Josh Tejada

Not Dominican Enough By Josh Tejada

My name sounds cool

When my mom says it.

But in school

It gets cut short.

Smoothed out

like it’s too heavy to carry whole.

Here I am

in hallways that smell like sweat and noise,

and everybody’s watching

to see who doesn’t fit.

They hear I’m Dominican.

And suddenly.

I’m on trial.

“Say something in Spanish.”

“C’mon, if you’re really Dominican, hit the ball”

Really.

Like there’s a badge.

Like I forgot mine at home.

Spanish lives in my house.

It’s in my mom’s voice

when she’s calls me to eat dinner

“Muchacho, deja eso”

It’s in the music shaking the kitchen walls while she cleans.

Bachata sounds take over.

I understand more than I can say.

But when I try to speak it

My tongue locks up.

My R’s don’t roll.

They trip over themselves

and fall flat

in front of everybody.

And somebody laughs.

“You're not Dominican enough.”

Those words really

stab me in ribs

What do they know about being Dominican?

My friends barely speak Spanish. 

But for them

It’s just a class.

For them, it’s vocabulary.

For me, it’s identity.

For them, it’s a subject.

For me, it’s something I’m supposed to be.

And somehow

I’m not fluent enough

to feel proud of myself.

Because being thirteen

and told you’re “not really” something

feels like someone

crossed out your last name

with permanent ink.

it sits heavy

in my chest

Sometimes I wish the words came out smooth,

like a Bad Bunny chorus

Everybody already knows.

Instead, mine shakes.

And I feel that shaking

in my bones.

But 

You don’t get to grade my blood.

You don’t get to measure my culture

by how my tongue moves.

Being Dominican

is not a pronunciation contest or a baseball game. 

It’s in my mother’s warm embrace 

It’s in my family’s laughter.

It’s in the heat in my skin.

I am not “almost.”

I am not “fake.”

I am Dominican

even when my words tremble.

And that

is enough.