Week 6 Post: A Teenage Boy's Hybrid Identity

(For this week’s blog post, I decided to write a journal entry from the perspective of a teenage boy living in Los Angeles who delves into his history and his own identity.)

Dear Journal,

I have not been able to write in you lately, but I hope to frequently visit you in the next few days. Thoughts have been going through my mind about my life, identity, and culture, and I felt like you would be a great outlet to get all of these ideas out of my head and written down.

Yesterday I went and visited my abuelo in his home. I never really talked to him much about his past, so we sat down at the dinner table and chatted away. I knew that he was actually born in Mexico, but I wanted to know more about how he ended up in LA.

He came to America to find better work. Born in Monterrey, my abuelo boarded five different trains in order to make his way to Nuevo Laredo. After a bit of time, he and his pals drove through the border (without even needing a passport!) and entered Laredo, Texas. A few months later, he and his friends decided to try their luck in California, and they ventured off to LA. He had heard from an acquaintance that “California had become the largest producer of fruits and vegetables in the Southwest” (19).  My abuelo eventually found work picking oranges on endless miles of orange groves. This is where he met my abuela, and they were married soon after.

Listening to his many stories about hardships and survival made me appreciate having him in my life. He always playfully scolds me when I walk in the door wearing my NFL jerseys and skater shoes. My abuelo says, “¡Ay! ¡El nieto es loco!” He reminds me that I am as much Mexican and I am American, and that even though I was born in America, I must always remember my Mexican roots. He knows that I am in the community mariachi, but for some reason, he still wants me to represent my culture even more thoroughly.

This is something that I wanted to talk to you about. Lately, I find myself always considering who I am. I know I am Mexican-American, but what does that mean? How did I get this way? One answer may be that I have lived in both nations. Another answer may be that I speak both English and Spanish. Yet another answer may be that I have adopted a hybrid lifestyle: I observe both American and Mexican cultural norms.  

This is a question for more thought in my future. Nonetheless, I think that adopting a hybrid lifestyle is the most significant contributor to me being Mexican-American. I am my own unique person, but I integrate both cultures into my identity and try to maintain a strong connection with each aspect of my life.

Thanks for helping me get rid of all my thoughts. I will tape a photograph of workers on the orange plantation (where my abuelos met) to the back of this page.

Sincerely,

Andrés