Member-only story
I’ll Never Stop Being An American — No Matter How Hard I Try
“Viva México!”
“Viva!!!!!!!”
“Viva México!!!”
“Vivvaaaaa!!!!!!”
Hundreds of people screamed “Viva!!!” into the bright Mexican night.
This is what they do on their Independence Day, which was a few days ago.
Me, the lone gringo there, put his mask back on, attempting to hide the fact he was an outsider.
Nobody made me feel uncomfortable.
I just wanted to be a ghost. I wanted to learn. I wanted to appreciate this country that’s welcomed me and not attract undue attention.
It’s their night, after all.
I realized, standing there among the screams, fireworks, and music, that I will never truly feel what it is to be a Mexican.
An obvious statement, right?
But forgive me, it’s not one I think about that often with how busy I am.
A Filipino-American friend once told me I was more Filipino than he was. I lived in the Philippines for a few years, FYI. I understand why he said it, but I don’t see it that way.
I think, deep down to our blood, we have an irrefutable connection to our homeland.
