Churros, Sangria, & Belonging

On July 10th, 2021 I threw a party in celebration of becoming a Spanish citizen. Said party highlighted sangria and freshly fried churros, but also included flowers, salsa con queso, vinyl records, string lights, soccer jerseys, live music by one of my best friends, fireworks, Super Smash Bros & Mario Kart in the living room, a piñata, and a Spanish flag given to my mom by her brother 30+ years ago gently tossing in the wind. It was probably my favorite party of all time. But it was also much more than that. Below is a slightly edited toast I gave to those who came and patiently listened and cheered. Y'all are the real MVPs.

Thanks everyone for coming! I never thought I’d be throwing a party for finally being adopted but here we are. For those of you who are confused as to what this party even is or if I really am adopted...long story short, last summer my mom called me to see if I wanted to become a Spanish citizen, gaining myself dual citizenship. Obviously, the answer was yes. I then learned there are these things in Spain called family books, which are legal documentation logging who is in your family. Super cool. So I said yes to my mom and then get a phone call from my sister about a week later asking the same thing. My answer was still an obvious yes to which she said she was going to do the same but mentioned that our processes to do so may look different. Not understanding, I asked why. She then says, “Well, Mom probably already told you this, but you’re the only kid who’s not in the family book.” Y’all, I busted out laughing. Because in my head I could just see the family tree - my grandparents, my parents, my brother, my sister, and that was it. So technically, according to Spanish records - not only was I not a part of our Mathew-Palomar clan, I didn’t even exist. But that was soon to change.

Over the next seven months my mom and I took three trips to DC, hauling an enormous amount of information to apply, first to get into the family book, and then for a Spanish passport. At long last, the journey is complete (shout out to the rents for all their hard work) and I am in the Mathew-Palomar family book and have my Spanish passport. So here we are, celebrating my adoption at 27 years old. However, for me, this is a celebration of something bigger.

One of my goals this year was to remember myself. By that, I mean remembering the things that make me, me. For instance, when I was in high school, I dropped out of the National Honor Society because being a member required a certain amount of volunteer hours and I didn’t want to volunteer for the sake of getting something for myself so I decided to keep volunteering and drop NHS instead.

As a kid, I would find random scraps like screws, rubber bands, old keys, springs etc. and collect them in a shoe box I called my “junk box.” Then, when I was bored, I would open up my junk box, take out my scraps and invent something new.

Then there was the time I was in elementary school when I watched a movie about Helen Keller and wanted to know what it would be like to be blind so I walked around the house with my eyes closed until I ran into a wall and lost my front tooth.

These memories come from a list of things I’ve written down as I’ve remembered them over the past 16 months. I wrote them down because they are not just memories but stories that tell me about who I am. I wrote them down because the world is over stimulating with its constant change and need of me in certain ways that I forget who I was before I answered its call.

I share this with you because during the process to become a Spanish citizen and in the recent influx of discussions about race, I’ve had to seriously consider what it means to be a bi-racial, first generation American and third culture kid. Or more specifically, its role and impact in shaping who I am.

Let’s break that down. "Bi-racial" meaning my dad is from India and my mom is from Spain. About three years ago I discovered I’m also 1.5% Jewish but that’s a story for another day. "First Generation American" means both my parents immigrated here, obtaining their citizenship in their 20’s and 30’s, making me part of the first generation from either side to be born American. Lastly, Third Culture Kids (or TCK) are kids whose parents raise them in a culture different than the one they grew up in. So my dad grew up in India, my mom grew up in Spain, but they raised me in America. However, the 3rd culture referenced in TCK is not Indian, Spanish, or American culture, but my own culture I've created as a mix of all three.

This means that in the context of culture, I belong nowhere. I am not Indian enough to be Indian, Spanish enough to be Spanish, or American enough to be American. But I was never taught to do things because I was any of those things so I never acknowledged my lack of fitting in as wrong. It just was what it was. Instead, my experience of all three cultures taught me to give space for people to be who they were without trapping them in preconceived rules of engagement because everyone’s rules were different. Not wrong. Just different.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past few years that I would want to convince everyone of - it’s that we do not have to have come from the same story to belong to each other.

Belonging is a really big deal to me. This journey to become a Spanish citizen has revealed a new layer as to why.

I don’t fit into any cultural mold. There are so many things that I don’t know that people expect me to based on where I am, who I’m with, and how they have chosen to perceive me. This is something I recognized as a child and it pushed me to be a quiet observer of life rather than an active participant for fear of embarrassment and rejection. But over the course of my years I became fed up with not knowing because it left me isolated and kept me from honest relationship. So I started telling people when I didn’t get their jokes or movie references or understand what they were saying because yes I look Spanish but for reasons beyond my desire to explain to you in this moment I am not anywhere near fluent and you are talking way too fast for me to even try to understand so please stop looking at me like I’m supposed to know or be disappointed that I don’t because I’d like to be who you were expecting, but I’m not.

It was only when I grew this confidence, or rather got sick of feeling like a shadow of myself, and decided to admit what I did not know, therefore putting myself at risk of embarrassment and rejection, that I discovered something. We, meaning you and I, have the ability to take what would separate us, and turn it into an invitation to unite us.

Lack is not shameful. It is actually the missing piece to compassionate community. We are not only to be a people who admit what we do not know or possess, but a people who teach and share with others the way we would want to be taught and included. For every time a lack is admitted a question is posed: Can I belong?

The answer is yes. The answer is always yes.

So today I threw a party to celebrate becoming a Spanish citizen and my unexpected adoption into my own family because it’s both funny and pretty awesome. In fact, I can now add my own kids into the family book making them Spanish citizens too which most definitely increases my dowry in case anyone was wondering. And I now have a Spanish passport and birth certificate with a different last name which makes me feel like the star of my own probably underwhelming international spy movie.

Yet despite these notable victories, it does not change the fact that I do not fit into Spanish culture. I’m still me. But, Spain is the reason I love cities and why the White Water Center feels like home. It’s the reason for my NYE tradition and love for garlic and why I long to live in a place where I can walk or take the Metro to wherever I need to go. Spain taught me to eat late night dinners, play soccer, and I recently found out my mom’s yayo (aka my great grandpa) worked at a bakery which is my only familial connection to my love for baking so I’ll give that one to Spain too. Last but not least, Spain is the reason I love churros and sangria, which brings us back to today. But this party really isn’t about Spain. Honestly, I used it as an excuse to throw a party full of the things I love, not necessarily because I’m Spanish, but because I’m me.

Yes, I love churros and sangria...and I also love fire and lights and flowers and friends and super smash brothers melee and vinyl records and fireworks and listening to my very talented friends sing and getting my other friends to hear them. And I love piñatas because what a genius concept.

But to wrap it up, while I have not arrived to a complete understanding of my own belonging, this is what I’ve concluded thus far:

1. First and foremost I belong to God. He knit me in my mother’s womb. He made me on purpose and for a purpose. He called me by name and claimed me as His. In a world of change He does not, and nothing can separate me from His love. If you don’t know what I’m talking about or have not experienced it, I highly recommend Him.

2. Secondly, I belong to myself. I’m okay with what I don’t know. I’m happy if not with who I am then who I am becoming. So it’s okay if someone isn’t particularly pleased with what I lack. I am already at peace with who I am and do not need their acceptance. Belonging to yourself is a very important piece to allowing others to belong to you and creating a diverse community of people who belong to each other. Which brings me to...

3. I belong to anyone who would allow me to. My closest friends are the ones who forego preconceived notions for the sake of knowing and growing with me. My closest community welcomes lack because in a world of harsh isolation, it is an invitation for connection.

We all have our reasons for not feeling like we belong, or what we like to call “fitting in.” We’re not smart enough, athletic enough, strong enough, quick enough, stylish enough, educated enough, or socially acceptable enough. But that language changes when the standard for belonging is not in fitting in but in simply being. Because you and me? We’re already enough. You and me? We already belong.