We celebrate our complex identities and create space to continually explore, build, and redefine them as we progress in this journey called life.

Ricky Martín albums were the sounds of my nascent Spanish, adolescent tongue dutifully rolling my R’s como los rieles del ferrocarril.

Every Spanish class assumed I was a heritage speaker, fluently versed

in a vocabulary that spilled out words beyond my comprehension.

Like the storm of Iansã that bathes me in dreams
Smile
multiple identities
Multiple selves that are this mixture of races

Help me fill out an identification form
with a quick “yes” or “no”
instead of a forced choice, single answer,
after prolonged deliberation of what I’m supposed to be.

Am I that hard for you to look at? I, unfortunately, know the answer to be “yes.”
To you, I am an infuriating enigma.
To me, you’re a younger version of an aging father I wish wasn’t 1,000 miles away.

Unafraid to profess my love for my dark skin
For the colochos that bounce as I walk this madre earth
unapologetic and free
Certain of who I am because
I “look the part”

I sound like this because the words are coming from this body: colonized, and forced to assimilate. The color of my skin helps me get by. Until I speak and the foreignness oozes out of my dimples and into people's ears.

How Acosta’s foray into drag became a transformative avenue for self-discovery, with Natasha evolving into a vessel of bold self-expression, embodying power, love, and support.