*Photo by artist Dulce Pinzon, taken from her new Superheroes series, which depicts Mexican immigrants in superhero costumes. Check out more on her website.
I’m staying in New York City with family for the next few weeks, and yesterday the building’s doorman stopped me as I was walking out. He was a young guy, maybe late twenties.
He introduced himself as Napoleón and asked for my name. I told him. He said, in English, “Are you of… Hispanic heritage?”
I said yes.
“From where?”
“Mexico. I’m Mexican-American.”
His eyes lit up.
“Me too!”
My eyes lit up.
I wasn’t always so happy to meet other Latinos on the East Coast. In Boston, when I was in college, people would occasionally come up to me and make small talk in Spanish. They’d ask where I was from, where my parents were from, where I was born.
These exchanges usually made me uncomfortable, because they highlighted how much of a fake I was. I couldn’t speak Spanish and didn’t know where my family was from in Mexico. Plus, dude — my parents and grandparents were born in California. Did great-grandparents being born in Mexico (and only half of them, the other side is from New Mexico) even count for anything?
Of course, now I know that it does, and living 1 1/2 years in Mexico makes a world of difference. Excited at meeting another Mexican in the Village in New York City, I smiled and spoke to Napoleón in Spanish.
“De dónde eres?”
“Soy de Puebla.”
“A poco!” I said, secretly proud of myself for using slang. (A slang phrase that, incidentally, I first heard from a Oaxacan man in Seattle.) “Vivo en México!”
“En serio? El DF?”
We chatted and he told me that he was born in New York, but he visits Puebla once a year. I told him I moved to Mexico City almost two years ago from Texas. I left feeling like I’d made a new friend, even though we only spoke for maybe five minutes.
The past three or four times I’ve visited the States, it’s been me who’s been in Napoleón’s position, seeking out other paisanos and asking where they’re from. I purposely eat at American Mexican restaurants (the ones that purport to be authentic) and shop at Mexican markets, because I can speak Spanish with other people and find familiar food products.
Yesterday I walked by a few guys who looked like Mexican immigrants and my eyes lingered for a few seconds, just because they just looked so normal, like people I’d find in my neighborhood in Roma. I know it sounds ridiculous, but part of me really wanted one of them to glance over and make eye contact with me, so they would know that hey, they’ve got another paisana in the Village. They ignored me.
Napoleón called me “Chicanita” upon learning that I was born in L.A., which was funny, because I haven’t heard the diminutive version of Chicana before. (And I still feel kind of weird describing myself that way, for the same Chicana Falsa reasons I stated above.) Still, yesterday I found myself telling him, “Sí, sí,” because hell… it was true, wasn’t it?
Lately more than ever, I really do feel both Mexican and American, with the former occupying a large place in my soul. I’m happy and grateful to be a part of two cultures. And I accept the fact that my identity might someday change again. (A fact that never occurred to me in college — I thought you were who you thought you were, forever.)
As a side note, I loved hearing the Spanish pronunciation of Broadway. The “d” kind of dissolves, leaving this sexy-sounding “bro-way,” with the emphasis on the second syllable. “Vivo en la Catorce y Bro-way.”
We’ll have to discuss over lunch that fact that you are lucky to have an identity. What’s mine? White girl? Meh.
Yeah, you’re right, I’m lucky. But seriously, that realization doesn’t hit until later. I was so conflicted in college. We can talk about that over lunch too. I will share the story of my Newsweek letter to the editor!
Hi Leslie,
I just had to say I really enjoyed your post. I am a mexican ~born and raised~ living in the US. I’ve always wondered why sometimes you can tell somebody is “mexican” they wouldn’t keep speaking in spanish. Never occurred to me, there’s a chance they were born in the US and didn’t speak well. Definitely enlightening!
Love your blog and I loved this post! I am from Denver, originally from Juarez, and something that always surprises me is when I hear spanish being spoken in the streets of L.A. or NYC because we don’t get that in Colorado. 🙂
Thanks Jazmin! I love hearing Spanish on the streets of L.A. too, and in Texas. I actually haven’t heard it much on the streets of NY — a little bit in Brooklyn today (from the kitchen of a semi high-end restaurant). I miss it.
Thanks Paola! I’m glad you enjoyed the post.
i just found your blog. just wanna say that its really fantastic!! i was looking online for breakfast fruit crisps when i came across yours. i think u posted it about a year ago!! VERYYYY yummy nonetheless 😛
xo
Thank you Kelsey! I loved your blog post on cold remedies. Glad to see another veggie-oriented meat-eater out there. 🙂
I love that photo essay by Dulce, everytime I see it I am reminded of how hard immigrants work and how much they contribute to our city! Lesley, you and I have so much in common. I struggled with my Latina identity in college in Southern California where most of my peers had family in Mexico and spoke fluent Spanish. I felt so heartbroken and rejected at times but eventually realized that Mexican-American is more than one identity and that I was a LEGIT Mexican/Chicana/Latina as anyone else. I think you’d really enjoy reading this article from Cafe Magazine about “retro-acculturation.” For me, my self-education in the Mexican kitchen is a big part of learning about who I am, the next step is too brush up my Spanish.
http://www.cafemagazine.com/index.php/articles/154-1010/1246-growing-up-reaching-back
Gaby: I’ve heard about retro-acculturation — came across the term years ago when I was working on a story about Latino identity in San Antonio. I can’t tell you how grateful I felt to come across a label that described what I was going through. (What a lot of us are going through!)
So glad to hear that you’re confident in your own Latina-ness. Really took me a long time to figure that out.
Lesley,
I’m so happy I found your blog. I have felt this way many times. I was born here, my parents as well, but my grandmother is from Venezuela. Even though I still have family in Venezuela & I do speak spanish, I have also struggled many times with my identity. I completely understand that uncomfortable feeling you have felt, sometimes other people can make you feel you are not who you are or are less because you are born here,or your spanish isn’t perfect, or you just don’t fit their idea of who you should be. I really admire you for moving to Mexico & learning more about your culture & sharing it with us :).
Con Mucho Cariño,
Mistli
Thanks for your thoughtful comment Mistli. I’m glad this post resonated with you!
Leslie,
I was born in el DF, however have spent most of my life living in both Puebla and the States. I find it hard that people (even mis propios paisanos) don’t believe that I am Mexican and that I am fluent in both languages porque I am guera: blonde, white skin. I guess I don’t fit the stereotype. That said, nosotros los Mexicanos come in all shapes, sizes and colors and regardless of how little or how much of Mexico we have in us or how far away we are from our tierra, we are nonetheless still Mexican! Viva Mexico!!!!
Abrazos!
Sing it, Rigel! You’re totally right — lots of Americans still don’t even know that blonde Mexicans even exist. Or Afro-Mexicans.
great post, I was born in Texas, but my parents and grandparents are all from Mexico, my mom moved to Brownsville when she was eighteen and my father moved after they were married. I was raised in Aransas Pass, texas and always felt weird about being Hispanic, there is hardly any Hispanics there, so I really pushed it aside. Only when I moved to San Antonio for school did I really begin to appreciate my heritage. I presently live in Edinburg, Texas and more than 95 percent of the population is Mexican and I feel so at home, everyone speaks in spanish and everyone I have meet is simply sweet to me,
sweetlife
You are correct, when you tell a Mexican or Colombian that you have been many times to their country and that you really enjoy it the sense of pride is amazing.
Love Mexico City
your blog is amazing! just been browsing through ur old posts, and girl, im impressed!! awesome job <3