Spic: a Definition

I am Cuban.

That's what I normally say when people ask me.
It's not just a geographic location of my ancestors for me. It's my culture, my family, an all encompassing word meaning
family gathering for holidays
family meaning aunts, uncles, grandparents and my 30 thousand cousins (and they're all as close to me as an American's 'nuclear' family.)
It means that what others see as 'yelling' is our normal mode of speech.
We do everything passionately and loudly: whether it's love, eat, talk, laugh, cry or scream.

In less than a week, however, I will be embarking on my journey to Leeds, England for my semester abroad. When I'm asked what I am, I'll probably answer "American" because that is where I was born, that is where I grew up.
Being American hasn't ever really sat well with me.
I speak fluent English (and not fluent Spanish). I've got that Chicagoan accent where I hit my A's hard. I like most 'American' things, I've got American values instilled in me (mainly the notions that hard work and education are required to have a successful life in which after graduation you get a job and work til retirement). I've got all of those things down.
But I was aware, as I child, that we were different. I am not light skinned like all the blonde haired white girls flouncing around at recess. And I doubt many other American girls had someone approach their mother in a parking lot and tell her to go back to her country.

My point being,
I'm not just an American coed doing a semester abroad. I won't just have one cultural identity to learn to assimilate with the British. I have two.
I am a Spic. Yes, Spic, usually used as a derogatory term for Latino people (normally from Cuba or Puerto Rico) is a word I've taken as my own. It's something I'm proud of. It doesn't mean stupid, it doesn't mean we clean your houses and serve you meals at those 'authentic' restaurants people seem to adore.
We're people. We laugh. We love. We cry. And we've got our own set of values.

Family.

To the isolated American, I've noticed that leaving your family to go away for college is normal. Expected.
I decided to attend a University that's a 3 hour drive from home and for the year preceding college, I got asked multiple times (by multiple family members) "Are you sure you want to go so far away?"
Now I'm getting on a plane to attend a school that is an 8 hour plane ride away. To which 3 male family members (both grandfathers and my younger brother) said "Aren't there a lot of terrorist attacks in England?" Translating to: you should stay.

England has been a place I have longed to visit since my early years (yeah, it's stereotypical, but it did start with Harry Potter). So go, I will.

But don't mistake this for an 'Eat Pray Love' adventure. This is not a white woman's marvelous foray into strange new lands where at first she struggles but then meets a charming gang of locals and then has adventures and is accepted and has a readymade group of friends she can go out and dine with at her leisure. I am not Julia Roberts.

I will go out.
I will meet new people.
I will be in awe and excited about my new surroundings.
I will try to make new friends and have new experiences.

But all of those experiences will be perceived through the 2 lenses: that of an American college student
and
of a Spic.