Reflection About Cultural Identity

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Throughout my childhood, I was going through what could be described as a cultural identity crisis. I come from Central-American heritage, my mother is Honduran and my father is Salvadorian. I, along with my two younger sisters, were born in Houston. Raised in the northeast area of Houston, I grew up around a majority of Mexican-Americans and gained a connection with their culture; despite not coming from Mexican descent. The people I interacted with every day until high school outside the household were majority Mexican-American. My closest childhood friend was Mexican-American and this impacted my life as a kid in elementary school. When I visited my friend at his home, I would inspect the way his family interacted with one another and I instantly received a welcoming feeling. The similarities between his household and my household struck me that my friend’s home became my second home because of how much his parents reminded me of mine. As a child ranging from age six through twelve, when someone would ask me where my family comes from, I would reply with “Mexico”. I did this not because I was ashamed of where my family comes from, but because I thought nobody knew about El Salvador or Honduras in that area. I never bothered with explaining and went with what everybody in that area was familiar with, so I thought. I was an insecure child that did not know any better. However, there were times where I was not asked about my descent from a non-Hispanic individual and the
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