by Jacqueline

22 May 2017

Did that actually just happen? Did that happen in my head or in front of my eyes?

My poli professor BEGS his students to participate in his awful class. The turnout today was the lowest it had ever been. He attributed it to the assignment due today, but he forget the numbers have been dwindling since oh about week 1. The lecture today was on material that I and probably most of the class had learned in high school, so I was hyping myself up to raise my damn hand and participate, get some recognition as a person of color. Because that’s our job, right? Look twice as good for a second glance, for a chance to one day reap half the benefits. I missed my chance the first time to explain dependent and independent variables. I was ready to elaborate on double-blind tests. I raised my hand. I caught his eyes with mine for a fraction of a fraction of a second, look up and to my left, and call on this blonde girl. Did that actually happen? I’m honestly not sure. I’m stumped. Did he deliberately-I’m not sure. I sit front and center his class everyday for 7 weeks straight. I attend every god-awful section class with my absolutely incompetent TA. I put in the hours.

Well, the joke is on them. This is not the needle. Don’t expect this camel’s back to break anytime soon.

21 March 2017

Finals are upon us. I have taken my first final of the season. So much is going on, yet it’s all probably so insignificant. Today felt good. I felt good. I had a poppin hair style (with contributions from the glorious geli). I was wearing my 80s jeans and timeless converse combo. Tied together with my mauvey makeup look, I felt like a chicana living in LA in the 90s. Like I just opened the chain link fence to my house and jumped shotgun of my best friend’s ride. When we get to school, some fuckboy will smack my ass and my teacher will tell me to get my lollipop out of my mouth of march on over to the dean’s office.

I didn’t feel that great yesterday morning. I didn’t have that same conviction in myself.

My relationship with my roommate, Patti, is pretty funny. We shit on each other and know that we’re just bitching around. But she said something yesterday that hit right in the insecurities. I’m not talking insecurities in my looks or my abilities, but in who I am as a person. See, we are born with these identities. We don’t control them. We don’t control who we are, but who we are inherently plays a part in your experiences in life due to decades of society deciding which of

Patti called me a whitie. I know that people are going to read this and the people named might even read this, but I’m not going to censor what happened. She’s said before that I dance like a white person. MacKenzie once said I’m not an actual Mexican. Serena once said that I only count for half a Mexican(??????).

    I’M SICK OF THIS.

Why do people think that they can just nonchalantly invalidate who I am as a person and think I won’t be hurt? I want to cry just digging into my feelings about this. My feelings are usually kept on a shelf somewhere. They only come out to play when some asshole pushes down the entire bookshelf. She said that she went too far, but she also tried to brush off her words as no big
deal. I know Patti’s thing is not giving too much of herself to others as well, which is maybe why we have this banter so easily, but she can’t just readily admit to going too far in our banter and then defend what she said because she had those same things said to her, as if that excuses it. Besides the fact that I call bullshit on her shrugging off those memories as harmless, those actions do not simultaneously work together.

 

I don’t know what these people want from me. I don’t know Spanish. I AM SORRY. My best friend and her mom joke about me needing to know Spanish, and that’s totally harmless. I wish I knew Spanish, I do. If the universe goes my way, I will fluently know Spanish before I die, but I swear I’m gonna punch the next person who tries me and my ethnicity.

I think back to a time not too long ago when I would joke about practically being a white girl and wanting to marry a white boy, and I want to vomit all over myself. I was so ignorant. Why did no one slap some sense into me? Today, I don’t understand when people say that they prefer certain races or look out for blondes or brunettes. Cute is cute. Nice is nice.

I don’t know why I said those things without remembering how alienated I felt the farther I drove on highway 111, leaving the land of Cardenas, Fallas, and Food4Less for Vons, StaterBros, and Nordstrom Rack. They look at you like you don’t belong in their vacation paradise. They forget we’re here. They make you feel like you have to be wearing the right clothes and driving the right car if you’re gonna spend a day at the River or stop on El Paseo. Among a group of kids from a richer, whiter school, the first thing out of their mouths is a deportation joke. This (I think?) mixed girl said she’d call ICE on her mom if she tried to ground her. Go ahead and sit with that for a sec.

I’m nothing like these people.

22 April 2017

I’ve had this rut of a few hours feelings shitty about myself, my weight, my uneventful life, etc. etc. Lonely feelings are creeping in. I’m afraid I have no one. I just want to have my own apartment in San Diego with my mom right next door. I want my cat to be with me all the time. I want to learn how to drive and have this groovy old car from a time where nothing was right but the cars. I want a boyfriend, either Joseph or New Zealand. I want to not be dissatisfied with myself. I need to pull myself out of this.

Those hours are gone. I am going to study my ass off for this midterm. I am going to do a workout routine. I am going to learn a few languanges. I am going to be a pro at surfing, skateboarding, basketball, tennis, ice skating, roller blading. I’m going to go bird watching and climb volcanoes and hike mt everest. I am going to do professional makeup for the stars of hollywood. I WILL BE a star of hollywood. I will make bank off thrifting, because I fucking love thrifting. I will learn how to make clothes. I will go to the best graduate school in the world guaranteed, because I will be there, thus making it the best. I am going to become the president of the United States. And then I will die. And then I will allow myself to die.

My life is not unsatisfactory. I am a lucky person who could have been born in worse living conditions. I need to slap some sanity and get a hard grasp gratitude into my veins, arteries, and capillaries to ensure that this medicine, equally important as oxygen right now, reaches all 37.2 trillion cells of my body. It’s go time.

3 May 2017

It is 2:30am, and I am having a shitfest of a conversation with Lis and Camille about how absolutely shitty it is to be a woman in a man’s world. It’s been a night. Most of the following will be written tomorrow.

I was at an antique store in Temecula, whose commercial demographic is wealthy and white elders. There was a sign next to the register that read, ”My husband called. He said I can buy whatever I want.”

My ASL teacher was explaining reasons why we may need to absent one day, including if your boyfriend broke up with you and you’re crying about it. Would he ever say that to a male? Do men even cry? Especially if it’s a breakup, that just puts them back on the market for hookups, right?

I was seated in front of two white frat boys giving a detailed description of a “hoe”. If you didn’t know, she tries to return a shirt she borrowed at night, because she’s obviously trying to get it in. If you didn’t know, a hoe is nameless. You do not save the name of a hoe in your phone; she does not get a contact name, because you do not wish to contact her after you are done with her. She’s no one’s friend, sister, daughter, or even a person. I am ashamed to report that I said nothing to those two boys. In my mind, I saw myself turning around and starring, squinty-eyed, stating, “I want to remember what disrespect towards women looks like.” But in real life, I just resented them for being ignorant college boys and making bird sounds in lecture.

A suitemate on my floor (who calls herself a feminist, idk what kind of feminism she’s thinking of) said she believes boys are easier to raise than girls. I took to Twitter to call out the bullshit sexism in said statement, and three different males haaaaad to leave their commentary. And the females were the ones backing me up. My friend texted me and said that I’m amazing.

I am so sick and tired of this being the life that we have to live. I will never need my husband’s permision to buy anything. I am a responsible consumer and will make my own money and will work with my husband on finances. I will never let a breakup keep me from class. I will never have a child and believe raising them will be easier/harder on the sole factor of gender or sex. Children are rowdy, male and female. Children are also reserved, male and female. All children need love and affection and protection, male and female. Why are fathers protective over daughters dating but not sons? Why are sons

allowed out of the house, but daughters are kept on a tight leash? It is not hard to treat two the same.

People don’t realize how alive sexism is. So just ask yourself, would this situation ever exist if the roles were reversed? No? That’s sexism at work in the 21st century.

So for any man who sticks his voice where it is not warranted, do not try to tell me what my experience is as a woman when you will never be effected by or even notice everyday injustices. Do not dare try to invalidate me.

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