Don't Follow My Lead

I have always carried a certain weight on top of me, a mental stopgap that doesn’t let me enjoy my heritage.   My parents being from Peru, they identify themselves as Peruvians, even though they are very grateful of the opportunities Puerto Rico (and by extension the US) have given them.  They even became citizens, because they thought it was the right thing.

They talked about their families in Peru, that long distance cousin and aunt.  My grandmas that I met briefly.  But they have never been nationalists, they don’t raise a flag of any country.  They follow the politics of Peru or Puerto Rico with a bypass interest.  They were more concerned with raising their family.

The thinking and pondering, I was the one that got that gene.   I was mesmerized by the fact that Puertoricans loved their little island.  There might be some bitterness at the fact that belongs to the United States, but they love every grain of sand they own.  They carry their flags and are not afraid to show it.  If you live near a latino community, you know that for sure.   They are proud of their history and of their ups and downs.

Me, well, not so much.  Not that hate it, but I could never share in that pride.  It didn’t belong to me, I didn’t do anything to earn it, in my mind at least.  I was always an outsider that just happened to live there.

You see, I don’t look Puertorican, and my Spanish accent, it seems is not Puertorican enough.  Within minutes of meeting someone one their first questions was “Where you from?”.  As if the years I have put into being part of their culture wasn’t enough.  The fact that I knew their history and share their upbringing, I was still an outsider.  A type of subtle racism.

Let me interject something here and make it clear, because whenever you bring “racism” into something it can be very divisive.  The racism I talk about is not one of hate, or of reject.  More of wondering.  As if they are asking “How you made it here?”, “How you found out about us?”

There’s no malice behind their questions, but I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t one of them.  I could share with them, and I could laugh with them, I could even be accepted by them, but never a true one of them.  Again, this is my take on it, I still know my Puertorican friends never meant anything other than good in their actions and love for me and viceversa.

But when you don’t feel you belong to the place where you were born, then maybe you belong to the place your parents came from.   After all, you came from them, you look like them..  So last year at the ripe old age of 34 I went to Peru.

I visited my extended family for the first time since I was 7 years old.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  My parents were there too, so that helped in the introduction to family.   They accepted me from the moment I landed.  They treated me like if I have never left.  They would introduce me to other family members and talk to me like if I knew what was going on in their families.  I could feel their love even though they barely knew who I was just a few ours priors.

I can only say I love them for that.  But I couldn’t help that I also wasn’t one of them.  My skin color is lighter than them.  The process foods that I eat and my bad habits makes me carry my weight in a different weight.  The way I walk and talk is nothing like them.   I was still an outsider.

Now all of this is in my head, I will admit to that.  I carry that.  I put that upon myself.  And if I could get beyond that I would in a second.  But for some reason I can’t.

Can’t help but feel like I will always be at the party looking in through the window.   I wish I had pride in where I come from.  I wish I could carry a flag and make it feel like it belongs in my hand.  Listen to my country’s anthem and feel pride and joy.   But I can’t.  That’s not me.  I’m just a vagabond really.  A man without a country.  I envy those who show their flag with pride.

I envy Puertoricans.

Except if you put your flag in your car’s windshield.  That’s just plain trashy. lol.