How do you measure who you are?

I’m told to be proud of my Mexican-americanness

To use it in the work

But maybe my work will always be bland and confused

Because I do not know where the Mexican begins or where the American ends

Is my mexicanness the bangs I cut in my bathroom with craft scissors

is it my father dreaming of a car he will never be able to buy in his name

Is it the lime green pants and zebra print shirt my mother makes my sister wear to the party

Is it the endless “when I was in Mexico with your Abuelita…” stories my mother never seems to run out of

Is it the way my father tells me if he had the money, knew the right people, or had the citizenship I wouldn’t be fighting for my dreams all alone

or is it this

the constant wondering if its all “too much” and “not enough” all at the same time


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