Leaving America to become American
I remember the first time that I realized I was different from other people. I had to be no more than 6 years old and a rosy-cheeked, porcelain-faced fella came up and told me that my dad was not my real father. Clearly, I was lost for words because I didn’t understand why he would think this. He quickly clarified what we meant by stating that my father was too dark to be dad based on the fact that my skin color was simply too light. I went home crying that night, telling my mom what happened and she explained it away by saying that when God made my dad, he left him in the oven a little too long.
Little did I know that the rest of my existence would be predefined by my outward appearance and for a little mixed Black-Hispanic girl with a Chinese name born in Germany, this would prove to be a confusing reality.
At home, I was Latina. We ate arroz con pollo, cleaned to salsa, my mother threatened us in Spanish and we went to a Spanish-speaking church. In school, I was black and if I claimed my true Hispanic roots that was quickly shot down with a confused look or a major side eye with a dash of, “so you think you better than us huh?”.
It wasn’t until a few years ago when this term “Afro-latina” started trending that I was able to fully label my race. You have no idea how excited I was to have a term besides “other” that I could identify with.
But that was only half of the battle.
You are what they say you are
In America, I am a triple minority. Black, Hispanic and female. I knew how certain groups of people felt about Hispanics so I would often shy away from speaking Spanish unless I absolutely had to and I couldn’t completely identify as African-American, because honestly, I had not grown up the same way as my black friends. So, I was always caught somewhere in the middle. Struggling with my upbringing and who I knew I was, versus what society was telling me based on what I looked like.
It wasn’t until I got into corporate America that I really began to understand the struggles of being this triple threat. I was passed up for positions and opportunities despite my accomplishments and accolades. I was often the only woman of color in board meetings and events. I was paid far less than my industry counterparts who were male and doing a hell of a lot less work than me. It was also an environment where my colleagues thought that telling me “You are so articulate” was a compliment, rather than a back-handed comment of their low-expectations from a colored girl.
When I married my husband, I gained intimate knowledge into how dangerous it was to be black in America. The stories he told me of his experiences with cops, store managers or simply grocery shopping were enough to make you lose hope in humanity. But I think the most depressing experience we personally encountered was when we moved to a suburban neighborhood in Texas.
He broke down this philosophy of threat level appearances he had, and tested this theory many times. We found that people tend to feel more threatened by him when he is alone, not wearing his glasses and wearing a hat. They avoid eye contact. Clutch their purses. Move down other aisles to avoid being there with him. But when he has on his glasses or are with our daughters, there is a miraculous change. People become friendly. They smile. They looked at him in the eyes and said hello.
Sounds insane I know. But an unpleasant truth nonetheless.
It took us leaving America, selling everything we own, and traveling half-way across the world, to truly know what it was like to just be American. Not black. Not Hispanic. Just American people. Let that sink in for a moment.
In the country that we were raised in, paid taxes in, went to school in, earned degrees in; we did not FEEL American. We were always second-class citizens. Our skin color was our label, our mark of unworthiness in many people’s eyes and because of this we were treated differently. Had opportunities withheld from us. No matter how hard we worked.
Becoming American for the first time
When we first stepped foot into Thailand, I remember feeling anxious, scared and excited all at the same time. I had no idea what to expect. Would we be treated the same way we had in America? Would they see black people and pre-judge us based on what the media or movies showed them?
Were we in for a surprise…
Not only were people extremely kind to us, they were downright delightful. Police officers smiled at us and gave our daughters high-fives. Thai locals embraced us, asking us if we needed help with anything and suggesting places to visit. Even restaurants we went to, they were thrilled when they learned we were American. We even got swindled a few times because local vendors have a general idea that American tourists/expats are all rich. But never once did we feel like people were threatened by us based on what we looked like.
This trend continued as we visited Bali and our tour taxi driver invited us into his home to meet his family and see what an authentic Bali village looked like. In Malaysia, we were just another family going about our business. No one gave us a second look unless I wore something that was bit too revealing.
There was no looking over our shoulder. No one following us around because they were suspicious of us. No one clutching their handbags because they were worried about husband when he was out and about alone. No local authorities singling us out. We were just American people.
Now, I’m not saying these places are utopias because we all know that no single place on this planet exists. Every country has their issues with politics, the economy, medical care, etc… But to leave our home country and have such an unparalleled experience was unimaginable even three years ago. Sure, we get stares from local people who have never seen black people in their country. They are curious about our hair, love our skin color and constantly tell us how beautiful our daughters are. But that is curiosity, not prejudice. A stark difference from the world we grew up in.
The media constantly paints countries outside of America as war zones afflicted with terrorism and discontent for anyone who is American but so far, we have found this to be so far from the truth. While there are certain countries suffering from the powers that be, many are thriving and love American people.
And as we watch from afar, other black Americans are having their rights violated daily, despite having footage and proof, these atrocities continue to plague their everyday lives making them the ultimate definition of second-class citizens. Yet no law or real enforcement has stopped these occurrences from happening. It has become such the norm that black people simply expect to be mistreated and their only self-defense is a mere cell phone to record these injustices. And Hispanics are no different. You could be a full-blown citizen born in the U.S and if the wrong person hears you speaking Spanish, your entire existence as a human being is called into question and your worthiness of being on U.S. soil.
We chose to leave America and travel the world for various reasons but I would be lying to you if our past experiences as a minority didn’t play a part in it. I am a firm believer in “if you don’t like your situation, don’t complain about it, do something to change it”, and we did just that.
I hate that it took us leaving to feel what it was like to be an everyday American. Currently, we have no intentions of slowing our travels down as we have so much of this world to see.
I pray that America takes a hard look at what it is doing to all of its citizens and reconsiders the laws, how they are enforced and how lack of action is impacting taxpayers who are directly affected by their inaction.
But I will leave you with this. I spent years making my managers look good, aiding in their careers and making the companies I worked for millions of dollars and never once was I invited to their home. We spent one afternoon with a Bali local, shared some kind words and he welcomed us into his home with open arms to meet his entire family. We gave him nothing to earn this kindness.
