Growing up as a first-generation American, I have always understood that my parents were no strangers to sacrifice. My mother’s family left Egypt for the United States when she was only 17. She did not speak the language and immediately began working to support her family. My father came to America at 19, escaping war in El Salvador that forced him to leave behind most of his family and everything he had ever known. Neither of them knew what their lives would be like in the United States, or whether they had made the right decision to leave comfort and familiarity behind. Yet, the day I was accepted to Harvard, it felt like all my father’s decisions were validated. He said to me, “This is why I moved to America. This is the only country in the world where things like this happen to people like me.”
Today, immigration is one of the most prevalent topics in the country and has resurfaced once again as an electrifying issue after last year’s divisive presidential election. With this has come rhetoric like that of President Donald Trump, who has claimed that immigrants coming to the U.S. are “poisoning the blood of our country.” By stigmatizing immigrants, this ideology creates deep divides throughout the country and leads to discrimination in health care, workplaces, and society as a whole.
My own family is no stranger to this sort of discriminatory rhetoric, despite the decades they have spent building lives in America. As hard as they have worked to learn English, contribute to the economy, and adopt American culture, they are still sometimes treated as though they do not belong and are not welcome in a country that depicts itself as a ‘melting pot.’ Nevertheless, they have managed to exude pride in both their heritage and their identity as Americans, even when others felt differently.
I was privileged enough to grow up in a town where I was never made to feel as though I did not belong. Latinxs were a minority in my town, but our school was relatively diverse. In my time there, I had never really questioned my mixed identity and whether or not I was Latina ‘enough.’ Growing up in a mixed-ethnicity household, I never became completely fluent in either of my parents’ native tongues, but I knew more Spanish than most peers and felt a connection with my identity through that. Most of my cultural exposure came from being with my dad’s family, where I was immersed in family traditions of food, language, music, and more. I became very comfortable in being different in most spaces in my hometown and carried my identity with pride.
Although I was more than comfortable at home, I found myself in a completely different environment at Harvard. In search of a community and comfort, as I felt at home, I discovered more Latinx spaces than I could have ever imagined. I was so excited to finally be surrounded by a community which I had always identified with. I attended their club events and meetings, but despite their welcoming nature, I found myself more uncomfortable in these spaces than those in my hometown.
In predominantly Latinx spaces at Harvard, I often felt as though I wasn’t Latina ‘enough.’ Even though I understood a lot of Spanish and could speak some, I was not quite as fluent as many others. While family traditions from my Salvadoran side were very familiar to me, some cultural traditions within the broader Latinx community were not. Most of all, even though I appeared ‘too’ ethnically ambiguous to be considered White at home, in Latinx spaces, my appearance was not immediately recognizable either. For the first time in my life, I felt uncomfortable in my cultural identity, despite being surrounded by students like me and spaces meant to celebrate our cultures.
I felt incredibly disoriented because I had always thought that if there was any place where I truly felt as though I belonged, it should have been in these Latinx spaces. Like most Harvard students, I developed a case of imposter syndrome, not just in academics, but with my own cultural identity. It was scary to feel as though I didn’t quite belong to any community, which truly put into perspective the fear that my family must have felt when they moved to America to start a new life. I experienced only a fraction of the change they did, but the feeling of fearing the unknown and being uncomfortable is universal.
Seeing the similarities in our experiences, I found inspiration in the strength that my parents have shown in the face of so much adversity. I was reminded that I have never felt anything but pride in being a daughter of immigrants. I am the daughter of two incredibly hardworking people who had to restart their own lives from nothing at such young ages. I grew up hearing Spanish, Arabic, and English and was surrounded by a fusion of all three cultures in every single aspect of my life. I am the success story of two immigrants from opposite ends of the world and would not be where I am today without the sacrifices that they have made for me. The resilience that my parents have shown throughout my life serves as a guiding light for how I approach my own experiences.
Throughout the past year, I have been able to overcome this imposter syndrome and claim my Latinx identity by reflecting on the way that my parents and family celebrate their cultures while claiming their American identity, regardless of how others make them feel. In my case, I was often my own biggest enemy, and I needed to overcome my preconceived ideas of what identity is to change my perspective. I came to understand that there is no such thing as being Latina ‘enough’ because my identity is mine alone to decide. I will always be proud of my Salvadorian and Egyptian heritage, recognizing it as an integral part of who I am. Today, I am grateful to be surrounded by so many examples of people like me — success stories of immigrants from all over the globe who challenge the world to think beyond their own notions of identity.
