EbTheRedHead: #hate

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Heartbroken

When I was growing up, my mom chose for me and my brothers to not learn Spanish. Even though she had a hard time learning English herself, she always felt that things would be "easier" on us if we spoke the language in the country that we live in. She always mentioned how she never wanted us to face discrimination like her family did when they first moved in this country. My grandfather would come to the States for work since conditions in Guatemala were awful due to the guerrilla movement. People would barricade themselves in their neighborhoods in fear of being killed. He knew he would not be able to raise a family there under constant fear. As he would travel back and forth, he prepared their papers in the process. One day, my mom hopped on a plane, never to go back to her country.
One of the reasons my mom never went back to Guatemala was because of how hard it was for her to leave there in the first place. She was 15 years old at the time and lost everything she knew about "life" in that moment. Her friends, her school. She begged my grandfather to leaver her behind, and stay with other relatives, but he did not budge. They came to Chicago and have been here ever since.
My mom married when she was 21 to my dad whose family is from Puerto Rico. Even though they both spoke Spanish, they are from two entirely different cultures. Their differences is what ultimately led to their divorce 10 years later. My mom struggled to get back on her feet. My dad? He basically disappeared out of our lives until we reunited with him as adults. I never understood what were his reasons for not being present, but the main focus was that he was back and that we should forgive his actions.
The one thing my mom made clear to us was how difficult it was for her and her brother and sisters to assimilate here in the States. I know this to be true because they do not have many friends in general. They mostly stuck together and kept the family close. Even now as they're entering their elder years, they still live within blocks of one another.
As for me growing up and not knowing my language gave off a different impression on me. My peers couldn't understand why my mom did not teach us. The label "whitewashed" would sometimes be used. It was conflicting because it gave into the reasoning that I was trying to be something that I'm not. The funny thing was I figured I was no different than other Americans whose family came from other countries but did not speak their language. People who were 2nd generation and could showcase their roots yet hold on to their American identity. I was under the impression of America's "melting pot", a nation filled with different cultures from all over the world, looking for a "better world."
I found myself confused on how I was suppose to act or be. I was somewhat conflicted about my upbringing at home, the mannerisms that I was taught by my mom, and the American culture. Even though my mom insisted for us to be American, she would also contradict those beliefs on what we should be doing. We grew up in the inner city of Chicago, along with other minorities. Our grammar school was in a gay community. My friends were people of all color and race. Yet we were told to come home and keep to ourselves. It was a hard thing to do considering they looked like me and had the same problems as me. Single parent household with a dash of unsupervised upbringing. I know my mom could not be around because she started to work two jobs after my dad left to catch up on the rent and bills. Something was not adding up.
Me and my brothers struggled in high school. Because of that we also struggled in college as well, with both me and my younger brother only having a few years in of college, and not obtaining our degree. My other brother did obtain his masters degree but is currently living in the basement apartment of my Dad's house due to outstanding student loans. We did not turn out the way my mom would have wanted, which was suppose to be successful Americans thriving in this world.
Instead we're hard working Americans that tried our best to "fit in" and be accepted. No matter what people may think, not having a sense of belonging can make you feel inferior and cause lack of confidence. It dawned on me as I witness my mom trying to be on her own for the first time, along with my other family members who quietly go to and from work, how they never made this country a place they can call home. It's simply a place where they have lived all their lives.
It's no secret that many have considered Chicago to be one of the most segregated cities, but it's no different than any other city in the U.S which emphasizes how race divides our way of life. Drive further out to the suburbs of Chicago and you can see how things change again, with a predominantly lack of presence in minorities. Yet during my time as an adult and as I've gotten older, my encounters with people from all over gave me an insight on how wonderful diversity really is. I've learned so much and also concluded that in the end, we all pretty much want the same things in life. To love, live, and prosper in this wonderful country of ours.
Or so I thought. Once this election began, I remember hearing candidates say how would they change the policies of this country in order to make it thrive. One candidate in particular kept voicing his opinions. As crazy as it would come off, I always assumed our American citizens would recognize such hateful comments and brush it aside and continue to pursue a more peaceful approach to bring unity with one another.
I cannot stress how upset I am over what has happened in this election. I am once again, confused on where I belong. This place does not feel home to me anymore. I have many friends who will be affected during this presidency. I care about them deeply. To not feel heard as an American citizen is the most hurtful feeling you can imagine. I will pray for the "misplaced" like myself who will try to find a way to live in a country where they are not valued.

Monday, December 7, 2015

Life as we know it...

The news is the incident that happened in California was an act of terrorism. Again. I'm beginning to wonder if Life will always be like this. Recapping on my trip to Paris and Italy makes me want to go back and visit. Maybe there's things that I missed out the 1st time around? The people. The culture. Here in the states we've had two recent mass shootings as well as controversy in Chicago politics. You don't trust everything you see, hear, read about, etc. Is there a cover up? Whose telling the truth? Which politician should you vote for in the upcoming election? What have they promised?
A few years ago I suffered a heartbreak. I wondered if I could ever trust a man again. It's even leaped over to my friendships; my family. It messes with your head (and heart). You don't want to open up. It's a lonely way to live. I personally have learned, at one point or another, at one moment in time, someone I've loved, friends and lovers, mother and father, have hurt me deeply. Some intentional, some unexpected. Some unaware. It's a fact of life for me.
People have given me all types of advice, noting my sensitivity and kindness will make people take advantage of me. What a thought. When I'm nice to someone, they will hurt me. Not really the motto I go by, but I've ignored it either way. Why? Because deep down, I believe people are good. And if they're bad, well then, some outside force has messed up their persona. Just like fear, hate is taught as well.
What then, do we do in the meantime? I use to think, I'll live my life accordingly, thank you very much. But now, because of these horrific incidents, one after the other, I'm jumpy ALL THE TIME. Just as we speak, there will be another protest in downtown Chicago today. I'm tired. I need a vacation. Oh yeah. Guess not since traveling is a scary thing now. What gives?
On Friday I went out to celebrate my friend's birthday. And it's just what we need. To celebrate something! FINALLY!! I couldn't wait to see my friends and laugh and dance and drink JUST FOR A FEW HOURS before we head back to the way Life is now, as we know it. Scary. Sad. Full of bad people trying to manipulate you. Put fear in you. Change you into something that you're not.
On that last Saturday in Italy, I had to catch a 5:30pm train back to Rome. My flight was leaving the next day, but it was the only train I could take out of town. There were no more trains later in the evening. I figured I'll hangout at the airport like I did last year and wait for my flight. That's the frustrating thing about traveling. Sometimes the schedules just don't line up. Oh well.
I packed up my belongings and made sure I had everything. My friend suggested we have a big lunch since I will be riding on a train for 4 hours. Good idea! She also suggested we stop by the winery and say good bye to some of her friends before I head out.
We went to La Fossa del Grano for a late afternoon feast. I ate so much, but I couldn't help it. Everything was so good. We ate here last year so it was nice I got a chance to dine here before I left. My anxiety was getting the best of me once more. We had some wine to calm my nerves, but I knew tomorrow was going to be the worst of it. Oh well. What can you do?
We got a call during lunch to remind us to stop by the winery. This time, we were to meet up at the countryside location. I got a chance to say bye to some friends, and snuck in a quick tour while I was there. It was bitter sweet saying farewell, but I wasn't gone yet. I had a 4 hour train ride ahead of me.
I mostly stayed up while I rode out. Once I got to Rome, I found out that the train that takes us to the airport had stopped running for the night. To make matters worse, I was almost out of cash. My friend had lent me some money but it turns out to take a cab out to the airport would cost me 50 euros! I guess it's not so close by as I thought. I figured I'll break night til the morning and wait for that airport train. My flight wasn't until 11am, so I had plenty of time to kill.
Well my "stay" at the train station was an eye opening experience. There were people all around me, doing the same thing. Waiting up for the early morning train to start running again. We eventually got kicked out of the station around 2am. The security guards escorted us outside and didn't let us back in till 4:30am. I stood outside with my luggage nervously while people slept on the floors. There were some rowdy party goers that will walk by from time to time making some noise. There were also strange individuals that would scare me from time to time. Some people can be so odd! I hated every minute of it.
At one point, there was an African sleeping on the ground nearby as I waited for the station to open up again. He was snoring loudly as if he was sleeping on a California King bed. He stretched out and said "God is Good" and continued to sleep. I smiled to myself and said, yes he is...