DIGITAL STORY #9 Adrian (A.T.) González Figueroa Voices for Change, 2016 Gender: Male | Grade: 11 | Story Title: Who is Me? School: Northern Secondary School Heritage: Nicaragua and Mexico Every day, I wake up at 7:30am. I fumble around for my
nothing sounded the way it should. The boys in my class
glasses, shuffle into whatever clothes are clean, paint on a
called me stupid and they were correct. I couldn’t read or
face, and I set off. I was born December 25, 1999 in Managua,
write like the other kids and I felt utterly useless. There was
Nicaragua. A Christmas baby; they should have named me
a lot more bullying. Then in third grade, my teacher named
Jesus. My parents were both professors and when I turned
Ms. Loudisa put me in a tutoring program. Within 2 months,
one year old, they brought us all to Canada with them for
I was reading faster than all the other kids and I loved it. Ms.
their studies. I had a pretty lonely couple of first years. Just
Loudisa believed in me and knew how far I could go with the
me and my parents in a little apartment on the 14th floor
right support.
in a brown building, smack in the middle of York University
But I moved again and in school, I was still the odd one. I felt
campus. We only spoke Spanish at home and English at
stupid and fat. I cut my long hair. I spoke less Spanish; I tried
school. Suffice to say, I was a pro at both.
desperately to fit in and please everyone. I threw out my
Then when I turned 5, my parents decided to head back to
lunches because they were “weird” Nicaraguan lunches and
Nicaragua to do research for their work. They sent me to
didn’t smell like “regular Canadian food.” They said it looked
live in my aunt’s house with my cousins. The world was so
like vomit and eventually, it looked like that to me too. When
completely different. Suddenly, I had siblings. I wasn’t the
middle school finally came around, everything was different.
prized baby. Of course, we fought, and since my parents were
Suddenly no one cared about who I was, so I tried it all:
never around, my aunt became my new mom. Sometimes
cool girl, scene phase, book nerd, sci–fi geek, boy band fan,
we went and visited my grandma and other family in my
tomboy, drug kid. I sucked them all in.
dad’s hometown. This new family suddenly surrounded me,
Now we reach high school. The last couple of years have been
all except for my parents. One time my mom was gone so
much of the same. I look back and I see all the unnecessary
long that when she came back, I stopped calling her mama
twists and turns that I put myself through in order to be me.
and started calling her by her first name. I grew my hair out,
But I went through so many different me’s that now I’m left
joined the swim team, made new friends, went to church,
with a blank canvas of nothing and everything. Here, I’m not
and got that drawling Nicaraguan accent. Then I turned 7 and
Canadian enough; in Nicaragua, I’m not Latino enough. I’m
we came all the way back up here to Toronto.
not feminine enough, I’m not religious enough, and I don’t
Life up here was not how I remembered it. We didn’t live at
like boys enough. I don’t speak Spanish enough. I’m not
York University anymore. We were in an unfamiliar territory
enough. But at the same time, I’m too much. I’m too liberal,
near Dufferin and St. Clair. I had my parents back, but lost
I’m too outspoken, I’m too vulgar, I’m too masculine, I’m too
everything else. At my new school, everything was so
Canadian. I walk through life like a robot and try to be a blank
confusing. I’d been learning Spanish for the last 2 years and
slate. I busy myself with distractions. When I’m with my
now school was in English. None of the rules made sense;
friends, I can be me. But now, who is me?
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