cuban or what-have-you) that judged whether you were “Hispanic enough” to be one of them. On the other hand, there was always that stutter in conversation when you stumbled upon the spot where the two cultures diverged.
I am a first-generation Cuban-American, which means that my parents were born in Cuba, but they immigrated to America before I was born in Florida. To those judging whether I’m “Hispanic enough,” that was a tally against me right away. If you ask me, the tacked-on American is the biggest victory for my parents because it means they accomplished what they set out to do — to their children in a place where their lives would be better. I would never disrespect the struggles my parents went through in making a life here by being ashamed of the American in my identity.
Trust me, I’ve heard all the criticism about how “Americanized” I am.
1. I don’t really know any traditional Latin dances like salsa or bachata
… but I do dance like no one’s watching and enjoy myself, which I think is the spirit of it. I was just never taught any of those dances, but I’d be up for the challenge if the opportunity presents itself.
2. I’m not a huge fan of all Cuban dishes
Sorry, but even Cubans can be picky eaters. I may not like all of our dishes, but the smell of ropa vieja cooking or the sound of Spanish chattering over the stove still brings back all the memories of home-cooked meals. I still feel deprived if I go too long without rice or Cuban toast.
3. I mess up sometimes when I speak Spanish
This has always been the point where I have felt the most shame. When I was born, my siblings were already in school, and as my main playmates, they’d speak to me in English, so of course, my English is stronger. From an early age, I was made to feel ashamed of my Spanish because sometimes you could hear an American accent, or I would phrase something oddly or simply forget the right words. I felt so ashamed that for a while, I only spoke in Spanish with my immediate family. There was no reason. People always understood what I had to say. With practice, my Spanish has gotten much better, and when people hear me speak, there’s no doubt that my family’s from Cuba. I’m proud of my Spanish; It reminds me of home.
The list of criticisms can go on and on, but it’s such a waste of time because it doesn’t matter how “Americanized” I am or where the cracks in my Cuban armor are. The important thing is that my Cuban heritage is the culture of my home and of my heart.
No, I don’t like all Cuban dishes, but we served plenty of them at my quinceañera. No, my Spanish isn’t flawless, but “sana, sana, colita de rana” sure flows off the tongue. No, I don’t really know traditional dances, but I know the traditions of Nochebuena and of the azabache that I wear every day. Don’t even get me started on VapoRub.
This hyphenated in-between shouldn’t be an isolated island. It shouldn’t even be an island. The hyphen in Cuban-American is there as a bridge to both sides.
It’s true that I’m “Americanized” because that’s the happiest median I can find. “Americanized” means that I’ve taken this culture that my parents have passed down, and I’ve opened it up to American culture. It means that I recognize the beauty and importance in both, and I accept both of them.
I still don’t understand what “Hispanic enough” means, but as far as I’m concerned, the girl in the mirror is Cuban and American and proud of both. That’s more than enough for me.