Soy Nica
Well, it’s currently the last day of my trip and I didn’t write or submit anything. Partly because it was tiring in every day heat and humidity, partly because I wanted to just enjoy the moment and it would’ve felt overly forced.
But as I swing in silence on this hammock at my tia’s house, I’m able to reflect a little bit, particularly about the Nicaragua portion.
Growing up coming to Nicaragua every summer as a kid for weeks, sometimes months, was typically met with rejection before I got there, then excitement as I realized how much fun I was having with my cousins and even other kids in the neighborhood. The stubbornness in me would dissipate as I was treated to quesillo, gallo pinto, rojita, cacao, queso, nacatamale, gas station hot dogs (this was my treat to keep me happy as my older cousins all went out to party, more on this later lol), chiclet, and cajeta. This food list goes on and on and on. These are all part of core memories I have growing up going to Nicaragua.
Up until I was about 8, my summers were filled with excited chaos with my familia. I say around 8, because all the times after that, my experience with Nicaragua started to shift. This shift coincided with my brothers and my closer cousins becoming of age and being able to go out and have different kinds of fun. The type of fun that little kids aren’t able to be a part of. They started being able to go out drinking and partying and experience a different side of Nicaragua that I was unable to see or be actively part of.
Being the second youngest cousin in my entire huge latino family, every Nicaragua trip started to become more and more lonesome. Another year older meant another cousin being able to leave the proverbial child’s nest. Soon enough, it was either just me and myself, or me and my youngest cousin Andrea by ourselves with the parents to end endless nights. In our family, these type of nights included just sitting around outside on rocking chairs talking for hours. Every child’s favorite activity! This is where the gas station hot dog would come in. I have multiple memories of the adults taking me to get one as a way to treat me to something to try and keep me happy and entertained before inevitably rotting away back at the house we were staying for the rest of the night.
As the years and trips rolled by, as my brain started to develop awareness surrounding my life, I started to realize feelings of being an outsider within my own family. Both of my brothers had their own group of cousins that were closer to their age and it felt like I didn’t have any near me in age besides the one. As much as I loved Andrea, we never seemed to create that unique relationship, the way my brothers had with others. I ended up just being the annoying little brother and annoying little cousin that wanted to be involved but wasn’t able to. Sometimes I was also the little one who the adults forced on the older ones to bring around just to include me. And because I’m incredibly aware, it was warranted from all of them about me being pretty annoying and whiny. I leaned into the spoiled, young member of the family exceptionally well.
Around the time high school hit for me, trips to Nica were much more rare. Life just gets in the way, whether it’s different responsibilities or just me wanting to stay home and see my friends during summer time instead. This was also a time of extreme stubbornness from me where I had no interest in keeping up with Spanish. I took classes, but it was just to get an easy A in my grades because obviously I knew more naturally than just random kids who had no connection to the culture the way I did. Unfortunately, I wish I could go back in time now and take it seriously because my Spanish is pretty much shit at this point. And because of that failure to notice how it would affect me in the future me, it created another divide between me and family members at a time when I would be able to have actual coherent conversations with family members I wish I could have deeper connections to. A lot of my closest cousins now do know English, but there’s multiple off the top of my head that I just can never have a real emotional connection to and conversation with because of a language barrier.
Not knowing Spanish made me realize by my 20s how nerve-wracking the idea of coming to Nicaragua by myself was. I was always by my parents, the baby following my mom around. That security blanket was always there. I never realized how intense it was until my 20s when the idea of traveling by myself to see family seemed like an impossible task for me. Both of my brothers have traveled to either Nica or Costa Rica (where we have some more family) by themselves. I never had that in me. Whether it was the language barrier or not having that one cousin that I felt comfortable spending time with.
Another factor that contributed to my apprehensiveness, was the way I look. Obviously extremely white passing. Which is also obviously extremely privileged. White man, the most privileged on this planet. But as somebody who always wanted to identify more as latino, it’s been difficult to openly embrace it and speak on it. Most people in my life are shocked when I say I’m latino. Even then, some latinos will still look at it differently. Almost questioning it. There’s been several occasions where within a pocket of other latinos, I still felt like an outsider, even if Erika was there and speaking on my behalf. But I got used to it and just mentally suppressed it.
The last time I came to Nicaragua was in 2017 when I proposed to Erika. 7+ years is the longest gap between Nica visits in my entire life and I knew I had to make an effort to go soon. Erika and I both talked about needing to go this year at some point. That was the plan. But because of some change of plans on Erika’s side with family and needing to go to Puerto Rico with her grandma and family, she wasn’t able to do both. I hit a point where I was going to back out of Nica too. I should go with Erika to Puerto Rico. I knew I should. But deep down, I knew it was an easy cop out to not go to Nica by myself. I brought this whole scenario up to my therapist and she looked at me, knowing we’ve talked about my feelings of being a family outsider, and simply said “What’s the worst that’s going to happen?” I had no real answer.
Within that same week, I bought this journey to go to Puerto Rico and then split off from Erika and went to Nica by myself the following week. Was it the most anxious I’ve been in a minute about flying? Yes. But I did it. I made it. And it all came together because two of my closest primas, who don’t live in Nica anymore, were also visiting at the same time and in recent years have completely accepted me and seen who I’ve grown into as a human. I don’t think Ale y Lin know yet how indebted to them I feel in this moment for this trip, but maybe one day they will fully realize how much it means to me.
I don’t think whiny, crying, annoying little Daniel would have ever believed he would have done this in the future. It was a nurturing week. A week that I needed to know that I can step out of my comfort zone as one of the babies of the family and now know I’m old and mature enough to actually fit in with my latino side, even though I will always be gringo.
Now that that’s over, here’s a piece of the beauty that is Nicaragua from my trip.
So deep and so good. I remember most of it. All your Nica-CR cousins know and love the grown up Danny well. Your tios and tias told me that they were so happy to be able to get to know you even better on this trip.