Some thoughts about identity

June 13, 2026.

As much as I love Latin America, I’ve always had a hard time identifying as Latina. I mean, I know I’m Latina—I’m from here, from Latin America. Or maybe I wouldn’t say I have a hard time identifying as one, but it’s a concept I feel very distant from.

I’m not on TikTok, and in general, I don’t spend much time on social media, but I remember that for some time now there’s been a sort of booming trend of “Latina aesthetic,” which showcases a very specific type of imagery consisting of beautiful women, old streets, fruit vendors, Catholicism, and more—things that are, in fact, part of Latin America, but that at the same time feels very narrow. However, we must remember that this type of imagery has existed for a long time due to the U.S. media, which also creates a monolithic image of Latin America and reduces it to the idea that all Latinx people are brown, love to dance, or are involved in drug trafficking.

So perhaps my mind has also internalized this stereotype, which makes me wonder if I’m “Latina enough” or not.

In addition, I think I have a rather conflicted identity as a Venezuelan. I believe this feeling also stems from the fact that Venezuela has always been poorly represented: either 1) people always talk about negative things, like the crisis, corruption, and so on, or 2) there is no representation at all. And I know Venezuela used to have a better image, but in this context I’m referring to the last 30 or 20 years. In my short life, in my generation—and I’m part of Generation Z—that representation has never been consistently positive.

But there’s also something ironic about it: even within Venezuelan culture, there’s always a particular group or region that gets most of the attention. The thing is, in Venezuela—given the dire situation we’re in—representation is representation, but other cultures and regions of the country tend to be overlooked.

Venezuela is a big country full of diversity and all that, but there’s a part of the country that usually hogs all the attention; this is something we can see not only in music, film, etc., but it’s a real problem that extends to politics, the economy, and more. The thing is, when I was a teenager, I thought my whole life was destined to be spent there, in a place where I could find better opportunities; I hated where I lived, I hated my city, I didn’t care about my culture or the things I’d grown up with.

But now I love where I come from; it’s not perfect, but I still like it. It’s something I work on every day, and I’m critical of it, but I really like it.

Where I’m from, the influence is mostly Caribbean—does that make me Caribbean too? Let’s start with the fact that I’ve never set foot on a beach in my life, lol, but my family—both my father’s and mother’s sides—are from the Caribbean, from a coastal city and a Caribbean island, respectively.

But I’d dare say that Venezuela is a country with a very noticeable Caribbean influence, and this is because most of the population lives either on the coast or near it. Venezuela also has a connection with Caribbean countries like the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, and Cuba, sharing food staples, similar slang, music and the quintessential sport, which is baseball.

So I wouldn’t say I’m Caribbean either, but I’m connected to the region through my family.

It’s worth mentioning that this website also serves as an expression of my identity—it’s actually inspired by my experiences and the place where I live. The only thing is, it’s not very obvious, but it really is; it’s just that I’m the only one who gets it, lol.

Anyway, in recent years I’ve tried to come to terms with my identity—embracing the good things like nature, food, customs, and music—but also dealing with and being critical of the bad. There are so many bad things to mention that it deserves its own blog post just to vent about them lol.

Thanks for reading!