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post in: Songs, Facts, News Date:08 Feb 2013, 21:33 views:924
Marissa Evans, advertisement - Continue Reading Below, one of my fondest memories as a child is sitting around the kitchen table with my brothers and looking into the kitchen as our mom made us breakfast.
Once she set our plates on the table, she'd go back into the kitchen and flip jennifer out a cupboard door that faced us with handwritten English-Spanish flashcards she'd taped to them. She'd point to them, and we'd yell out the words or numbers in Spanish, our mouths sometimes stuffed. "How do you say this one?" ".
" "And this one?" veinte uno!
" That's how my brothers and I learned to count in Spanish. My mom is from Panama. She didn't speak to us all the time in Spanish, but I did understand some of the more standard phrases like, ".
" or donde estn los calcetines? " I visited Panama twice when many I was younger and remember my grandmother's yard with the leaves that close when you touch them, the large mango trees she had, the humidity, the small lizards that would stick on the walls in her house, the big. I was always proud of my mother for making the journey from Panama to the States and always knew she was Latina, but growing up I didn't really think I was too.
I always thought I was black and my mother was black and, latina.
But about three years ago, when I was in college, I had a conversation with my mother where she said I was Afro-Latina too. I remember replying, "But I don't count." She said, "Yes, you." Since that conversation, I feel like I've been trying to find my way as a semi-newfound Afro-Latina. I love and try to embrace my heritage (and where both sides of my family come from but some days instead of feeling Afro-Latina, I feel Af-Faux-Latina.
Advertisement - Continue Reading Below, the most pressing issue of my Af-Faux-Latina identity is that I don't speak Spanish.