I am a Puerto Rican gay man. That is how I identify. That is my identity. I say Puerto Rican first because it is the obvious. It’s written all over my face. It’s in the curl of my hair, in the width of my nose, and in the color of my skin. I name that first because it is the first thing you acknowledge about me. It is the first thing you see. You make your first assumptions about me based on that. Even if you do not know that I am Puerto Rican you know that I am not white and something probably tells you that I am not black, at least, not just black. The truth is, being Puerto Rican, I am all of those things and Taino, and who knows what else mixed in. I am one of those Puerto Ricans for which this is obvious. It’s not true for all of us. Puerto Ricans come in a spectrum of hues, but it is true for me. It’s a fact that, for a part of my childhood and adolescence, despite my parent’s best efforts, I wished wasn’t true, because it would’ve made life easier. Being white is easier. For one thing, everything in American popular culture when I was in my teens affirmed the beauty of whiteness. I wanted to be considered beautiful, just like anyone else. It wasn’t until later that I learned how beautiful this blend of cultures really is.