Descriptive Essay On Tamales

In my family, the production of tamales is an intensive assembly-line-esque task. One person lays down the boiled corn husks and spreads on a layer of thick masa. This is passed on to the next person, who applies the filling. Half of them are red chili and pork, while the other half are green chili and cheese, all residing in a neat sun on the masa. The husk is then shuffled over to the most important person of them all; the olive-placer. They perform an arduous task that most mortals are incapable of completing. They place the olive in the circle. Of course, only a rookie would place the olive in the direct center. It must be placed approximately one-third of the way down from the top of the circle. After this, the husk is folded down the center and at the ends, then tied and placed in a steamer to cook.

However, nearly everyone who helps make the tamales in my family is asian.

My father is white. We can delve a little deeper with different places of Ireland, England, France, etc. but overall, he is white. As a result, I am light-skinned. Despite this, I can't truly say that I feel "white". When forms ask me to denote my "primary race" I am uncomfortable because I am denying the other parts of my identity. In truth, I connect more with my asian side than anything else. Every year I have christmas with my asian family, and we celebrate chinese new year together. (Also, due to my honors/AP course load, I spend a lot of time with other asians.)

My hispanic side troubles me the most when I try to mix the cultures within myself. A question coalesces; is ethnicity performative? I don’t speak spanish, my skin color is ambiguous at best, and my family doesn’t keep much contact with my mexican relatives. I begin feeling as if I’m at a drought of culture, that I haven’t been steeped in my family’s past enough to even say I’m part of