Am I a wanderer? No, I like to be at home. But is there a simultaneous sense of displacement and belonging? Yes, I think so. Born in California but translated to Arizona when I was almost eight, I feel at home here; I feel like I can find and form my identity here. Is it my land, though? I don't entirely know. My family's roots in California only go so deep--one quarter of the roots are more from the South and then the East depending on how far back you go. The rest goes back to Mexico, and Arizona was once Mexico. So even if the people I was specifically descended from did not live in this area, I find that there is a certain logic to my sense of comfort with the Southwest.
These types of considerations made their way through my mind as I watched the Flamenco group perform at El Farol in Santa Fe. The last time I was in Santa Fe, I saw Juan Siddi's group, but I found myself enjoying this one much more. Don't get me wrong, Juan Siddi is talented--but I connected with these people more, I think (the general consensus also seemed to be that they traded off more frequently, whereas Siddi took more of the stage). Maybe it was the singer; he reminded me of the Gipsy Kings.
When I was very young, my family lived in Alaska for a year. One of the stories from there goes this way. My parents were very excited to find a bunch of Gipsy Kings cassettes at a great discount in a music store there because, apparently, no one in Alaska was interested in something so exotic as gypsy music in Spanish. So the Gipsy Kings were one of the sounds I heard growing up. It's music in Spanish but nothing like what plays on the radio station: it's folk music. It's about guitars and groups and it has this theme of wandering and expressing that transcends the language (because, of course, I can only translate some of it).
So while I was sitting there in Santa Fe, watching the people in this group take turns dancing on the small stage while the singer went through various songs, I was partly transported back to my younger self listening to the Gipsy Kings. What I mean here is that I felt like I was transcending barriers and definitions. I felt like, if I'm supposed to invest more in things like "heritage" and "culture" that people talk about, this is where I want to search for it. I want to go back to the deeper roots, the ones that connect back with the land and with this sense of the organic.
I felt very cool about Santa Fe nightlife. I'd just enjoyed myself at the opera the night before. Now here I was, dinner at El Farol followed by their Flamenco show followed by a little time spent by the bar, where a band was performing. This was culture that I could take part in and feel invested in.
Gypsies are wanderers who carry their homes with them, in who they are. And as I sat listening to the music that night and watching the dancing, I felt the passion of their performance. I was reminded that I, too, can decide what my passion is and portray that. Because the United States is such a new country, we are all displaced here--but if we continue to make the right connections and to listen to the land in which we live and to take part in the culture that we see and feel, then we will realize that we are at home. The wanderers have made a circle and ended up exactly where they need to be.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 3, 2016
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Culinary, Cultural Identity
Today let's talk about identity.
One of the English classes I'm taking this semester is Transborder Chicano Literature. I've been kind of wanting to take it for a while since, living in the Southwest, I always wish I learned more about this particular area (reading Leslie Marmon Silko's Ceremony, which takes place in New Mexico, in my Major American Novels class, for instance, was great--but moments like that are infrequent). So much of this literature, so far, has dealt with questions of identity. And discussions like this make me wonder, do I deny part of myself and my identity?
You see, let's put it this way: three of my grandparents were from Mexico. But I grew up speaking English and probably thinking I was white until I don't even know when. Even though when I was in kindergarden, it was a normal thing to visit relatives and hear more Spanish than English, in my bilingual class (that was my second kindergarten class--I started late here so the bilingual class was the only one open) I was with the English-speaking kids. It's kind of funny to think of now: I was probably the only Mexican girl grouped with the white kids, even though I realized no such discrepancy (kids really don't know race exists, do they?). But that's the funny part, too: I think I tend to look racially ambiguous. Especially before I came to Phoenix for college and got a tan: I used to be very white, and I still am light. Usually it was only the people who actually were from Mexico who could tell that that was my background, too. So I guess I always grew up on that line between worlds. The question I have now is whether that is a bad thing, whether I have missed out or repressed anything or some such thing like that.
But what I find funny when I consider these questions is what I have, in some ways retained from that cultural background. I don't really speak Spanish, though I can understand some of it if people aren't talking too fast or if I can see it in print. I'm pretty sure most of the songs in Spanish I listen to are by Josh Groban. But I have the influence of food.
That's right, I'm turning this into a food post. You see, especially because I live in Arizona, I don't always realize certain tendencies in what I eat--some of them are just normal to this area, no matter your background. But I have Abuelita hot chocolate in my cabinet right now next to the Earl Grey tea--but that's something they sell at Target. I have tortillas in my refrigerator--but they're from Trader Joe's. I made pinto beans last week that I bought at a farmer's market--but I also have a bag of black beans that I got at Whole Foods. I once got sad looking through all the stores because I couldn't find any jamaica (hibiscus) to make iced tea--but I don't remember ever drinking that until I was maybe twelve. I usually like tortilla chips best--but that's also because I'm part hipster and avoid the junk food Lay's/Cheetos/etc. I have Cholula hot sauce--and I can't think of an excuse for having it besides that I bought it at World Market. Oh, and I've been known to put hot sauce on eggs. And butter and sugar on toast (do they do that in the South, too? I'm not sure. Although, lately, it's true that I've been switching the sugar for a mound of raw honey).
What amuses me most is when I blend these things together: that, I feel, is me marking my culture. To drink my hot chocolate while eating scones or wrap salmon and spinach in a tortilla or drink jamaica while eating potato salad, those are the types of things I find entertaining. Because I think, ultimately, culture lives inside you. Identity is partly given to you, but also partly formed by you. And I have always grown up on those borderlines between cultures: and there I am happy to remain. Perhaps that's one reason I have come to have such affection for Arizona, despite not having been born here.
One of the English classes I'm taking this semester is Transborder Chicano Literature. I've been kind of wanting to take it for a while since, living in the Southwest, I always wish I learned more about this particular area (reading Leslie Marmon Silko's Ceremony, which takes place in New Mexico, in my Major American Novels class, for instance, was great--but moments like that are infrequent). So much of this literature, so far, has dealt with questions of identity. And discussions like this make me wonder, do I deny part of myself and my identity?
You see, let's put it this way: three of my grandparents were from Mexico. But I grew up speaking English and probably thinking I was white until I don't even know when. Even though when I was in kindergarden, it was a normal thing to visit relatives and hear more Spanish than English, in my bilingual class (that was my second kindergarten class--I started late here so the bilingual class was the only one open) I was with the English-speaking kids. It's kind of funny to think of now: I was probably the only Mexican girl grouped with the white kids, even though I realized no such discrepancy (kids really don't know race exists, do they?). But that's the funny part, too: I think I tend to look racially ambiguous. Especially before I came to Phoenix for college and got a tan: I used to be very white, and I still am light. Usually it was only the people who actually were from Mexico who could tell that that was my background, too. So I guess I always grew up on that line between worlds. The question I have now is whether that is a bad thing, whether I have missed out or repressed anything or some such thing like that.
But what I find funny when I consider these questions is what I have, in some ways retained from that cultural background. I don't really speak Spanish, though I can understand some of it if people aren't talking too fast or if I can see it in print. I'm pretty sure most of the songs in Spanish I listen to are by Josh Groban. But I have the influence of food.
That's right, I'm turning this into a food post. You see, especially because I live in Arizona, I don't always realize certain tendencies in what I eat--some of them are just normal to this area, no matter your background. But I have Abuelita hot chocolate in my cabinet right now next to the Earl Grey tea--but that's something they sell at Target. I have tortillas in my refrigerator--but they're from Trader Joe's. I made pinto beans last week that I bought at a farmer's market--but I also have a bag of black beans that I got at Whole Foods. I once got sad looking through all the stores because I couldn't find any jamaica (hibiscus) to make iced tea--but I don't remember ever drinking that until I was maybe twelve. I usually like tortilla chips best--but that's also because I'm part hipster and avoid the junk food Lay's/Cheetos/etc. I have Cholula hot sauce--and I can't think of an excuse for having it besides that I bought it at World Market. Oh, and I've been known to put hot sauce on eggs. And butter and sugar on toast (do they do that in the South, too? I'm not sure. Although, lately, it's true that I've been switching the sugar for a mound of raw honey).
What amuses me most is when I blend these things together: that, I feel, is me marking my culture. To drink my hot chocolate while eating scones or wrap salmon and spinach in a tortilla or drink jamaica while eating potato salad, those are the types of things I find entertaining. Because I think, ultimately, culture lives inside you. Identity is partly given to you, but also partly formed by you. And I have always grown up on those borderlines between cultures: and there I am happy to remain. Perhaps that's one reason I have come to have such affection for Arizona, despite not having been born here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)