Looking out of the airplane window at the vast, verdant land below, a wave of excitement and anxiety washed over me. It had been 15 years since I'd set foot on this island. As I made this pilgrimage back home, millions of memories and questions flooded my mind, yet trepidation loomed. Would they remember me? How much has everything really changed? Would I fit in?

My childhood was filled with the tastes, sounds and smells of Dominican culture. I vividly recall the heavy thudding sound that echoed through our tiny apartment every time my mother used a pilón, the pungent odor the mixture of spices and herbs gave off whenever my mother made sazón, the blend of notes that echoed throughout the barrio whenever anyone played bachata and salsa and, of course, the saccharine taste of a morir soñando on a hot summer day.

Growing up as a child of an immigrant parent, my identity become an amalgamation of both cultures, yet I became acutely aware of how others perceived me and treated me, based on my race and culture. Even though I considered myself to be Hispanic-American, I was rarely perceived as such. As I was growing up, the concept of my own identity was questioned and sometimes rejected. I felt ashamed, confused and at times pressured to assimilate. Slowly the vibrant colors of the Caribbean that were once painted in my memories began to fade.

One night on the phone, while speaking to my aunt in Dominican Republic, I momentarily forgot how to speak Spanish. It was for a brief moment, but I panicked and stood in my living room frozen—afraid that somehow I was losing a part of my identity. That was when I realized that I needed to reconnect with my roots.

When my mother proposed that we visit our relatives, admittedly I was not very enthusiastic about the idea, but saw this as an opportunity to gain deeper knowledge about who I was and where I came from. Days before the flight, all I could think of was how much had "changed" and once again I found myself at the intersection of my identity—feeling ambivalent and confused—I began to reflect.

While in the Dominican Republic, I spent most of my time visiting family, but also learning about my culture's history—my history. After the trip, I came back with a deeper sense of self and a new perspective.

Even though identity is something that is always evolving, we become more aware of it during teenage years. During my adolescence, I slowly began assimilating more into American culture and distancing myself from my origins—not realizing that I was (unconsciously) situated at the crossroads of intersectionality, thinking I had to choose between one culture. The reality is that our identities are an amalgamation of many different things among them: Environment and heritage.