“Yes, I Am Native. I Carry My Bloodline Boldly.”

Recently, someone questioned whether I was truly Native—truly Indigenous—because of how I speak, how I look, or maybe how I live now. It wasn’t the first time, and maybe it won’t be the last. But I want to speak plainly and truthfully: I am Native through both my parents. I carry Mayan, African, British, and East Indian blood—and each part of me tells a story of survival, strength, and legacy.

I didn’t grow up in the U.S. suburbs, clinging to a lost idea of roots. I was raised deeply in my heritage—between two villages in Belize: Lemonal and Rancho Dolores. Rancho Dolores isn’t just a name on a map. It’s named after my great-great-great-grandmother, Maria, a fearless woman who migrated from Dolores, Mexico, with her husband, Pancho. Together, they led an unofficial militia during a time of war in our region—brave and determined, much like the legendary Pancho Villa. Because of Maria’s leadership, love, and impact, the people renamed our village after her: Rancho de Maria de Dolores, Mexico—now known as Rancho Dolores, Belize.

Maria was more than a revolutionary. She was also a woman of deep faith. She founded a church in our village and named it after the one from her hometown in Mexico—the place where the bell rang that sparked the Mexican Revolution: Our Lady of Sorrows. That same name now stands on a church in our village—a spiritual bridge across countries and generations.

But that’s only part of my heritage. I was also raised in Belize City and Placencia, surrounded by coastal culture and Caribbean rhythm. And through my ancestors who came from India as indentured laborers, I carry the story of a people brought to the Caribbean under colonial contracts—forced to work in sugarcane fields, then freed, and eventually settling in my country of Belize. Their resilience, spiritual richness, and strength still run through my veins today.

So when someone questions whether I’m “really” Native, I don’t take it lightly. My bloodline isn’t a costume or a checkbox. It’s a woven garment of struggle, pride, and sacred memory. I carry Mayan, African, British, and East Indian blood. I carry Maria’s war stories, Pancho’s leadership, and the freedom dreams of Indian laborers who built new lives in foreign lands.

Don’t tell me I’m not Native. I am the child of villages named for warriors. I am the descendant of revolution and revival. I am the result of sacrifice, faith, and survival. And I walk boldly in that truth—every single day.