I am Dominican, yet I was raised in the United States. My family and culture are Dominican, yet I was schooled and made communities in the U.S. I am Dominican, yet I am American, and because of that, “I am American” is one of the most complicated phrases I can think of. Just 3 simple words, so simple and direct, holding layers of semantics so numerous that it gets extremely difficult to peel through these layers by just reading the phrase and taking it to heart, so much so that it’s nauseating. To be honest though, this isn’t a phrase that most people really put much thought into on a daily basis, nor does it impact our lives immensely. In going to the Dominican Republic however, I’ve come to reconsider my identity as a Dominican American, and the nuance behind the 3 word phrase.
           I’ve spent most of my life in the Americas, and as I mentioned before, I’ve learned, made friends, and done most of the things that come with growing up, here in America, however, I am still Dominican. The family I live with is Dominican, all of my family was born in the D.R or is still living there. I grew up with Dominican music and culture, and have been told that I’m Dominican my whole life, and even going to the D.R. isn’t unfamiliar to me, as I’ve been there many times across my childhood. So much conflict and culture, yet I never really thought about it as a teenager. Just this last summer however, I left from the JFK airport for the first time in 2 years, and maybe because I ended up becoming more laid back in those 2 years, I feel like I was enjoying everyday life more. Even after arriving, I was simply just enjoying the time I had there with family and taking everything in, although one day in particular stood out to me for this reason.
That day started as any day did. I had breakfast, woke up, and enjoyed some time with my cousins. Afterwards, we decided to drive to a restaurant called “La Campana”, “The Bell” in english, and unsurprisingly, there was traffic.  As New Yorkers and American citizens, we’re no stranger to rough traffic and bad drivers, but the traffic in the D.R is an eye opener in more than just one way. The drivers are just making ludicrous turns, going over the speed limit, and doing other dangerous things on the road, all while having almost the same exact road laws as the U.S. 

          Rule breaking is so common that people are even comfortable and used to it. To me, absolutely terrifying, but that expressed to me my first disconnect with my origin country. As a New Yorker, I was not used to the Dominican Roads whatsoever, and while my cousins and aunts drove with me I couldn’t help but feel so foreign. The feeling stuck with me until we finally sat down at La Campana, a full 40 minutes after we left. The waiter came to serve us, and he asked us what I wanted. I asked for a chicken alfredo with fries on the side, and thus came the second disconnect. The waiter looked at me confused for a while, until my sister came in and said the Spanish equivalent of “just order him a serving of fries”. Apparently in the D.R, you don’t say “on the side”, or “al lado” in Spanish, as they dont use that phrase for accompanying food in either language. I was genuinely surprised, and with the small seed of doubt planted from the horrific traffic event, I was genuinely starting to question my validity as a Dominican, in a positive way of course.
          “I’m definitely Dominican, but I’m pretty much more American in every way”, arises once again. Keep in mind that I am slightly exaggerating my thoughts in this situation, but even though I’m painfully American, I feel a strong desire to be more aligned with my origin. Even when it’s clear when I’m not as well versed with my culture, or a “gringo” as they like to say in the D.R. This idea stuck with me for a while, and in the same way I was led to my identity crisis, I was led to thoughts of my own life in New York. I’m not just American. I grew up in New York, I’m a New Yorker, a Dominican New Yorker. A Dominican New Yorker who has his community where he has been. It’s hard to just call myself just American. I don’t have the street smarts or knowledge someone in Cali would have in their home state. Thus, “I am American” becomes a blanket term. Just like how I didn’t know the lingo or street smarts of a Dominican in the D.R, they probably wouldn’t know the same for a Dominican in New York.
          “I am American” is for sure one of the most complicated phrases I can think of. With every community birthing a different sense of culture and identity. We find it easier to connect through our language and thus, changing our own definition of American. I’m a New Yorker, and contesting that phrase made me find a little more comfort in my own community.