Caracas Chronicles

Being born and raised in the United States, I grew up watching NFL games, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance every morning, and sporting red, white, and blue every Independence Day. But, I also grew up with arepas, songs from the cuatro, and hearing the music of my mother speaking Spanish. Yet, despite these rich experiences, why did I struggle to fully embrace both cultures?

Second-generation immigrants like myself tend to exist in a cultural limbo, balancing a connection to another country with the patriotism associated with their birth country. Unlike our parents, we do not carry the experience of emigration and thus rely on the traditions and customs they bring to form connections to our heritage. In the U.S.—a superpower of pervasive cultural influence—it becomes significantly more difficult to maintain personal and cultural ties to another country.

American culture champions the “melting pot” metaphor as its source for the nation’s cultural vibrance and economic flourishment. I recall learning this in elementary school and feeling empowered that my birth country celebrated its diversity. But, as I got older and educated, I realized this metaphor champions assimilation over celebration. As immigrants settle in the United States, there is a pressure to forego their native identities, traditions, and languages in favor of mainstream American culture. I believe second-generation immigrants experience the repercussions of this assimilation and must work harder to preserve their cultural heritage for future generations.

Yes, I listened to my mother’s caraqueña accent my whole life, and yes, I love arepas con carne mechada, but I felt more American than I did Venezuelan. That is because I lacked what I believed allowed me to embrace my Venezuelan identity: speaking Spanish.

In my experience, forming a connection to my Venezuelan identity required reconciling my American upbringing and intentionality to embrace my heritage in my adulthood. Growing up, I felt as though I had an invisible wall between myself and the Venezuelan community. Yes, I listened to my mother’s caraqueña accent my whole life, and yes, I love arepas con carne mechada, but I felt more American than I did Venezuelan. That is because I lacked what I believed allowed me to embrace my Venezuelan identity: speaking Spanish.

As I said, American culture tends to favor a narrative of sameness—we’re all “Americans” rather than members of diverse communities. Part of that narrative is expressed through language uniformity. In the U.S. (unless you are in Miami), English dominates nearly every aspect of life. Thus, maintaining culture often hinges upon maintaining language. For Venezuelans, as for many immigrant communities, the Spanish language is more than just communication—it is belonging and identity. Without this piece of my puzzle, I felt like a spectator of my heritage. I feel this had a profound effect on how I developed my sense of self as a child. But, as an adult, I have begun recognizing that my ability to be Venezuelan does not need to rely solely on language. My Venezuelan identity has already been cultivated by and expressed through other means through the years.

Each year, without fail, I experienced a traditional Venezuelan Christmas. Well, as traditional as can be when up against giant inflatable Santa Clauses and cheesy Hallmark movies everywhere you look. While still allowing me to enjoy the quintessential American Christmas, my mother still made sure I felt the magic of Venezuelan Christmas. I remember her entrusting me with the small Baby Jesus from our Nativity set, and promising that I would not place him in his manger until Christmas morning. I remember the smells of pan de jamón, ensalada de gallina, and of course, the hallaca. Though not the boisterous family gathering of my mother’s childhood, when she and my grandmother made the hallacas, they still recreated the environment of familial love and bonding.

While I did not consciously realize the impact this had on my childhood, I now recognize how crucial this was in developing my Venezuelan identity. Through our Christmastime traditions, I experienced the holidays as any Venezuelan child would. Even though I have yet to see the Ávila Mountains or roam the streets of Caracas, I continue to share an integral part of life with my Venezuelan community. As an adult, I feel I have a deeper appreciation for this connection. In a way, I feel like I’ve experienced an awakening—not just about how I want to fully embrace my identity as a Venezuelan, but also about how deeply I have been connected to it all along. 

Now, I am actively working on my Spanish and learning more about Venezuela’s rich culture and history. That is not to say that I am leaving my American identity in the dust. Rather, I think of myself as a ‘Venemerican,’ where my identity is a fluid expression of Venezuelan pride and American ideologies. Looking back, I see why I struggled to claim both identities. I was never just American or Venezuelan—I was both. By embracing my ‘Venemerican’ identity, I’ve found a deeper connection to myself and the communities that have shaped me. At this time of the year, I am reminded of the beauty in cultural harmony: I can shamelessly kick back and watch one of those cheesy Hallmark movies with a slice of pan de jamón in hand.