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My mom brought me up by herself, so I was a latchkey kid. I would walk myself back from school and spent a lot of time at home alone, watching TV. There weren't a lot of Latinas - or any women of color. And the ones I saw were usually presented as stereotypes or treated like jokes.

I definitely have some stereotypical qualities of being a Latina. I talk with my hands, which means I knock stuff over all the time.

I realized how Latina I was, and then also, at the same time, how not Latina enough I was, because I'm born and raised in Los Angeles. I speak Spanish, but I don't speak perfect Spanish, not like a native speaker.

Unfortunately, I don't look as Latin as I am. I get called a white guy a lot, but I am very proud of my heritage. I try my hardest to bring honor to my Mexican roots. Latin people are very passionate and loyal, and I will always remember who I am and where I come from.

I didn't see myself any different from my white counterparts in school. I just didn't! I thought I could do what they did. And what I didn't do well, I thought people were going to give me the opportunity to do well, because maybe they saw my talent, so they would give me a chance. I had no idea that they would see me completely different.

I had a Latin master who, for no rational reason whatsoever - I was a very quiet kid at school - just hated me.

Growing up in this post-apartheid era, the first generation of teens in South Africa living in this new democracy, I often found myself feeling different. I was often the only person of color in an otherwise all-white school. And within the Indian community, because of my training with an English acting teacher, my accent was very different.

I grew up in L.A. in a school that was diverse, but it was not really integrated, so I didn't ever fully fit in with the black girls or the white girls or the Latina girls.

Often people would mistake me for white when I was younger, and I didn't correct them; there would be a period of time that they just thought I was.