My mom was born into the Projects in Brooklyn, New York to a Puerto Rican mother and a Puerto Rican father. When she was about 8, she went to live with her aunt and uncle; who neither spoke Spanish, in a very different environment: White Stone, New York. Wherever she went, she had a very diverse school life and social life, going to large public schools and staying close to her friends for 30 years. However, when she had me, she said that even though she had this exposure, her life was still hard. She says “I just didn’t want you to have the same life that I did.” So, my mom married my dad, German, and Polish, making me half-white. I grew up in a very privileged, middle-class area, in a mainly white community. I also went to small private schools; first a small, old catholic school, then to St. Luke’s. 

Luckily, I am very close to my dad’s side and I grew up learning the cultural traditions. I have many memories, like making pierogies for Christmas, a Polish dish, sharing the Oplatek on Christmas Eve, a Catholic tradition from Poland and Slovakia, and eating Louisiana food from recipes that were my great-grandmother’s. However, my mom’s side of the family is sparse, and not all the members are close. She connected with her culture later on and struggles with the Spanish language, but loves salsa music and cooking cultural foods. 

When I came to St. Luke’s, I realized I was far from my Puerto Rican culture, and not many shared my ethnic background. Around a year later, in 2021, I questioned my identity, and felt bad, like I wasn’t Puerto Rican. This made me ask my mother more about our culture and for her to teach me. I asked about my grandparents, why they came here, and why they didn’t speak Spanish. I learned when my great-grandparents came over, it wasn’t good to be Puerto Rican (around the ’50s and ’60s). They suffered but didn’t want their kids and grandkids to suffer. So, they didn’t teach their kids their language or culture, and their kids didn’t teach their kids, which is my mom. 

In asking, I became closer to not only my culture, but also my mother’s side, and their history in America. I remember my grandpa living with us when I was a baby, him only speaking Spanish and making empanadas for all of us. I am also told about how I went to Spanish school when I was young. Though I don’t feel complete, understanding the cultures that make up my family brings comfort that not all is lost. I feel if you are mixed, there will always be one ethnicity that outshines the other, depending on how you grew up. I have realized now I want to know more about that side of myself that seems in the dark.

If I had not wanted to learn more, I would have missed out. I am now open to learning about many cultures, not only my own. My great aunt, who I call grandma, is Chinese, and though she says her Chinese isn’t the best, she is like me in the idea she also wants to reconnect with her Chinese roots. Though my life is very different from the life my mother had growing up, my culture is not lost, instead, it was there all along; I just had to ask.