My strawberry scented soap offers me smooth and sexy skin. Once again I face an ad that offers me a desirable promise of sex. I am a sexualized creature. To be honest there is no point in saying that only women are sexualized. The word sexy is plastered on men’s ads. But to be honest I can’t just write about advertisements but rather want to focus my attention at the way that we are oppressed.

I am speaking right now not of the oppression that we face as Americans but rather talking about the inevitable injustice that my race faces. What is my race? I was always characterized as white on state exams because I was always the honor student. I could not be a black hispanic but truly in slave terms, am I far away enough from blackness to be considered free. 

I face the obstacle of being a woman, of being hispanic, and of being part of the low middle class. It’s intoxicating and it really sucks. I can’t find eloquent language to describe the shittiness of not being white, of not being rich, yet being friends with many who fall into this category. I sometimes convince myself that if I try hard enough to hide my ethnicity, it will fade away from my face. My skin will become lighter if I don’t face the sun and my features will altogether soften. Instead every day I am faced with a face that is on the verge of being accepted and slight things that distinguish it. 

I can’t see to relate to many people lately. I think that it is worse because I have reached a level of maturity where I no longer want to pretend that everything is perfect. Sometimes I fear that a certain parent will be racist, or that a professor will look down upon me because I am not white. And yet, I am not faced with much prejudice because of my proximity to the metropolitan area. 

I used to pretend that people’s comments couldn’t touch me. I overlooked my teacher’s prejudice of hispanic kids because I was white enough to blend into a safe zone. I let people mistake that I was a spaniard because that gave me a higher pedigree. And to some extent I am partly spaniard but the amount is not one that I can sum up. 

I let so many comments just happen. “You as my ____, me as your white rich provider”. I really should have realized that the picture that I was facing was a very ugly one. But I had pretty dresses, wine, shoes, all the things that lines my little closet in my little house. I always feel jealous of my friends for having huge family dinners and for having a sense of tradition. I don’t have any sense of tradition. I spent so much time avoiding myself that now I am just a mush of nothing. 

I am concerned that my father faces prejudice at work. It upsets me when he tries so hard to provide for his family but has to kill himself in the process. Who are the mules of the world? The poor, the colored, the marginalized. 

What can I say? 

I don’t know.

 

The Light

Sometimes you have to shed an old life to find a new one. But at times this life shedding is not something chosen but just happens. I am thinking right now about how much time we devote to being part of something. And it almost makes me laugh at how easily this artifice crumbles. But was it an artifice. Words are supposed to carry all this weight but words can only mean whatever meaning we give them. And even if we try to give a statement meaning, people can twist and turn such meaning into whatever they want to see. Shakespeare created Iago in Othello as a figure of human manipulation. Iago uses people’s fears and thoughts to create visions of realities that do not really exist. And by twisting words we can also twist reality. I am thinking right now of the nursery rhyme “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never harm me”. And I can’t refute that statement but I also can’t refute the fact that at times the statement changes to words will break my heart. The point in the dissonance between the statements is that they are true at the same time. Words do break hearts but they only reach to the extent that we allow them to reach us. 

I am at this point understanding myself in new ways. I realize that I am not the perfect christian but I also realize that God doesn’t expect me to be perfect. He just expects me to try and even when I willfully disobey God’s teachings he does not become angered. He is the ultimate forgiver. Beneath words are intentions. God does not just see your words nor your actions but sees your intentions. If God expected us to be perfect he would not have created confession. We would just be perfect or perish. 

This season of lent is a gift that I have been granted. I will use the season to forgive others and to accept my own shortcomings. Ultimately losing a friendship on earth is difficult but inevitable. Honestly people expect too much from others and this makes relationships fail. I am also working on accepting that perfection is not a realistic expectation. And God has finally taught me that silence is the greatest words that my mouth can utter. 

Every time that I begin a new post, I always try to go somewhere but I am always led back to God. I am a sinner. I am too liberal at times. But in the end my love for God never breaks. God’s love is my strength and home. Even when life gets tough, God is my refuge. My old life was similar to my new one except for one thing. Things used to devastate me. I used to become frantic about exams and essays. Now I am at peace because now I know that darkness has a light and that light is God who never leaves.