S.,
When I was a brought to this country, one of the first things I experienced outside the realm of my loving home was discrimination by the other children at school. At first I couldn't understand if they were even talking to me. There was this red-headed boy, Mark, chubby and freckled, who would follow me on his bike on my walk back home who would call me names associated with my culture: "hey taco," "hey enchilada" and silly things like that. But I knew that what I was feeling was true and not silly, a burning shame for being singled out. I was the only "browned-skin" (in spite of tending to be more light- than dark-skinned) person in my class. Maybe now I would laugh about it but I was not more than 10 then.
I had no information about discrimination or bigotry. I couldn't name what was happening to me. So I kept quiet. I didn't tell my parents. I didn't tell my teachers. I was absolutely alone. So my two worlds sort of broke off. At home I was vivacious, funny, cute and very much loved. At school I was silent, withdrawn, friendless and alone.
And so I became a person who could pretend she was fine alone, that she actually preferred it so. She was independent and self-sufficient. She would never admit to being sad, scared or in need of some sort of validation and acceptance.
During my schooling in Mexico, I discovered friendship and so I came out of my little shell. And my sense of humor came alive. It was the time when the kid at school came close to becoming the same kid I was at home. But then the shaming came with my body being overweight. And the cruel jokes and name-calling started again. So I retracted into my broken shell and there I have stayed. At its door. Ready to recoil and hide again. But definitely able to step away from it when I feel safe and included.
As a fifty-one-year old woman this seems to me to be pretty immature, but what can I say?
You say, "Sometimes I try to figure out what I see in your eyes (when I catch your glance). I wonder if you remember our talks. The insecurity I often felt. It's there." I can relate because I know people have a hard time understanding that at my core, I'm a shy, quiet little girl who makes herself responsible for making others talk about themselves; for making them feel at ease; that I relax when I make them laugh. And yes, that resource was fragmented two years ago, but it's coming back together. When I make a joke about anything, I catch myself apologizing, in case someone might think it inappropriate. But I cannot stop being who I am.
And, S., when I see you , when I catch your glance, all I see is beauty, elegance and grace, so I cannot fathom the source of your insecurity, but through my broken heart, I do not doubt your words. It must be there.
In spite of all this, I defend my right to optimism and hope, faith and happiness and when I feel I'm losing my grip on them, I hold on through prayers and with teeth and claws. I must. There really is no alternative.
Let me finish my letter to you with John Lennon's words, "Every day, in every way, it's getting better and better."
Love,
M.
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