At fifteen years old, I went through an identity crisis. Ever since I was little, my family convinced me that I was Pacific Islander. They didn’t know any better and neither did I.  I had no reason to not believe in this. I had the facial features; the almond eyes and the flat nose. Plus, I wanted to learn to surf; how could I not be Pacific Islander?

Two years ago, I met my mother’s father. He gave me a birthday card in a bright pink envelope which said Kianna. I said, “Sorry, but my name only has one n in it.” I remember that he shook his head and muttered something about my mother. He told me that he should have known my name had on n because it would look like her name.
I asked my grandfather who he was talking about.  His response would shock me, “Ana Garcia,  your grandmother.” And in that moment, Ana became the single most important person that I didn’t know. I had to find her and learn all about her.  My searches always turned up fruitless.  It wasn’t just the name Ana Garcia that haunted me. I learned something new that day: I am Hispanic. 

This change confused me. I felt like I had to belong with that group of people. Kids at school  are very proud of their Hispanic heritage and I felt like the black sheep of that ethnic group. I didn’t sound like the other kids, and I most certainly didn’t act like them. I began wondering whether I was a failure to the Hispanic society. When filling out PSAT forms, I had to think about which bubble to fill in for Ethnicity, and that felt wrong. Shouldn’t I know who I am instantly?

Today I am still trying to figure out the answer to that question, but I know that self-identity does not solely come from ethnicity. It comes from past experiences and future goals. I want to continue to grow as an individual. But I understand that one thing is certain, I am Kiana with one n.