Growing up I never truly embraced my heritage and come to think of it, I still struggle with celebrating my ancestry. For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to be white and tried multiple ways to become just that. I even tried to convince my mother to buy me the lightest shade of foundation, picture a little girl (no older than 6 years old) begging her mother, "Momma! Make me white!" I am not saying that Caucasians are a superior race; I feel as if every race should be celebrated and viewed as beautiful but unfortunately, I grew up around a community full of Caucasians that had viewed other races inferior. My outlook on my skin color became my hatred towards myself.

My mother ended up buying me a Bratz doll and for the first time I thought being tan was beautiful. Yazmin became my favorite doll and I vied to be like her; I even went through the trouble to draw a fake mole on my face to match hers. According to my mother, Yazmin saved me and finally got me to view Latinas as an exotic and refreshing race.

In high school, I joined track, cross country, and softball so I would get really tan because I practically lived outside. During winter (sometimes even during other seasons) I would go tanning, I thought my olive caramel tint was envied by many which it was. In North Carolina, I tried to teach myself Spanish using these CDs my father had gotten me while he was a trip for work. I did fairly well, which was funny because I was absolutely terrible in my Spanish class.

Fast forward to almost five years later and living in El Paso, Texas and I am able to understand most Spanish but struggle speaking it. In all honesty, I only know the bad words and the inappropriate phrases. I was surprised at how well I did when I went to Jaurez. While at a gas station, the man pumping gas thought I was fluent and that my friend did not speak Spanish. In actual reality, I speak little Spanish and my friend hat had gone with me was fluent.

After moving to El Paso, I began to visit my relatives where I was born; Corpus Christi. My family is that typical big Mexican family that has a family cook out every week to drink and eat as much as they can. It is always a blast seeing my relatives. Whenever I visit, I still feel like the gringa (white girl) in the family.

My friends I have here call me a coconut because I'm brown on the outside but white on the inside, but the friends I have everywhere else think I am this Mexican woman who loves tamales and elote (corn in a cup). The thing is, I am neither because I am me. I will admit that I need to keep in touch with my roots but I also need to embrace who I am.