“You were born half Puerto Rican and half Salvadoran. You should be extremely proud of where you come from.” 

This is a fact my father constantly reminds me of. He makes sure I know that the blood within me is 50% Salvadoran and 50% Puerto Rican, coming together to create my 100% Hispanic-American self. All my life, I’ve been told I should be proud of my rich cultural roots. 

Because of this, whenever there comes a time to share where I come from, these reminders constantly echo throughout my head, silencing any doubt or dissent. Once I share these facts out loud, the identity sticker of “Puerto Rican-Salvadoran-American” becomes attached to my being. 

Naturally, my parents’ identities should come to describe my own. Yet how is it that I’ve only come to feel connected to one of these ethnicities? 

When I think of my Salvadoran self, positive memories pop into my mind instantly. El Salvador is almost like a second home to me; many of my family members live there, and I’ve become accustomed to the ambiance after visiting every two years of my life. In El Salvador, I traversed the vibrant streets of Santa Tecla, with El Boqueron looming in the distance, the lively street vendors selling their delicious comida callejera, and stray cats walking alongside me. The walks through gated streets reminded me of how different El Salvador was from the US, yet they were both still parts of me, nonetheless. 

My mom never hid her identity, as it was where she was born and spent the first 32 years of her life. In the city I live in, its culture constantly surrounds me, with most others in my community being either Salvadoran, Guatemalan, or Honduran. I feel immersed in Salvadoran culture, as my food, customs, and environment are all influenced by it. Even my closest friends are Salvadoran.

But when it comes to Puerto Rico, my mind draws a blank. The closest contact I have with Puerto Rican culture occurs every Christmas Eve. It’s the one day of the year we stop by my abuela’s house. There, she houses pilons, figurines, and Christian iconography. She and my tia prepare arroz con gandules, coquito, and arroz con dulce for the family. As we indulge ourselves, we catch up and have diverting conversations. These moments contribute to a joyous atmosphere while at the same time filling me with melancholy and a longing for a culture I only have surface-level exposure to. Most of my understanding of Puerto Rican culture comes from online and general knowledge. We used to have more family gatherings, but they slowly decreased over the years. My father, the one who has always told me to accept my Puerto Rican identity, has only talked about Puerto Rico when it relates to the U.S. I sometimes feel as if he hasn’t accepted his identity himself, or that he’s purposely hiding his roots.

So, with a meager connection to my Puerto Rican family, and a lack of understanding about my culture, how could I ever feel Puerto Rican? 

One part of myself has been locked away, leaving me yearning for that connection. I come from a rich blend of two unique Hispanic cultures, yet I’ve only become part of one. To be connected to only one half of yourself is like being an unfinished artwork. There is always beauty to admire in unfinished works, such as in Michelangelo’s Atlas Slave. Unfinished works become stunning aesthetic pieces in and of themselves. However, you can’t help but wonder what the piece could have been if fully completed. Who I am now is already shaping into a beautiful work, but I can’t help but wonder how things could have been different.

I will continue to wear the label “Puerto Rican-Salvadoran-American” proudly. But at the same time, I will continue to yearn for the connection to Puerto Rico. One day, when I have the power and means to do so, I will forge connections, build bridges, and uncover the secrets of a culture currently lost to me. I hope to one day travel to Puerto Rico just as I have with El Salvador, and become immersed in its cultures and traditions. Then, I will truly represent my 100% self. Despite past lost opportunities, there is always the possibility of new beginnings.