“But Where are You From From?”

 Reflections from a confused expatriate. By FRANCESCA CORNERO I have come to disconnect my brain from my words every time I answer the question of where I am from. No matter whether I tell you I am Italian, which means I want this conversation to end as quickly as possible, or whether I tell you I am Mexican, which means I am feeling patient, or whether I explain the story of my life; at this point I feel nothing but exhaustion for the epic I need to tell in order to account for all the pieces. When I get asked …

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