The Fig Tree

            The Fig Tree.  Oil on Canvas.  July 2017.  40" x 30"

Having been born in Puerto Rico, but growing up in the United States, I’ve always felt that I never quite “belonged.”  In my predominately white suburban school I never truly fit in. It was clear that not only did I look different, I spoke and acted differently as well.  In fact, for a time I was put into speech therapy classes to cure me of my “accent.” In contrast, whenever I returned to Puerto Rico or spent time with my family, I was told time and time again that I was not a “real” Puerto Rican because I acted “white.”  I struggled with my identity as a child and it has continued as an adult. When I am asked the question “Where are you from?” I feel a sense of anxiety. I know that it will be followed by “No, where are you really from?”  

The frozen figure in this painting captures my reflections at such a moment. On one side I wonder why my race should play a part in how I am seen as an individual, while on the other I know deep down that my Puerto Rican roots have played a pivotal role in developing who I am.  

I struggle with this confusion even more at this moment in history, when Hispanics are being marginalized more and more by society and our government.  The anti-immigrant stances have fueled my pride in my ancestry, yet I question if I will truly be able to understand the true struggle immigrants face if I am able to pass as “white.”  It is such questions that fuel my uncertainty surrounding my identity and leave me frozen in thought.

In summary, this quote from Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” summarizes it best.  “I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”