I don’t have the typical Mexican last name. “Is Real on your birth certificate?”, I’d get asked. I can agree and say my last name seemed bizarre compared to the many I was introduced to in school. I always thought my last name was lyrical and just as unique as my personality, but I also questioned why I wasn’t just given the last name of Lopez or Rodriguez instead. Slowly, this made me believe that I was a degradation to my heritage and I often questioned my true identity. It wasn't until I later learned that my last name had been adopted by a Spanish explorer with the conquest of Hernán Cortés. I felt as if I was wearing my ancestor’s humiliation, a defeat in such a vicious manner. However, after joining my Spanish Club, I realized that my last name is the voice of my people’s adaptation, and a uniqueness of spirit manifest in language. Now when people say “What an unusual last name, where are you from?”, I hear something entirely different. I’ve learned to pick up on people’s reactions and have tried using my past experiences as lessons in prejudice. I have found a greater appreciation for overlooked minorities and always ask the history behind their names– breaking barriers between culture and race. My last name is how I dream in Spanish but think in English. My last name is a crucial clue to what a community values– a blueprint to identity. My last name is what simply defines my ultimate Mexican pride.