this bitch has had more transformations than she cares to remember
My story is important to share, it’s important to write down but I don’t want to do it from a place of anger, revenge, or ego It’s strange to say this because for the past 5 years Anger has been my major inspiration and motivation to feed the narrative of how everyone has been a villain and I’ve been a victim It gave me a sense of martyrdom that allowed me to find peace for a while acting like everyone is a problem While I just flounder around being wronged And while I have so much compassion and love for this version of me It’s not who I want to continue to be It’s not how I want to be perceived because I’m more than being angry and vindictive I’m also kindness, goodness, empathy, and love And when I share my story-I need to remember these things
and if they don’t heed my warning, I’ll be here for them and get revenge for them
I warn my sons about falling in love with poets and writers I try to dissuade them from it They’ll use any insensitive comment you ever made into a salty verse dripped with not so subtle insults They’ll use your most intimate moments as metaphors for heaven or earthquakes They’ll describe you as God or the Devil depending on how you left them They’ll make you a villain in their stories or worst, the hero in them And the worst part- They’ll make you way bigger in their mind than you ever wanted to be so , I plead with you, fall in love with a boring accountant or a teacher or even a lawyer You’ll avoid the stress of being someone’s inspiration, someone’s muse and the chaos and drama that comes along with it
One was born in the beginning of the 20th century the other was born in the beginning of the 21st century one was born out of unplanned wedlock one was a planned product of his parent’s love one was taught hatred for blacks and cholos the other was taught blacks lives matter and equality for everyone one had misogynistic tendencies thanks to his machismo culture the other other is that gender roles and conventions are a joke One went through the Spanish flu times the other is going through Covid times both shares similar genes generations apart both share the same Spanish name one could not been possible without the other
If only I could bypass the trauma lived and experienced my life would be a lot easier Perhaps I’d be fulfilled and not on this neverending heroine journey to acknowledge how trauma happened to me to understand how it changed me to tells the stories from it so I can begin to heal from it to do all of the work so I don’t pass it on to my sons and their children because this legacy of intergenerational silence with violence needs to stop with me even if it’s sometimes a painful nightmare to deal with
se que en las mejores relaciones hay monotonía pero lo que estamos viviendo me llena de ira me esta volviendo loca, esto se siento como el fin de nuestro cuento de amor y los dos somos demasiados cobardes para aceptar que la vida que hemos construida se está volviendo una montaña de resentimiento y desilusión donde estamos atrapados por conveniencia
I think one of the best things about having a family of your own is making up your own traditions. One of my favorite traditions I have with my boys is watching “About a Boy” every Thanksgiving while we wait for dinner or afterwards. I started this tradition in 2008 when my oldest was 10 and my middle son was 3. The first time we watched it we had just moved into our new place and me and their dad hadn’t gotten around to getting internet and hardly had any furniture so we had to make do with the DVDs we had on hand to entertain the boys. For whatever reason, we watched that movie a few times. I remember watching it for the first time with my boys and all of these questions about mental health my then 3 year old had and how concerned he was for the mom in the movie. It was just such a sweet moment for me. A couple of years ago, my oldest son gave me the blu-ray dvd version of the movie to upgrade it from my old DVD copy. I love the message in the movie about how “no man is an island” and we all need community from friends and family to make life enjoyable and worth living.
me and my birthday twin throughout the years…
My other favorite tradition involves me and my middle son. I had him on my 24th birthday so we are birthday twins. When our birthday week rolls around, I decide to get desserts almost every day of the week for me and him to celebrate. Sometimes, we do share with our other family members when we feel like it. I started this tradition 4 years ago. We also always get two different cakes of our choice for our actual birthdays. I plan to keep this tradition around as long as he lives with me and/or lives close to me.
To raise my children with empathy and respect for humanity is hard in times like these in times when everyone is selfish and individuality is praised In times when showing emotions is seen as week and there is still a stigma about seeking therapy but somehow, my firstborn got the message that money and selfishness are not everything and that finding empathy and compassion for his fellow humans is much more valuable than the idea of individualism and materialism society tries to sell him
An item of my youth I was incredibly attached to was my doll Dandee. I actually had two of these dolls given to me as a young child. The first Dandee was given to me by my aunt shortly after me and my family immigrated to the states when I was 5. This was in 1986. What happened to the first Dandee? Well, it’s a sad story of trauma. When me and my family first moved to the states, we moved into the apartment next to my aunt C and her family. The living situation there was not ideal. Actually that’s the understatement of the year. Here’s a poem I wrote about her:
Anyways my aunt C owned the apartment we were renting so she was our landlord. She was also the one who was giving sponsorship for our green card. At the time we immigrated, we had done so four years earlier than we were supposed to so we lived undocumented for four years. So my Aunt C took advantage of the situation because A) with a call to immigration she could deport all of us back to Peru and B) she was our landlord so she also held control and power over where we lived. It was a terrible situation. Aunt C had a massive 3 year old son J. He was probably one of the most terrible toddlers I’ve ever encountered. Aunt C would not control him and when he would bully me, either hit me or take away my toys, Aunt C would say, “dejalo, es chiquito” which basically translates to “allow him to do whatever because he’s small”. It was hard for my mom to say anything to her or protect me because of the living situation we were in with Aunt C. The best she could do was take me somewhere else. Shortly after Dandee was given to me, he became my most favorite toy in the world. He was given to me by my favorite Aunt Luz. That toy went with me everywhere. However, one day, Dandee was taken away from me by my cousin J, and he wouldn’t give him back. My aunt didn’t do anything to remedy the situation. According to my mom, this broke my little 5 year old spirit and I was inconsolable and cried and cried for days. My papi was upset that my mom wouldn’t say anything to Aunt C. He hated to see me cry every day for that damn doll so even though they really couldn’t afford it (it was an expensive doll), papi went to the toy store and bought a brand new Dandee for me. I was a happy child again taking that doll everywhere with me. Playing with him and my imaginary friend Calincha. Anyways, a few months went by and I was at my aunt C’s house with my mom. I was playing with Dandee and my cousin J came up to me and started trying to take the doll away from me. The adults weren’t doing anything and I got angry. My five year old self could not take the bullying from J anymore and was not going to allow him to take my doll away from me so I punched him and he fell to the floor. I wasn’t punished for it and went back to playing with my doll. My mom tells me that her and my aunt C were surprised by what I did and had no idea until that point that I had a temper. I was always such an obedient and quiet child, it was shocking to them that I had it in me to fight back. Needless to say, my cousin J never messed with me after that day.
So fast forward to 37 years later, that Dandee sits in my bookcase in my room next to the baby Yoda I bought for my youngest son a few years ago (that he didn’t want anyways cause it looked creepy). When I look at Dandee, I’m reminded of my fierce and fiery spirit at 5 years old that I’ve carried with me since then. When I told my sons the story of Dandee, my oldest son said, “Dandee carries your 5 year old warrior girl spirit” and that felt empowering to me. Dandee taught me a lesson in how to take my power back from a situation I thought I had no power or control in.
It’s been 4 years since I took an oath to become an American citizen. I took an oath specifically to Trump which makes me nauseous typing BUT I also took an oath because of Trump. Before making the decision to become an American citizen, I had never really cared about politics but that was until Trump got elected. If you were a POC or immigrant or both, you felt the shift in the racial tension in the U.S right before the election but especially after the election. Racists overtly made their ignorant beliefs known that immigrants were not welcomed in this country. DACA was in the process of being repealed. DACAmented kids who should have been protected were being deported and there was a rise in deportation for undocumented immigrants as well or well the media made it seem like that. I felt that as an immigrant with LPR (legal permanent resident) status, I could possibly be next. In February of 2016, I sent my paperwork to USCIS to solidify my relationship with America. One could say that for better or worse, I finally decided to make a commitment to this country. Here is my blog post about the process:
What has changed in the past 4 years since becoming an American and what does being American mean to me now?
Well, I’ve voted in 2 elections since I’ve become an American including the national election in 2020 (yay, no more Trump). In October of this year, I applied for my passport and have received it. Now, I can take a trip out of the country without any worries or concerns. While it is an immense privilege to be an American citizen since I now have a whole new world of opportunities opened up and I can travel anywhere; I feel that I haven’t really changed on the inside. I still see myself and identify as an immigrant but now I also call myself an American. But to be honest, my idea of being an American has changed. I used to think I needed a piece of paper to say “Oh, I’m American” but for better or worse, America is and has been ingrained in me since that hot September day in 1986 when I set my foot on American soil at the age of 5.
I was an American when every morning at school I would say the Pledge of Allegiance in my broken and terrible English at the age of 6 and 7.
me in 1987
I was an American when I went back to Peru at age 9 to get my resident alien status solidified with my family.
me at age 9 in Peru during my trip with my family to get our LPR status
I was an American when I met my childhood best friends in Hawaii at age 11.
me with one of my childhood best friends from Hawaii
I was an American when I had my babies at ages 17, 24, and 30.
me with my three kids right after their births
I was American when I started working for the government at the age of 18.
me at the age of 18 in 1999 working for the government
I was an American when I got my college degree in 2009 from the University of Georgia .
me in 2009 with my parents at my graduation from college
I was an American in 2016 and early 2017 when I attended protests and marches for immigrant and women’s rights.
me in January of 2017 at the Women’s March in Washington D.C
And I was an American when people told me, “my english is good for being a Mexican” or I’ve been discriminated against or oppressed in this country by the people that don’t want “my kind” here.
I used to believe that I didn’t belong here because of the racism, prejudice, and ignorance I’ve encountered but that’s no longer the case. This year, I finally let go of those beliefs because I’ve embraced that I am America and America is me. My life may have been harder in many aspects because I wasn’t the average “American born” citizen but I will tell you that I wouldn’t trade my experience as an American to be average. I I feel that working harder than the “average American” for my success has made me appreciate my success so much more and for that I am thankful. My parents had no idea of the many hardships they would endure making the decision to immigrate to this country but I am glad they made that journey. It’s taken me 35 years to get here but today I can honestly say that I’m proud to be an American.
me in November of 2021 telling my crazy story about being an essential worker
my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us insulting my father or sister what about us made her project her insecurities Was it my dad’s intelligence or my sister’s beauty? or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didn’t have a loving and doting husband and all healthy children What made us a target for my aunt’s abuse?
in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was, and where I came from maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing and since that time I’ve had identity issues for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in- to have proximity to being an American but all it did was fuck up my identity and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done I have a hard time finding compassion for myself I have a hard time letting go the guilt For the pain I caused my family I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted to conform of the standards of being American society fed me
