I love Starbucks, brunch, wear chokers on an almost daily basis and my hair is always styled straight. I sometimes secretly indulge in bubbly pop music including the Aly and AJ throwbacks that I blast in my girly white car with my friends on our way to Newbury Street for fro-yo. If it were not for my name or appearance, one might classify me as a “basic white girl.”

I grew up in a middle class community— one which immersed me in the lifestyle of mostly white Jewish and Italian American teens, a group with whom I unfortunately could not relate growing up. Although I did all the same things as the girls my age, wore the same converse, and owned the same NorthFace fleece as Jessica (with the exception of attending parties, staying out late, sleeping over friends’ homes— all places that could potentially result in illegal actions and behavior), I never really bonded with them.

When I went to school, I felt like an outsider. I knew I was similar, but different. I was excluded because at the end of the day, I did not share the same ideals as the students around me. I would never think to sneak out after I went to bed at night. Keeping a secret from my parents was never something I would feel comfortable doing, and I to this day would never put my friends before them. A crazy night out to pregame homecoming would, for me, be playing Assassins Creed: Brotherhood online with some friends. Saturday breakfasts at the cafes in the next town over would for me, be an early trip out of the state for a debate conference. As Johnny Depp in "Cry Baby" would say, I was a square.

It was not until I came to college that people would associate me with being the girl who is “whitewashed” instead of just weird and anti-social because of the way I was raised.

Yes, college brought some sort of change to my identity, but not the one I had in mind. Girls would begin to ask me why I act the way I do. Why I straighten my hair. Why I joined a sorority when the perfect group of friends I can have are Latinos who generally do not associate themselves with Greek Life. The people with whom I go to college make me feel guilty for not enforcing their stereotype of what a Latina is meant to be.

Just because I straighten my hair does not mean that I am not proud of who I am.

Just because I do not choose to speak in Spanish with other Spanish speakers in the presence of non-Spanish speakers does not mean that I am embarrassed to stand out.

Just because I am well-spoken and am a minority woman at Brandeis does not mean that I am here on a scholarship usually granted to minorities.

Just because I am Latina does not mean that I do not prefer staying home listening to Mac DeMarco by myself over being the stereotypical party animal I am “meant to be.”

As time progresses, I begin to realize that there is no group in which I will fully feel like I can be myself without being judged. To others, I am either too Latina or not Latina enough, as there will never be a balance that allows me to fulfill the both “textbook” Latina and white girl stereotypes. Even in this new year, universal societal views of social constructs and stereotypes do not allow for those who defy those stereotypes to feel comfortable with his or herself.

Perhaps it is the isolation of race from individual that will solve the issues individuals like myself face when it comes to having trouble fitting in. Unfortunately, such change cannot happen at a time in which kids face police brutality, among other discriminatory situations because of their race.