Where are you really from?

Where are you from? This might be, arguably, people’s favorite question, but what correctly answers it? Is it where you grew up, where you were born, your ethnicity, your race, or maybe even your nationalities? I found my answer to this question changing with every ask. Sometimes, I would simply say where I was raised; other times, I would say the ethnicities of my parents, as doesn’t where I’m from depend on where they’re from. 

Growing up, I was always very close to my mom’s side of the family. I grew up speaking Spanish, surrounded by cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. The first artist I remember being absolutely obsessed with was Shakira, and it wasn’t uncommon to see me glued to the TV, binging on shows like Dora the Explorer and El Chavo del Ocho. I vividly recall mimicking Shakira’s iconic hip movements in front of the mirror, pretending I was on stage, belting out “Hips Don’t Lie” as if I were her backup singer. Naturally, I identified as being Hispanic, as I grew up in Hispanic culture. However, as I grew older, moved through different stages of life, and found myself in new environments, my identity started to expand and shift. I began to relate to various backgrounds and cultures, each adding to the complexity of who I was becoming. Now, I not only identify with my Hispanic side but also have started identifying with my Italian side. It felt like I was connecting with another part of myself, bonding over food and traditions that carried the essence of my Italian ancestry, just as I had while growing up immersed in my Hispanic culture. Exploring my Italian roots through family recipes and traditions gave me a deeper appreciation for both sides of my heritage, allowing me to feel a more complete sense of identity. However, now the simple question, “Where are you from?” began to carry more ambiguity, entering a grey area that wasn’t easily defined. Today, the answer to that question feels like it comes with multiple layers, each revealing a deeper, more specific understanding of my identity.

The first and most obvious answer to this question was where I grew up or where I was born. “Florida,” I would say without hesitation. But as I reflected more on the question and my experiences, I realized that the answer wasn’t as simple as just stating a location. While I was from Florida and had lived there, I saw that this answer was typically not enough for the person asking me the question. They would often look at me and notice that I didn’t fit the stereotypical image of being “American”—someone they expected to be white with lighter features— would follow up by asking where I was really from. I began to understand that “where I’m from” involves not just a place but also the layers of identity and cultural experiences that have shaped who I identify as today. Over time, I understood that my background is a blend of influences, and answering this question requires acknowledging the wide variety of heritage and experiences that define me.

Thus, the meaning behind the question began to change for me. It was no longer just a geographical location, but it started to include the ethnicities and backgrounds of both my parents and myself. My mom’s Hispanic culture, filled with traditions and cultural values, became a core part of who I am because it’s the world she grew up in and passed on to me. On my dad’s side, his Swiss Italian heritage also significantly shaped my identity. The blend of his Swiss and Italian influences added another layer to how I see the world and my place there. For example, we make crespelle (Swiss-Italian crepes) every Christmas morning, a tradition passed down through my dad’s side. These moments remind me of how his Italian heritage also shapes my identity. Looking at it from this perspective, I see that my identity is not just my own but a reflection of both my parents’ lives and journeys. Their histories, struggles, and accomplishments have shaped the foundation of who I am today, and understanding where I’m from means understanding where they are from.

Now that I’ve found an answer that feels true to me, I felt secure in responding to the question, “Where are you from?” However, the next time I was asked, I quickly realized that people’s reactions to my answer often depended on who was asking. For instance, when a Hispanic person asked me, and I answered by saying I was Hispanic, they often responded by calling me gringa, noting my lighter skin or my hair that didn’t fit the typical thick, black hair stereotype, and would challenge my identity – the opposite of how it was when an American asked me.  They would continue asking variations of the same question, searching for an answer that fits their expectations of what being Hispanic should look like. This experience opened my eyes to the reality that, while I may be secure in my own answer and identity, others may not be so quick to accept it.

Over time, though, I’ve come to understand that the question Where are you from?” is more complex than it seems, like peeling an onion, each revealing a more refined version of where you believe you’re from or what you identify with. Ultimately, no matter how thoughtful or complete your answer, the inquiry often doesn’t stop until you say something that aligns with what the other person expects or wants to hear. Thus, the complexity of this question persists, and it seems like no matter how much I explain, I’m still on a never-ending quest to deliver the “right” answer.

But hey, if all else fails, maybe next time I’ll just say I’m from Hogwarts—people seem to accept that one without too much pushback!