Self-Portrait - 042616

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Self-Portrait - 042616
Dusting off the platanos.
Say yes.
refocus(ing)
"Nueba Yol" Confused? Say it out loud. Sound familiar? Chances are you dreamed of it, seen it on movies, maybe even live in it. (And yes, I'm talking about New York). As a young boy, I always remember my mom mentioning Nueba Yol, especially when she talked about grouping up in Santo Domingo. You see, Nueba Yol wasn't just New York - it was the United States to her. It was the symbol of opportunity that she dreamed about growing up in the streets of the barrio. It meant everything to get here, and in the 80s she did and with a lot of sacrifice as well. As the son of immigrant parents it's very easy to take this country and its privileges for granted. My parents made sure that my sister and I always had what we needed and more. However growing up in modern-day Nueba Yol planted the seeds for new expectations. The opportunity to grow has always been there for me to tap into, and that's sometime my parents never had. That omnipresent opportunity. I knew if I pulled As, and did a good job I would be well on my way there. That opportunity wasn't enough. I yearned for looking good socially as well - at least the way I grew up seeing it. You see growing up brown, you never saw another brown kid as the "star" of the movie. He was never the "hottie" that all the girls flocked, never the "star" jock - unless it was a period piece. For years I watched white protagonists mold my view of what looked good socially. This manifested in its own ways. Gringo fever, my food smells weird, I hope they don't notice my "weird" accent. Looking at just the white boy on Grindr. You get the idea. So maybe my Nueba Yol is different than my parent's, and it's definitely a lot more superficial. Unlike my parents though, my version can easily change - with a little help of course. (This isn't meant to bash any race by any means, just wanted to give a snapshot of my curious, undefined mind.)
Me gusta mucho lo que haces :) sigue así
Muchas gracias! Voy a seguir por supuesto.
The Spanish speaking world, is very much a large one. I mean, duh. We speak the same language, but our dialects and slang is different. Depending on how you were raised, you may have heard a few for gays (about to get real offensive): maricon and puto being some of them. For me, oddly enough, it was....pato. Yes, pato as in duck if you know your spanish. You may be wondering, why? Well aside from the actual animal, it also means a clumsy/dumb person, someone with faults. So with that connotation, somewhere along history it was attached to gay men. Because you know we are very faulty. Growing up, I heard this word a lot. I mean A LOT. As I got into my teens, I began to infer what it meant. As I was struggling to come to terms with myself, I used it as a weapon. A safety blanket of sorts. I would call kids the word in school, on the street, and would even talk to my mom about "the pato who dressed up as a woman" for Halloween at school. As someone who grew up being taught everything about homosexuality was immoral and wrong, using the word gave me a sense of relief. I still felt like I was "ok". Now I don't want to get to into depth but it took a lot for me to be comfortable with myself. When I finally reached that sense of pride, I got to see what the term was. It wasn't a safety, it was harmful. I mean at the end of the day, it isn't so bad being a pato.
Pelo malo o pelo bueno? Growing up I would always hear my mom describe someone's hair as pelo malo (translation: bad hair) or bueno (good hair). To break that down, pelo malo is hair that curls, waves, and even grow out to a bit of a fro. Pelo bueno is hair that is naturally straight, without needing alisado (chemical relaxer) to straighten it. See a problem? Looking back on the terms that is still used commonly, it's clear that not only are they terrible phrases to use, but it's easy for a form of discrimination to embed itself in your life. Kids grow up with family members telling them they have bad hair, making them ashamed of their natural and let's face it, African-ness of their hair. I can't even begin to tell you how I got used to the alisado my mom would put on our family friends. Everyone hoping for every small curl to be smothered into submission. It wasn't until I began to grow my hair out more that I realized how much more of my African heritage I had instilled in me. Ditching the crew cuts and shape ups of high school, I began to see my hair twist and curl in ways I never knew was possible. Before I knew it, I had a nest of tight and loose curls sitting on my head. And you know, I liked it! I'm not mad for the beginning teachings of hair that I had, because at the end of the day it was passed down with no regard. I do however hope that the internalized racism that has passed down through generations can slow to a halt and let children enjoy and be proud of their twists and curls. Maybe it's a bit naive to ask for and think about, but a boy can dream.
Heritage.
For the longest time I felt disconnected from it.
Sure, my mom cooked every Dominican meal imaginable, but somehow I couldn’t shake that distant feeling. Maybe it was because I couldn’t salsa. Maybe it was because I didn’t know the merengue song my aunt would sing at the top of her lungs. Maybe it was because of my extreme pentecostal christian upbringing. I just couldn’t help the feeling that I wasn’t a “true” Dominican.
Being a closeted gay teen definitely didn’t help. I couldn’t live up to being “un macho”. I sucked at sports and girls were the last thing on my mind. I had all these stereotypical ideas of my Dominican-ess that completely ruined my experience with it.
It wasn’t until college that I began to look at my heritage differently. I didn’t just want to associate my Dominican-ess with my food. I wanted to learn more about it, more than what stereotypes teach you. Through that period I embraced it more. It wasn’t just about the food and the music, but of the ethnic heritage as well. It’s insane to think of now, but I only recently began viewing myself as a partially black Latino. The curls that I love (and only recently found out I could grow) I can only grow because of that part of my background.
This period of learning and self-discovery still continues, which is why I’m starting a bit of project. If there’s one skill I lack it’s being able to communicate myself beautifully through words. I’ve always been someone who did a much better job visually.
With that said, I wanted to work on something a bit more personal that explored bit and pieces of my heritage. Whether it be the food, the (sometimes harsh) language, or dissecting the internalized racism that still runs rampant – I want to scramble and assemble my experience through my own lens.
Some of it may seem banal, stupid, aggressive. I don’t even know what I’m going to do for a lot of it still. I’m just going with what feels right and of the moment for me. So let’s kick this off with something a bit in your face.
Plantains have been a bit of sticking visual for me, so I think it’ll be a recurring theme. Let’s get this party STARTEDDDD.
Magnified. #4 (07.23.15)
#3, (07.22.15)
#1
iD#1 : Platano
"To let me dangle..."
"OH MERCY!" I implore!
Green.
Yellow.