Miami was a melting pot and I just blended in or at least thought I did. I mean, I looked like a lot of the people there, but then there was always that thing that made me stand out. “You look so American!” said a girl. Well, it was something I had never heard before. Apparently there was some sort of secret code. People could tell where you were coming from just by the way you spoke. American? American! How do you look American? I was shocked by such a statement but also slightly embarrassed. I mean, no one ever told me I looked American. During my Spanish course in Jacksonville I was praised for my amazing Spanish accent. I mean, it was clear that I was anything but fluent but American. Was it an insult? I mean, you could tell Cuban Spanish from Mexican Spanish, but I never thought I would be considered gringa (American). The old me might have said something like, “Soy Cubana, no es gringa” and of course the others would have laughed. Then I wondered: were they laughing at the joke or at me? I've always been a shy kid. I've always been afraid of judgment and now my voice betrayed it. I began to rely heavily on my parents for means of communication when the situation led to me having to speak in Spanish. I couldn't bear to see the confused look on people's faces when I spoke Spanish, so I turned to my parents who were both fluent in Spanish. I was frustrated and fed up. It was one thing to speak Spanish every now and then, but without it you couldn't survive in Miami. I couldn't understand such logic. I struggled to cope with so little Spanish while others graduated without English. This made me so angry that I began to resent the Spanish. I abandoned what little Spanish I knew. S...... half of the sheet ...... d in. I walked around the office saying hello to the staff. It was just another day of internship. Nothing exciting really. I approached Riemy's desk, "Do you need help?" He looked up from the computer, "Um..." he wiped his hands on his face, "Yes. Can you make some copies?" "Sure." I grabbed the original copies from the top shelf and walked over to the copier. The phones kept ringing as I loaded the car. The hum of the machine was interrupted by the sound of Emma's voice. With several files in hand he said, “Hey. Do you mind taking the Spanish speaker on line 3?""Oh! Um. Sorry, I didn't tell you. I don't speak Spanish." "Oh really? I could have sworn... It doesn't matter." "I understand!" Reimy said from behind us. “Congresswoman Ileana Ros-Lehtinen. Como puedo ayudarte?" "I thought you spoke Spanish." "It's okay, I know I'm right for the part," I said with a chuckle.