Proud Latina American Woman

These feelings I have within myself is not as foreign as my heritage or language; it is as recognizable as a pinch of blood touching your skin. Determining how society will you treat from that moment on, your atoms and molecules filling up your skin pores will maintain its control over you.  These days I have been crying a lot. Whether it is because my country is being racially attacked by arrogant a******s or the fact I know families are being killed by the result of not having enough money to pay ransom. The News makes me cry too. Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Eric Gardner and many other African Americans we have forgotten by the horrific and the unfortunate response to repeat actions of racism. Even the weather channel hurts my sensitive feelings, look at those f*****g tornados and destructive hurricanes killing hundreds of people leaving innocent people homeless. Walking around my icy stoop, I hear my senses bitching about how cold it is. I don’t know s**t about how cold life could really be at all. I can’t revolve my life around exaggeration because there is nothing to exaggerate like my ancestors deserved to or had to go through. To this day, I don’t know s**t about scrutiny either. I am supposed to be this proud Latina American Woman, right? Aren’t I supposed to love America the beautiful? But how can I the moment someone says they are Hispanic the word Mexican comes up? How the f**k can I am proud of my nationality on the day of Halloween I see the most cringe worthy costumes. My mother worked her a*s off to achieve this overrated American Dream for what? To see a******s make a total fool of her.  In New York I only see nothing but a happy city. A city of illumining lights and extravagant freedom to do it is you want however I feel stuck when I hear “white privilege” something that I wasn’t born to have. It is this lonesome sensation I have; being trapped and overbearingly judged, the moment you here my Columbian name. If I’m not happy I am a depressed-lifeless figure with no pride, if I am too happy, I am a broken person. I am neither of these vague expressions. I am on the in-between. How can I be truly happy when I grew up with hate? It’s something that comes naturally to you when people give you nasty stares and rude questions, “Were you born here? What do your parents do for a living? Do you have a single parent? ”Do you have a house, if you do who helps your mom pay it, child support? “What the f**k, is this 60 minutes?!? I lived in a tiny apartment growing up with no dad at all until I got older and got an amazing stepdad. During those lonely days of no father present, my mother had to work like any parent had to or should I say like every Hispanic parent. She was a cleaning lady in Staff Builders near the Lake Success center. Years later she would be known to move to the best section of the job having her own desk and everything. My mom had to support five children and that for me gives me the inspiration to live up to the American dream. Growing up in an all-white school, I didn’t know English at all. I didn’t know twinkle twinkle little star until I was in f*****g second grade! I remember feeling like an idiot and so uncomfortable. These embellished feelings of pure happiness; in my everlasting fantasy that I could be accepted for who I am regardless will never come true.

My confidence of being a Latina American has such an extent where I can look into a mirror and accept I am the way I look. I feel beautiful and unmorally happy because of my Latina roots but then it turns flat. The flattest balloon in the world, the saddest dream a child could have.  The reflection I have prepared for myself is completely shattered and it is hard to repair anything with

Bloody fingers.

 Gloomy sighs and unmotivated speeches in your head repeating hour after hour won’t get you out the door.

These overwhelming feelings of dread and the immense sense of sadness won’t make me have a brighter day. Constant failing and cruel scrutiny leads to a world of darkness and fear. My lungs burn with excitement after I’ve spent two days locked inside my house, breathing outside where the purest cold thick air rushes through your lungs. It is a force that keeps you moving and that is what makes me sad. A child has no emotional force they are just happy and purity. I do have purity though. Somewhere in my soul there is power and pride for my country and for the thoughts for my future. I need my weaknesses and strengths to proceed the way it wants to. Whether it is the fact that I have never had my first kiss or when I am writing teen anxs bullshit (like this) on paper for myself. I can’t do that now. This whole before you go to high school you need to have some relationship experience? I don’t want to do that s**t now! I need to take care of myself! I don’t want to make someone feel good right now at all. I need to work on myself emotionally. I watch movies and see how touchy-feely couples are, imagining myself in a love life like that is funny. I cup my hands together pressing them to my chest with a dream bubble above my head but then it explodes because being with someone 24/7 would be f*****g annoying to me! Maybe it’s because I’m extremely immature towards strong connections because I feel like true love doesn’t last.  But if I had to imagine a life for myself it would be me waking up to really loud music like Joplin or Shakira’s Peligro laying on a fluffy bed with hundreds of cute stuff animals  with my significant other dressing up to go to a successful job kissing me on the forehead with a smile. Waking up to a clean house would also be preferable but as long as they made the effort it is perfect for me! I don’t want a very romantic love life either; it will get boring too quickly! I don’t want roses all the f*****g time. They will eventually die. It’s a horrible representation towards love because the flower will eventually die. I would enjoy staying home with a blanket on my two shoulders and my legs propped on his thighs binging episodes of Cupcake Wars throwing popcorn at the screen out of pure frustration! I don’t need to go out all the time, either, watching him play his idiotic games on the Xbox screaming to get a high score I would be laughing at him when he loses and try to play rematches to get a better score than him. I know this lifestyle will probably never happen because of how immature it sounds! A person I would want to find would be someone with ethical values, good humor, pride for what they achieved, and to know a large branch of knowledge towards music. The question that will always remain in my head after I fantasize, If I had the same privileges as a white woman would I be someone else, would I have had accomplished better grades, would i still be bitching about how unfair my life is?  I feel so three dimensional sometimes, as if I am not here. I am roaming around a blackwhite screen with video and pictures, yet my director never screams cut when I need it most. I cry because I am sad. I cry because I am too happy. I cry because I am angry. A child could write this and understand how simple it is to describe your emotions when it isn’t forced. There is no argument; there isn’t something to agree on reading this. I just need a voice on a paper telling me how I feel then overwhelming thoughts in my

 Head

 

 

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Author's Note

ignore grammar problems

Reviews

[Saddam]

A remarkable write friend.
I admire your every statement.
it is long time to see you and read your word, but strong back at this desk.
Nice dear friend.