Reverse Foreigner

Yesterday I went to the Latino Festival in the city. This colorful celebration of Latin culture, music and food draws huge numbers, and Latinophile that I am, I had to see it. My amiga was planning to go with me, but she was out salsa dancing the night before until 4:00 a.m., so she groggily called me in the morning to beg off, and to go back to sleep. Since there were a couple of big football games on I couldn’t entice anyone else into accompanying me, so I decided to put on my “Latinophile” shirt and go by myself. I’m very gregarious and have a knack for fitting in almost everywhere and I imagined I’d make a new friend or two while sampling the arros con pollo and downing a Goya soda. I took the subway since I wasn’t too familiar with the neighborhood and after a 30 minute ride I got off and looked around, wondering which direction to head. I stopped and asked an hispanic woman where the festival was (in English) but she didn’t understand a single word, so I said, “la fiesta?” and she shrugged and said she didn’t know. Undaunted, I walked down the street a bit, figuring there would be signs or I’d hear the music, since I knew it wasn’t far from the subway stop. After about a block I decided to ask for help again, and I approached a Latino couple and asked, once more in English, if they knew were the festival was. Again I got the blank stare, so I switched into my rudimentary Spanish and they pointed me in the right direction. Gracias! I was on my way. After a short walk I saw the banner and the blocked-off street and I joined the growing crowd heading in that direction. I knew that there would be a lot of Latinos there but I had wondered if there would also be a signficant number of Anglos, enjoying the performances and soaking up the atmosphere. When I was a kid we used to go to the Italian festival every year (we’re Irish) and though the people cooking the food and selling the wares were always Italian, most of the people who attended that festival were white. Not so this time! As I stood on the street watching the opening parade I found myself in a beautiful sea of brown faces. I literally looked around for 5 minutes before I saw another white person. A little later, and farther down the street, I saw that a handful of anglos were enjoying the festival, and that several of the business vendors (Verizon, Western Union, etc.) were white, but the crowd (and it was VERY crowded) was almost exclusively hispanic. This really was a Latino festival with a capital “L”! And while I loved being there, taking in all the sights and sounds, something unusual happened to me in that atmosphere. I almost hate to admit it, because it is so “not” me, but I became reserved and uncomfortable. I felt like I didn’t belong. I felt stupid because I couldn’t speak the language well enough. I talked to no one and even avoided eye contact. I tried to become invisible. I was in this enormous throng of people who all had something in common, and though I wanted to connect, I didn’t know how. It is not that anyone there made me feel unwelcome - I have always found Latinos to be warm and inviting - but I suddenly found myself feeling like a foreigner. I walked around, looking at everything, but that feeling never left me. It wasn’t until I was back on the subway heading home that I started to feel like myself again. While this may sound like a negative experience, I am actually so glad to have had it, even though it was uncomfortable. Yesterday I experiended what it must sometimes feel like to be a recent immigrant to this country. And I only felt like a foreigner for this one afternoon; I can’t imagine what it must be like to feel like that day after day! We all want to feel that we are a part of the group; that we belong. And for those of us who usually do, its a good thing to see what it feels like when you don’t. Its a “good” thing for those of us in the majority to see what it feels like to be in the minority. Its a “good” thing for those of us who speak English to see what it feels like to be the only one in a group that doesn’t speak the language. Its a “good” thing for those of us who are socially at ease to see what it feels like to not know how to act or where to look. And its a “good” to remember that we all feel out of place sometimes.