Profiled as American

Around the world people have a general idea of what life is like in America. When I am introduced to a new group as the girl who came from the United States, there is a pretty clear understanding of what that means. When we were in Laos, it did not matter that I don´t call the United States home or that I was arriving from a new destination. In Mexico, it doesn´t matter if I mention I have lived here since 2018 and don´t have plans to return. I still am thought of to have grown up (and continue to live) in a beautiful three bedroom house with a nice yard where my parents brought home enough money to keep up the appearance many Americans have. My family probably works for a Seattle tech company and paid my way through college. I probably eat hamburgers and french fries too often, but it doesn´t matter because I go to a gym and have all the medical care I need.

Some individuals get to know me a bit more and see the country I was born in does not necessarily define that assumed reality. Of course appearance can be deceiving and many are shocked to learn that most Americans don´t outright own their homes and that we tend to live beyond our means. The movies don´t tend to focus on that and I can see why my friends might picture me frivolously eating salmon and drinking kombucha before leaving my 2 million dollar house to go to my 3´o’clock pedicure. 

I really don´t mind being profiled in such a way at first glance. We all make judgments based on what we know and what we see. It is natural and honestly a logical conclusion. But sometimes it does cut them off from coming closer to me. If they knew I grew up on the free public school lunches and learned to survive despite my dysfunctional family, would they realize that I´m not here to judge them or feel superior? How could our conversations really develop?

It´s funny to think about my two American ¨homes.¨ One where I grew up and the other where I attended high school and college. Having been to both recently, I notice the huge cultural differences. In the same country. Like night and day. Up in Washington state I enjoyed hiking and beautiful views. I passed by and visited many of the movie-like homes. I went to the library and noticed how every book set out in the children´s section had a white, brown, and black person on each page. I heard incessant complaints about theft and homeless camps. I heard about drug problems and also felt excitement for friends landing top jobs in ¨change the world¨ organizations. I cheered my cousin on as she went to club volleyball practice after school and I ate a $23 hamburger.

And then we went to a different place. At the airport in Washington I observed individuals in water wicking pants with North Face jackets and trail shoes of all sorts. But then at the 4th airport of the day, I saw those headed to where I was going in Colorado. Beastly men in shirts with American flags and work boots. Women dressed simply in jeans with sketchers. But still the same language.

We got to the town of my formative years and drove past the town burger joint, library, church, gas station, store, liquor store, and new marijuana shop. We took my sister to her job at the town grocery store where people asked who we were walking in and we chose between two types of milk before paying at the one open register. I went to a church that had no individuals under 80 and the pastor said that alcohol, marijuana, and dog walking should be illegal. I listened to comments about ¨those liberals¨ who are ruining our country and saw Trump posters lining the yards of mobile homes. I never found a gym, but we did find yards full of broken down boom trucks and cars missing their front end. My dad wore his steel toed boots held shut by rubber bands despite his not working for the last ten years.

Every day as I ran down our one lane highway leading to what feels like nowhere, I would just wonder how far this truth I was seeing is from the beliefs about what the United States is. The United States is so culturally vast. Each state, each country brings a new flavor with it. I happened to live in white dominated areas my whole existence in the US, but even that can look so different. The mainstream media exported to all these other countries is really keeping out the beauty of diversity in my country. 

And although I know that America as a country tends to judge people only on where they were born, I sometimes wish that I was given more of a chance to be wondered about. To be asked and questioned about my experience rather than having assumptions fall upon me. My life didn´t come in the same format as Bill Gates´ did. It didn´t even look the same as my next door neighbor, of any of the 24 houses I lived in before I graduated. 

May this feeling remind me of my own need to look beyond the nationality of others too. Lightning strike me down if I claim that all Latinos are the same. Or Lao people. Or any nationality. They have shared experiences and thoughts, but remain unique.