The world and people often pressure me to choose, but I am what I am. Human. It’s a challenge for me to discuss my ethnic background. I am what I am. Human.
My abuelita was born in Nicaragua. My abuelito was born in Cuba. Both my grandparents traveled to Veracruz, Mexico due to hardships of poverty and family life in their home country. Everyone has the desire to live a better life. Every culture, every race, and human have an *urge* to live a life worth living. My grandparents continued to experience hardship in Mexico. The life of an immigrant is arduous no matter where he/she travels. Establishment in any new country is never easy.
I love to hear my mother speak to me when she’s upset because I feel most connected to my roots. Her english words entangle. Naturally, she resorts to her native Spanish language. Her perfect English, “accent” and all, becomes her difficult puzzle. With her Spanish tongue, I witness the strength and fire of our culture.
9 months in her womb. Her Latin roots are my host, my home. I’m consistently torn to explain me. Another half exists in me: Jackson, Mississippi. My last name is Jacobs. My father and I experienced a different life style together, one opposite of my Latina home. So many cultures exist in me. I am Human. Yet I’m pressured to validate and solidify more times than I should that I am proud to be both, Latina and Black. I simply want to be: HUMAN.
I’m never enough for either culture. I’m unsure of who you see me as because I am in between. I am Human. It’s a challenge for me to discuss my ethnic background. I am what I am. Human. 23 years later, I still can’t find the words to explain my ethnicity. I’m more than enough for either culture. I am what I am. Human. Human, the only time we are ONE.