A couple of days ago, I finally had the chance to see one of my dreams come true: I finally celebrated the Fourth of July the American way, with a barbecue in the backyard, surrounded by my friends.

Am I American? No, not even by law, or at least not yet. I am the proud owner of a beautiful, laminated Green Card, but that is probably my sole and most American possession.

I don’t define myself as American, and yet, when I go back to Italy and my friends joke around calling me “l’Americana”, I realize that they are not completely wrong. After having spent five years in the United States, whenever I go back to Italy, I am hit with a strange feeling, as if I were missing something. Maybe it’s the friendliness, or the generally upbeat and motivating environment, or the freedom that we strive to protect; or maybe it’s just the fried chicken, the mac and cheese and the ice in my water. But deep down, I know that some of the American core values that I have learned over the years are now engraved into my own set of values.

Even right now, as I am blogging from a Starbucks in Iowa City, I realize that there are some simple things about American culture and American living that are essentially part of me now. I mean, what’s more American than this?

Either way, I know y’all aren’t here for my reflections on my personal identity. The Fourth of July is a time to celebrate, not a time for reflection. And that is what my friends and I did. We celebrated our own kind of Fourth of July.

My friends also come from different backgrounds and cultures. Of course, I have American friends, but at the same time, some of my best friends are from places such as Vietnam, Guatemala, Mexico, Pakistan and the Philippines. Therefore, we reflected this diversity on our Fourth of July celebration, which was traditional and untraditional at the same time.

From the outside, the celebration seemed traditional: we were out in the backyard grilling, chatting, drinking and throwing fireworks. Nothing that unusual here. However, there were some things that would have been defined unusual, such as, for example, constantly switching between Latin music, Italian music and then going back to Liam Payne or the Chainsmokers, or serving Italian dishes such as pasta, pizza and focaccia, or Filipino dishes such as pancit and lumpia. Yes, we had wildly American Jell-O shots, as well as burgers, hot dogs and beer, but at the same time, conversations were going on in four different languages.

And while all of that was happening, I came to a realization: I’ll never be fully American, but it is up to me to choose what of America I want to adopt. I can take anything from the American culture, celebrate it, and make it my own.

Going off of that, although the barbecue was full of so many languages, foreign dishes and such diverse music, I’ve never felt more American than this past Fourth. What I mean by that is that this is my America: incredibly different people coming to celebrate the country that they love under the same flag.

P.S.: I’ve been hit by a firework sparkle on my arm. It didn’t hurt that much, but it’s still a good story to tell. Does that make me a real American yet?