Knowing Your Origin

I was born in a small town amidst the curvy roads of southern Spain. Ronda to be exact. My mother is Argentinean and my father is Spanish, so the story really begins when I was 11 months old and on a plane to Argentina without my fathers consent. It's impossible for me to tell you in all honesty, why they separated in such terms that mom would leave the country with me. My mom is not a cruel person, she is deeply empathetic but also has a hard shell designed for survival, specially in a mans world. She was afraid of loosing custody of me and made the choice she thought best.

Growing up in a country other than the one you are born in, has some distinct existential perspectives. Often as a kid, my mother would proudly mention that I was born in Spain. The country which I had only started visiting at 5 years old, and only for short weeks to see my father. When family and friends mocked me, they'd often call me things to single me out as the foreign one which I recall angrily fighting back with "I am HALF SPANISH AND HALF ARGENTINE" This was always something they would smirk at and in the end would feel satisfied by. As did I! For most of my childhood, I could take pride in having decided that my identity was tied with the two countries of my parents, as both of these countries are unique and beautiful for their own reasons.

It all became increasingly complex when I moved to California at age 10. In this new country, Spanish meant Mexican to kids who'd never met anyone outside of their own town, and Argentina often not in the realm of existence in most kid's minds. It became confusing and difficult to explain where I was from and why my accent didn't match either country fully. I found myself bored of explaining my own origin, and over the years, even felt like a liar. The longest a kid spends away from their own native culture, the harder it is to own parts of it. We loose touch with how traditions are played out, and eventually, we don't know enough about our past or present culture to feel fully part of either. Perhaps in a household with two parents, traditions have more time and place at home, but my mom worked more than full time to afford living in our new land.

I have now lived in California for 17 years, which feels like an accomplishment, and since moving to LA, feel more at home than ever. This city is full of people like myself, transplants seeking to belong somewhere, and native Angelino's (bless their hearts) who've heard every kind of foreigner's tales. In the end, being constantly foreign- holding no nationality in higher regard than the next one, and even owning this limbo, has made me feel proud to be a human of the world. It's hard for me to relate to people who are extremely patriotic, but simultaneously feel a secret jealously that they are so tied to a country and it's history. What many locals might forget when talking to aliens, foreigners or immigrants is that we didn't always have a choice about where drifted. We are always working tirelessly to fit in and be part of your tribe, because we painstakingly had to leave our own behind.

Be whoever you are, the location you were born at is only a geographical spot created by invisible lines. We are all part of one bigger district, Earth.