The first question my family members asked when I was born was 鈥溌緾omo sali贸?鈥 Among Latinos this is a common question asked about a newborn. The literal translation is, 鈥淗ow did they come out?鈥 They鈥檙e not really asking about health, which, of course, is important to them. They鈥檙e asking the color of the baby鈥檚 skin.

My mother and father are from Guadalajara. I was born in Long Beach, but, because my parents immigrated just a few years earlier, I picked up English as they were studying it. I was delighted to run around Ralphs, naming food items in Spanish and English. In early childhood I played with my neighbor Timmy in the U.S and enjoyed meals with my abuelos, t铆as, and t铆os in Mexico. My mom, dad and I flew back and forth while my parents house hunted in Mexico. My parents finally decided it was best to settle in a Latino community in Santa Ana and they successfully provided for my brother and I.

From preschool to late elementary, I was surrounded by people who were like me. It was 鈥渘ormal鈥 to speak two languages and to understand Mexican cultural values and expectations. However, despite being surrounded by people who were like me, I wasn鈥檛 surrounded by people who looked like me. Yes, my family is from Mexico, but part of my ancestry is European, specifically Spanish. It didn鈥檛 occur to me as a child that I was different鈥攐r even looked different鈥攄espite my light skin and green eyes. I didn鈥檛 feel excluded because I was able to talk to my friends Kimberly and Frida about our favorite telenovelas and what gifts we got for D铆a de los Reyes Magos.

Growing up, I kept looking for people who looked like me. My dad even recalls seven-year-old me storming out of Toys R Us because I couldn鈥檛 find a brown-haired Barbie. During middle school and high school, I flipped through Seventeen and Teen Vogue, wanting to be anything but myself. At the time I was unaware I felt underrepresented, but I lacked all the features I saw in ballet class or on The Suite Life of Zack and Cody: lighter skin, blonde hair, blue eyes and a smaller frame. (It would鈥檝e cost my mom $100 for a custom American Girl Doll that looked like me.)

Yet, at family parties, I was complimented for my looks far more often than my cousins were. In high school, I enjoyed the surprised look people gave me when I switched instinctively from English to Spanish. On the other hand, I flinched when, a native Spanish speaker encouraged me to switch to English after I messed up on a single word. Looking back, I鈥檓 chagrined by those prideful moments, for being so pleased by the shocked looks I got because I had light eyes and spoke Spanish. I鈥檓 ashamed at my reactions when I was told I didn鈥檛 look Mexican.

After I moved out of my Santa Ana home and into my Biola dorm, loneliness hit me as soon as my parents dropped off my stuff. Biola is the first school I鈥檝e attended that is predominately white. So, to keep from feeling left out, I assimilated. I got rid of my gold-plate name necklace, disregarded my Catholic upbringing, and began to regard fluency in Spanish as just something to list on my resume. As I assimilated, many just assumed I was white. Mind you, people at Biola didn鈥檛 intentionally make me feel left out. However, the subtle pressures were prevalent enough for me to want to blend in. Of course, I can still engage in Biola鈥檚 culture, but sometimes I still feel a little uneasy going along with it.

Visiting my family in Mexico also gets tricky. Almost everyone in my family is light-skinned, but the moment I step out on the streets, it鈥檚 obvious to everyone that I鈥檓 from the U.S. I can鈥檛 pinpoint what it is that makes me stick out, but I felt as if I wasn鈥檛 Mexican enough.

Every now and then, I hate having to juggle two identities and cultures. Sometimes I feel as though I don鈥檛 even have an identity because when someone asks me a simple question about either U.S or Mexican culture, my answer comes out as incomplete.

For the longest time, I thought that if I became 100% fluent in Spanish or went to Mexico more often, I could maintain my
Quote: But what I had learned is that I don鈥檛 have to do all these things鈥攐r even write this article鈥攖o validate my experience. I know that I have already been validated and heard. The Lord acknowledges me when I am here, when I am in Mexico and even on the plane as I transition between two countries.
Mexican identity. That if I went to enough Fourth of July parties or celebrated Christmas the American way, I could prove I belong in this country.

But what I had learned is that I don鈥檛 have to do all these things鈥攐r even write this article鈥攖o validate my experience. I know that I have already been validated and heard. The Lord acknowledges me when I am here, when I am in Mexico and even on the plane as I transition between two countries. I stopped questioning God as to why I couldn鈥檛 have just been born in Mexico, or be white and live in the U.S to end these feelings of incompleteness. And instead I am now aware and accept my privilege and my hardships.


God has made me with intention and purpose and behind this strong Latina is a group of even stronger latinos y latinas. Mi mam谩 y pap谩, who immigrated here at ages 20 and 22; who endlessly provide and rejoice over me just like my Father in heaven. Mi hermanito and his nightly prayers for our family here and in M茅jico. Mis abuelos who prepare their home and days for me when I visit M茅jico. Mis ti贸s y ti谩s as they share stories about the landmarks we walk by when I tour around our city of Guadalajara.

I鈥檝e realized that I don鈥檛 have to prove myself because I can declare my identity. That is, I am American, I am Mexican, and I am enough.


***


Image is of Melissa Fernanda Valle holding the Mexican Flag

Melissa Fernanda Valle is a Senior Elementary Education major. When she isn鈥檛 teaching tiny humans or writing lesson plans, she鈥檚 either hanging out in Blackstone鈥檚 RA office or watching her little brother鈥檚 baseball games.