Sept of 1986-me blowing out a candle right before me and my family started our immigration journey-my aunt had a goodbye party for us
When I was little, I was often lost in daydreams about America It was beautiful and blue I pictured a celestial and warm ocean where the waves tenderly touch my toes I was taught it was a better existence than the one we were living in but no one told me that dreams sometimes don’t come true and the reality of America was filled with a hardness that even 35 years later I’m still processing indentured servitude, exploitation, depression, addiction,racism, mental illness were just a few side effects of going for the American dream
feeling my otherness feels like a full time job not belonging to here or there constantly in limbo wondering “where is my home? they hate me here, they hate me there I don’t belong anywhere but I remain here it’s the only home I’ve ever known America home of the free, home of the brave but never my HOME!
me and my family have immigration jokes for day on end and some of my friends think that’s sick and awful but its one of the only things that helps me and my family keep our sanity in Trump’s American is making fun of our misery and misfortune
it’s how we’ve survived generations of corrupt governments and wannabe dictators its how we’ve passed resilience and strength to future generations
sure, we may cry at first as the life we’ve worked hard for starts falling apart and our plans for the future are shattered because of a few megarich and corrupt maga idiots who run our government but right after we wipe our tears and break out in jokes and laughter especially now that what’s supposed to be the land of the free gets more and more fascist and we swim closer and closer to nazi waters the only thing we can do is try to find a way to smile, to laugh, to find a bit of joy no matter how fucked up in may seem in this dystopian clusterfuck
rose gold cross ripped from her neck handcuffs cutting into her smalls wrists mami and papi can’t explain why they’re nowhere to be found she thought officers were supposed to be good people but they hurl insults at her and call her a criminal and at 10 she can hardly grasped the severity of the situation they tell her over and over again “we’re taking you back to where you came from” and it’s beyond her compression because her birth certificate says Illinois because America is the only home she’s ever known
I actually started writing this poem sometime in 2017 and finished it in January 2020. A big part of my identity is being an immigrant. This poem was inspired by the hardships and struggles I’ve seen my parents and other immigrants go through. This poem was also inspired by the Trump administration and the xenophobia that was felt in my life during that time.
immigration leads to discrimination of immigrants into this so called united nation the ones with brown skin and dark eyes justice to them is greatly denied xenophobia is the driving sensation
their bosses sing a song called exploitation and they hum along to it to live in this democratic nation they leave their language and culture behind to endure the american lie but don’t quite fit into the gringo equation
Is their sacrifice worth so much separation from their families, their language, and their nation? Ah-America – the land of the free yet none of them are truly free living in a soulless and consumerist society
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
no fuck you and your pedantic machismo- oh and PWM =privileged white male
I light a candle, put on music, and pay tribute to all that I will never be- it’s not like I’m denying myself possibilities or opportunities I’m just acknowledging certain realities I’ll never have the proper words, the necessary pretentious words of the upper class pedigree to be published in one of those prestigious journals or win a pulitzer prize I’ll never be seen as an equal in American because I’ll always be a foreigner and while this brings me a certain kind of grief I also celebrate how different I am I’ll never filter my words or fake eloquence or elegance to make myself digestible to those with multiple degrees Nah, I’m a mosaic masterpiece, with my bad grammar, my simple vocabulary and my powerful and emotionally charged phrases I’m not and never will be for those with sensitive ears or palettes and I’ll always take pride in that
I still wonder who Peruvian Me would have been-probably not wearing this beanie…lol
if my parents hadn’t chosen america as their new homeland I wonder who I would’ve been a woman of priviledge married to a man who loves me for me or would it have been inevitable for me to turn out as a rebel who’d cause many scandals would I have take my education more seriously because of the pressure from society and my parents or would I have still struggled with my ADD and said fuck it I wonder who Peruvian me would have been if I didn’t have a bilingual and bicultural identity
another illegal dies under suspicious circumstances and no one cares or mourns him, some even comment on how he should have stayed in his country- and it’s hard to understand the inhumanity, the hateful rhetoric Is his life worth less because of his ethnicity and immigration status?
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
La navidad se escucha con los parchis cantando navidad, navidad navidad se ve como el árbol lleno de muchos adornos coleccionados hace más de 30 años el nacimiento cusqueño con las estatuas de la virgen, josé y el bebe jesús cristo que tienen más de 33 años navidad se saborea con un polla peruano sazonado con especies únicas con un chocolate y panettone siempre en la mesa navidad se siente con la felicidad pasando tiempo con tus seres más queridos que te llenan con amor y calor familiar la navidad se huele en el perfume imari de Mami La navidad siempre será una de las tradiciones más bonitas e amorosas en mi familia
Life on the BPD 