Am I Latinx Enough?
Growing up in Miami, Florida, I was constantly exposed to the food, clothing, and languages that created a melting pot of beautiful, diverse cultures in the city. Hispanic and Latinx families who have emigrated from other countries made up the vibrant town of Hialeah where I was raised, and it always felt special to be surrounded by Cuban, Puerto Rican, Colombian, and Venezuelan cultures, to name a few. I always felt very in tune with my own Cuban-American heritage as my family and the schools I attended constantly celebrated and made Hispanic and Latinx (a term that wouldn't have been coined until a decade later) kids feel accepted.
At my elementary school, I remember how we rang in Hispanic Heritage Month by hosting a parade where kids would walk down the block in bright, carefully crafted outfits inspired by our heritage. Our parents would prepare signature dishes, from empanadas to croquetas (breadcrumbed and fried ham) for us to enjoy. We were taught that our heritage was always something to embrace and not be ashamed of. While I carried that with me and understood that being a white Cuban-American comes with a lot of privilege, I couldn't shake feeling insecure about it as a pre-teen.
My dad lived in the United States throughout his life while my mom emigrated from Cuba to the States in the late 1960s, when she was little. Like most Cuban families who leave the island, my grandparents wanted to provide my mom and uncle with a better life and education. At the time, they found America to be the perfect land of opportunity. For decades to come — even to this day — most Cuban families have made a similar move to escape Fidel Castro's communist regime.
My story was similar to many of my friends in Hialeah. Yet, I couldn't help but compare my own upbringing to theirs every time I hung out with them. Most of my peers only spoke Spanish in their households, but my mom mainly spoke to my sister and I in English. Our Abuelita who always spoke to us in Spanish passed away when we were young, so we never finished learning the language. As I grew older, I was able to understand most Spanish, but couldn't speak it fluently. No matter where I went — whether it was the front office at school or the grocery store didn't matter — people always ridiculed my mother for not teaching us Spanish. And, to put it into context, about 96% of Hialeah residents primarily speak Spanish while only 7% only speak English. So, we'd hear that quite a lot, and it always made me wonder if it made me less Hispanic or Latinx. I'd always ask myself, Am I not a "real" Cuban if I'm not fluent in the language?
Needless to say, I grew up eating (and preparing) Cuban food, drinking cortaditos like it was my job, and listening to the musical stylings of Gloria Estefan, Marc Anthony, and Celia Cruz. I even had a quinceñera when I turned 15. Technically, I checked all the other boxes when it came to aligning with my heritage. But what does that prove, exactly?
The answer, albeit simple, took me years to come to terms with: nothing. There's no specific thing that makes you "more Hispanic (or Latinx)." I realized it when I moved away to college, when I was introduced to a new environment surrounded by different people than I grew up with. When I told them I was Cuban from Miami, they never questioned it or made me feel small. That's when I knew that whether you dance salsa at every party or have never watched an episode of Rebelde in your life, it's in your blood. With Hispanic Heritage Month coming to a close, I can't help but reflect on my journey of self-discovery in terms of my culture. Over the years, I've come into my own more than ever and realized that my heritage is beautiful and unique. It doesn't have to mirror other people's experiences or expectations of what it "should" be. That's what makes me... me.
For more on this topic, join our conversation, Am I Latinx/Hispanic Enough? on Instagram Live Rooms on Wednesday, October 13 at 4 p.m. EST. Along with Cosmopolitan, the interactive panel features Latinx Instagram Creators Ady Del Valle and Ramon Contreras.
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