Since elementary school in the early 2000s, I was taught that America was “the melting pot of the world.” While over 70% of the population is white, it seemed natural to me that there were a multitude of skin tones, hair textures, and eye shapes. After all, I had a darker complexion than everyone else in my friend group, but I was still born and raised in New Jersey; I was American.
Fast forward to the summer after sophomore year of high school – I’m walking with my host mom in Spain on the way to Abuela’s house for a lunch of her famous albóndigas with warm pan. Abuela throws open the door of her apartment, wrapping my host mom in a tight embrace, before stopping to look me up and down. I can see her taking in my thick sable locks, frizzy in the July humidity, my almond shaped-eyes, and my caramel skin, deepened from the summer sun rays.
“Ay, eres morena!” she exclaims with wide eyes, raising her eyebrows, yet trying to mask her surprise.
In Spanish, morena is a word used to describe people of dark hair and skin. When my host mom had told her that she was bringing an American, Abuela automatically assumed I would be white, and probably blond and blue-eyed.
It only took Abuela a split second to wave her confusion away and take me in her arms like she did my host mother. Abuela eagerly brought me into her home, served me her delicious food, and ultimately, didn’t treat me any differently for not looking like what she originally expected. The rest of the aunts, uncles, and cousins, if anything, only judged me for my awkward accent and lack of conjugation skills. At that moment, I quickly forgot about Abuela’s initial reaction to my arrival, as they welcomed me into their family meal like one of their own.
Later on, however, it was shocking to realize that I wasn’t the “typical” girl that people thought of when thinking of America, and I felt foolish for not recognizing such an obvious fact earlier. American commercials, movies, billboards, pop culture, and more are dominated with white representation, so it was extremely understandable Abuela was surprised by my appearance. But living in another country for several weeks, I was forced to introduce myself as American much more often, and I had started to feel an even greater attachment to that part of my identity. At home, I was always introducing myself in terms of my racial background, because it was unnecessary to say I was American. I didn’t feel detached from my upbringing; it seemed like something so evident to me that I barely thought about it. This moment in Spain was the first time someone implied I didn’t belong in the traditional image of America.
I’ve personally never heard someone say to me, “Go back to your own country!” or “Where are you really from?”, but I know there are countless Americans who have. It saddens me that to this day, when the whole history of America was founded on immigrants and enslaved Africans, people still fail to recognize the immense diversity in who is an American. I wonder when the “melting pot” of America will recognize that in order to define itself in that way, they must embrace all cultures and appearances, especially those who don’t have the traditional European features. I hope one day the stereotype of this blond, blue-eyed white girl ceases to be the only image associated with America. Instead, meeting an American will be like opening a mystery toy box, where you never know what the doll is going to look like – golden straw hair with hazel eyes, or mocha skin with full lips, or morena like me.
About the Author:
Supriya Chang
Hi! I’m Supriya Chang, born and raised in South Jersey, but currently living in Connecticut, where I attend boarding school. Growing up half Indian-Portuguese and half Korean, I’ve realized how deep and rich different cultures can be. I love to travel around the world, try new foods, take photos, write poetry, play the oboe, dance for fun, listen to music, and hit around some squash balls. You can reach me at supriyaichang@gmail.com or through my Instagram @supriya.chang.
The Big Duck 