Reporting live from the school’s computer lab. I just came out of my Contemporary World Literature class and one particular theme seems to recycle in each class - the theme of being othered. In novels like The Yacoubian Building and The Funny Boy, we read about characters who feel like they do not belong, they feel like they are being othered. During discussion I was triggered and I realized that I’m othered, too. I’m Dominican, Cuban, and Ecuadorian. And now I’m sitting in front of this computer, dumbfounded, wondering how did this happen when my Ecuadorian and Cuban family is high-key racist? I always turned away when these issues were brought up in conversation at the dinner table because I always turn away and lose interest when people bring up fake issues. Yes, I always thought that hating someone for where they came from or for who they loved was a fake problem and a distraction from what honestly matters in life. And yet, the family holds on to these old ideas that black is unpure and dirty. My Ecuadorian father had the nerve to attack my sister for being into black men. Meanwhile, my Dominican and Cuban mother is puzzled, standing quietly beside him. When my father and mother began dating, his family hated my mother because she’s Dominican and Cuban. So why is he still racist even after marriage? My Cuban grandfather would constantly fight with my Dominican grandmother over who’s better, who’s more pure, and who is more white.
This war is confusing to me because no one in my family was forced into marriage so why were there issues about who is better DURING marriage? No one forced my Ecuadorian father to marry my Dominican and Cuban mother. No one forced my Cuban grandfather to marry my Dominican grandmother. So why was there war? Why did the racism survive in my father long after he married my mother? Why did my family measure one another and hated one another? Why didn’t they teach me and my younger brother Spanish? Why did my father feel shame when his children were so beautiful and bright? Why were we othered when we went to family parties? Why did my uncles steal from us? Why did my aunt othered us? Why were we not invited to family events? Why did my father marry my mother when he knew how his family felt about her? Why did he marry her knowing how he feels about black people? How was I created from an angry and hateful relationship and come out so loving and compassionate? By what divine order was I able to survive in chaos and madness?
To be clear, I never experienced racism outside first hand - or at least I do not remember. For those who cannot see, my skin is fair and it’s difficult for other people to guess where I am from or to guess how to treat me because I do not look European, Asian, African, South American or like an Islander. I consider myself the Queen of no identity because I’m a mixture of all of the identities. It is my super power or my shield in the outside world. Humans will look at me and think, “how am I supposed to treat her?” It’s as if I do not exist in the program, so you will just have to deal with me manually - or honestly. I do not look rich or poor. I do not look gay or straight or bi. I am difficult to define and this is what I love. I love breaking the program that is already broken. I love being that spirit you come across that challenges the program we have been programmed into. My last name doesn’t even exist in history. And yet, here I am. It is definitely a blessing to not have experiences with racism outside. But inside, I just realized that is where my enemy resides. An internal war that has marred my family for generations.
I remember all too well how my parents treated my sister for having a black boyfriend at sixteen. Although they are my parents and I love them very much, I am a grateful daughter - I have to be honest and say that it was an evil way to treat someone who was simply in love. The only thing that was wrong about the situation was my father’s hateful and ignorant attitude about it, and how he expressed it. I suppress my sadness and rage when I think of how they treated her throughout our childhood and early adulthood. Sometimes I think they broke her.
Now as an English major, I’m programmed to jump to conclusions, to ask any possible question, to explore and to dive deep with no floor to limit me. I’m asking myself if there is any love in the house. I’m asking myself if there was any love to begin with. I’m asking myself if they attacked my sister more than me and my brother because she as the first born may represent their defiance - for not just marrying without the families’ consent, but to create a Dominican, Cuban and Ecuadorian family. It is by far the dumbest issue I have had to explore, and yet it’s the most violent and chaotic issue I have experienced. Really, Miss Moon? Being Cuban, Dominican, and Ecuadorian is a violent problem? Yes, Reader, but only when I am with the family. When I am outside, this issue does not exist. When I am outside, no one knows I’m Dominican, Cuban, and Ecuadorian. When I am outside, I lose memory of the fights. When I am outside or with my friends, I am completely blinded by love. When I am outside, no one has these family issues. When I’m outside, daughters adore their fathers. When I’m outside, everything makes sense. When I’m outside, there is math and everything adds up just as it is promised to. When I’m outside, problems are small and temporary. When I’m outside, stress does not frighten me. When I’m outside, I am brave and bubbly. But when I’m home, I’m frightened. When I’m home, my safety is in question. When I’m home, I have to call my sister when I’m being threatened. When I’m home, problems last decades. When I’m home, madness is in the air and in my ears. When I’m home, I’m confused. When I’m home, I’m lethargic and stagnant, locked in my room. When I’m home, I’m doomed.
I always thought it was cool that I am mixed, that it was a divine privilege to have access to a selection of ancient wisdom. It was the coolest collection I had as a child, not music, not rocks, or stamps - I had cultures and histories, I had blood and dna. With that comes the old and ugly ideas, the racial war. Though it makes me regret my existence to think it wouldn’t have been a war if it weren’t for me but then that would be me fucking up the timeline. There is no need for regret when I have not done anything wrong. There is something me and my siblings can be proud of - through us the racial war in our family and our blood will die. The issues our grandparents kept alive in their lifetime have died with them. The racism in my father will die with him, too. And although the war has harmed us in our childhood, we will not drag the war into our adulthood. We will not hate ourselves. We will not carry on these foolish beliefs of being impure and dirty and push it onto our children. As long as I exist and I am mixed, that madness and chaos is dead.
The war will end when I disappear and take my ethnicities away with me - through me the countries will exist safely, harmoniously and poetically, through me they will be passed on with love and light, through me the war will be healed or hopefully forgotten and buried.
Racism and hate is certainly taught but I think the students are responsible for what ideas and beliefs they adopt as their own. I guess I could have learned racism from my father but as a child who grew up in Hudson County, I always thought racism was a belief only for idiots and evil people. I’m embarrassed to admit how my Ecuadorian family treated my father and us. I’m also embarrassed to admit that my father stayed true to their beliefs so he can feel a part of them. He did not want my sister to date black men because he was terrified of what his family would think - completely forgetting that WE were his family, completely dismissing the fact that their opinion meant nothing because
1. They already didn’t like us. 2. This should not be an issue in this day and age - to care what the flying fuck the family thinks. 3. We were not reliant on them financially - which is a common reason as to why someone would care about another person’s opinion, if they were financially dependent. Well, we were never financially dependent on his side of them family or any side for that matter.
The problem with people having an opinion on interracial dating or marriage is that they make it a personal problem. The idea of my sister marrying a black man brought my father doom.- I’m sitting in this chair laughing, why would someone else’s marriage or dating life hurt you and your already broken relationship with your family? I call it fake-doom, fake-panic, fake-problem, fake-madness. Why? Think about it, if the problem is not harming you financially, physically, mentally, emotionally, then it is not a problem. What is happening is that you are experiencing a challenge against what you have learned and what you are learning now is that the system that was pressed onto all of our ancestors was a tool used to oppress us and keep us from happiness. Race is fake but it’s an old war and possibly the only thing you have in common with your siblings, now who will you choose? The siblings who have stolen from you and your children or your children’s happiness? This is the kind of math that I’m proficient in. But not everyone loves themselves and I honestly think that is what it comes down to in all situations between humans. I don’t think my parents know how to love themselves and ironically that has been my social media career - to love myself. By loving myself I hold no judgement of me above my own. Does this make sense, Reader? It’s difficult to measure yourself when your family is judging, isn’t it?
For a long time I shrunk myself into the mold they wanted me in because it kept them safe from embarrassment. Thankfully, the mold is temporary and literature is sacred - especially when it comes to journalism and history. It would be a pity if I swept the darkness under the rug and pretended it wasn’t there and never happened. It would also be a lie. Now, I’m not outting my family for entertainment value or to embarrass them. I’m not writing this out of hate and resentment. I’m writing in the name of love, I’m writing for my child self who has been keeping secrets she does not want to keep anymore. I think this is the perfect time to look inward and share with others what I mean when I say “the doom”. We all know “the doom”, our family teaches us “the doom”. It takes bravery to open this can of worms, Reader! But I think it is so important for you to know, to study closely what it means to be mixed, what it means to face your family and measure at what cost are you willing to break the norm, what it means to challenge your beloved parents what they know, what it means to love someone when the world tells them no WITH VIOLENCE, what it means to be the younger sibling and wanting to protect your older sibling from harm even if that harm is coming from your father and mother, what it means to face a violent web of conflicts when it is alive and well every waking moment. I’m writing so others can learn from this and never repeat it as parents. It isn’t to be romanticized just because Miss Moon here is writing about it, and she’s alive and happy. No one can repeat me. Remember that not everyone can come out strong and healthy from a broken home. You have my other two siblings as examples, not that they are better or worse but they are both different from me. I want to end the cycle by confessing it’s existence because silence has kept it living for too long.
Did you always hear “blood is thicker than water” growing up? I did. Read carefully - you can choose your family, yes, you can choose healthy relationships over toxic ones even if it is over blood. You can call it selfish or survival. I have had a taste of both and I have to be honest, I love the friends I have attracted into my life and I do believe that they are good for me and are in perfect alignment with my highest love frequency. As I got older I realized that it is better to accept everybody and everything as temporary. Before this idea would worry me and hurt me. But after 23 years of war, I’m longing to put this cycle to its’ end. And it’s not to say that I do not love my family, please don’t get it confused. I do love my family. I won’t lie and say they haven’t hurt me. I think they hurt me everyday, honestly. Maybe it’s me keeping our problems a secret that is keeping them from changing and evolving. Instead I try to inspire them with self love and harmony but I don’t think they want to learn from me. Perhaps they’re afraid that their 23 year old daughter unlocked the wisdom they were longing to find. When it ends there will be peace and all of the violence will be forgiven. And no one will feel othered because we know that we belong to ourselves and our existence is perfect and wonderful and we will exist whether someone likes it or not.
One day we will exist in peace, when we forgive ourselves for not loving ourselves for so long.Maybe that’s what it takes to end the war, to tell them I forgive them for the war that was pushed onto them. Truthfully, forgiveness is far from my heart when we do fight. But I want peace with my parents more than my pride. Anyone can declare war. But it takes forgiveness to end one. And I will end the war because love is my resistance.
(Disclaimer: Don’t want you to walk away thinking my father was evil and my mother was good. My issues with my mother are different than the issues with my father. I cannot consider my parents as evil or innocent. I do consider my relationship with my parents as toxic, confusing, and gray. Sometimes they are my sunshine, most times they are the storm. They are troubled and I hope with all of my heart that they somehow find their way. I want everyone to find their way. But these two are my creators so they are first on my wishlist. If you have a parent(s) like mine, I feel you. I think it is safe to say you can love them even though they hurt you because I know you love them for giving you the chance at life. Don’t feel bad about loving, just know the difference between loving and enabling toxic people. And be safe, my love. And welcome to the Resistance.)
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