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.