Learning to Embrace Being a Cuban American De Aquí y De Allá

My family came to the United States in the ’70s from their beloved island of Cuba, and settled in West New York in New Jersey. Throughout the years, they subconsciously entered into this silent dance of assimilation, while also trying to maintain their Cuban-ness. We were taught about Cuba growing up, we learned how to speak Spanish, and we kept up with Cuban traditions. At the same time, we were also taught to be proud and grateful for the country that took us in and the opportunities it gave us. My cousin, sister, and I were the first children in our family born in the United States. I am American, but can I be Cuban as well? This was a difficult thing to figure out as a child. 

Growing up in the West New York area, I was bullied for embracing my Latina heritage. In the seventh and eighth grades, I was obsessed with the Mexican telenovela Rebelde from the early 2000s. My mom had purchased an RBD backpack I was excited to wear to school. Unfortunately, that caused some unwanted attention. My friends and I were later labeled LAX, or Latin American Exchange, by my peers. The irony was that some of them were also Latinx. 

This formative experience taught me that there was a part of me I had to hide to avoid ridicule. That my culture and interests were open to being mocked. I was also bullied for bringing Cuban food like arroz con piccadillo to lunch because it smelled and looked different from other foods that the kids were eating like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It was confusing for me to be home, where I could fully embrace my Latinidad, and then go to school where it was often shut down. 

When I got to high school, I was again bullied, this time for wearing my nickname “Sarita” on a chain necklace my aunts gifted me for my quinceañera. I was told by the girls in school that “Sarita” was not my name. According to them, I was misleading others to think it was by wearing my necklace. I eventually took it off to stop the bullying and would not wear it again until after college. 

This wasn’t reserved for just my experience in the U.S., even those interactions carried heavy emotions. When I finally had the chance to visit Cuba, I was often told not to speak Spanish in public because I sounded “too American.” I was reminded of my privilege because I lived in La Yuma — what Cubans call the U.S.— so, I wasn’t entirely Cuban either. 

I saw this meme once that posed the question, “You don’t look Cuban?” The response reads, “What am I supposed to look like a croqueta or a pastelito?” It is funny, but it prompted me to think about what it truly means to look like you are from a place with so much diversity. The turning point for me was arriving at college, as a first-gen college student, and seeing so much diversity on my campus. I saw students embracing their full selves and openly sharing the different parts of their identity that made them whole. Through this experience, I realized that I was exactly who I was meant to be. I didn’t care anymore if I was treated differently in Cuba. I was proud to visit the country where my parents were born and didn’t care if they judged me for having an American accent. As I got older, I realized that I was tired of being placed into a box of what I should or shouldn’t be. 

As a licensed clinical social worker, I know the tremendous impact that identity formation in a person’s younger years can have on them. I have put in the work through therapy to minimize its impact on me moving forward, and I encourage others to do the same. This balancing act reminds us that we often live a hyphenated experience. 

For me, it is being Cuban American, embracing both cultures that make up who I am today. I am here to remind people that we can live a life within the hyphen — and that is okay. This is our superpower. Where is that “Sarita” necklace that I took off in high school? I wear it around my neck these days as a symbol that I am proud of who I am. I don’t care if others think it is unprofessional or that it is not the name on my birth certificate. It is who I am. It is who I will always be.  

I would argue that this balancing act is linked to imposter syndrome. It tells us that we are supposed to fit into one box, which is impossible for most Latinxs. This can, in turn, make us feel like imposters or as if we do not belong in the space that we are in, especially for some of us that may identify as multi-hyphenated. 

As a social worker, it is also my responsibility to remind my community of the pressure that this places on our mental health. I created my business, The First Gen Madrina, to support my community and to make the journey less lonely for us. I want to be that person they can go to — much like a madrina figure — when they cannot share their challenges with anyone else. Representation is crucial for our community, it is our saving grace when we know we aren’t not alone. 

When it comes to embracing being de aquí y de allá, there are some tools that can help you feel more confident and empowered living in the hyphen. Firstly, find meaningful and intentional support. This can be through therapy if needed or support from other community members with similar experiences. Secondly, practice self-care. Do things like meditation, mindfulness exercises, going for walks, or anything that truly works for you. Lastly, remind yourself that you are exactly who you are meant to be. It is a work in progress, but I finally feel I am getting there. 

Today I fully embrace that I’m of two worlds and that’s what makes me, me.