Healthy lifestyle
A healthy lifestyle is one which helps to keep and improve people's health and well-being.Many governments and non-governmental organizations have made big efforts in healthy lifestyle and health promotion.
Mental Health
Mental health can be considered a very important factor of physical health for the effects it produces on bodily functions. This type of health concerns emotional and cognitive well-being or an absence of mental disorder.
Public health
Public health can be defined in a variety of ways. It can be presented as "the study of the physical, psychosocial and socio-cultural determinants of population health and actions to improve the health of the population.
Reproductive Health
For the UN, reproductive health is a right, like other human rights. This recent concept evokes the good transmission of the genetic heritage from one generation to the next.
Health
Health is a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being, and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity.
lundi 10 juillet 2017
This Is What It Was Like to Grow Up as a Half-Latina
I was born in Houston, TX, to a Peruvian-born mom and a white American dad. My twin sister and I only spoke Spanish until we were 4 and picked up English quickly once we were put in school. Even though we grew up in a very diverse city with a huge Hispanic population, I never really felt defined by my half-Latina status, until after my mom passed away when I was 11, and my dad moved us to small-town Newport, OR. I guess while you're surrounded by people who look just like you, you just are.
In Oregon, everyone from teachers to friends seemed determined to mark us as "different" or "other" (the last thing any school-aged kid wants to be) and check off the stereotypes they already had in their minds about us little Latina-looking girls before getting to know us.
There I was just Latina, not half-Latina. Even my own white dad saw us that way. He let our surroundings sway him and laughed in my face, when, upon being asked about my goals, I told a relative I wanted to go to college in New York and be a magazine writer. Because Latina girls didn't go out to be magazine editors, right? That was "just not something we did." (To his credit, he came around and has always been one of my biggest supporters.)
It wasn't until I got to college in New York that I started to see my perceived full Latina status as a perk, not a hindering part of my self. There I was able to embrace my Latina status instead of seeing it as a box I fit into according to others.
In high school, I often felt like I had to work twice as hard to make my teachers believe that I cared about doing well, getting good grades, and going to a good college - it was that stereotype again, that I couldn't be Latina and also be on the road to success. More than once, I felt like I was met with skepticism when handed back a paper with an A and very few grammar corrections, like my teachers almost couldn't believe one of the "others" could actually be a decent writer - it didn't matter that I was technically "half other." In college, that changed. I felt encouraged to embrace my status and, in some cases, felt doubly welcomed because of my half and half status, my "otherness." In a place like New York, I was hardly the most "different" person my classmates and coworkers had ever encountered.
As an American-born half-Latina, one of my biggest pet peeves is having people ask me: "Where are you from? No, where are you really from? Where are you from from?" That's a hardly disguised attempt to ask "What are you?" It's a pet peeve, because I'm not just one thing. Yes, I'm half-Peruvian, but I feel it's incorrect to say I'm from Peru, as I wasn't born there and have never spent more than two weeks at a time there, much less lived there. But I am Latina, so what if it's only half?
At 30, I try to embrace my Peruvian-ness in whatever ways I can, from cooking Peruvian specialties for my Mexican fiancé to exploring all the Houston-area Peruvian restaurants with my eager and enthusiastic American friends to using my English-writing skills to help other native Spanish speakers when needed. I try to return to Peru every chance I get to learn more about my roots and family, that side that has always defined me so much simply because of the way I look.
As a child, my parents took my sister and I to Machu Picchu twice, where we made the trip to the ruins by bus. It was really special for me to return 20 years later and make the entire hike on foot with my now-fiancé during his first trip to South America. That connection and pride is what I looked for, and now I have it. I'm proud of the diversity I bring to a job and my community. I'm proud to be Latina, even if it's just half.
dimanche 10 septembre 2017
This Is What It Was Like to Grow Up as a Half-Latina
I was born in Houston, TX, to a Peruvian-born mom and a white American dad. My twin sister and I only spoke Spanish until we were 4 and picked up English quickly once we were put in school. Even though we grew up in a very diverse city with a huge Hispanic population, I never really felt defined by my half-Latina status, until after my mom passed away when I was 11, and my dad moved us to small-town Newport, OR. I guess while you're surrounded by people who look just like you, you just are.
In Oregon, everyone from teachers to friends seemed determined to mark us as "different" or "other" (the last thing any school-aged kid wants to be) and check off the stereotypes they already had in their minds about us little Latina-looking girls before getting to know us.
There I was just Latina, not half-Latina. Even my own white dad saw us that way. He let our surroundings sway him and laughed in my face, when, upon being asked about my goals, I told a relative I wanted to go to college in New York and be a magazine writer. Because Latina girls didn't go out to be magazine editors, right? That was "just not something we did." (To his credit, he came around and has always been one of my biggest supporters.)
It wasn't until I got to college in New York that I started to see my perceived full Latina status as a perk, not a hindering part of my self. There I was able to embrace my Latina status instead of seeing it as a box I fit into according to others.
In high school, I often felt like I had to work twice as hard to make my teachers believe that I cared about doing well, getting good grades, and going to a good college - it was that stereotype again, that I couldn't be Latina and also be on the road to success. More than once, I felt like I was met with skepticism when handed back a paper with an A and very few grammar corrections, like my teachers almost couldn't believe one of the "others" could actually be a decent writer - it didn't matter that I was technically "half other." In college, that changed. I felt encouraged to embrace my status and, in some cases, felt doubly welcomed because of my half and half status, my "otherness." In a place like New York, I was hardly the most "different" person my classmates and coworkers had ever encountered.
As an American-born half-Latina, one of my biggest pet peeves is having people ask me: "Where are you from? No, where are you really from? Where are you from from?" That's a hardly disguised attempt to ask "What are you?" It's a pet peeve, because I'm not just one thing. Yes, I'm half-Peruvian, but I feel it's incorrect to say I'm from Peru, as I wasn't born there and have never spent more than two weeks at a time there, much less lived there. But I am Latina, so what if it's only half?
At 30, I try to embrace my Peruvian-ness in whatever ways I can, from cooking Peruvian specialties for my Mexican fiancé to exploring all the Houston-area Peruvian restaurants with my eager and enthusiastic American friends to using my English-writing skills to help other native Spanish speakers when needed. I try to return to Peru every chance I get to learn more about my roots and family, that side that has always defined me so much simply because of the way I look.
As a child, my parents took my sister and I to Machu Picchu twice, where we made the trip to the ruins by bus. It was really special for me to return 20 years later and make the entire hike on foot with my now-fiancé during his first trip to South America. That connection and pride is what I looked for, and now I have it. I'm proud of the diversity I bring to a job and my community. I'm proud to be Latina, even if it's just half.
vendredi 15 juin 2018
This Is What It Was Like to Grow Up as a Half-Latina
I was born in Houston to a Peruvian-born mom and a white American dad. My twin sister and I only spoke Spanish until we were 4 and picked up English quickly once we were put in school. Even though we grew up in a very diverse city with a huge Hispanic population, I never really felt defined by my half-Latina status, until after my mom passed away when I was 11, and my dad moved us to small-town Newport, OR. I guess while you're surrounded by people who look just like you, you just are.
In Oregon, everyone from teachers to friends seemed determined to mark us as "different" or "other" (the last thing any school-aged kid wants to be) and check off the stereotypes they already had in their minds about us little Latina-looking girls before getting to know us.
There I was just Latina, not half-Latina. Even my own white dad saw us that way. He let our surroundings sway him and laughed in my face, when, upon being asked about my goals, I told a relative I wanted to go to college in New York and be a magazine writer. Because Latina girls didn't go out to be magazine editors, right? That was "just not something we did." (To his credit, he came around and has always been one of my biggest supporters.)
It wasn't until I got to college in New York that I started to see my perceived full Latina status as a perk, not a hindering part of my self. There I was able to embrace my Latina status instead of seeing it as a box I fit into according to others.
In high school, I often felt like I had to work twice as hard to make my teachers believe that I cared about doing well, getting good grades, and going to a good college - it was that stereotype again, that I couldn't be Latina and also be on the road to success. More than once, I felt like I was met with skepticism when handed back a paper with an A and very few grammar corrections, like my teachers almost couldn't believe one of the "others" could actually be a decent writer - it didn't matter that I was technically "half other." In college, that changed. I felt encouraged to embrace my status and, in some cases, felt doubly welcomed because of my half and half status, my "otherness." In a place like New York, I was hardly the most "different" person my classmates and coworkers had ever encountered.
As an American-born half-Latina, one of my biggest pet peeves is having people ask me: "Where are you from? No, where are you really from? Where are you from from?" That's a hardly disguised attempt to ask "What are you?" It's a pet peeve, because I'm not just one thing. Yes, I'm half-Peruvian, but I feel it's incorrect to say I'm from Peru, as I wasn't born there and have never spent more than two weeks at a time there, much less lived there. But I am Latina, so what if it's only half?
At 30, I try to embrace my Peruvian-ness in whatever ways I can, from cooking Peruvian specialties for my Mexican fiancé to exploring all the Houston-area Peruvian restaurants with my eager and enthusiastic American friends to using my English-writing skills to help other native Spanish speakers when needed. I try to return to Peru every chance I get to learn more about my roots and family, that side that has always defined me so much simply because of the way I look.
As a child, my parents took my sister and I to Machu Picchu twice, where we made the trip to the ruins by bus. It was really special for me to return 20 years later and make the entire hike on foot with my now-fiancé during his first trip to South America. That connection and pride is what I looked for, and now I have it. I'm proud of the diversity I bring to a job and my community. I'm proud to be Latina, even if it's just half.
mercredi 23 août 2017
"Coming Out" as Afro-Latina and Owning It
With two of my best friends since childhood, Cesar and Luis, on the street in front of the house I grew up in, at the age of 17.
I never thought I would be "coming out" because I was never hiding. I was born and raised in the Dominican Republic, where identifying as simply "Dominican" was the norm - and still is, if you come from Latin America. When I moved to the United States 13 years ago, identifying as an Afro-Latina seemed redundant because, to me, being Dominican is synonymous with being of African descent.
Being a new immigrant to the United States, there were many things I didn't understand, like the fact that not all people born in the US were called "American." The different labels were beyond me. It seemed like a way of separating people, creating tension and division, and a disservice to the people of this country.
While some of that still rings true to me, the reality is that the labels do exist. What's important is understanding that it is less about labels and more about identity and the importance of the words that are used to describe us. Identifying as Afro-Latina is about bringing visibility to a community that often seems invisible, as people consider Afro-Latinas either too black to be Latinx or too fair to be black.
Growing up in a black family, I've seen firsthand the damage that racism and colorism can wreak in the Dominican Republic, where more than 90 percent of the population is of African descent. Being lighter has always given me privileges that my darker grandmother, cousins, and aunts never had. I know both sides of the Afro-Latina experience and I'm committed to promoting our roots and empowering new generations.
My African roots are evident on my features: mocha skin, full lips, round nose. I've always been proud of my African ancestry, and it has always been at the core of my identity as a Dominican. That being said, I wasn't expecting the reactions I get when I identify myself as an Afro-Latina or mention my African roots. People are either shocked, disagree with me, don't believe me, or accuse me of trying to "pass." These reactions made me feel as if I'd been in hiding, like I'd been a "secret black girl" who decided to come out of my shell by asserting my identity. I'm not a victim, but I'm not alone. And my experience doesn't even compare to what happens to darker Afro-Latinas who are subjected to the opposite type of questions - women whose Latinx heritage is constantly questioned and undermined.
I've had the privilege of been welcomed as a Latina when I identify as such. My brown skin and "good" hair have awarded me something that many of my fellow Afro-Latinas usually don't get. That's why I've made a point of identifying as Afro-Latina, to bring awareness to the fact that we have a mixed heritage and are multiracial. Afrolatinidad is another layer of the Latinx experience while also being another layer of the African diaspora experience.
With my father on my 13th birthday, in the living room of my childhood home.
As a Latina, I'm committed to bring light and visibility to my community, sharing the history and stories of Afro-Latinas, and celebrating them. It is important to open the conversation in order to defy myths and misconceptions, come out of the imaginary closet, and raise awareness about the many shades of black and brown we come in and the beautiful cultural diversity that makes each one of us unique.
Embracing my Afro-Latina identity has been an empowering experience, and I want to empower others to do the same - including my daughter. Younger generations of Afro-Latinas deserve to live in a society in which their lives and stories are validated, not only as black and brown girls, but also as Latinas in their own right. I'm excited to help create such a society. How about you?
dimanche 3 septembre 2017
"Coming Out" as Afro-Latina and Owning It
With two of my best friends since childhood, Cesar and Luis, on the street in front of the house I grew up in, at the age of 17.
I never thought I would be "coming out" because I was never hiding. I was born and raised in the Dominican Republic, where identifying as simply "Dominican" was the norm - and still is, if you come from Latin America. When I moved to the United States 13 years ago, identifying as an Afro-Latina seemed redundant because, to me, being Dominican is synonymous with being of African descent.
Being a new immigrant to the United States, there were many things I didn't understand, like the fact that not all people born in the US were called "American." The different labels were beyond me. It seemed like a way of separating people, creating tension and division, and a disservice to the people of this country.
While some of that still rings true to me, the reality is that the labels do exist. What's important is understanding that it is less about labels and more about identity and the importance of the words that are used to describe us. Identifying as Afro-Latina is about bringing visibility to a community that often seems invisible, as people consider Afro-Latinas either too black to be Latinx or too fair to be black.
Growing up in a black family, I've seen firsthand the damage that racism and colorism can wreak in the Dominican Republic, where more than 90 percent of the population is of African descent. Being lighter has always given me privileges that my darker grandmother, cousins, and aunts never had. I know both sides of the Afro-Latina experience and I'm committed to promoting our roots and empowering new generations.
My African roots are evident on my features: mocha skin, full lips, round nose. I've always been proud of my African ancestry, and it has always been at the core of my identity as a Dominican. That being said, I wasn't expecting the reactions I get when I identify myself as an Afro-Latina or mention my African roots. People are either shocked, disagree with me, don't believe me, or accuse me of trying to "pass." These reactions made me feel as if I'd been in hiding, like I'd been a "secret black girl" who decided to come out of my shell by asserting my identity. I'm not a victim, but I'm not alone. And my experience doesn't even compare to what happens to darker Afro-Latinas who are subjected to the opposite type of questions - women whose Latinx heritage is constantly questioned and undermined.
I've had the privilege of been welcomed as a Latina when I identify as such. My brown skin and "good" hair have awarded me something that many of my fellow Afro-Latinas usually don't get. That's why I've made a point of identifying as Afro-Latina, to bring awareness to the fact that we have a mixed heritage and are multiracial. Afrolatinidad is another layer of the Latinx experience while also being another layer of the African diaspora experience.
With my father on my 13th birthday, in the living room of my childhood home.
As a Latina, I'm committed to bring light and visibility to my community, sharing the history and stories of Afro-Latinas, and celebrating them. It is important to open the conversation in order to defy myths and misconceptions, come out of the imaginary closet, and raise awareness about the many shades of black and brown we come in and the beautiful cultural diversity that makes each one of us unique.
Embracing my Afro-Latina identity has been an empowering experience, and I want to empower others to do the same - including my daughter. Younger generations of Afro-Latinas deserve to live in a society in which their lives and stories are validated, not only as black and brown girls, but also as Latinas in their own right. I'm excited to help create such a society. How about you?
dimanche 24 septembre 2017
I Fit a Lot of Latina Stereotypes - and That's OK
Stereotypes lump diverse groups of people together - erasing their individuality and humanity - and set them up for the daily drudge of challenging biases. They are tired, effed up, painful, and restricting, so what happens when you actually fulfill them?
I'm Latina, and I meet many of the hackneyed ideas that have been placed on that identity. Physically, I'm a short, light-skinned girl with plump breasts, a round derrière, and straight brown hair falling down my back. I like to wear form-fitting clothes that hug my curves and reveal some skin. I can be caught daily in gold hoops or doorknockers, with a nameplate necklace and ring, and multiple bangles on each arm. Since middle school, I've sported long acrylic nails and dope kicks. I'm fluent in Spanglish, and I call the men I date "papi" and refer to my homegirls as "mamis." My hobbies really do consist of cooking (I can whip up a mean arroz con habichuelas) and listening and dancing to reggaetón, Latin trap, hip-hop, salsa, merengue, and bachata. Selena Quintanilla is one of my favorite singers, and I consider Big Pun to be one of the best rappers of all time. As for sports, baseball and boxing are among my top three faves. My father really is overprotective, and he and my mother are very religious. When I was in college - I'm also a first-generation graduate, by the way - one of my multiple jobs was as a housekeeper.
As someone who publicly writes and speaks about the danger of stereotypes and why we must challenge them, I was surprised to discover just how many of them I subscribe to in my own life. Negative stereotypes about my community, from being criminal to ignorant, hinder many of us from reaching our full potential, while so-called positive stereotypes, like being curvaceous sexpots, can make some of us feel inadequate for not living up to the ideal. "Does fitting, and often embracing, these stereotypical aspects of myself make me problematic?" I pondered. "Am I part of the problem?" I asked myself. If stereotypes are bad, and I'm checking most of them off, then something has got to be messed up.
After some self-reflection and deep conversations about identity with friends, I realized that, despite my immediate discomfort, there's actually nothing wrong with my living up to many myths about my community, even if those conventional ideas need to be debunked.
Stereotypes aren't inherently wrong. It's not bad to be sexy or passionate. Place these attributes on a white woman and no one will bat an eye. The problem comes when these ideas, which are oftentimes forced on marginalized people to "exotify" or criminalize them, become widely believed conceptions that institutionally hold them back or make them feel inferior for satisfying or not satisfying them.
By filling some cultural Latina stereotypes, I'm simultaneously being true to myself and reclaiming a narrative that was placed on me with ill intent. I'm not conforming to Western ideas of respectability. Instead, I'm showing up to corporate meetings as my whole self, sporting my Big Pun laptop bag, bamboo earrings, and tight, low-rise blouse along with my bicultural, Spanglish brilliance. By doing so, I'm allowing myself to be as comfortable as I can be in spaces that were not created for people like me, and I'm forcing people who are accustomed to rule and order to be uneasy, even if just for a moment . . . and both are powerful.
As someone who also meets many physical Latina stereotypes - particularly my light skin, European phenotypes, straight hair, and curvy, small physique - I'm given unearned privileges that many of my other Latina sisters, especially those who are of more African or indigenous descent than I am or whose body shape does not fit popularly held ideas of "beautiful" or "sexy," don't have. As such, it's my responsibility to use the influence, as limited as it may be, that I have to challenge harmful stereotypes that don't impact me directly and to uplift the stories and voices that I can't speak to personally. By doing so, I can help ensure that my singular Latina experience, the one that is almost always focused on, isn't the only one that is underlined or centered.
So, yes, I fit several Latina stereotypes, but I own them all. Some, like my language and style of dress, are weapons that allow me to survive in a racist, classist, and sexist society. Others, like the color of my skin and the texture of my hair, permit me to influence others to question and resist these ideas, to understand that these conventions that ring true for me don't for all of us.
mardi 5 septembre 2017
I Fit a Lot of Latina Stereotypes - and That's OK
Stereotypes lump diverse groups of people together - erasing their individuality and humanity - and set them up for the daily drudge of challenging biases. They are tired, effed up, painful, and restricting, so what happens when you actually fulfill them?
I'm Latina, and I meet many of the hackneyed ideas that have been placed on that identity. Physically, I'm a short, light-skinned girl with plump breasts, a round derrière, and straight brown hair falling down my back. I like to wear form-fitting clothes that hug my curves and reveal some skin. I can be caught daily in gold hoops or doorknockers, with a nameplate necklace and ring, and multiple bangles on each arm. Since middle school, I've sported long acrylic nails and dope kicks. I'm fluent in Spanglish, and I call the men I date "papi" and refer to my homegirls as "mamis." My hobbies really do consist of cooking (I can whip up a mean arroz con habichuelas) and listening and dancing to reggaetón, Latin trap, hip-hop, salsa, merengue, and bachata. Selena Quintanilla is one of my favorite singers, and I consider Big Pun to be one of the best rappers of all time. As for sports, baseball and boxing are among my top three faves. My father really is overprotective, and he and my mother are very religious. When I was in college - I'm also a first-generation graduate, by the way - one of my multiple jobs was as a housekeeper.
As someone who publicly writes and speaks about the danger of stereotypes and why we must challenge them, I was surprised to discover just how many of them I subscribe to in my own life. Negative stereotypes about my community, from being criminal to ignorant, hinder many of us from reaching our full potential, while so-called positive stereotypes, like being curvaceous sexpots, can make some of us feel inadequate for not living up to the ideal. "Does fitting, and often embracing, these stereotypical aspects of myself make me problematic?" I pondered. "Am I part of the problem?" I asked myself. If stereotypes are bad, and I'm checking most of them off, then something has got to be messed up.
After some self-reflection and deep conversations about identity with friends, I realized that, despite my immediate discomfort, there's actually nothing wrong with my living up to many myths about my community, even if those conventional ideas need to be debunked.
Stereotypes aren't inherently wrong. It's not bad to be sexy or passionate. Place these attributes on a white woman and no one will bat an eye. The problem comes when these ideas, which are oftentimes forced on marginalized people to "exotify" or criminalize them, become widely believed conceptions that institutionally hold them back or make them feel inferior for satisfying or not satisfying them.
By filling some cultural Latina stereotypes, I'm simultaneously being true to myself and reclaiming a narrative that was placed on me with ill intent. I'm not conforming to Western ideas of respectability. Instead, I'm showing up to corporate meetings as my whole self, sporting my Big Pun laptop bag, bamboo earrings, and tight, low-rise blouse along with my bicultural, Spanglish brilliance. By doing so, I'm allowing myself to be as comfortable as I can be in spaces that were not created for people like me, and I'm forcing people who are accustomed to rule and order to be uneasy, even if just for a moment . . . and both are powerful.
As someone who also meets many physical Latina stereotypes - particularly my light skin, European phenotypes, straight hair, and curvy, small physique - I'm given unearned privileges that many of my other Latina sisters, especially those who are of more African or indigenous descent than I am or whose body shape does not fit popularly held ideas of "beautiful" or "sexy," don't have. As such, it's my responsibility to use the influence, as limited as it may be, that I have to challenge harmful stereotypes that don't impact me directly and to uplift the stories and voices that I can't speak to personally. By doing so, I can help ensure that my singular Latina experience, the one that is almost always focused on, isn't the only one that is underlined or centered.
So, yes, I fit several Latina stereotypes, but I own them all. Some, like my language and style of dress, are weapons that allow me to survive in a racist, classist, and sexist society. Others, like the color of my skin and the texture of my hair, permit me to influence others to question and resist these ideas, to understand that these conventions that ring true for me don't for all of us.
dimanche 17 juin 2018
I Fit a Lot of Latina Stereotypes - and That's OK
Stereotypes lump diverse groups of people together - erasing their individuality and humanity - and set them up for the daily drudge of challenging biases. They are effed up, painful, and restricting, so what happens when you actually fulfill them?
I'm Latina, and I meet many of the hackneyed ideas that have been placed on that identity. Physically, I'm a short, light-skinned girl with plump breasts, a round derrière, and straight brown hair falling down my back. I like to wear form-fitting clothes that hug my curves and reveal some skin. I can be caught daily in gold hoops or doorknockers, with a nameplate necklace and ring, and multiple bangles on each arm. Since middle school, I've sported long acrylic nails and dope kicks. I'm fluent in Spanglish, and I call the men I date "papi" and refer to my homegirls as "mamis." My hobbies really do consist of cooking (I can whip up a mean arroz con habichuelas) and listening and dancing to reggaetón, Latin trap, hip-hop, salsa, merengue, and bachata. Selena Quintanilla is one of my favorite singers, and I consider Big Pun to be one of the best rappers of all time. As for sports, baseball and boxing are among my top three faves. My father really is overprotective, and he and my mother are very religious. When I was in college - I'm also a first-generation graduate, by the way - one of my multiple jobs was as a housekeeper.
As someone who publicly writes and speaks about the danger of stereotypes and why we must challenge them, I was surprised to discover just how many of them I subscribe to in my own life. Negative stereotypes about my community, from being criminal to ignorant, hinder many of us from reaching our full potential, while so-called positive stereotypes, like being curvaceous sexpots, can make some of us feel inadequate for not living up to the ideal. "Does fitting, and often embracing, these stereotypical aspects of myself make me problematic?" I pondered. "Am I part of the problem?" I asked myself. If stereotypes are bad, and I'm checking most of them off, then something has got to be messed up.
After some self-reflection and deep conversations about identity with friends, I realized that, despite my immediate discomfort, there's actually nothing wrong with my living up to many myths about my community, even if those conventional ideas need to be debunked.
Stereotypes aren't inherently wrong. It's not bad to be sexy or passionate. Place these attributes on a white woman and no one will bat an eye. The problem comes when these ideas, which are oftentimes forced on marginalized people to "exotify" or criminalize them, become widely believed conceptions that institutionally hold them back or make them feel inferior for satisfying or not satisfying them.
By filling some cultural Latina stereotypes, I'm simultaneously being true to myself and reclaiming a narrative that was placed on me with ill intent. I'm not conforming to Western ideas of respectability. Instead, I'm showing up to corporate meetings as my whole self, sporting my Big Pun laptop bag, bamboo earrings, and tight, low-rise blouse along with my bicultural, Spanglish brilliance. By doing so, I'm allowing myself to be as comfortable as I can be in spaces that were not created for people like me, and I'm forcing people who are accustomed to rule and order to be uneasy, even if just for a moment . . . and both are powerful.
As someone who also meets many physical Latina stereotypes - particularly my light skin, European phenotypes, straight hair, and curvy, small physique - I'm given unearned privileges that many of my other Latina sisters, especially those who are of more African or indigenous descent than I am or whose body shape does not fit popularly held ideas of "beautiful" or "sexy," don't have. As such, it's my responsibility to use the influence, as limited as it may be, that I have to challenge harmful stereotypes that don't impact me directly and to uplift the stories and voices that I can't speak to personally. By doing so, I can help ensure that my singular Latina experience, the one that is almost always focused on, isn't the only one that is underlined or centered.
So, yes, I fit several Latina stereotypes, but I own them all. Some, like my language and style of dress, are weapons that allow me to survive in a racist, classist, and sexist society. Others, like the color of my skin and the texture of my hair, permit me to influence others to question and resist these ideas, to understand that these conventions that ring true for me don't for all of us.
dimanche 16 septembre 2018
How Pop Culture Helped Me Embrace My Mixed Latina Identity
Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Jessica A. Gonzalez
From childhood through young adulthood, I've always had (at best) a vague sense of diasporic confusion - I never felt truly American, nor Hispanic, nor Asian enough. At its worst, the confusion would manifest into a form of self-loathing and envy of those around me who could seamlessly identify with whatever they chose (at least, to my eye). My ethnically ambiguous appearance didn't help things. Straightish hair, almond-shaped eyes, and brown skin with yellow undertones were not especially defining.
My father is from Vega Baja, Puerto Rico - the same place Bad Bunny hails from - and my mother is from Manila, Philippines. They met in New Brunswick, NJ, and I was born about a decade later. I grew up eating arroz con habichuelas and chicken adobo. By age 4, I was responding to both of my respective grandmothers in either Spanish or Taglish (a Tagalog and English hybrid commonly spoken among Filipinos in both the US and the Philippines).
Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Jessica A. Gonzalez
Being raised closely in both cultures as a half-Puerto Rican, half-Filipina-American, identifying as simply "mixed" didn't feel like enough. It didn't feel fair.
Being raised closely in both cultures as a half-Puerto Rican, half-Filipina-American, identifying as simply "mixed" didn't feel like enough. It didn't feel fair. Along with my Philippine culture, I wanted to reclaim my Latina heritage in my own right. That was very important to me. This naturally took a toll on my confidence and sense of belonging.
Eager to carve out my own take on the identity I was given (later realizing I was blessed with), I looked to different outlets to help me feel more in tune with being Latina and connect to other Latinos around me. I wanted to feel like I shared something in common with them even if it wasn't at first obvious.
Music has always been emphasized in my family. Because of my parents and grandparents (I was raised by all of them), I listened to a mix of salsa, merengue, bachata, boleros (I like to think my Filipino grandpa embraced his Spanish roots this way), '70s disco, and '80s and '90s pop a la Janet Jackson.
I didn't turn to music to consciously help me further embrace and learn my Hispanic culture until I was about 9 years old. At the time, I had just started at a new school that wasn't as culturally diverse as my old Catholic one, where mixed Hispanic and Filipino kids were everywhere (looking back, this wasn't too weird since many Hispanics and Filipinos tend to be Catholic). In fact, until I switched schools, I thought it quite common for people to be mixed in general. Because of the lack of diversity at my new school, I had the desire to hold on to my culture and found music a potent way of doing so.
I learned the words to Spanish songs I'd only heard in my dad's car or blaring from the basement while he practiced the congas. I started with salsa classics like "No Le Pegue a La Negra" by Joe Arroyo and anything by Celia Cruz, El Gran Combo, Marc Anthony, and Victor Manuelle. These were songs I'd heard my whole life, but I was now intentionally listening to the words and connecting with them.
Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Jessica A. Gonzalez
I looked to fashion and beauty, getting to know empowered style icons, from Selena Quintanilla to Bianca Jagger. It helped me pick pieces that I felt my best in and learn how to do my makeup to help me accentuate and ultimately learn to love the features I used to feel confused about.
I can't deny how discovering Latina and mixed-race style icons has helped me feel more comfortable in my skin. I looked to Selena and Jennifer Lopez growing up, but as I got older, I found seeking out mixed-race celebrities and models helped me feel more comfortable with my less-than-common physical features. I found people like model Jessica Gomes, who is a half-Chinese and half-Portuguese and proudly credits her mixed-race heritage for her striking appearance.
Image Source: POPSUGAR Photography / Jessica A. Gonzalez
I also turned to literature and language, reading Latinx authors to strengthen my Spanish and improve my understanding of Hispanic and Puerto Rican history.
I felt more empowered as a mixed Latina, armed with more knowledge of the beautiful history that nourishes my roots. Using pop culture, I was able to piece together my own interpretation of my mixed Latina identity.
Taking Spanish-language history classes in high school and college opened my eyes to the importance of understanding Puerto Rican history. My method of choice was reading memoirs and poetry. The gateway to my interest in Latinx authors and literature was a memoir about legendary Puerto Rican baseball player Roberto Clemente. His story of selfless courage - from occupying the space as one of the first Puerto Rican professional baseball players to his tragic but heroic death (he passed away in a plane crash on his way to deliver food and supplies to hurricane survivors in Nicaragua) - inspired me to learn more about important Puerto Rican figures in history.
From here, I discovered other Spanish-language authors, like Gabriel García Marquez, Pablo Neruda, and Jorge Luis Borges, among others. I learned about their respective countries' histories, strengthened my Spanish reading and writing, and garnered inspiration for my own writing. I felt more empowered as a mixed Latina, armed with more knowledge of the beautiful history that nourishes my roots.
Using pop culture, I was able to piece together my own interpretation of my mixed Latina identity. As Latinx people, we should always be looking for ways to empower ourselves and connect to those around us. It is only in these ways that we can keep the culture thriving and contribute to making the world a more accepting, comprehensive, and culturally fulfilled space.
samedi 9 septembre 2017
Why There's No Such Thing as Latina Skin and Latina Hair Color
Image Source: Stocknap user Allef Vinicius
Every time I look at my little cousins, I think of a Gina Rodriguez GIF I stumble across from time to time. The line of text on it reads, "I'm as a Latina as they come," and it wholly represents the mindset I hope my little cousins grow up with.
Too often "to be Latina" has qualifiers that are limiting and disregard what it actually means to be part of this culture. For instance, the notion that being Latina is synonymous with being a woman with olive skin, curly hair, and a curvy body erases the very real, lived experiences of Latinas who range in skin tones, hair types, and body types and exist on the LGBTQ spectrum. The phrase "you don't look Latina" shouldn't exist.
My little cousins are walking into a world that already does so much to package their culture into easily consumable one-liners, and I don't want them to do that to themselves. I want them to embrace the truth that my naturally curly hair and their naturally straight hair both come from our shared roots. The fact that their skin is fair while their own cousins' skin may have more melanin and a tanner shade doesn't mean that we don't all have the same Latinx blood.
Beyond physical appearances and what "looks Latinx" and what doesn't, existing within the culture is something to be proud of. Curves that are reminiscent of your mother's curves should be as celebrated as the straight hair that makes you stand out among family members with tight curls. Latinas are individuals; they are no more or no less Latina for having hair or skin that looks a certain way. Some may have grown up watching Sábado Gigante as their mom tried to comb out the knots in their curls with the help of detangler, while others may have grown up never knowing the pain of having someone pull at their hair (#blessed), but regardless both of those experiences and many more exist within the larger umbrella of being Latina.
It's important to remind ourselves, the younger generations, and others of this truth. It helps to bring home the fact that our narratives are ours to own. How we define ourselves is our personal choice and right, and we don't have to succumb to anyone else's definition of us.
Image Source: Huffington Post Live
vendredi 15 septembre 2017
I Want to Show the World That Beauty Truly Is Inclusive
When I started in the makeup industry, I was a single mom, working to provide for my daughter. Being Latina with a young daughter carried an extra layer of pressure. I wanted to show her she could be and do anything, no matter where she came from.
As a makeup artist, I worked my way up the ranks and made a name for myself in the film and television industry by working with actors, actresses, and musicians of all races and backgrounds. For me, makeup was always about inclusion - looking your best while staying true to what makes you unique - but I always strived to be a better role model and to provide a better life for my family. Nothing could stand in my way, and I knew I needed to do something other than live on set doing makeup.
Beautyblender was born out of necessity. It filled a very important need both on set and in my personal life. It would give me the ability to do my job quicker and with more precision, but it would also give me an outlet to earn extra income to help my family better their lives.
Over the years, Beautyblender has amassed countless accolades that I am so grateful for, and I've been lucky enough to be recognized within my industry for my work, but very rarely am I recognized for my background.
Last year I was featured in Latina magazine alongside other Latina beauty business owners who I immensely respect. One thing stood out above the rest: most of these women were Latina movie stars who have culturally been defined that way. They were able to tap into their core fan base and bring them to the beauty industry. I started from nothing and made a name for myself without much help or guidance, and certainly without a fan base.
Suddenly, I was being looked up to as a role model not just because I was a business owner, but because I was Latina. I started being approached by Latina women who told me how proud they were that they could relate to a Latina who came from nothing and made a name for herself while staying true to her values.
Today, when you walk into a Sephora and past a Beautyblender gondola, the beautiful girl smiling with her Beautyblender is my daughter, Erica. This young Latina woman is the face of my brand and is proudly showing the world that beauty truly is inclusive.
mercredi 20 juin 2018
Why There's No Such Thing as Latina Skin and Latina Hair Color
Image Source: Stocknap user Allef Vinicius
Every time I look at my cousins, I think of a Gina Rodriguez GIF I stumble across from time to time. The line of text on it reads, "I'm as a Latina as they come," and it wholly represents the mindset I hope my little cousins grow up with.
Too often "to be Latina" has qualifiers that are limiting and disregard what it actually means to be part of this culture. For instance, the notion that being Latina is synonymous with being a woman with olive skin, curly hair, and a curvy body erases the very real, lived experiences of Latinas who range in skin tones, hair types, and body types and exist on the LGBTQ spectrum. The phrase "you don't look Latina" shouldn't exist.
My little cousins are walking into a world that already does so much to package their culture into easily consumable one-liners, and I don't want them to do that to themselves. I want them to embrace the truth that my naturally curly hair and their naturally straight hair both come from our shared roots. The fact that their skin is fair while their own cousins' skin may have more melanin and a tanner shade doesn't mean that we don't all have the same Latinx blood.
Beyond physical appearances and what "looks Latinx" and what doesn't, existing within the culture is something to be proud of. Curves that are reminiscent of your mother's curves should be as celebrated as the straight hair that makes you stand out among family members with tight curls. Latinas are individuals; they are no more or no less Latina for having hair or skin that looks a certain way. Some may have grown up watching Sábado Gigante as their mom tried to comb out the knots in their curls with the help of detangler, while others may have grown up never knowing the pain of having someone pull at their hair (#blessed), but regardless both of those experiences and many more exist within the larger umbrella of being Latina.
It's important to remind ourselves, the younger generations, and others of this truth. It helps to bring home the fact that our narratives are ours to own. How we define ourselves is our personal choice and right, and we don't have to succumb to anyone else's definition of us.
Image Source: Huffington Post Live
dimanche 1 octobre 2017
I Want to Show the World That Beauty Truly Is Inclusive
When I started in the makeup industry, I was a single mom, working to provide for my daughter. Being Latina with a young daughter carried an extra layer of pressure. I wanted to show her she could be and do anything, no matter where she came from.
As a makeup artist, I worked my way up the ranks and made a name for myself in the film and television industry by working with actors, actresses, and musicians of all races and backgrounds. For me, makeup was always about inclusion - looking your best while staying true to what makes you unique - but I always strived to be a better role model and to provide a better life for my family. Nothing could stand in my way, and I knew I needed to do something other than live on set doing makeup.
Beautyblender was born out of necessity. It filled a very important need both on set and in my personal life. It would give me the ability to do my job quicker and with more precision, but it would also give me an outlet to earn extra income to help my family better their lives.
Over the years, Beautyblender has amassed countless accolades that I am so grateful for, and I've been lucky enough to be recognized within my industry for my work, but very rarely am I recognized for my background.
Last year I was featured in Latina magazine alongside other Latina beauty business owners who I immensely respect. One thing stood out above the rest: most of these women were Latina movie stars who have culturally been defined that way. They were able to tap into their core fan base and bring them to the beauty industry. I started from nothing and made a name for myself without much help or guidance, and certainly without a fan base.
Suddenly, I was being looked up to as a role model not just because I was a business owner, but because I was Latina. I started being approached by Latina women who told me how proud they were that they could relate to a Latina who came from nothing and made a name for herself while staying true to her values.
Today, when you walk into a Sephora and past a Beautyblender gondola, the beautiful girl smiling with her Beautyblender is my daughter, Erica. This young Latina woman is the face of my brand and is proudly showing the world that beauty truly is inclusive.
samedi 7 octobre 2017
Why There's No Such Thing as Latina Skin and Latina Hair Color
Image Source: Stocknap user Allef Vinicius
Every time I look at my little cousins, I think of a Gina Rodriguez GIF I stumble across from time to time. The line of text on it reads, "I'm as a Latina as they come," and it wholly represents the mindset I hope my little cousins grow up with.
Too often "to be Latina" has qualifiers that are limiting and disregard what it actually means to be part of this culture. For instance, the notion that being Latina is synonymous with being a woman with olive skin, curly hair, and a curvy body erases the very real, lived experiences of Latinas who range in skin tones, hair types, and body types and exist on the LGBTQ spectrum. The phrase "you don't look Latina" shouldn't exist.
My little cousins are walking into a world that already does so much to package their culture into easily consumable one-liners, and I don't want them to do that to themselves. I want them to embrace the truth that my naturally curly hair and their naturally straight hair both come from our shared roots. The fact that their skin is fair while their own cousins' skin may have more melanin and a tanner shade doesn't mean that we don't all have the same Latinx blood.
Beyond physical appearances and what "looks Latinx" and what doesn't, existing within the culture is something to be proud of. Curves that are reminiscent of your mother's curves should be as celebrated as the straight hair that makes you stand out among family members with tight curls. Latinas are individuals; they are no more or no less Latina for having hair or skin that looks a certain way. Some may have grown up watching Sábado Gigante as their mom tried to comb out the knots in their curls with the help of detangler, while others may have grown up never knowing the pain of having someone pull at their hair (#blessed), but regardless both of those experiences and many more exist within the larger umbrella of being Latina.
It's important to remind ourselves, the younger generations, and others of this truth. It helps to bring home the fact that our narratives are ours to own. How we define ourselves is our personal choice and right, and we don't have to succumb to anyone else's definition of us.
Image Source: Huffington Post Live
samedi 16 septembre 2017
I Want to Show the World That Beauty Truly Is Inclusive
When I started in the makeup industry, I was a single mom, working to provide for my daughter. Being Latina with a young daughter carried an extra layer of pressure. I wanted to show her she could be and do anything, no matter where she came from.
As a makeup artist, I worked my way up the ranks and made a name for myself in the film and television industry by working with actors, actresses, and musicians of all races and backgrounds. For me, makeup was always about inclusion - looking your best while staying true to what makes you unique - but I always strived to be a better role model and to provide a better life for my family. Nothing could stand in my way, and I knew I needed to do something other than live on set doing makeup.
Beautyblender was born out of necessity. It filled a very important need both on set and in my personal life. It would give me the ability to do my job quicker and with more precision, but it would also give me an outlet to earn extra income to help my family better their lives.
Over the years, Beautyblender has amassed countless accolades that I am so grateful for, and I've been lucky enough to be recognized within my industry for my work, but very rarely am I recognized for my background.
Last year I was featured in Latina magazine alongside other Latina beauty business owners who I immensely respect. One thing stood out above the rest: most of these women were Latina movie stars who have culturally been defined that way. They were able to tap into their core fan base and bring them to the beauty industry. I started from nothing and made a name for myself without much help or guidance, and certainly without a fan base.
Suddenly, I was being looked up to as a role model not just because I was a business owner, but because I was Latina. I started being approached by Latina women who told me how proud they were that they could relate to a Latina who came from nothing and made a name for herself while staying true to her values.
Today, when you walk into a Sephora and past a Beautyblender gondola, the beautiful girl smiling with her Beautyblender is my daughter, Erica. This young Latina woman is the face of my brand and is proudly showing the world that beauty truly is inclusive.
mercredi 26 juillet 2017
Why There's No Such Thing as Latina Skin and Latina Hair Color
Image Source: Stocknap user Allef Vinicius
Every time I look at my little cousins, I think of a Gina Rodriguez GIF I stumble across from time to time. The line of text on it reads, "I'm as a Latina as they come," and it wholly represents the mindset I hope my little cousins grow up with.
Too often "to be Latina" has qualifiers that are limiting and disregard what it actually means to be part of this culture. For instance, the notion that being Latina is synonymous with being a woman with olive skin, curly hair, and a curvy body erases the very real, lived experiences of Latinas who range in skin tones, hair types, and body types and exist on the LGBTQ spectrum. The phrase "you don't look Latina" shouldn't exist.
My little cousins are walking into a world that already does so much to package their culture into easily consumable one-liners, and I don't want them to do that to themselves. I want them to embrace the truth that my naturally curly hair and their naturally straight hair both come from our shared roots. The fact that their skin is fair while their own cousins' skin may have more melanin and a tanner shade doesn't mean that we don't all have the same Latinx blood.
Beyond physical appearances and what "looks Latinx" and what doesn't, existing within the culture is something to be proud of. Curves that are reminiscent of your mother's curves should be as celebrated as the straight hair that makes you stand out among family members with tight curls. Latinas are individuals; they are no more or no less Latina for having hair or skin that looks a certain way. Some may have grown up watching Sábado Gigante as their mom tried to comb out the knots in their curls with the help of detangler, while others may have grown up never knowing the pain of having someone pull at their hair (#blessed), but regardless both of those experiences and many more exist within the larger umbrella of being Latina.
It's important to remind ourselves, the younger generations, and others of this truth. It helps to bring home the fact that our narratives are ours to own. How we define ourselves is our personal choice and right, and we don't have to succumb to anyone else's definition of us.
Image Source: Huffington Post Live
dimanche 16 septembre 2018
I Don't Mind Being the Token Latina - as Long as It's With a Purpose
Image Source: Omar Charcousse
I was born in Paterson, NJ, to Peruvian parents who migrated to the US in the mid-'80s. Paterson is one of the biggest Peruvian communities in the country, but during my early childhood years, the city carried a bad reputation for crime, violence, and gangs. As a kid, our car got stolen three times. It was rough.
Like most immigrant families, my parents worked two jobs each to make a better life - in clothing factories, late-night office cleaning, and retail, to name a few. When I started kindergarten, my mom had just landed a job as a nanny, caring for a Jewish family that lived in a picture-perfect suburban town called Wayne. It was the complete opposite of Paterson, and since my mom was scared to have me attend school there, she registered me at an elementary school in Wayne, faking our home address. We never got caught.
For the two years I attended that school, I was the only Hispanic kid in class. I was shy, but I managed to make friends . . . white friends. I remember going to their houses and admiring their massive backyard playgrounds, Barbie dolls, Disney movie collections - all the toys I would only get twice a year: on my birthday and Christmas.
Image Source: Danielle Alvarez
Little did I know that "being the only Latina" would be a thing for me over and over again throughout my life.
In that school, I was put in an English For Speakers of Other Languages class (ESOL). I was a bit confused because I spoke English, but now I know it was because I looked different than everyone else. My group was very diverse, yet I was the only Hispanic girl. Little did I know that "being the only Latina" would be a thing for me over and over again throughout my life.
In 1997, my mom and I moved to Coral Springs, FL. My parents had separated, and my mother chose to start a new life. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment because it was the only rent that my mom could afford on her teacher-assistant salary, and we stayed there for the next four years. I spent part of elementary and middle school in yet another predominantly white suburban town.
My first boy crush there was Brian, a white boy who never noticed me. He liked Jackie, who was a pretty blonde with blue eyes and clearly not at all like me (with my big, poofy, curly hair). That rejection stuck with me, and I longed for perfectly straight hair like Jackie's, convinced that was what defined pretty.
Image Source: Danielle Alvarez
Being the only Hispanic kid in my class, I often found myself in embarrassing situations. My mom would pack soup or estofado con arroz in a plastic container for my school lunch and would tell me just to ask the lunch lady to heat it up. OK, Mom - if it were only that simple. My friends would sit next to me and ask, "What is that?" and I found myself coming up with a defensive answer. That's one thing about me that hasn't changed: I have always defended my culture and spoken highly about being Peruvian.
Body hair was another highly embarrassing thing for me. One day during recess, I was going down a tube slide when this boy screamed, "Monkey legs!" and traumatized me. I came home crying, hating my hairy legs and arms that didn't look like anyone else's at school. My mom felt so sorry, she let me start shaving my legs at 9 to avoid more bullying.
Image Source: Danielle Alvarez
And then there were all the times I found myself being a teacher. When a "new Spanish kid" started school - why do they always call us Spanish? - my teacher would use me as a translator. But when I was asked by the teacher to be a guide, I realized I actually enjoyed being singled out for the task. For once, I could do something none of the other kids could, and that was speaking Spanish.
In 2001, my mom decided it was time to move to Miami. How could she take me away from my best friends? I had come to like Coral Springs, even though I stuck out at school and in the town, and thought I finally fit in with the "cool crowd" - I had recently discovered what a flat iron was and started wearing colored eye contacts, so I felt like a new girl. My whining and crying didn't do much, and we ended up moving.
I will always remember my first day of seventh grade there . . . the crowd was different. All the girls were saying hi to each other with a kiss on the cheek. Everyone was Hispanic. "Wow," I thought. "Finally, a community where I fit in." And so, I did. After years of being the only Latina, I was finally in a diverse Latinx community. I was finally in a place where my friends understood me, my culture, my music.
Image Source: Danielle Alvarez
I lived in Miami until 2009, when I moved to Gainesville to attend the University of Florida and found myself back where I was 10 years before. I majored in public relations, and my class was fairly white. I didn't make as many friends, except for my college roommates, who were also from Miami, and I found myself seeking the Latinx kids, which were few. I wanted that sense of belonging Miami had giving me.
Being the token Latina and always explaining our culture made me grow passionate about educating brands and building deeper connections between them and the Hispanic community.
But when I moved to New York two weeks after graduation, I ended up finding myself once again as the token Latina, even in a big city. I longed to work at a fabulous agency with fabulous girls. The dream came true when I landed at a very reputable PR agency, where I got my job partly because I spoke Spanish and was from Miami. I ended up forming the agency's first multicultural team and found myself educating again, this time my colleagues and clients, on the importance of the Hispanic market.
It was tough to constantly explain our values, our purchasing power, our charm, continuously defining why we matter. I struggled, and I was not always understood. I found myself breaking down my ideas into pieces so that my non-Hispanic peers could learn to appreciate the messaging I wanted to get across. I'm not going to lie - it got super frustrating at times, but it was worth it.
Image Source: Omar Charcousse
Today, I find myself as a small business entrepreneur. Six months ago, I launched my own PR agency, The Bonita Project, which carries a mission to break barriers between general and multicultural markets to reach women of all backgrounds. Being the token Latina and always explaining our culture made me grow passionate about educating brands and building deeper connections between them and the Hispanic community.
I am determined to show that Latinxs are more than just a "big familia" who love "color cosmetics." We're prideful, passionate, fearless, and warriors. It's in our blood. In the end, being the token Latina is not that bad . . . as long as I get to educate with a purpose and get our voices heard. Someone has to do it.
vendredi 15 septembre 2017
Here's What I Have to Say to People Who Tell Me I'm Not "Latina Enough"
I am 50 percent Mexican and 50 percent Laotian. My mom immigrated to the US from Mexico, while my dad came from Laos. Even though my parents come from two completely different backgrounds and I was born in the US, my parents raised me to be equally proud of both of my cultures.
Growing up, I had the best of both worlds. My abuela would cook the most amazing chicken tamales for Christmas, while my aunt would make the tastiest pho whenever I visited her. My mom taught me how to speak Spanish at a young age, and even though I can't fully speak Lao, I understand a few of the basics thanks to my dad. I went to church with my Mexican side of the family, but I also visited the temple with my Laotian side. This is how my parents brought me up, and I'm proud of it.
"Other people don't get to define me, I define myself."
As I got older, other Latinos around me started pointing out that I wasn't the same as them. My eyes were a little slanted, my skin color was a tad lighter, I spoke English at home, my last name isn't Mexican, my family's traditions weren't the same as theirs, and so on. Some of the most common remarks I would get from people were, "You're not really Latina" or "You don't look Mexican enough." To this day, I still remember a guy not wanting to date me because I wasn't "full Mexican." In his eyes that meant I wasn't "domesticated" and my career aspirations were seen as a flaw. Not only was that complete and total bullsh*t, but he clearly didn't realize what year we were living in.
Still, because my Spanish isn't perfect and I don't fit the "Latina mold," I was (and still am) criticized for not being Latina enough. I was never "Mexican enough" to hang out with the other Mexican kids in school, and when I hung out with other people who weren't Latino, I was called "white washed." (This is probably the reason I only have two Latino friends.) I could never win because only one of my parents is Mexican.
Despite their close-minded remarks, I remain proud of my roots and I've realized that other people don't get to define me, I define myself. Both of my parents came to the US with dreams of building better futures for themselves and providing me with a life they never had. To me, being Latina is more than just about genetics. While I do have Latin blood running through my veins, being Latina is a representation of my culture, my roots, and my family's values and history. And besides, hardly anybody is 100 percent Latina nowadays, so who's to say that I am not?
mardi 10 octobre 2017
As a Single, Career-Driven Latina, the Struggle Is Real
Have you ever felt like you were inches from breaking that glass ceiling only to find yourself stopping short of reaching the last level? All because you don't fit neatly into the cultural stereotypes and gender norms that often curtail a woman's desire to be more than a wife and homemaker. This is the reality I face as a single, career-driven Latina.
Growing up in the ever-blossoming suburban city of Pasadena, CA, my upbringing was one big melting pot of Mexican, Honduran, and American cultures. I grew up watching American football and learning to speak fluent Spanish and cook baleadas (Honduran-style quesadillas) in my sleep. My father is Mexican, born in the city of Fresnillo, Zacatecas, but came to the United States when he was 9 years old. My mother and I were born in Honduras. While both my parents came from large, traditional families, they have always held progressive views when it comes to parenting, especially when it came to raising a girl. In fact, some of my fondest memories are of hanging out with my dad or mom talking about my goals and dreams. There was never a dream too outrageous or unrealistic to my parents. The sky was the limit.
But despite growing up in an encouraging and accepting household, the outside world didn't hesitate to give me one big reality check: you're a girl, so act like one. Elementary school was my first bitter taste of how people could easily box you into what they expected of you simply because of your gender or your culture. I spent most of elementary school trying to be as invisible as possible so as to fly under the radar of school bullies.
In a particularly unpleasant encounter, I was cornered by a group of bullies around my age who decided I was the perfect kicking bag that afternoon. Within minutes, my book was snatched out from my hands and my hair held in a tight grasp. I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of vicious words that spewed out of the kids' mouths as they mocked me for reading a book - as if a girl reading outside of the classroom was ridiculous. The ringleader, a boy in my same grade, yanked my hair even tighter and spat out, "Look at this dweeb thinking she's all that with her book," then proceeded to tear the pages out of my new Nancy Drew book. He and his posse started to move away but not before telling me to "stick to my Barbies and Easy-Bake Oven."
These were not words any young girl should have to listen to. I spent many days after attempting to make sense of it all. Was I that strange? How could being a girl be seen as a limitation, a weakness to be mocked and ridiculed? Looking back, the irony is that the boy who had said those cruel words was raised by a strong, career-driven Latina.
While I'm no longer that insecure fifth grader, I'm still weighed down by the suffocating expectations that many Latinas face. Have you ever wanted to just tape a sign on your forehead that proclaims "I'm single, Latina, and proud"? If the answer is a resounding yes, then you know exactly how I feel.
Although as a Hispanic community, we have come a long way since our parents' generation, there is still stigma in the community about being single and unmarried. Raise your hand if your palms sweat just trying to figure out how to choose a relationship status on Facebook because you just know a family member is going to spread it through the family grapevine. Or maybe you've also been cornered by a high school friend who is giving you the third degree because you're not in marriage bliss and with a baby on the way like she is. I know it sounds strange, to not want the large, bustling family. But it's never been my dream, not now and maybe not ever.
Being a confident Latina hasn't always come easy. It took years to break away from the toxic voices that tried to make me believe a woman should not strive for more than the status quo. Yet the thing is, I know I am more than my gender and even my culture. It's easy for people to look at me and just label me as another antiman, antimarriage eccentric. And I get it, somewhat. I'm single and career-driven, with no immediate plans to change even as I approach the big 3-0. But the truth is I'm not against marriage and family nor those who want those things. I'm simply happy with the path I've chosen for myself. Just because my lifestyle doesn't fold neatly into a nice box doesn't mean I'm less of a woman or a Latina.
There are those mentors in our lives who see the best in us even when the world around you doesn't. My parents are those special people. I owe them a lifetime of gratitude and love for planting the first seeds of self-love and Latina empowerment. If not for their belief that success and equality have no gender, I would not be the proud woman I am today. I hope as we continue to grow as a progressive Latino community that more parents, teachers, and friends can encourage the dreams of little girls who dream of being astronauts, CEOs, and world leaders. To all the Hispanic girls and women out there who feel the weight of their culture's restraints on their gender, I say: know that you are more than those limitations. You can move mountains and reach stars.
samedi 21 octobre 2017
As a Single, Career-Driven Latina, the Struggle Is Real
Have you ever felt like you were inches from breaking that glass ceiling only to find yourself stopping short of reaching the last level? All because you don't fit neatly into the cultural stereotypes and gender norms that often curtail a woman's desire to be more than a wife and homemaker. This is the reality I face as a single, career-driven Latina.
Growing up in the ever-blossoming suburban city of Pasadena, CA, my upbringing was one big melting pot of Mexican, Honduran, and American cultures. I grew up watching American football and learning to speak fluent Spanish and cook baleadas (Honduran-style quesadillas) in my sleep. My father is Mexican, born in the city of Fresnillo, Zacatecas, but came to the United States when he was 9 years old. My mother and I were born in Honduras. While both my parents came from large, traditional families, they have always held progressive views when it comes to parenting, especially when it came to raising a girl. In fact, some of my fondest memories are of hanging out with my dad or mom talking about my goals and dreams. There was never a dream too outrageous or unrealistic to my parents. The sky was the limit.
But despite growing up in an encouraging and accepting household, the outside world didn't hesitate to give me one big reality check: you're a girl, so act like one. Elementary school was my first bitter taste of how people could easily box you into what they expected of you simply because of your gender or your culture. I spent most of elementary school trying to be as invisible as possible so as to fly under the radar of school bullies.
In a particularly unpleasant encounter, I was cornered by a group of bullies around my age who decided I was the perfect kicking bag that afternoon. Within minutes, my book was snatched out from my hands and my hair held in a tight grasp. I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of vicious words that spewed out of the kids' mouths as they mocked me for reading a book - as if a girl reading outside of the classroom was ridiculous. The ringleader, a boy in my same grade, yanked my hair even tighter and spat out, "Look at this dweeb thinking she's all that with her book," then proceeded to tear the pages out of my new Nancy Drew book. He and his posse started to move away but not before telling me to "stick to my Barbies and Easy-Bake Oven."
These were not words any young girl should have to listen to. I spent many days after attempting to make sense of it all. Was I that strange? How could being a girl be seen as a limitation, a weakness to be mocked and ridiculed? Looking back, the irony is that the boy who had said those cruel words was raised by a strong, career-driven Latina.
While I'm no longer that insecure fifth grader, I'm still weighed down by the suffocating expectations that many Latinas face. Have you ever wanted to just tape a sign on your forehead that proclaims "I'm single, Latina, and proud"? If the answer is a resounding yes, then you know exactly how I feel.
Although as a Hispanic community, we have come a long way since our parents' generation, there is still stigma in the community about being single and unmarried. Raise your hand if your palms sweat just trying to figure out how to choose a relationship status on Facebook because you just know a family member is going to spread it through the family grapevine. Or maybe you've also been cornered by a high school friend who is giving you the third degree because you're not in marriage bliss and with a baby on the way like she is. I know it sounds strange, to not want the large, bustling family. But it's never been my dream, not now and maybe not ever.
Being a confident Latina hasn't always come easy. It took years to break away from the toxic voices that tried to make me believe a woman should not strive for more than the status quo. Yet the thing is, I know I am more than my gender and even my culture. It's easy for people to look at me and just label me as another antiman, antimarriage eccentric. And I get it, somewhat. I'm single and career-driven, with no immediate plans to change even as I approach the big 3-0. But the truth is I'm not against marriage and family nor those who want those things. I'm simply happy with the path I've chosen for myself. Just because my lifestyle doesn't fold neatly into a nice box doesn't mean I'm less of a woman or a Latina.
There are those mentors in our lives who see the best in us even when the world around you doesn't. My parents are those special people. I owe them a lifetime of gratitude and love for planting the first seeds of self-love and Latina empowerment. If not for their belief that success and equality have no gender, I would not be the proud woman I am today. I hope as we continue to grow as a progressive Latino community that more parents, teachers, and friends can encourage the dreams of little girls who dream of being astronauts, CEOs, and world leaders. To all the Hispanic girls and women out there who feel the weight of their culture's restraints on their gender, I say: know that you are more than those limitations. You can move mountains and reach stars.
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