Aqui, Pensando
By: Rosana Hurtado Klaus
Why do I get so bothered,
So mad at seeing these white girls turn themselves brown?
Why do I get so bothered,
So mad to see them lamely moving to cumbias
And why do I get so bothered,
So mad to hear them or see them write in Spanish?
Because this was a language I was expected to maintain,
But also a language I was rejected from.
Because I was a confused little mixed girl
Who never got the luxury of deciding it was cute enough,
Or interesting enough
To add this new persona to my identity.
Because for me,
It was always a struggle
And continues to be a struggle.
Never ending.
And because they can speak our language,
And eat our food,
And dance to our music,
But they will never feel the pain that is so rudimentary to our being.
While they enjoy their parents’ vacation homes in Mexico,
My family struggles to rebuild their scrap metal roof.
And while they shop for cute huaraches and colorful earrings,
We send back whatever money we can for our family to get medicine.
And we send old clothes to make sure they have things that will fit our growing cousins.
And here,
While they enjoy spending money on their self-tanning or whatever the fuck they do,
I worry about getting a good paying job to help my mom
Who makes cents to their dollars.
And while they dream of all the luxurious possibilities of their privileged futures,
I worry about that of my tías,
My abuelitos,
My primos,
My mom.
So it angers me to see them flaunt my culture
That I have hated, and been confused about,
But always loved.
And it angers me to see them visit every year a place where I cannot
For the sake of my family’s safety.
But I understand that my heart is this big
Because I was born out of pain and suffering,
not to keep the pain and suffering going,
But to defeat it.
And I know that this pain that I despise so much,
That fuels my anger and jealousy
only keeps me closer to my roots and strengthens my heart.
And I breathe
And I come to terms with it.
And I turn it into pride.