This Is Why I’m No Longer Accepting People Asking Me “What Are You?”

I was in the fourth grade when my family and I moved to a predominantly white neighborhood in Queens, New York. Before then, I had lived my life mainly surrounded by Latinos, including Mexicans, Ecuadorians, Colombians, Puerto Ricans and Dominicans, like myself.

Nine-year-old me had no idea how much this move would impact my identity, even into adulthood. I had no clue that from that point on I would constantly be approached with the same irritating question: “What are you?”

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