Tuesday, December 22, 2009

On Being Colombian

As mentioned before in my riveting "Introduction" piece, I was born in Colombia. It's a country in South America that borders both the Atlantic and Pacific. You might know it for its coffee, kidnapping, and cocaine.



I was adopted as a baby and raised by two white Republican parents. My father's from Denmark and his family is still "back in the old country". My mother was born in Brooklyn. She's Italian and Czech and I like calling her a guinea. She just rolls her eyes, which I also enjoy. I digress.

I identify with my family. After all, they raised me--I've known them since I was 3 months old. Why do so many Hispanic people get upset when I say I don't identify with Hispanic culture? They think I've turned my back on my heritage. "Why don't you speak Spanish", they'll ask, half frustrated (it sounds more like "why you no speak-a Spanish"). Hey people, I grew up in small-town upstate NY with people named Chandler, Mercedes, and John-Michael. We were surrounded by trees and deer. Everyone spoke English and played squash. I would have taken sailing lessons, but I can't swim. Get off my back. I do my part. I go to Chipotle. I've never stepped foot inside a Taco Bell (and have no desire to), but I know where to find one. I know that "pollo" means chicken and isn't pronounced "polo" (thank you 3rd grade Spanish). I know who Juan Valdez is. I like Latin girls. I've been to Tijuana. Yes, I know that sounded extremely ignorant.

To each his (or her) own.

I may have been born in Colombia, but I'm Danish and Italian at heart (and maybe a bit Czech too). In all seriousness, I have no problem with Colombia or Colombians, but it's just not a huge part of my identity. Want to take me to a fancy Colombian restaurant? I'm down.

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