Last December, I went back to Argentina, where I was born and spent most of my first twenty years of life, for the first time in two years. The weekend before I left, I didn’t want to pack.
“I’m not going to fit in anymore,” I told my boyfriend as I lay lethargically on my bedroom floor, my suitcase empty beside me. “I’m going to feel like an impostor.”
“It’s your country,” he said. “You have a right to be there.”
He’s half-Latinx, like me—it’s actually one of the things we bonded over before we started dating. There’s something disorienting about being adrift between two cultures, two languages, two ethnic identities. You can feel untethered, uncertain, and most distressingly, you can feel like a fraud for trying to claim either identity.Read More