Me, Myself & I.

“Excuse Me?”

“Like What Are You?”

These are the type of questions I get all the time. It all started when I entered a new school, outside of my region. I was mad but more upset that I was entering a school where I felt like I didn’t belong. It was still in Olney, but I knew no one. First day of second grade I came into the room, thinking “Why did my mother put me in here?” The feeling stuck with me for a while.

This girl named Sydney, came up to me and said, “What are you?” this was the first I ever heard this, I was shocked but more like disrespected. I just answered, “What?” she repeated the question over and over again, till I couldn’t take it anymore and I said “Rican!” She chose not to believe me and yet it didn’t bother me or affect me the way I thought it would. I mean I was mad that it concerned her that much what my nationally was, but it shouldn’t have mattered to her. She wasn’t me nor a friend at the time. She went and told all her friends about it, they ambushed me. It wasn’t a big deal. Her “friends” and I became real close while she chose to be difficult. It took one strike in fourth grade, when someone called me “FAKE”; I have never been called anything in my life.

Hearing that made me think that I didn’t have to prove myself to anyone, I am who I am and no one can tell me. I spoke Spanish to prove to them that I was a Puerto Rican, but not for their approval but more to prove to myself that nothing can affect me.

While I was walking to the Chinese Store around the corner from my house with one of my closest friends, some man stopped me as I was crossing the street “I don’t mean to be rude, but I noticed you walking and I have to know what you are?” I just stared at him, lost. Took me a while to think of what to respond to him. I just answered nicely, “Rican”. I was irritated and tired of it. I hate it when people and try and tell me who I am. Like you have the right to.

He just stared at me until he realized we were about to get hit by a car. As I was about to enter the Chinese Store, he said, “You can’t be, you’re to pale to be Rican, most have some color. So what are you really?” This is what made me tick, like how are you going to tell me what I am? I didn’t know what to say to him, I just stared at him.

I felt insulted but more disrespected. I walked away, felt like he didn’t even need an answer either way he was going to have an opinion about me and think what he wanted to. Through out the rest of the day, that’s what I was focused on. The way people speak to others is a shame; I know parents taught their kids manners.

Last year during the summer, I was heading to mothers job after my job. My headphones were on loud. I was in my own little world, paying attention to no one. I was a stop away from my mom’s job, as I was rising, this young lady stopped me and said, “Oh My God, you are very beautiful, skin and all. I don’t mean to be rude but what are you? Like your race.” This was the one and only time I did not feel any type of way.

I smiled and said, “Thank You, and I’m Rican.” She just looked at me, like she had something to say but just didn’t know what to say. “I can see it.” I was beyond shocked; it was like a miracle had occurred. She was the first person to ever say that and not start an argument. Right when I was getting ready to answer her, the bus had reached my stop. “Have a blessed day,” she said.

It amazed me how a stranger like herself, was able to keep a smile on my face all day. I was more thankful for the fact that she didn’t argue with me, but the fact that she believed me when I said, “I was Rican”. The compliments were just extra. I just felt the need to tell my mom, she didn’t seem to understand why I was so happy, but that wasn’t going to change my mood.

I think why is it that I’m the palest person in my household, and everyone else looks like they belong. Time passed and the questions continued and so did the people. I still get the question everywhere I go, but people start to believe and see that I am “Rican and NOT White”. I’ve grown to love myself for how I look and who I am.