The American Outside of Me.

As I ate my chicken lasagna, I contemplated my reflection in my room's mirror. My parents were gone and my dogs were playing outside, leaving me alone in my room with my mirror. I smiled at myself and could not believe the transformation I undertook in the past five years. It's as if those five years were a new childhood.

  I grew up in the suburbs of a busy metropolitan city in Honduras. For the first five years of my life I lived with my great-grandmother, my cousin and my uncle. They took great care of me. Much of my hispanic manerisms, Spanish dialect and attitudes were born there. I do not know much of my father and cannot remember any early moments with my mother and either of her whereabouts. I attended a low-end private school until the age of five. At six, my mother began dating a successful American businessman and entrepreneur. Me and my mother moved in with him. So began a new life.
I enrolled in an "American" private school. Ironically, they do not (and still do not) teach American values. I picked up the English language pretty quickly. It was easy to understand and write, although sometimes confusing. Regardless, I did well in school and stayed out of trouble.

1998, me and my parents took a small Christmas vacation in the United States. Yes, that place was Hickory, North Carolina. I met my present day step-family and enjoyed a rich Christmas with them. I remember looking out the car's window as we headed t a hotel to spend the night. The city was beautiful, clean and the lights were crisp. It stuck with me for years. The United States was a different place and my home could never be like this. "Why is my home so different than this place?" I wondered.

In 2003, we moved to Guatemala City, Guatemala, a robust metropolitan city. Once again I attended an "American" bilingual private school. Yes, they did not teach American values (and still do not) but the owners were American odd enough. I surrounded myself with a few natives, some American students and mostly Korean students. I always wondered what was so American about this school. Either way, in 5th grade I studied American History for the first time. It was easier to understand than my country's history. Apparently, my country is about 30 years old and was involved in politics heavily in earlier history. The United States, on the other hand, was involved in small rebellion and "tea parties". Call me crazy but United States history is much easier for a kid to understand than politics.
In 2005, I was 12 years old. For the past 5 years, I developed most of my attitudes from my mother not my step-dad. I did not understand the way my step-dad thought. He was straight-forward. Where I come from, that value does not exist. It took me years to understand. I never mimicked him as I thought awkward of him. My mother did not understand him either sometimes. That same year, we moved to the United States and (once again) so began a new life.

For about a year, I had a struggle defining my personality. I developed most my mannerisms from my mother but was surrounded by English-speaking natives who acted differently. I learned very quickly you cannot talk a different language and keep your mannerisms. Mannerisms make foreign languages harder. Unlike most students, I surrounded myself with Americans. The Hispanic group was....too boring and old-fashioned. They were (and still are) arrogant of their own culture. As a 13 year old, I knew arrogance is not taken lightly by others. My conversational English was fluent but needed leg-work. Once in a while I answered questions awkwardly and my questions did not make sense. For example, I would ask "How many years do you have?" instead of "How old are you?". Luckily, my classmates pointed out to me the truth. For 2 years I made continuous mistakes and my friends explained to me inside jokes, English-related jokes and southern tones. "Wow." I thought. I never read that in the textbooks.

So my English was fluent but my personality was inconsistent. For the first 12 years of my life, I followed my mother's footsteps. Now, I spent 5 half days every week speaking to people very different from me. The process of assimilation of process kicked in. For some, it is tough. For others, it can be painful (seriously). For me, it was baffling. When you assimilate, you literally adapt to your environment. You no longer stand out. My English became consistent, I no longer moved my hands while speaking and could listen to English very quickly. I was afraid I would lose who I was and my family would "cast" me out for being different. They never did and never threatened me, but I had a fear of changing. Assimilation, I learned, needs to be supported by your family. If your family ever speaks out against your conformity, you will have a burden forever. Luckily, my family never "cast" me out. They understood where I was living.

"American conformity", as I like to call it, is a strange process. For most of my hispanic classmates, they do not understand what I speak about. You see, I moved to the United States during my preteens while they were raised here on their childhood. They grew with a clean slate, while I had to replace my old habits with new ones. It's a long process. By 2008, I pretty much considered myself "American". Sometimes, I drilled my head so deep I literally had to remind myself I was not American. I brainwashed myself (in a good way of course). I like the feeling of being "American".  You feel "free" and safe. I cannot explain it. People here are exceptionally sharp and very logical.

This new "American" me, however, learned the truth of being an American. It is not easy. I never, ever, thought controversies could spark independent thinking. The United States is an advanced country. By the age of 17 I understood national controversies such as abortion, gun control, compromises of privacy over security, free speech, secular laws, the beginning of man, government control, deficit spending, healthcare, national security, internet rights, euthanasia, animal rights, environmental practices and so on. My country is too under-developed (READ: corrupt) to even think of these topics. Believe me, I am not exaggerating. How could a developed country have so many issues? Simply asking that involves you in your community and it is a good thing. I no longer observed these issues, I participated in them. I developed the mindset of an American: a critical thinker.  I questioned issues and the national government as if I am a full-blooded American.

These past 5 and a half years taught me an immeasurable amount of lessons . I feel evolved, per se. To this day I still shake my head and constantly remind myself I only lived here for less than six years. In a matter of six years, I diminished the ways I thought of a national government and personal ethic (I thought governments were always corrupt, but the USA proved different). I brainwashed myself, in a sense. I like it. As I saw my reflection in my mirror, I noticed a growing man. That proud man learned to think. Every morning, I see myself and not once questioned what I became: an American.