Mexican Enough

“Mexican Enough” by Allison Hernandez 

They tell me I’m not Mexican enough.

They say I'm not Mexican enough, but my caramel skin, kissed by the sun like my ancestors, tells a different story

and the blood that runs through my veins are direct roots to them, 

Not American enough because my skin screams heritage. 

I am not Mexican enough to speak with my abuelita in Spanish,

So I must watch the disappointment bloom on her face while I fail to muster a proper response 

When my Spanish tongue falters, I remember, this language is still a colonizers

We have always been denied the language that should have been ours.

Weighted by the pressure of assimilation across generations. 

I am left robbed of my own culture (let go)

Left to question my own identity

Because the creation of Mexican-American is a white man's legacy 

according to the eyes of society, I am Mexican enough in blood, but not in language, 

I feel like a stranger in my own skin.

I grew up eating tacos, pozole, birria, y esquite, waking up to the smell of chilaquiles on Sunday mornings.

I grew up singing to Vincente Fernandez and dancing to cumbias 

but I existed in “El otro lado”

The otherside

I am Mexican-American

I am Mexican vs American 

In the comfort of our shared pulse on the dancefloor

I find peace—dancing 

But in the mix of different languages, I feel misplaced, 

Stuck between worlds, not fitting in anywhere 

I'm lost in my own identity as it is riddled with pronunciation errors 

Because I struggle speaking a colonizer’s language 

They tell me I'm not Mexican enough,

but what does it mean to be "enough" of anything? 

Is it measured in the richness of my hue, or the fluency of my speech? 

I carry the weight of centuries on my shoulders,
The echoes of my ancestors whispering in my ears,
Their struggles,

their triumphs,

their sacrifices, 

Are engraved into the very fabric of my being.

Though I may stumble over syllables and lack the ability to roll my r’s, 

my spirit sings in the language of my roots. 

My voice echoes like the ocean crashing against the cliffs of Acapulco, 

The same waves that used to embrace my mother 

Are now demanding to be heard. 

My mother is a fierce soul from the city where the reeds were washed away

Her song guides me, planting seeds of hope

Her stories are the riptide that shaped my determination, her strength built my pride.

I refuse to be confined by standards made to contain me, for my soul knows no boundaries. 

I am whole.

And I am proud of who I am. 

I can identify with both of my cultures, each one is vital to me. 

My identity is not a box to be checked nor a stereotype to be worn.

My heritage pulses through my veins, an unstoppable beat that dances to its own rhythm,

Unafraid.

Unapologetically.

I am the revolutionary,

the activist, fighting for justice with unwavering passion and courage.

Language barriers cannot silence my call for change.

I find home, regardless of the words we speak.
So tell me I'm not "enough" if you must, 

But know that I am whole and proud and that I am the embodiment of my heritage.

I am Mexican 

Soy Mexicana.