Ecuatoriana-Americana

“So where are you from?”

“Born and Raised in Brooklyn, ma’m but my roots are from Ecuador, so i’m Ecuadorian”

-“Gracias por viajar Latam”

I got out of my seat and reached for my carry on, nothing seemed different to me. In front of me was this lady who reminded me of my mother and aunts with their traditional pulleras during special Ecuadorian events. In front of her was this gringo with a suit and tie, who looked like no one else on the flight.

-“No hablarás con nadie, y no dejarás a nadie que te ayude con tus bolsas, Búscame a mi y a Nelson que vamos estar esperándote.” How was I supposed to look for someone I’d never met before? Regardless I didn’t want to run any risks, so I listened to her advice, I tilted my head slightly down as I left the airport. Everyone was waiting making you feel like you were in a runway, clapping and welcoming their family members with flowers and balloons. I acted like I belonged, I made sure not to look confused and made sure no one was too close to me either. Then suddenly she was there in front of me, her, her daughter and her husband. She was my mother’s young self portrait in flesh her voice no longer audio through a phone and as she squeezed me tight with tears in her eyes all I could wish was for home.

Growing up I was “La China, La Gringa, La muy muy.” I was pale white and spoke Spanish too ‘properly’. I didn’t have the Ecuadorian accent, the hip movements, or the culture inscribed in my brain like the rest of my cousins. I had never been to an Ecuadorian parade, learned about Ecuador, least of all been to the country itself. But I swore I wasn’t white, I was Ecuadorian. It felt like a part of me was missing for so long when I was not able to defend that I was Ecuadorian. I craved for so long to learn about it, to learn about my indigenous roots, to defend mi patria, to make sense of it all when my mother said she left her house and kids for a better life following my father who’s life was taken por El Sueño Americano and its poisonous drinks. But as I stood there, in the place that would give me all the answers I looked for, I picked up my phone and dialed my mother crying. “Yo no soy de aquí mami, te extraño, yo no soy de aquí, no me siento bien, quiero irme a casa, yo no soy de aquí.” I was a city girl, no “niña de campo.”

After three days of this constant thought, I became angry, sad and guilty. My “White-American” privileged dreams got the best of me. This was not how it was supposed to happen, my mother and sister were supposed to reunite with my sister in Ecuador, it was supposed to be us four for the first time. We were supposed to have a new house, my mother and sister no longer had to fear for their lives while going out in NYC. We were supposed to have money and we were supposed to be happy. We were supposed to be together… Instead I was there with a stranger who was my sister and although she was as accommodating as she could be, there was a persistant feeling that something was wrong, that I was the illegal immigrant, that I was the alien, and that I was the one invading their space.

It was not until me and my sister began to speak about her childhood that I started to calm down. It made sense feeling, “Ni de aquí, Ni de allá”; “Ni piel de leche, Ni piel de canela.” She knew where she was from and she stayed in her country. My mother came and my sister followed her, and when I was born they made it their mission to make me someone who would achieve any dreams beyond their imagination. They never hid their culture from me, they were always too busy teaching me on how to get by.

And even though I was born and raised in the United States, everyday I craved to learn more about me. The few words I knew in Quechua growing up were intertwined with my Spanish language. The disfraces I wore every Christmas were a token of how people back home (Ecuador) dressed regularly. I began to distance myself from the “gringa” stereotype and began to explore what my grandfather had prohibited my grandmother to teach us about. My indigenous roots.

“So where are you from?”

Soy Americana, del Norte y del Sur.