Mexican-American Is Not a Phase—It’s a Reality

There’s a quiet assumption that follows many of us through life—that being Mexican-American is something temporary. A phase you grow out of. Something diluted over time. Something your kids might only half-inherit.

But Mexican-American is not a phase.
It’s not confusion.
And it’s definitely not something that disappears with success, education, or assimilation.

It’s a reality.

From the moment we’re young, we learn to move between worlds. English outside. Spanish at home—or Spanglish everywhere. One set of expectations at school. Another with family. We learn how to translate—not just language, but culture, tone, humor, respect.

That doesn’t make us incomplete.
It makes us fluent.

Yet society often treats Mexican-American identity as transitional—as if the goal is to eventually become something else. More “American.” Less hyphenated. Less visible.

But what if the hyphen isn’t a weakness?

What if it’s the point?

Being Mexican-American means carrying memory and momentum at the same time. It means honoring where your family came from while navigating a country that still struggles to fully recognize you. It means pride and pressure existing side by side.

It also means refusing to choose.

We are not half of anything. We are not on our way to becoming “real” Americans. We already are. Our culture shapes food, music, labor, language, politics, and the economy—often without credit, often without protection.

And despite narratives that suggest we’ll fade quietly into the background, we haven’t.

We’re raising bilingual kids.
We’re organizing politically.
We’re questioning traditions while still honoring our elders.
We’re redefining masculinity, queerness, faith, and family—on our own terms.

That’s not a phase. That’s evolution.

Mexican-American identity doesn’t disappear with time—it adapts. It grows sharper, more intentional, more self-aware. And in a country undergoing massive cultural and demographic change, that adaptability isn’t something to fear.

It’s something to understand.

OndaTimes exists because this reality deserves language. Because our experience isn’t theoretical—it’s lived. Because we are not a footnote in someone else’s story.

We are the story.