My father was born and raised in Guantánamo, Cuba. He came to the United States in the late 1960s, leaving behind family and a life that would remain part of his story and mine. I am the only one of his children who was born in the United States.
Before he passed away in 1989, he had one wish for me: that I would someday meet my older sisters, who all lived in Cuba. So far, I have met three of my five sisters in person.
That experience shaped how I came to understand my Cuban heritage. For me, it has never been just about a country. It has been about family, stories and a connection that remained despite the distance and years between us.
Growing up, I was taught to say that I was Black, Puerto Rican, and Cuban. Those identities were never presented as competing choices. They were simply who I was. The term Afro-Latina came much later, but the experience of being both Black and Latina came long before I had a word for it.
My mother was Puerto Rican and Black, and my Puerto Rican ancestry is Black. I was raised primarily around Black and Puerto Rican culture. It was familiar to me: the food, the music, the values and, most importantly, the sense of community. My grandmother, born and raised in Puerto Rico, was deeply involved in her community in The Bronx. Looking back, I realize I inherited more than her Puerto Rican heritage. I inherited her commitment to community, which I still carry with me today.
However, knowing who you are and feeling like you belong are not always the same thing.
Growing up outside of my immediate family, I didn’t always feel Latina enough. I am bilingual, but even that didn’t quiet the feeling that I didn’t fit people’s expectations. Sometimes it was my skin color. Sometimes it was the way I spoke. Sometimes it was something as simple as my name. “Bernadette” wasn’t always the name people expected a Latina to have.
Moving to Indianapolis intensified that feeling. I became more aware of the assumptions people made about what a Latina was supposed to look and sound like.
Over time, I came to understand something I wish I had known much earlier: I don’t have to fit someone else’s definition of Latina to be Latina.
There is no single way to experience being Latina. Some of us are connected to one country, some to several. Some speak Spanish at home, some don’t. We can be Black, White, Indigenous, multiracial or a combination of identities. Our experiences can look very different, and they can all be part of what it means to be Latina.
We don’t always know someone’s full story just by looking at them or hearing them speak. Representation is also about making room for the histories and identities we may not immediately see.
Although my parents and grandmother are no longer here, their influence is still very much a part of who I am. I carry their stories, values and lessons with me, especially the importance of family, community and knowing where I come from.
As a mother, I want my children to understand that they don’t have to choose one part of themselves over another or convince anyone that they belong. They get to carry all of it.
It isn’t simply what we inherit. It is what we choose to honor and carry forward.
My father wanted me to meet my sisters. In fulfilling that wish, I discovered more of the story I came from, and I am still discovering it.
We don’t have to simplify ourselves or anyone else in order to belong.
That is the heritage I carry, and I am proud to carry all of it.
