With A Grateful Heart by Chris Gil

Sometimes the hardest part of professionalism is not the paperwork. It is the pause between what you want to say and what you choose to say.

This morning, a senior student walked into my office asking for help registering for online classes. I work at a college in Florida, though my department does not usually assist regular students. It was unusual to see him there, but when he told me he had driven hours to reach our campus, I welcomed him in and paused my workflow. Kindness costs nothing, and I try to offer it freely.

We spent about half an hour navigating forms and logins. He was pleasant and talkative. Then he asked, “You have an accent I don’t recognize. Where exactly are you from?”

“I’m from the Dominican Republic,” I replied with a smile.
I do not mind that question. My accent is part of who I am and tells my story.

He told me about his visits to my country. Then he said, “your country speak Portuguese, right?”

I gently corrected him. “No, we speak Spanish.”

What followed caught me off guard. He explained, confidently, that the Dominican Republic does not really have an educational system, and that his church sends people here to study.

I paused.

On the outside, I kept my composure. On the inside, I felt disbelief, sadness, indignation, even rage. I wanted to tell him so many things…

Did he know that the Dominican Republic is home to the first university in the Western Hemisphere, almost a hundred years before Harvard? That the country offers high-quality, debt-free education, or affordable options if students go private? That students from all over the world travel there for medicine, business, and tourism programs? That Dominican universities have produced professionals in major industries around the world, with degrees recognized in the United States, Europe, and beyond? Yes, we have our issues, like everywhere else, but to suggest we don’t even have an educational system is simply wrong. Education is not a gift handed to us; it is something Dominicans have worked hard for, built, and valued for centuries.

But I said none of that.

Instead, I changed the subject and continued helping him register for his classes with the same kindness. Choosing kindness is something I practice, even when it is not easy.

His words reminded me of a moment years ago in Italy when someone told me, “You’re so beautiful to be from there,” without knowing where “there” was. Then he asked whether my people believed in God, as if we were an unfinished society waiting to be civilized. The same feeling returned. That quiet weight of being reduced to a stereotype. And I refuse to deny those emotions. To deny them would be to deny my humanity.

Ignorance does not always arrive loudly. Sometimes it comes wrapped in politeness. Sometimes it sits across from you asking for help.

Today, I chose to keep my smile. Not because I agreed, but because dignity is not only about defending where you come from. It is also about knowing who you are without feeling the need to fight every battle, especially the ones unlikely to change deeply rooted beliefs.

Until curiosity replaces assumption, I will keep my accent. I will keep my history. And I will keep choosing grace, even when my mind is full of answers.

Have you ever experienced a microaggression that left you pausing between what you wanted to say and what you chose to say?I would love to hear how you handled it.