We have been discussing my identity on this blog. Let there be no doubt: I am Mexican. I was invited to be Mexican long ago, and after some deliberation I accepted.
Mexican though I may be, Mexican that I am, I cannot go home because I have expenses, which I am negotiating in the oral tradition and in cash, in Creole French which, thank God and the Virgin, I can speak.
My workers now wish me to attend their post-Catholic, Apostolic Bible study. Pagan and Jew that I also am I have refused, thanking God and the Virgin.
Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 
The only identity I’m comfortable with is that of an immigrant because it’s the only one I chose and haven’t been handed at birth. Besides, I even chose it twice. 🙂
I’ve got a narrative voice / authorship problem on this blog. I am supposed to be performing and interpreting an ancient text written on a pre-Columbian stela in what is now Honduras. So the real author is the author of that text, and this is just a performance.
Technically, I should really locate myself in Honduras and guard against other identifications, and limit my topics. I did this originally. But my own voice has been progressively taking over. I’m not sure how hard to try to keep the original concept intact.