The Segway to Self-Identity Anonymous

“Wissen Sie, wo die Stadtamhof Haltestelle ist?” (Do you know where the Stadamhof Station is?). The German man directed his question to me, but before I had the chance to respond, my sister interjected, “Oh no, that's just my brother.” In that moment, I realized I had just been mistaken for a German local. My red chino pants and H&M tee-shirt must have really sold the part. The German man’s misjudgment made me feel chic and sophisticated as if his small mistake gave me a new level of superiority.

For the remainder of my family’s German expedition, I was determined to appear like a local. Whenever we were in public, I made sure that my aunt, who is fluent in German, did all the talking; I only opened my mouth if I could employ the little German I knew. If my painfully American parents uttered a word of English near me in public, I shot them a scornful glare.

To my dismay, my temporary lifestyle came to an end. The time came for me to resume my life as a typical American teenager. On the last day of our trip, I packed up my bags and boarded my flight in a state of constant pondering and reflection. I wondered why I had spent the entirety of my time in Germany attempting to appear like a local. Why was I trying to create an...