Assimilation Into American Culture: My Conundrum

I had been vacationing in New York, and even lived in Washington briefly, for many years, but when I came to live here permanently, I wasn't very happy.

I was a rowdy, tomboy who was pretty popular for being tall, and for being able to fight with the best of them. It wasn't all roses with the other kids. Some kids didn't really like that I could come to the States as I pleased, having U.S. citizenship, but my life in Panama was idyllic.

It was like growing up in a Afro-Hispanic episode of The Doris Day show. My afternoons were filled with games like "lata" (lah-tah), and riding around my neighborhood carefree on my bike. I used to wish I lived in the States sometimes. I would catch glimpses of American life from the Armed Forces Network and shows like Growing Pains.

The day my grandmother broke the news to me, I was devastated. I was about to hit the 5th grade, and was anxiously awaiting being able to choose from one of the many "institutos" or "colegios." I couldn't wait to have a Panamanian boyfriend, and hopefully hit up "Carnavales" alone. That time, I realized, would never come, as my brother and I were told that it was time to live with our mother, who had made a home for us in Washington state.

My first days--aye, my first years--were filled with longing for "home." It wasn't like we moved to Costa Rica. We moved to an altogether foreign country, one that I really didn't remember all that well; one that didn't really feel accepting of me.

I guess it would've been easier growing up in one of those communities that speaks nothing but Spanish and is a little Puerto Rico or a Little Panama. That, alas, was not the case, especially in a state like Washington; a state where people tend to ask, "There's black people there?" It seemed like an uphill battle.

I watched the Spanish language channel, Univision, with sadness and nostalgia, often wishing I were wherever the people on the screen were (Venezuela, Mexico usually). I missed Panama terribly. I missed my friends, I even missed my "enemies." I missed my little house, and I missed the sunny days on the banks of the Panama Canal waving to happy passengers on cruise ships waving back at two little black kids trying to get their attention.

As time went on, I grew to love this place. Actually, one of the many reasons I love Washington is because of the rain. The rain, for me, reminds me of our rain forest-like climate back in Panama. 'Til today, you will find me jumping for joy at rainy forecasts on the news.

My Grandfather started to visit after my Grandmother passed away. He would bring news and gossip, and information on our friends back home. One time he brought news papers with him. I think I held on to those papers for years, reading and re-reading them, holding on to the yellowing papers for dear life.

I was deathly afraid of assimilating into American culture, because I was afraid I would lose a part of my being that was dear to me. I was afraid I would lose my memories.

When I visited in 1994 (the last time I've been back), I felt like I never left. I didn't want to leave, and on my way back from Sea-Tac International Airport, I think I was in shock at having to leave another piece of me there again. It was after that visit that I really realized that I was straddling two very different worlds, and was starting to find myself in a limbo.

I was getting into American genres of music more, like hip-hop and rock/metal. I was watching MTV and Beavis and Butthead. I was introduced to gangsta rap from watching BET right before our mother came home. I started to pick up on the clothing, although I was confused as all hell by Cross Colors and the like at first.

I, unfortunately, was also introduced to a lack of acceptance for my mother not having the resources to get us name brand clothing or shoes. I was also introduced to the vitriol of kids who thought I was "ugly" for not having my hair relaxed, or for having an accent. I was called stupid because I didn't assimilate fast enough, I guess.

All of those things made it hard for me to really assimilate, because I really didn't feel welcome in the beginning. I then withdrew further into my memories of home, and the culture that I grew up in.

I started to become foreign even to myself, feeling guilty at times for taking a liking to certain things and certain customs that were "American." I felt guilty. I felt like I was slipping away from my identity, my core values. I would then "binge" on all the things I knew and remembered from home to stay centered.

In junior high school, I spent most of my 9th grade year, immersing myself with the Hispanic kids, speaking mostly Spanish and developing a relationship with a Peruvian girl. It was then that I realized that I didn't have to compromise on anything, and that I could live my life here as normal, and happily, while holding on to my heritage and culture to keep me centered.

I was rewarded when a Panamanian kid named Carlos came to my high school as a foreign exchange student. I couldn't believe my luck! We spoke in Spanish (mine was a bit less smooth from years of speaking mostly English), and I shared my memories with him. He gave me Panamanian coins to keep, and he even gave me a mixtape of the most popular spanish reggae songs of the time.

When he left, I was devastated. I realized that I probably wouldn't see him again, and that hurt me. He was my first Panamanian friend in what seemed like a lifetime, and when he left, I began questioning myself and what I wanted.

I knew I could go live in Panama at anytime. My family was still there, and I was approaching the time where I needed to get up out of the house and be an adult post-graduation.

Ultimately, I joined the military in hopes of being stationed there. That would never happen as the Canal was handed over promptly at the beginning of 1999, and the United States was pretty much out of there.

I realized that in MY head, nothing had changed, even though, life had gone on for me. I guess I thought that nothing would ever change, and everyone and everything would be the same as the day I left. When the Canal was handed over, and the Panamanian government started making changes, I realized that I would have had to start all over again, and assimilate into a Panama that was being reborn into a truly sovereign nation, free from American hand-holding.

I also noticed that American culture was seeping in here and there into Panama, and they were also, thanks to technology, enjoying the very same things that I started to enjoy about my new life in the United States.

Part of me will never leave. Part of me never has. Part of me has accepted the way things are and a little, tiny part of me, immortalized the Panama of yesteryear. I often dream about Panama. But in my dreams, my little house on the banks of the Canal, is melded into my home here in Washington. In one room, the scent of freshly cut grass is wafting into the house through the "louvers" (windows). In the other room, my warm apartment greets me, familiar and knowing; welcoming. We are all together in my dream, my Grandmother never left, I can still hear her talking in the kitchen about church or politics. My children are heard playing in the other room, and I'm happy, because I'm whole.

I'll end with this quote from one of my favorite movies, "Princess Tam Tam," starring Josephine Baker, a transplant from Tunisia, who has moved to France. She is confronted with an analogy for her "duality":

Accordingly, the Maharajah tells Alwina, "My house has two kinds of windows - Those facing the East [the Orient] and those facing the West [the Occident]."

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