After returning from my vacation in New Mexico, I decided to embrace my recently adopted heritage and change my name to Johñ Añdersoñ, and since that point, my worldview has been absolutely shattered.
It all started with my 23andMe test results that revealed my great grandfather lived in New Mexico. All I had ever known about my family is that we had a long history of profiting off wars and cheating on our taxes. Little did I know that my lineage could be traced back to a small town outside of Albuquerque that had run my ancestors out for betting on the Mexican-American War.
As soon as I found that out, I knew I had to make a pilgrimage to the old country to get back to my humble roots.
What a vibrant and interesting culture they are. Even on the flight there, I got to hear many of their incredible stories while I told them that the first-class bathroom was a privilege and not a right. The flight attendants even tried to convince me that Cinco de Mayo was a holiday and not a special spread for authentic Mexican roast beef sandwiches.
The trip as a whole was as interesting as the flight, with hats made of chips, green salsas, and Taco Bells completely in Spanish. The splash of culture was something I had never experienced before, and I knew I needed to embrace it. No longer would I be forced to hide this new side of me.
And people took notice. As soon as I walked into work with beaded cornrows and a poncho that read “Tacos, Tequila, and Tatas,” they knew I was no longer the John Anderson who had taken a week off for a Jewish holiday I claimed I was observing. While it was requested of me that I remove my sombrero made of glued-together Tostitos Scoops for professional reasons, I knew this was just yet another micro-aggression I would have to face.
No longer could I sit by while the world around me remained so stagnant and resistant to change. The supermarket that had once supplied me food could no longer keep up with my ambitious desires to embrace the flavor of my culture. They foolishly insisted that the rice and beans they offered were the same as the traditional arroz con frijoles. The pizza place around my work simply did not understand what I meant when I said, “Don’t you see the ñ in my name? Give me a fuckton of those red pepper flakes.”
I cannot believe how bland my life was before I discovered my true roots. I was hoping 23andMe would give me something interesting so I could claim I was more than just a boring white guy, but I never dreamed of how interesting my life could truly become. I’ve discovered bell peppers and microwavable burritos, and now every grain of rice I eat is Mexican rice.
If everyone just accepted who they truly were, we would live in a much more interesting and diverse society. I’m just doing my part.