Being a white person of Latin descent is a double-edged sword. On one hand, I get to take advantage of the safety and privilege that accompanies my complexion but on the other hand, I constantly have to prove my heritage to people who don’t know me. No one looks at me and assumes I’m Hispanic. Though I recognize that this protects me in a society entrenched in racism, it sometimes makes it difficult to connect with my community.

I was born in Atlanta to a Dominican mom and an American dad, both of whom have skin the color of sand. Three years later and mere months after my brother’s arrival, the four of us moved to the Dominican Republic. We lived there for five years, long enough for me to become immersed in the culture and language but brief enough for my brother to forget it. In spite of his relatively inferior knowledge of Spanish, having slightly more melanin than me protects him from looking like a tourist when we go back to visit family living on the island.

I feel this alienation here in Athens too. My friend Bianca, who is Puerto Rican and more visibly Hispanic than I am, brought me along to a party she was invited to a couple of weeks ago. Near the end of the night and per our request, a few Latin songs played over the speakers. Naturally, we both sang the lyrics and danced along but I felt like a fraud beside her. In this particular scene where I was juxtaposed with someone who fit the stereotype, I feared that people would think I was participating in something that didn’t belong to me.

Ultimately, I am very proud of my identity and wish we all could separate the color of our skin from our sense of self.