By: Diana Peña - Moreno, Dissonant

To be from Virginia is something I am both proud and ashamed of; I am proud because I
am American and given so many opportunities, but I am ashamed because I never struggled with the issues my siblings went through being from Honduras. They are immigrants: I am not. We share the same blood but are divided by our countries of origin and experiences. So, when I have to choose between Honduras and Virginia when asked, “Where are you from?” I sometimes struggle with the question. Do I answer that I was born and raised in Virginia, but grew up among Latinos?

Do I tell them that I have only traveled to Honduras a few times in my life, but those experiences made me feel connected to my mother’s country and the rest of my family? I don’t really know. I do know that I love both sides equally, and that they provided me with the confidence and pride I have for my heritage. Virginia gave me the resources needed to escape my family circumstances, but Honduras tied me to the family I have back home. It’s quite a paradox, really, when you think about it.

I have a love/hate relationship with my hometown. On the one hand, Springfield is where
all of my childhood memories lie and where I learned the values I hold onto today. On the other, I envision myself trapped in that town because of my family’s situation, and that is something that scares me. Nevertheless, being from Virginia means that I am able to communicate with people from all parts of the world and that is something my siblings never had. Northern Virginia is so diverse not only in skin color, but in ideologies, gender, sexes, and religions. I love this aspect of Virginia and I cannot imagine the person I would be without it. The fact that I grew up in a largely Latino neighborhood made me feel connected to my culture and made me proud to be Latina.

The Hispanic cafes scattered around Springfield are a gem most people don’t know
about. If you’re Hispanic, they greet you with warmth, because you are one of them: you speak the same language, grew up in similar environments, were chased by your mother with the chancla as a child. One of the cafes, in particular, is called J&S Bakery, but we all call it
Chinitos (that’s a story for another time). Although its food is decent, it doesn’t compare to
Veronica’s Bakery, another Hispanic cafe in town. But the reason people keep coming to
Chinitos isn’t because of the food: it’s the service and company. The people who work there are so kind and genuine that it’s hard to refuse to come back. The company is great; the men sit and watch fútbol on television while the women gossip about the trouble Juanita got into this week. I love my hometown because it can be close-knit if you put the effort in.

So, although many people see Virginia as a whitewashed, racist place (and it can be if you go South), I see it as the place that taught me Hispanic customs, showed me the importance
of education, and gave me a chance to explore who I am. And that is something I wouldn’t give up for the world.