These past few weeks I’ve become so much more sensitive to everything. My emotional and intellectual and spiritual patience is damn near depleted. I wake up with headaches now. My brain is on overload - What work needs to be done?! Am I doing the right work? Enough? More. I can do more. My heart...feels like it has no digestive system. Nothing to help process all the violence and trauma I’m witnessing and experiencing.
I can feel the blood coursing through my body. Like an electrical current. I can see the lightening beneath my skin. In public, I have a happy disposition. I smile and laugh a lot. For others, mostly. For myself, mostly. For us, always.
There’s this inner voice that continues to whisper loud thoughts. I open up the windows in my apartment and ask the wind to scream on my behalf:
Let it all burn and let them all crumble. I want to build new nations upon ashes.
May 30, 2020
It’s 3am and I can’t sleep. All I got is thoughts and visions and emotions coursing through my body. Shit is moving so fast, I’m not sure my body can hold it. Other times it moves so slow, I don’t know if I can hold that either - this suspended state of panic. The kinds of violence happening these past months - physical, economic, political, emotional, spiritual. The body was not created to endure this kind of shit.
I am scared. The air is so thick and saturated with white paranoia/sociopathy and black anger, fear, exhaustion... More death will happen. We know this. We expect this.
I am angry. Pissed tf off. Because how fucking dare you?! How fucking dare you! More buildings will burn. Let them burn.
What will it fucking take for you to become disgusted by your own inhumanity? What will it take for you to actually be honest about what you have allowed yourself to become? What you do, what you allow, is monstrous. And you are a monster for it.
I’ve heard that it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. I’ve heard people use that fact to say, it’s easier to be kind than to be evil. But what about people who do their evil with a smile? A fucking monster. Burn it all down. #blacklivesmatter
May 18, 2020
I am genuinely exhausted, yet underwhelmed, by how LITTLE work men do.
I see you on all kinds of platforms naming shit OUTSIDE of yourself. Y’all are more willing to implicate systems, but never yourself. When it's time for you to reflect on the ways YOU individually perpetuate harm, the ways YOU individually show up for yourself and others ... silence! And when you actually attempt, it's always by yourself. You're not actually unpacking this with others. You're just lecturing each other to do something, and patting yourself on the back for "saying something".
You cannot unpack systemic scripts BY YOURSELF. You need community. Because you need reflections of yourself. Because you need accountability. Because you need the kind of honesty only someone other than you can give. Because growth does not happen in silos. The seed needs the soil and the water. The flower needs the sun. You need community to grow.
In the context of romantic relationships which IMO are opportunities for incredible growth - If you are a man in a relationship with a woman, please understand that women are perpetually putting in emotional labor. So many women, like myself, have been conditioned to be people-pleasers, co-dependent, groomed to appease your needs, navigate your tone, excuse your behavior and justify your minimal effort. I know that to be very true for me. We are constantly unpacking the scripts we have been taught because once those scripts are revealed - and I can speak for myself - it's a perpetual battle to dismantle them and create news ones. I'm not saying we've mastered it. I'm saying this shit is hard. Like really hard.
Our emotional labor is not limited to how we show up in conversations with you, but how we process our shit with community. We process our thoughts and feelings and confusion and realizations with other people because we know we need others to help us sift through all the grey. Because we do our best to come "prepared" to our conversations with our partners. Because we are constantly prioritizing how we can do better, as individuals and as a partnership. (I feel like women talking about their romantic relationships is seen as 'causing drama' - which sure, that can be a thing - rather than us leaning on the many relationships we've made to help us navigate complicated shit.)
Understand this: I'm not coming at this from a desire to lecture, to patronize, to scold. I'm coming at this from a place of real emotional exhaustion. It feels like women are forever willing to throw ourselves into the confusion of it all, while men remain comfortable in (public) certainty and still want to call that "work".
You need to do more. You need to do better. Because we are tired. I am tired. I am tired of second-guessing myself all the time, when you don't even know how to ask yourself the right questions.
April 23, 2020
A text message from me to Mami & Papi:
So I'm here talking to Willie about families and parents and I asked him, "What are two lessons your mother taught you that you hold dear?"
He shared and then asked me the same question. I want to share my response with you both because I know that I don't do a good job of communicating or showing appreciation. I know that I can come off cold or indifferent at times. Really, I'm very emotional about both of you and my being distant is a way to prevent myself from overflowing with feelings. That said, I need to consider how that looks to you and how that can make you feel. I'm sorry this has been true. I need to do better.
So...my response: (1) Mami, you taught me how important it is to prioritize happiness, joy and self expression in your life. That I should always seek this out in the spaces I find myself and the people I allow in my life. When I think about my childhood, I vividly remember how much you laughed and how you felt that laughter throughout your whole body. I laugh like you. I have that same full body experience. It's probably why people tell me I have such a good laugh. It's my Mami’s laugh. My Mami’s joy that you've given me.
(2) You taught me that I am smart and it's okay to be a smart girl/woman. That my voice matters and I have a right to be respected - and more so, to demand respect. People are always impressed by my confidence in professional spaces. Men are always surprised that I have a mind of my own. You are a woman that demands respect. And I bring that example with me everywhere I go.
There are more lessons I could share. (For you too, Papi!) I'll be sending these random "appreciation texts" more often. I just wanted to make sure I started today. I love you.
April 18, 2020
I woke up this morning with the intention of meditating and exercising after breakfast. I started my meditation as usual - candle lit, palo santo burning, low RnB and NeoSoul playlist in the background. I began my breath work and stretches, then realized how heavy my heart was. Chest felt overwhelmed like a balloon was growing inside me. I was anxious about transitioning to the exercise portion of my agenda.
I took some extra breaths. Began some self talk to calm myself. I attempted the first exercise. Not too bad. I continued. Getting harder. Continued. I’m struggling. I stopped. I cry (and undoubtedly ruin my lashes.) I breathe. And try again. This is hard.
I can’t figure out why I’m crying. It’s okay to struggle and take it one step at a time. I return to stretching and cry through every exhale.
I would love tell you and myself that exercise is another form of movement and a way to shift energy. I would love to say that I attempted to exercise purely to maintain some level of activity while in quarantine. But I can’t say that. Exercise - for me - has always been tied to changing and shrinking bodies. I carry so much pressure to achieve “change” and “shrinkage”.
It is really hard to live in a world where everyone is unhappy with how they look. It is really hard to live in a world that constantly reminds you that you shouldn’t be happy with how you look. That tells me I shouldn’t be happy with how I look. It’s really hard to admit that I’ve internalized messages and agendas I know are bullshit.
I’m going to attempt this routine again. I’m okay with feeling feelings. I’m okay with feeling these feelings for as long as they exist.
I just wanted to say this is hard. I wanted to say that this sucks. I wanted to say that I’m not bigger or better or badder than these systems. I wanted to say that self awareness and forgiveness and grace and change are hard. I wanted to remind myself that all of this is okay. It’s okay. Tomorrow really is another day to grow and fuck up and forgive and repeat. Tomorrow.
January 12, 2020
I’ve been thinking a lot about transition lately. I’ve been in my thoughts and feelings about what it means to hold grace and pain together. How transition always seems to demand of us both death and birth.
Since María, I’ve seen Puerto Rico fall victim and rise triumphant over and over again. Between colonialism, debt, hurricanes, corruption and earthquakes, La Gente de Borikén (mainlanders and diaspora) have cried for each other, taken care of each other, have fought for one another.
I wonder if the gift of death and birth lives inside me. Wonder if lately I’ve been rubbing against my own tectonic plates and that’s why my world seems to be shaking from beneath me.
I read a comment just now from a friend who wrote: “...our people are suffering under colonialism and US imperialism - maybe Mother Earth is trying to shake them all away.”
There must be something I need to be rid of. Something I need to shake and make room for. Something that needs to collapse and make way for rebuilding.
Centuries ago, los taínos defeated the Spaniards in Guánica. Over a century ago, the US invaded Puerto Rico by way of Guánica. Nearly 80 years ago, mis abuelos birthed a family in Guánica. Just weeks ago, papi, mis tíos y tías lost the home they grew up in.
What births will these new pains bare? I’m not sure. But if I know my people at all, it will be something truly magnificent. If I am Boriken’s daughter, their must be some magnificence inside me too. Siempre pa’lante!
June 13, 2019
So back in college, I knew a Dominican female student who was very devout in her Christian faith. She was dating and eventually married a Puerto Rican man who all of us knew was gay. Close friends and family talked to her about it, but she refused to listen. And of course, she was trying to honor how this man identified. He said he was straight and always had to deal with comments about him being too feminine and the like.
Fast forward years later to yesterday, June 12th. I’m facilitating a queer competency training (aka a training on gender and sexuality because I don’t put queer folks and queerness in a petri dish) for a mental health organization. And I recognize one of the attending staff to be the same man who married my friend from college. My heart kinda skipped a beat. In my mind, this training became more personal than usual. How was he showing up in the space? How did I need to show up for him?
I watched intently his interaction with the training. He smiled, would clench his chest and nod his head in agreement with topics I could see resonated with him.
At the end, he came up to me and said, “This is honestly the best training I’ve attended. You were great. The material was important. I’m glad this happened.” I thanked him and chatted with him a bit more. Come to find out, he and my college friend had divorced. He is a loving relationship with a man now. My heart exploded. He said it with tears in his eyes. He was so happy. Do you know how that feels? To see someone so happy to share with you who they really are?
Yesterday was the anniversary of the Pulse Massacre - a queer massacre, a boricua massacre. And my heart is so full with conflicting emotion. It makes me so happy to see people allowed to be themselves. I think moreso for queer folks of color. Because I know it’s hard. I know that we are so suffocating sometimes when it comes to our beliefs on gender and sexuality. We either have been convinced there’s something wrong with queer folks. Or we’re worried the world will kill us if we’re honest about who we are. I was so lucky to be raised in a household and in a family that was so accepting and affirming. That saw queerness and Puerto Rican-ness as inherently beautiful. As inherently human. And it hurts so much to witness other Puerto Ricans not have that because they have been such good students of our colonization.
This hatred and fear and pushing away from queerness is not of our culture. It was taught to us by an entity that abandoned all understanding humanity, and all the ways of being. I hate that so many of us have bought into that. That we perpetuate it. Understanding the impact and legacy of colonization puts things into context. But we must be responsible for how we harm each other.
And understand me when I say that Queer Boris - like all queer folks of color - are the restorers of what was taken and the healers of the trauma we were subjected to via white supremacy. I need us to know this.
So what I’m saying is, yesterday I mourned for my lost family and yesterday I met a beautiful and liberated and living Puerto Rican gay man. And this heart is full.
March 27, 2019
The men in my life - whether intimately, professionally or casually - are lucky that I work with young people, with young boys. It’s those boys, and my investment in their humanity, that allows me the incredible amount of space and grace it requires to empathize with men, despite their commitment to patriarchal violence (against others and themselves). My boys are often lost. They’re lonely. All they have are masks to wear and roles to perform, but no space to create and evolve safely or authentically.
And too many grow up to be lost and lonely men longing for an identity, a story they can claim as their own. These lonely lost men are dangerous. Healing is either too inaccesible or too hard. And all of us end up getting hurt. Intentionally and unintentionally. And I see that. I feel that.
I empathize. I have to. My identity, my story are impacted, informed and shaped by yours. I need to empathize so I can contextualize my own traumas. And my own healing. But lonely lost men make it so difficult to maintain that space. Because you’re dangerous. Emotionally, physically, spiritually dangerous. So for my safety, for the emotional and spiritual safety of my boys and (possibly) future men, for the safety of my girls and non-boys...for literally everyone’s safety...I’m committed to loving these young boys, pouring into them all the love, compassion and accountability they could ever need to be better to and for themselves.
And I hope that the reward will show itself in a generation that has the tools they need to love each other safely and fully.
February 25, 2019
I’ve met so many AfAm/Puerto Rican biethnic people who have experienced so much anti black racism from their Puerto Rican family, that they no longer claim or identify with their Boricua heritage. Constant rejection. Constant emotional (sometimes physical) abuse.
This breaks my heart. I feel such an incredible heartache just thinking about how grossly traumatizing colonialism has been on our minds and spirits that we will reject our own family, that we cannot recognize ourselves in our own siblings.
Puerto Rico - her culture, her legacy, her spirit - is our birthright and too many of us are robbing our family of their inheritance. And I feel such shame knowing that I, in all my passingness, have such access to blackness, a genuine and authentic connection to a black culture, and yet can choose to deny or claim her at my convenience. Meanwhile, my black siblings are not even given a choice. I know sitting in shame is not productive. I know we have a responsibility, a moral obligation, to dismantle these systems. To act. But, for the moment, I’m not interested in mandating an action plan. In this moment, I want to acknowledge what this feels like. I want to acknowledge the pain we’ve caused.
Sit in that. We should be ashamed.
January 15, 2019
Social media's anti-racist content is very trendy and I'm not interested in commenting on every new thing that pops up in the news. I don't have the time. I have these conversations, do this work in real life. So my attention in virtual spaces is limited. Also, there are certain conversations/work I'm interested in that aren't necessarily best discussed online. In retrospect, I think the majority of my posts have been intentionally "provocative". Sometimes they prompted dialogue and learning; other times, nothing but ego and exclusivity. I want to ask questions. Even, if not especially, "the problematic questions". I want to engage folks in reflection that critically analyze our philosophies and ideologies. And that's hard to do online. Everyone is so focused on "calling out" (for clout) rather than working through difficult, layered conversations and experiences. Everyone's so scared of being problematic, valid questions go unasked and the opportunity for collective learning is missed. "But that shit is violent". Yeah. A lot of the shit we say and think and believe is violent. We live in a physically, economically, emotionally and spiritually violent society. Let people grow. Sometimes that post, that thread, that argument shouldn't be deleted - because I guarantee you, someone reading it held the exact same violent opinion or had that same problematic question. The corrections they see online are a tool they can use to start questioning their perspectives. So, here's some pieces of unsolicited/possibly unpopular advice for folks who care about using social media as an educative tool: - This notion of "it's not my job to teach" is not some mantra you can copy and paste as an excuse to patronize someone you don't have the patience or skill set to engage. Stop using "its not my job" with folks in YOUR OWN COMMUNITIES. Of course its our job. Whose else is it?
- Get better at determining whether or not folks are playing devil's advocate or if folks are actually trying to learn and their starting point is just messy af. (Hint: you can just ask people their intentions.) - Bring the conversation into your inbox. Learning is one of the most intimate things we do. One-on-ones typically yield better results than having to navigate 10 voices at once. - Ask people more questions rather than always lecturing at them. Illogical and baseless opinions will disassemble themselves if the right questions are asked. And most times, folks with the most violent opinions have never been asked these questions before. Shake up their norm.
That is all. Bless.
December 12, 2018
It's funny to see how bisexuals really bring out the insecurities in folks. Like, we're either being invalidated, erased or hyper sexualized all cuz ya'll...are insecure about you're own sexualities?
Like...are ya'll okay?
September 29, 2018
I was 6 years old when I was first told to sit like a lady (close my legs) at a family gathering. I was first catcalled when I was 11. The men were always 25+. My father cuffed his hand around my neck in public places until I was 15. My father placed three pocket knives in my purse when I was 15. He said, "just in case".
When I had my first (actual) boyfriend at 16, he told me that if I loved him, I would trust him enough with my body. I had sex for the first time 10 months into our relationship. I didn't hear from him after that.
I was first stalked when I was 16, volunteering at the library.
I was 16 when I learned a "funny story" from my Titi Patricia. That when she was my age, my father (her brother), picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and walked all through town with her butt slightly exposed the entire way home. He said it was to teach her not to go out in public in such short skirts. He was 14.
My second stalker - I was 17. He would come by my job and watch me work until closing time, pretending to shop in the men's section. I've lost count of the strange men who have tried to touch me. I've lost count of the men in college who have claimed to sleep with me when we never did.
My third stalker - I was 20. He followed me from UCONN Waterbury to the Scoville parking garage, closed my car door on me and pinned me against my car. He told me he loved me and wanted me to meet his mother. He told me my exact schedule, when he would see me cross from school to the parking garage. I pushed him away. I open my car door, trying to leave. He shut it again. He apologized, "I just want to make you mine." I couldn't even think of the pocket knives my father gave me, that I still carry. The only reason I got out of this situation was because the employee was making rounds, checking each floor. He asked me if I was okay. I said no. The man ran off. I didn't stay to watch what happened.
I was 22 when I first realized that gay men felt entitled to tell me how to dress, how to make myself look prettier. When I realized they thought they could touch me without permission because "well, I'm not trying to fuck you."
I was on the phone with a guy I was dating when his little brother came in the room crying. The guy I was dating asked him why he was crying. He had just been scolded by his mother and was emotional. The guy I was dating told him, "Stop that. You're too old to be crying like this." His brother was 8.
When I would visit my friend at her job, a rec center, the guys playing basketball would gather outside the entrance - debriefing after a fun game with friends. They were loud and obnoxious - as men are. When it was time to leave, I would pass by their group to get to my car. They were silent and watching - as men do. Just silently, watching me walk. I was messing around with one of the guys in the group. I told him that shit made me uncomfortable. He told me I should go out the back entrance to avoid them.
That - that was his solution. I - I was the problem.
I gave a ride home to a male co-worker of mine last year. We sat in the car for maybe an hour and a half in front of his house, just talking. He talked about how lonely he was. "But you have so many friends. I've seen you with them." He said, "Yeah - the guys. We don't talk about nothing real." This was the same conversation he shared that his father drinks his feelings away. Two weeks later, he texted me one morning saying his father shot a gun at him in a drunken fury the night before.
As the news has been riddled with story after story of assault, rape, molestation and violation, I have watched countless fathers - who have too often shouted their political opinions from roof tops about gun rights, immigration, taxes, abortion - remain silent. Fathers - who have too often claimed to love their wives, daughters and mothers - say NOTHING in response to this outcry for accountability. Nothing.
It was only a year ago when I started noticing - paying attention - to the number of trans women murdered by cis men. The ways gay men are impacted by violence from the hands of other men - strangers, friends, lovers, partners family. And while these are not my stories, they are as much a part of this narrative as any cis woman (queer and non)
because
Men are violent.
To everyone - to each other - to themselves.
They are violent through aggression. They are violent through complicity. They are violent through entitlement. They are violent through oblivion. They are violent through silence. They are violent through apathy.
You can sit there all you want and say - But I've never done that.
You can sit there all you want and say - This is offensive. You'd be correct. This IS offensive. There has been an offense. Generational offense. Institutionalized offense. Against our bodies, our humanities.
You can sit there all you want and think - But not all men.
And you'd be wrong. You're wrong. Our stories tell us so.
September 6, 2018
So for the past 5 months, I have been working for a queer, community-based advocacy committee as a community educator and organizer. Basically, I'm responsible for identifying collaborative solutions to the barriers local LGBTQ folks are facing (i.e. teen homelessness, cisheterocentric sex education, underemployment, public safety, etc.), supporting agencies and businesses to implement equitable programming for queer folks that are culturally responsive, inclusive, safe and affirming, and organizing queer-centered public events that are informative and joyful.
It's a dope job!
And while my work over the past years has been primarily focused on positive racial and ethnic identity development for brown and black youth, this new position is forcing me to focus on a different identity - one that I share, yet have only recently started reflecting on.
I am so grateful to be doing work around queerness. It's added to my personal journey with sexuality, the questions I ask myself, the way I approach intersectionality, the way I understand brown and blackness, even. It's made me a better educator.
Since my involvement with this work, I've been experiencing some consistent ass sense of fulfillment and it feels beautiful.
August 25, 2018
Here’s an idea: Maybe instead of assuming it is the job of women/femmes to center the impact patriarchy has on men, you could hold other men accountable for pulling emotional labor and holding space for the conversations you so desperately need and stop being such an entitled, centering misogynist.
Like why are you mad at us? When we’re busy figuring out our own shit? Why aren’t you mad at other men for not creating these spaces? Why aren’t YOU creating this focus on healing since you’re the one saying how important it is? I know the answer. Do you?
P.S. Non-men are literally the ONLY group of folks who prioritize the impact of patriarchy, sexism and misogyny on ALL genders, including if not especially, on cis het men because yalls socialization and privilege directly impacts everyone else. Your problem is that when we unpack this topic, you feel attacked. Clearly, you don’t know what you want.
And that’s your problem. Not ours.
August 6, 2018
Honestly, the insidious manner by which whiteness deludes folks’ perception of reality, of morality, of civility really should infuriate more white folks. Literally everything you’ve been told about your history, about goodness is a racist (sexist, homophobic, ableist) lie. Everything. That’s a lot! Think about that. That’s a fucking shit ton of shit you believe to be true —and it’s all false! And you should be angry about that. You should be completely fed up with whiteness as so many folks of color are (have been)....but folks love their illusions. Illusions keep you safe. Lily white safe.
August 2, 2018
listen -- i dont' expect folks to know ALL of the things. i dont know ALL of the things. what i expect from folks is that they are honest about what they do not know and learn to listen to folks who do. to move out of the way from "leadership positions" when folks who no more are available and present to do the job. what i expect from folks is to reject this notion that you can argue with someone's experiences, that you can argue against someone's identity. i expect folks to shut up and listen when necessary, and ask questions when necessary. i expect folks to be humble in the presence of other people's stories. and folks can't even do this. because you're so fucking triggered from hearing about your toxicity that you insist on being even more toxic by centering yourself in other people's narratives. its fucking annoying. its fucking counterproductive. its fucking violent. get it together. listennnnnn. and listen with the purpose of learning, of feeling, of empathizing, of possibly being uncomfortable and unsure. when you hear someone speak their truth, if you find yourself not believing them - PAUSE! ask yourself why - literally. ask yourself - why do i not believe them? - what does it mean if what they are saying is true? - what does that mean to me? - to them? - to the a community at large? - why do i need to not believe them? interrogate disbelief. and you can only do that, when you listen. that's it. that's all.
June 27, 2018
It’s been a few days since the story broke about Junior, and my body is still rejecting the pain to the point where I've struggled to find words suitable enough to discuss the violence that’s taken place. I only have questions — cuz what is there to say? What eloquent statements can I make about something so evil? I just want to know - How great is the call for bravery that the bodeguero wouldn’t help?; Why do boys/men love masculinity more than they love themselves, each other?; Who taught us to hate ourselves, yes, but who taught us not to even see ourselves in each other?; Why don’t we value you one another? Ourselves?
I heard about Junior while I was working a morning shift at the bodega. My boss was eating lunch, a sandwich in his left hand, phone in the right. I looked over to ask him a question when I recognized tears falling down his brown cheek. He could barely respond when I asked him what was wrong. Instagram was filled with post after post - “Bronx Boy Killed; 15 years old”.
All he had were questions — How could he not help him? Wtf! They just dragged him outside. They beat him. Why? Why? How could he [the bodeguero] not help him? That could have been my son. Me.
I think it’s some folks’ reaction to correct the immediate need to center ourselves in someone else’s pain. That correction is justified. It’s also naive. It overlooks a very important point - we need to see ourselves in each other. Folks of color, specifically those living in areas disproportionately impacted by both intra community and state sanctioned violence, recognize how close to home these stories are to their own lives - the lives of those they love, of those that look like them, live like they do.
We need to see ourselves in each other.
Maybe, just maybe, if those young men saw a mirror image of themselves inside Junior, just maybe Junior would still be here. Or maybe I’m naive, and they did see a mirror image - and that’s why he’s dead.
June 1, 2018
Bi and pan sexuality are valid identities.
Folks who identify as bi or pan are ALWAYS bi or pan so as long as we identify as such - regardless of who we are dating/fucking/entertaining at the time.
Folks who identify as bi or pan are allowed to have preferences for certain genders and gender expressions over others. These preferences are allowed to change.
Folks who identify as bi or pan are allowed to question our identity, our attractions. We are allowed to be unsure without being shamed for that confusion AND without projections that invalidate the existence of bi and pan sexuality.
Folks who identify as bi or pan are allowed to be critical of the ways in which we navigate hetero presenting privilege without our identities and lived experiences being erased.
HAPPY PRIDE MY BEAUTIFUL, QUEER AF LOVES OF MY LIFE!
May 29, 2018
I'm not interested in conversations with men about misogyny, sexism, feminism or anything gender politics IF I KNOW THEY DO ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WITH THAT KNOWLEDGE.
MYYY KNOWLEDGE.
The knowledge I've gained from lived experience and the experiences of other nonmen.
They are intellectual and emotional leaches who want to "improve" themselves for no other reason than to make themselves more marketable in organizing spaces. (Or just to get laid).
You wanna "pick my brain"..FOR WHAT? You not doing nothing with it. Where's my return? Where are your receipts concerning the work you do with other men to help them on this journey of decolonization?
NOWHERE!
I don't have a problem educating men. I'm an educator at heart. I'm willing to teach anybody invested in learning. WHAT I'M NOT HERE FOR IS WASTING MY TIME. No. If you've benefited from my work - whether online or in person - that is an unintended outcome. Don't message me or come up to me for some one-on-one or "pick my brain" shit when you just gonna use it to stroke your own ego.
May 21, 2018
There is such a tremendous difference in how I am treated by white folks now that I wear my hair natural. And there's no subtlety in this shift. I receive more comments than I do compliments about my hair. Descriptors like wild, frizzy, messy, crazy are attached to my presentation. Folks continuously try to touch or pet my hair like I'm some kind of chia-pet. I'm stared at - constantly.
I've been called "exotic" by more white women than I can count. They try to figure out what they're looking at. I can visibly see them process their choice of words as they speak to me - worried that they might offend me, unsure if I'm safe to be "problematic" around.
I think about this, and remember that for 10 years (between age 16 to 26) I was able to avoid these microaggressions. For 10 years I straightened my hair and was afforded the privilege of being normalized. For 10 years, I avoided further internalization about my hair and what it means in white spaces. It was because of whiteness that I straightened my hair to begin with. And it is because of whiteness that I was able to hide.
And despite this current wave of "otherizing" - I am still employable. Moreso, I think, because I am allowed more space to be my authentic self (both in presentation and mannerism) than my visibly brown siblings in the same office space. I'm not required to adhere to the same standards of respectability.
I can be "both"; and they fetishize me for it. My siblings can be "both"; and they are demonized for it. I am objectified, while they are overlooked.
I am being weaponized against my own people.
And if I don't speak up when necessary, I am co-signing that violence.
May 2, 2018
Bisexual Confessions: I think if I’m being honest with myself, the reason why I’ve been hesistant to *date* (not just fuck) women is because I still feel like men owe me an emotional debt. And I’m bitter. There’s this heteronormative fantasy - that I know is indeed a fantasy, believe me I know it well - that I still want fulfilled. And I need to unpack that. I don’t want to bring that to another woman to clean up.
April 20, 2018
Dating:
introductions and first impressions
texting, calling, flirting
enjoying someone’s company on a somewhat regular basis
a learning of personal boundaries and standards (emotional, spiritual, physical, sexual, etc)
the process of building a friendship
Partnership (Relationship):
a mutual investment in someone’s sense of peace and personal growth
reciprocated support and labor
a decision to prioritize someone else needs alongside your own
a desire to witness someone else’s life
a shift from simply enjoying someone’s company to making their presence of vital importance to your sense of peace
still maintaining all of the intentional efforts of dating (friendship, outings, flirtation)
NOTE:
Dating does NOT need to be practiced with the purpose of eventually entering a partnership. There are plenty of folks I would date that I wouldn’t commit to in a partnership - aka, I wouldn’t prioritize, but would still maintain some regularity with because I still enjoy their company.
Neither dating nor partnerships require sexual or emotional “fidelity” to function properly or healthfully - aka, this works for both monogamous and polyamorous arrangements.
You can apply these definitions/processes to all forms of relationships - platonic, “romantic”, familial.
April 14, 2018
Catcalling isn’t rooted in a desire to interact. It’s rooted in the desire to objectify. It is a public reminder that non male bodies exist for male entertainment. It is a public reminder that non male bodies exist for male entertainment. It is a public reminder that non male bodies exist for male entertainment.
It is a violence subjected onto our bodies since we are young (I was first catcalled when I was 10. Always by older men, 25+). It is a violence that is normalized, so much so that many non men view this behavior as a form of validation, desirability, or at the very least, just a typical annoyance. This behavior is normalized until the desire to objectify moves to a desire to actually interact - and upon rejection, harass and violate.
We only care about violence when it’s physical. And never at the point when it’s preventable. Piénsalo.
April 10, 2018
I expect... Safety. Emotional, physical, spiritual safety. I don't want to be fed off of and I want someone who prioritizes consent. I expect consistency and transparency.
I am the most empathetic and understanding person. There's almost nothing I can't handle if you just stay honest with me.
I expect them to have their own peace So that they’re not searching for it from me.
I expect someone to bring me flowers -- All the time.
I expect baby kisses on my cheek and neck and shoulders in private and public. I expect booty grabbing. And rubbing. I expect playfulness.
I expect someone who enjoys being served and serving others.
I expect someone who self interrogates and holds themselves accountable. There should be fewer times when **I** should need to call them out because they’re already doing the work. If anything, someone comfortable with critique and suggestions, being called higher and can do the same for me.
Someone who can dance.
Someone who can fuck me to another plane, make love and bring heaven to me. Someone who eats me out without being prompted.
February 18, 2018
Lets talk Boundaries vs. Standards.
Personally, I see boundaries and standards as compliments to one another. Boundaries — Behaviors you do NOT want/tolerate. Standards — Behaviors you DO want/expect.
Example Boundary: I will not overexert myself for others at the expense of my mental emotional/physical health. Standard: I expect people to respect my right to say “no” or “I am not able to right now.”
These statements are mirror images of each other. Identifying and articulating your boundaries and standards serve two purposes:
Too often, many of us know what we DONT want, but can’t envision what it is we DO want. For one, most folks are not accustomed to affirmative speech or are even solution oriented - it’s easier to see and state the negative/problem. And two, many of us have never seen [insert positive behavior here]. It’s not apart of our emotional imagination. Also, I have found it to be true that when someone creates and honors their own boundaries, they are more likely to honor that of others.
It helps you more easily identify red flags, while also recognizing promise in a potential partner, friend, coworker/boss/client, parent child/sibling, teacher/student, YOURSELF! Anything/one you hold a relationship with. If someone/an environment is displaying a behavior/culture that you have already categorized as a boundary, that’s a red flag that they/it may not be safe for you or simply not meeting your needs. If it is the latter, you may or may not choose to address the issue with a conversation. Now that you have the language, you can clearly articulate what boundary is being crossed, and what it is that person can do to remedy the situation (standard).
Be aware that your boundaries/standards can and will change as you learn more about your limits/wants. This change comes with learning about yourself. Invest in self reflection. Also know that our boundaries/standards are influenced by our identifies — privileged and non. Do the work to unpack possibly problematic perceptions you hold of certain behaviors outside your “norm” or cultural knowledge base.
February 10, 2018
I want... Someone invested in their growth & in mine. To live in purpose. To love on purpose. To question everything. Someone who understands it’s important to ask questions; it’s how you get to know someone, how you remain aware of their needs and desires, it demonstrates that you care. Someone who cares. Someone who states their intentions without being prompted. To become more comfortable demanding what I want. To be comfortable asking for help. To offer healing and honesty in the work that I do. To be compensated equitably for the work that I do. Someone to bring me flowers because they adore me. Someone who prioritizes reciprocity in all aspects. Someone who prioritizes self reflection & accountability. A society that teaches folks self-accountability. To trust that I am the expert on my own life; to know that it is not all in my head. To be believed. Empathized with. To believe. To be more assertive. To not be so scared all the time. To not be the strong one all the time. To not be restricted by possession or ego. To not let toxicity fuck with my internal world. To adore myself. Love myself. Hold myself. To adore, love & hold others. I want...all this. And I am not asking for too much. And I am not asking.
January 28, 2018
On Friday, January 26th, I spent my afternoon and evening marching in solidarity with the family of Jason Negron after the announcement that Officer Bouley would not be charged with murder.
I’ve marched before. Several times for several siblings in our communities. The experience is always heavy. Sometimes, though, I’m so overwhelmed by the expression of solidarity, I forget that it is pain that brought us together.
On Friday, we concluded a 3 hour march by standing silently in the cold for 20 minutes — a millisecond compared to Jason’s murdered body being left, uncovered in the street for 6 hours.
I closed my eyes. I muttered to myself the words I needed, the words I could find. Jason was 15. He was my cousin. My brother. My student. Jason was my neighbor. He was a human being that deserved to see past 15. A human being that was subjected to too many systems that would deny him more than the short life he lived. I am angry.
I opened my eyes. Across from me were four young men of color — no more than 18/19 each of them. It is 22 degrees outside. Everyone is cold. These young men, for 20 minutes of silence, knelt to the ground with their fingers locked behind their lowered heads. They held that position for 20 minutes. Twenty. Almost, with ease.
To their left, a group of three black boys — no more than 10 years old. One raises his fist in the air, following after that night’s organizer who he sees in tears holding up Black Power high in the air. The other two boys follow suit. One by one the whole crowd raises their fists. No one breaks the silence. I am crying.
To my left, folks gather to console a black sister wailing. All this is tearing me apart. I’m scared for all of them. I don’t know them and I love them. I don’t know them and I want to hold them. I don’t know them and ... I know them.
One to the young men was given the mic to speak during the march: “They don’t want us on the streets. They say we cause trouble. Well we don’t want trouble. But y’all took away anything positive we had. They took the ymca. They took the boys and girls club. The schools don’t want us. They ain’t nothing here for us. We just tryna get out. And you’re killing us.”
We are not marching, screaming against one institution. We are marching against all of them. All of the institutions that push our babies into the hands of murderers, thieves and gate keepers. All of the institutions that teach our babies they are worthless and force them to go chase superficial ideas of worth.
Jason was a target the minute he was born. Not just the night of his murder.
We are marching to change a false narrative.
To place the target on the actual criminals.
January 11, 2018
For the past five years, I have served as a program director to an after school youth program for Puerto Rican students in Waterbury.
As of September 2017, I lost my job and my program due to a delayed state budget and eventual full-budget cut. I was devastated.
I created this program as a senior in college. From the ground up. From applying and securing grant funding to curriculum building and facilitation to student recruitment to program marketing, etc etc etc. This was my baby. My students were my babies. Losing them, and so unexpectedly, took the wind out of me.
I lost all my confidence.
I expected to mourn. I did not expect that I would forget who I was: a young woman with no experience and all potential willing to self study and teach because fuck! I wanted to create my own program.
I have had friends and colleagues provide support and resources - employment sites, resume building services and even emailing me about possible job openings.
It has been four months, and despite their support, I have managed to only update my resume (which is impressive) and apply to only one job - which I did not hear back from. (While a director, I worked part time at a bodega — because millennial - and have been working their full time now until I get myself back on my feet.)
One job.
Essentially, I was doing nothing. Nothing but feeling. Nothing but moping. I still find it incredible that a job or joblessness can define your worth. As if my skills and passion do not matter unless I have a title to attach to it. As if my ambition and power are obsolete if I don’t have someone rewarding me for them - or even if I or others can’t “see” them.
These past four months, I have gone through several stages. At first, I was insecure and scared. That turned into anger for not having left the program earlier and finding something more secure when I has the chance like my parents told me to — though they never really supported my program to begin with. That eventually turned into “get it together and apply”...to picky because I don’t want to work for white people - especially for social justice work. Finally, I got to a point where I was annoyed by the idea of applying for jobs all together. I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t out of laziness. I was legitimately turned off my the idea.
I have been told that the time I’ve taken to process all this is privileged. I have the social capital and class background (parental safety net) to not need to find a job right away — though I have a job despite it not being as “prestigious” as a program director. And this is true. I am blessed and privileged to not rush myself into a form to employment “just to pay the bills”. I am blessed and privileged to have patience with myself. There are too many folks who do not have the privilege to wait for a job that fulfills a personal sense of purpose because capitalism does not care about their journeys or their dreams.
This time I have is privileged.
And I am glad I have it.
It has taken me four months to remember who tf I am: I did not find out my passion for youth advocacy and education by applying for jobs. I found it by creating my own job. I am a creative and a creator. Why am I not creating? It took me four months to find that question. It’s taken conversations with friends who love, know and believe in me to help me find it. It's taken conversations with my love (best friend) to not judge me but validate me when I told her I was scared and unsure what to do. It’s taken my brother emotionally and financially supporting me all because he believes in me so much. It’s taken the support of an online friend - of what?!, three years now? - to share her knowledge with me.
It’s honestly taken my reading over and over the affirmations I receive from my online community.
Applying for jobs will be there.
I have the privilege and the opportunity to take a chance on myself, create and be my own boss again. I have not been this excited, this energized, this full of ideas and self belief in a long time. I’m going to do great things y’all!
January 3, 2018
Be careful who you share your sexual liberation with. We consume all of someone in those moments - their pleasure and their pain.
Men are taught to use pussy as quick fix therapy for the emotional scars they endure. Immediate satisfaction avoids having to admit they are not prepared to self console.
And so pussy becomes a hospice for where hurt men go to die over and over again, choosing only to remember the brief minutes of heaven.
Women are taught to please in too many ways the whims or men. External validation used to make us feel whole. There are women giving all of themselves away when only knowing half of themselves.
Sex is an exchange of many things. Be aware of what you’re receiving and what you are giving. This is what it means to have smart, safe & consensual sex.
September 7, 2017
As a teenager, my strict Puerto Rican upbringing was responsible for the limited experience I would have with "boys". I didn't have the opportunity to build the social skills I needed to navigate dating and desirability.
It also didn't help being a curvy middle schooler in an all-white school where my "over-developed" hips and C-cup chest definitely stood out in a 7th grade hallway. I learned very quickly that the hyper-sexualization and racialized fetishization of my body would be the primary components in how I navigated my own sexuality.
When I was old enough to drive and borrow the car, I would visit my "boyfriends" who lived two towns over. There were no brown or black boys in my town and I wasn't interested in dating white boys - conveniently, they were also not interested in me. Though they never tired of starring. I think they were curious more than attracted. Intimidated maybe. Some, completely disgusted.
These "boyfriends" I ended up having I met on MySpace (we can laugh about it now!) or from the mall. They were indigenous Mexican, Mestizo Mexican-Puerto Rican, and Afro Panamanian. They all only dated Puerto Ricans. It was their "preference". According to them, we were "sexy, sassy, and freaky". I didn't quite enjoy being seen through such a narrow lens, but I allowed it anyway because it made me feel unique. And low-self esteem me was here for anything that made me feel attractive.
When I went off to college in South Carolina, I knew absolutely nobody. A black female classmate befriended me and introduced me to what would be my crew throughout the duration of my freshmen and sophomore year - all black women. I think it should be obvious to say I learned a lot from them. One thing in particular was the impact of fetishization on my self image and on their black womanhood.
Let's just say, shit was nuanced.
I was approached by interested men every day. Every day. The attention was overwhelming. At first, I was flattered. Really, this was my first time being able to socialize with men and "play the game". At first, men would walk up to me and start up conversation. I would entertain. All would try to invite me to their dorm (attempts at pitching Netflix n Chill as a date); I accepted a few offers. Most, not all, were a dub. Nothing became of the few hookups. Or so I thought.
After three different dorm visits, I noticed men didn't try to talk to me anymore. Most would simply walk next to me on campus. Silent. They just wanted to be seen with me. Then I received Facebook messages - inappropriate, invasive and always referencing my being Puerto Rican. Now, the only men that would approach me on campus were those blatantly stating they wanted to fuck. I no longer felt unique. I no longer felt attractive. I just felt..uncomfortable. Honestly, I felt embarrassed. Regretful. I started to think I had done something wrong.
One day, the closest of my new friends (a beautiful, funny af, intelligent brown skinned black woman) shared with me that sometimes she hated walking next to me on campus. When I asked her why, she said, "Cuz walking next to you, I feel invisible. You get all the attention. Everybody wants to try the 'exotic light skinned thing'." I was hurt. Not by her words. I knew what she meant.
It was that men - trash ass men - made both of us feel like shit. I felt nasty. She felt undesirable. Neither of us deserved that.
After my experiences and that conversation, I was convinced by how disgusting it is to fetishize someone's race/ethnicity and knew I would never entertain a man who saw me that way.
But I also had to unpack the ways I internalized those same perceptions. They directed how I interacted with men in and outside "the bedroom". I had to recognize, admit really, that my sexuality - since I was 16 - was never really mine. It was a performance - a version men wanted to see me play. But I am no actress. I am me. It took a lot of self reflection. A lot reclamation. And my sexuality now is all the healthier for it.
September 2, 2017
You want us to be "lady like", nurturing, empathetic, submissive. And white patriarchy agrees with you. Everyone who's not us wants us to fit in these perfect lily-white boxes.
But thank the fucking universe that that is not all we are. Generations of white supremacy and colonialism force women of color to be strong, courageous, anything but submissive. And your fucking welcome because if we weren't you would never survive the day!
You want us to be "lady like", nurturing, empathetic, submissive because you need someone to carry you through your own oppression. No need for emotional development, no need for putting your life's trauma in context when a woman can do that for you. And we always do that for you. And you're weak for that. Vulnerable. You're enabled. You are so easily crippled by the conditions put onto you because patriarchy, el machismo papi, tells you that you fix problems, you don't *have* them. How much of a problem solver can you be if you never allowed yourself to submit to the impact oppression can have on the body, the mind, the spirit? You can't pluck roots. Can't sew new gardens. You just cut down trees. Leave the stump so the world can see you've "done something".
You SAY you want us to be "lady like", nurturing, empathetic, submissive. Be grateful that women have always known you don't actually mean what you say. You're alive because of it.
April 20, 2017
I love my people with all my heart. I love my communities with everything I have. I would dead give my life for my family.
And even if every (visible) person of color believed me, Even if every person of color could put out receipts on the work I have and continue to do in the name of anti-oppression work, it still would never be enough for people of color to trust me.
I. Am. Not. Trustworthy.
By the mere virtue of having this skin privilege, my very existence is dangerous, violent to the people I hold dear.
Because at any moment, whenever I get too tired, too scared, I. Can. Change. My. Mind.
I can choose not to care.
That choice is violent.
Neither I nor any white presenting person (including if not especially "white passing POC") deserve to be trusted by people of color.
And we shouldn't want it.
I know that their trust would be something too easily abused. It would be something I could easily become too comfortable with it. And if you are being honest, as a white presenting person, you know the same is true for you.
And I know. It hurts. Especially when you are emotionally and culturally connected with these communities.
But if that hurts, if not being "trusted" hurts, it should hurt more to know that we commit violence against them every day that we center ourselves over their liberation. Do the work. And do it because our people need it to be done. Not so they trust us.
March 29, 2017
My kids are very aware that white people "do better" (perceptively). They have better schools. Neighborhoods. They have more money. They have two parents. They have good jobs. They're smart. They're pretty. They don't get in trouble as much.
My kids are unaware of how much they've internalized all these perceptions to mean that white people *are* better, and what that says about them as nonwhite people.
Most importantly, they are unaware of how all these things - the disparities, the perception of superiority, the internalizing of inferiority - are a result of racism.
The many workshop discussions we have on this topic continue to reveal two things: they see the world is different for them AND they are hesitant - if not, defensive - to admitting that out loud, because to them it would mean there is no point of bettering themselves (school, relationships, career). For them, for their mental well being, racism cannot be institutional. It cannot be systemic...because what does that say about their chances? No. Racism has to stay interpersonal. It's insults or saying slurs.
This mentality is not about ignorance. It's about emotional survival.
It's also about catering to a level of cognitive dissonance as they are also keenly aware that they (my non black Latinx students) are doing collectively better than their black counterparts.
My color does not help. I'm a white passing Puerto Rican. And though they may not consciously identify me as white - their faces are always confused when I say my race is white - they have seen plenty of people that look like me who have been granted opportunities to be successful. I fit the profile. And what student of color wants to hear some white passing woman telling them, in short, "the world is stacked against you"?
It's violent.
As I wrote in a recent piece, "I refuse to facilitate every group discussion, especially when the topic is of something that does not directly impact me. In discussions about racism, for example, I - a white passing Boricua woman – would do better to co-facilitate alongside my Afro Boricua female student who is directly impacted by the topic at hand. In addition to cultivating leadership and public speaking skills, both she and her classmates are able to see a young black woman, who not only experiences racism, but sexualized racism at that, at the center of a discussion that has material consequences in her life. In this space, if only in this space, she has the power to structure a conversation about misogynoir amongst a mixed group on her own terms."
And this strategy works. My students become more honest about the ways they see racism manifest in their lives and how they promote it against others (antiblackness). They are open to discussing it's roots, it's longevity, and ultimately how they can unpack the lies they've been told about who they are. In order for my students, my community, to unpack the realities of racism, they need to feel safe to talk about it. They are not going to find that safety in a classroom led by white teachers - or after school educators like me. All that environment promotes is the conditioned mindfulness to not insult white people, while also enforcing that white people deserve a position of authority (even on topics that don't affect them). Students of color are more than capable of interpreting their own reality. They just need the right parameters.