Take a moment to prepare yourself for what you are about to read: the first, and likely only, article to be written by a Northern Irish-Bolivian hybrid in…well, possibly ever.

It is a fairly random mix of genes, so I guess we descendants of potato-munchers and coca-chewers don’t have a particularly large presence in the world of journalism, or the world at that*. Still, I was asked to write a piece about how being mixed race, more specifically half-Bolivian, affects my sense of identity, so it is with great honour that I undertake this task on behalf of all my oddly-parented race.

When people ask me what it’s like having parents from two different cultures, the first thing that springs to mind (and something I am really grateful for), is that it has given me a whole different outlook on life, in comparison to that of my English or Bolivian friends. I have been effectively brought up with an extra set of cultural outlooks and values, not to mention an extra language (which, I believe, means you interpret the world differently). Now, a Spanish-speaking Bolivian probably has a different world-view than an English-speaking Brit, but growing up with two different life views allows you to see through the benefits and flaws of each one, and I think this makes me more open-minded and more naturally inclined to relativism. After all, both your parents’ cultures can’t be right when they disagree on issues, so such contrasts force you to look more critically at both those world-views, and at yourself.

So I never had a strong sense as a child that the English way of life that I grew up with was the ‘natural’ way, meaning that although I felt close to my parents’ countries and to England, I also didn’t feel like I was tied down to, or defined by, any one nation. In fact, the idea of nations seemed a bit ridiculous. This has given me a rather odd point of view; obviously I lived in English society, so I felt involved in it, yet I also felt detached from it, because I saw myself as belonging to more than just England. In other words, I had an outsider’s perspective on England, but also felt like, and indeed was, an insider.

Still, the ‘outsider’s perspective’ usually came from a more Bolivian-flavoured angle, simply because, even though Northern Ireland has its own unique culture, it is ultimately a part of British culture; the very thing I had been taking a detached look at. So, although I was immersed in, and a part of, English culture, my irritations with it stemmed mostly from a Bolivian perspective, as well as a sense that I wasn’t really completely part of English culture. I would sometimes moan to my English friends about my gripes with “English people,” whilst not including myself amongst these English people I criticised. (In retrospect, not a good way to win friends and influence people.)

I say I compared English culture to Bolivian culture; but of course what I didn’t realise then is that that wasn’t actually the case, as I had never lived in Bolivia. Despite my Mum bringing me up to have a strong affinity with her Bolivian culture, I was contrasting the England I knew with the Bolivia I thought I knew. I feel such a strong link to family, culture and language in Bolivia that to me it has always seemed like home. Yet, because I never actually had to deal with the day-to-day problems and gripes of living there (such as you get anywhere), I had – and still sometimes have - an idealised view of it. In a way, I suppose this idealised Bolivia became a representation of how I would like a culture (and I guess therefore English culture) to be. It’s as if I had nostalgia for a home I’d never lived in or left behind; no matter what life was like in England, it was comforting for me to imagine that everything would be peachy in Bolivia, if I was there. So in that sense, Bolivia actually felt more like home than England, simply because there was that element of semi-utopian hope about it. And even though I’m more than aware now that that’s nonsense, I still like to let my rational side switch off occasionally, and to indulge in wistful thinking about Bolivia.

Of course, the Bolivian part of me is only half my heritage. I also feel like Northern Ireland is a home-from-home, yet the sense of being ‘part’ of Ulster, and the rose-tinted view of it, is a lot weaker than my feelings about Bolivia, mainly due to the degree of difference between the respective cultures. Not only is Bolivia culturally and geographically removed enough that I could create an idealised image of it, but on a slightly childish level, I like the feeling of being different from your average English person. It is like having an instant personality quirk, without having to bother with the effort of actually cultivating a quirky personality. Ultimately, being a mix of disparate countries is something that I enjoy, rather than being something that makes me question who, or what, I am.

I am glad I am half-Bolivian, but I don’t let it define me. For my mum, an ex-pat with no real links to her home in England, being Bolivian is vital to her sense of well-being. For me however, it is different. For example, when I discovered that one of my ancestors was a previous President of Bolivia, I was very proud. But, on discovering that we were politically radically opposed, it didn’t shake my sense of self or of Bolvia - I simply dropped that part of my Bolivianess with the same ease I had picked it up earlier.

So, my backgrounds are something that I enjoy, and that I can use to give myself a sense of closeness to certain things when it suits me, but they are not something that I let define me. I just like the sense of having a different outlook and also of being a bit different. When I found out I was part Jewish recently, for instance, I felt like a kid at Christmas/Hanukkah, not because I was re-evaluating what that meant for me in terms of my identity, but simply because I found it, well, cool. If I could I’d collect ethnicities like there was no tomorrow.

In fact, bizarrely enough, it is other people who seem to want my cultural background to shape my sense of self. My mum wishes I would dedicate myself to Bolivia and is adamant I’m practically a Boliviano, which in turn leads my dad to stubbornly maintain I am, and always will be, ‘white’. (My sister agrees with him, but reckons I “just need a good scrubbin’ ” to be properly white.) Though they’d never admit it, it is as if not having their son define himself as their own ethnicity worries them on some level. But that’s a topic for a whole other article…and so the spread of Ulstro-Bolivian journalism begins…

* Even our civil rights group, The Mildly Tan Panthers, doesn’t have any members except me.