Identity is not static. It doesn't freeze in time or remain intact when life takes us on unexpected paths. Many people tie their identity to where they were born, but for those who migrate, the story is more complex. Childhood memories blend with new customs, language adapts to circumstances, and what we once took for granted begins to transform.
My place of birth is Puerto Rico, a territory in the United States with a unique political and cultural history. Although Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens by birth, our migration experience often resembles that of other Latin Americans. Our language, customs, and worldview set us apart from mainstream American society, and adapting to the mainland is a process rather than an automatic transition.
For someone who has never left Puerto Rico or their country of origin, it might be challenging to understand why my perspective has changed. But this isn't about rejecting my culture or forgetting where I come from; it's about embracing the reality that migration inevitably transforms a person.
My experience has expanded me in ways I never anticipated. After almost two decades on the mainland, I realize I don't fit entirely into the mold of who I once was. One of the most significant shifts I experienced was realizing that my Puerto Rican identity had changed. On the island, identity is something people take for granted; in the States, we must constantly reconstruct it. Learning English, adapting to new social cues, and navigating an unfamiliar system were not just logistical challenges but experiences that reshaped how I saw myself and the world.
Some Puerto Ricans on the continent remain deeply rooted in their traditions and find strong community ties that preserve a sense of home. I respect and admire that, but my journey took another direction. I came alone to Boston with a master’s degree, but without a social network. The adjustment in English was brutal. My circumstances forced me to learn the language to integrate into mainstream society or risk living isolated in a Spanish-speaking bubble.
Given my academic background, learning English exposed me not only to new ideas and ways of thinking but also to social norms—like not showing up at someone’s house unannounced, bringing a dish to a gathering, keeping my voice down on public transportation, or avoiding loud music at home. Puerto Rico is not an uncivilized place, but daily life there is less structured and more spontaneous, which often clashes with the more regulated lifestyle in the United States.
Migration didn't erase my identity; it expanded it. I haven't lost my Puerto Rican culture—I have adapted it to a new reality. Sociological studies, such as Transnational Diasporas: A New Era or a New Myth (2012), confirm that when people migrate, they inevitably integrate aspects of their new environment into their identity. That doesn't mean they lose their roots, but that they add new layers to who they are.
One of the clearest ways migration changed me is my relationship with religion. While many Puerto Ricans and Latin Americans maintain strong religious foundations, I find myself less religious than most. Massachusetts is known for its intellectual and academic culture, and it's among the least religious states in the United States, according to Pew Research (2016), compared to 89% in Puerto Rico. From those, 48% identified as born-again Christians. Living in such a secular place has made me more inclined toward rationalism and intellectual inquiry rather than faith-based beliefs.
This change has sometimes created a disconnect with other Puerto Ricans and Latin Americans because they tend to intertwine religion with their cultural identity. Conversations with family and community remind me that my outlook has shifted from what people expect. Many Puerto Ricans attribute success or struggles to God’s will, and I have adopted a more humanistic and atheist worldview.
So, I consider myself bicultural or a hybrid, moving through different spaces without losing my essence. Some see biculturalism as a lack of loyalty to one’s origins. Still, I see it as an advantage because it allows me to talk with English-speaking Bostonians on academic topics as easily as I connect with Latin Americans in more informal settings. I understand the social and cultural codes of both worlds, which has allowed me to integrate without feeling completely alienated. For me, integration was never about rejecting my culture but about survival.
The biggest challenge in this transformation has been the feeling of never fully belonging anywhere. I'm no longer the same person I was in Puerto Rico, but on the mainland, I'm not fully seen as one of them either. The question “Where are you from?” will always come up, and my answer will never satisfy everyone.
Some might interpret my evolution as distancing myself from Puerto Rico, but that's not my intention. It has not been a deliberate choice, but the natural result of nearly two decades away. I accept my roots, but I can't fit into the traditional version of what it means to be Puerto Rican.
Many in the diaspora cling to a fixed idea of identity, while I have chosen to allow myself to grow. Migration didn't strip me of Puerto Rico; it taught me to carry it differently. I'm Puerto Rican, American, and bicultural. And in that mix, I have found my true identity.
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