today,
was my first time voting. =] yay. =]
and today,
a "colored" man was made the president of the United States,
and yes,
today, racism still exists,
today, people of color are still discriminated against and oppressed,
today, is, in certain ways, both different from, and the same as, yesterday,
but today will always be the present,
whereas yesterday will always be the past.
Today we proved that change in possible.
And for tomorrow, the future, we can only HOPE for more.
"A long time ago,
An enslaved people heading toward freedom
Made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold on!
That plow plowed a new furrow
Across the field of history.
Into that furrow the freedom seed was dropped.
From that seed a tree grew, is growing, will ever grow.
That tree is for everybody,
For all America, for all the world.
May its branches spread and its shelter grow
Until all races and all peoples know its shade.
KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE PLOW!
HOLD ON!"
_Langston Hughes
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
trust.
i've recently discovered..
that i have developed really bad trust issues.
i just...
can't seem to put all my trust..
into another human being..
well... besides my mom, i guess, hah.
it's really unfortunate.
and i'm trying my best.. i really am.
i just don't know how this happened.
i've ALSO recently discovered that..
although i recognized that people other than myself might look at me as, a brown girl, a mexican person, a minority, or what not (at first glance)..
i NEVER had (until now) thought about how being "brown" might change my outlook (or in this case, inlook?) on MYSELF.
i was at a local library reading this story entitled "La Guera" for my "Woman Of Color in the U.S." class .. and it HIT me.. this whole time.. i've been allowing myself to act certain ways just because of the fact that i'm "brown."
here i am, talking about racial discrimination or what not.. posting blogs about how i "don't understand why the color of my skin means so much to you".. and yet here i am, doing the SAME thing to MYSELF.
i had told my sister to "stay quiet, and try and make the least amount of sounds possible" while we were in the "quiet room" at the library because..well.. it's the "QUIET room" of course. i figure, i come in here because it's silent.. all these other people in here probably feel the same way, and so, i should let my sister in on the deal-io. but then i started thinking about it from another light, and.. i realized that part of the fact why i wanted her to be so quiet is because i wanted to BE LIKE THEM, i wanted to FIT IN to the NORM, i didn't want us to be the "loud MEXICAN girls who came in a disrupted our silence." i wanted to be "bleached," i didn't want to be "mexican," i wanted to be like "them." and this holds true for when we're in other locations as well, not just the library. and it's so weird.. how i never realized it until now.
so anyway.. i looked around the "quiet" room.. and i realized that everyone in there was a minority. hah. interesting.
and then i thought, hm, well i guess that makes sense... i mean, why do people come to the library? because they want a quiet place to do homework or general work? a SPACIOUS, COMFORTABLE place. a WELL LIT place. a place with a DESK. a place with free INTERNET and RESOURCES. all things that they perhaps DON'T have at HOME.
... i don't know where i'm going with this blog anymore. & plus, i have a presentation to work on.. so i guess i'll just randomly end it HERE.
that i have developed really bad trust issues.
i just...
can't seem to put all my trust..
into another human being..
well... besides my mom, i guess, hah.
it's really unfortunate.
and i'm trying my best.. i really am.
i just don't know how this happened.
i've ALSO recently discovered that..
although i recognized that people other than myself might look at me as, a brown girl, a mexican person, a minority, or what not (at first glance)..
i NEVER had (until now) thought about how being "brown" might change my outlook (or in this case, inlook?) on MYSELF.
i was at a local library reading this story entitled "La Guera" for my "Woman Of Color in the U.S." class .. and it HIT me.. this whole time.. i've been allowing myself to act certain ways just because of the fact that i'm "brown."
here i am, talking about racial discrimination or what not.. posting blogs about how i "don't understand why the color of my skin means so much to you".. and yet here i am, doing the SAME thing to MYSELF.
i had told my sister to "stay quiet, and try and make the least amount of sounds possible" while we were in the "quiet room" at the library because..well.. it's the "QUIET room" of course. i figure, i come in here because it's silent.. all these other people in here probably feel the same way, and so, i should let my sister in on the deal-io. but then i started thinking about it from another light, and.. i realized that part of the fact why i wanted her to be so quiet is because i wanted to BE LIKE THEM, i wanted to FIT IN to the NORM, i didn't want us to be the "loud MEXICAN girls who came in a disrupted our silence." i wanted to be "bleached," i didn't want to be "mexican," i wanted to be like "them." and this holds true for when we're in other locations as well, not just the library. and it's so weird.. how i never realized it until now.
so anyway.. i looked around the "quiet" room.. and i realized that everyone in there was a minority. hah. interesting.
and then i thought, hm, well i guess that makes sense... i mean, why do people come to the library? because they want a quiet place to do homework or general work? a SPACIOUS, COMFORTABLE place. a WELL LIT place. a place with a DESK. a place with free INTERNET and RESOURCES. all things that they perhaps DON'T have at HOME.
... i don't know where i'm going with this blog anymore. & plus, i have a presentation to work on.. so i guess i'll just randomly end it HERE.
Monday, September 15, 2008
the girl's a recluse.
she looked up at me and smiled. i smiled back.
i felt moisture developing in my underarms and my neck began to feel warm, then hot. in. 1.2.3.4.5. pause. out. 1.2.3.4.5. my palms clammed.
and at that moment i wished for nothing more than to be able to take it back. i spoke without thinking. and now i understood why it was that i couldnt hate her even though everyone else seemed to have no trouble with it all. i couldn't hate her because she was the strongest person i knew. she knew what she was worth, and it didnt bother her to smile. everytime she opened her eyes, she'd see yellows and pinks, whites and oranges, peaches and reds and flesh smoother than my lips; even on days when evaporated ponds stood midway from dirt and space, blocking everyone else from the vivid colors of life, enveloping them in the musty gray vision they chose to label reality.
thump. thump. thump. she was alive.
i felt moisture developing in my underarms and my neck began to feel warm, then hot. in. 1.2.3.4.5. pause. out. 1.2.3.4.5. my palms clammed.
and at that moment i wished for nothing more than to be able to take it back. i spoke without thinking. and now i understood why it was that i couldnt hate her even though everyone else seemed to have no trouble with it all. i couldn't hate her because she was the strongest person i knew. she knew what she was worth, and it didnt bother her to smile. everytime she opened her eyes, she'd see yellows and pinks, whites and oranges, peaches and reds and flesh smoother than my lips; even on days when evaporated ponds stood midway from dirt and space, blocking everyone else from the vivid colors of life, enveloping them in the musty gray vision they chose to label reality.
thump. thump. thump. she was alive.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
stay true
i'm so glad that i work with kids; i mean, it can prove to be annoying at times, but, every now and then you get those days that remind you of what it's like to be a child... and you realize that, there's more to you than you can remember.
there are memories you've forgotten, and dreams that you've lost.
and so this life you've created, is not really yours, but instead, a creation of a mixture of places you've been and people you've met, things you both detest and admire. you're life is a jumble of scrambled moments in time. and once again, you begin to question just who it is that you are. but in the end, it'll all just loop over and over again, because "you" is nothing more than that jumble and mixture that "you" and "they" have created.
"The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The onion has as many pages as 'War and Peace,' every one of which is poignant enought to make a strong man weep, but the various ivory parchments of the onion and the stinging green bookmark of the onion are quickly charred by belly juices and bowl bacteria. Only the beet departs the body the same color as it went in.
"Beet consumed at dinner will, come morning, stock a toilet bowl with crimson fish, their hue attesting to beet's cromatic immunity to the powerful digestive acids and the thoroughgoing microbes that can turn the reddest pimento, the orangest carrot, the yellowest squash into a single disgusting shade of brown.
At birth we are red-faced, round, intense, pure. The crimson fire of universal consciousness burns in us. Gradually, however, we are devoured by parents, gulped by schools, chewed up by peers, swallowed by social institutions, wolfed by bad habits, and gnawed by age; and by the time we have been digested, cow style, in those six stomachs, we emerge a single disgusting shade of brown.
The lesson of the beet, then, is this: hold on to your divine blush, your innate rosy magic, or end up brown. Once you're brown, you'll find that you're blue. As blue as indigo. And you know hwat that means:
Indigo.
Indigoing.
Indigone."
- Tom Robbins' "Jitterbug Perfume."
there are memories you've forgotten, and dreams that you've lost.
and so this life you've created, is not really yours, but instead, a creation of a mixture of places you've been and people you've met, things you both detest and admire. you're life is a jumble of scrambled moments in time. and once again, you begin to question just who it is that you are. but in the end, it'll all just loop over and over again, because "you" is nothing more than that jumble and mixture that "you" and "they" have created.
"The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The onion has as many pages as 'War and Peace,' every one of which is poignant enought to make a strong man weep, but the various ivory parchments of the onion and the stinging green bookmark of the onion are quickly charred by belly juices and bowl bacteria. Only the beet departs the body the same color as it went in.
"Beet consumed at dinner will, come morning, stock a toilet bowl with crimson fish, their hue attesting to beet's cromatic immunity to the powerful digestive acids and the thoroughgoing microbes that can turn the reddest pimento, the orangest carrot, the yellowest squash into a single disgusting shade of brown.
At birth we are red-faced, round, intense, pure. The crimson fire of universal consciousness burns in us. Gradually, however, we are devoured by parents, gulped by schools, chewed up by peers, swallowed by social institutions, wolfed by bad habits, and gnawed by age; and by the time we have been digested, cow style, in those six stomachs, we emerge a single disgusting shade of brown.
The lesson of the beet, then, is this: hold on to your divine blush, your innate rosy magic, or end up brown. Once you're brown, you'll find that you're blue. As blue as indigo. And you know hwat that means:
Indigo.
Indigoing.
Indigone."
- Tom Robbins' "Jitterbug Perfume."
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
American Robot.
so, i drew/painted this today. and .. it's kinda sloppy... and.. the picture quality sucks. because my computer wouldnt read my memory card...but ANYWAY.
it's kinda hard to notice.. the flaming trash can on the left is holding human body parts, the can has the categories: age, ethnicity, and rating drawn on to it... and the box in the far right side is labeled 451.
i refuse to become an American Robot.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
disabilities
so i was watching "BABEL" yesterday...
and the japanese girl's character made me feel bad for her.
why do people insist on making fun of someone who has to wake up every morning to face the fact that they can't see... can't hear... can't speak... can't walk.. that they LOOK different from everyone else... that they CAN NEVER be what everyone seems to want them to be? do people even stop and think how that must feel? NO, they're too stuck on THEMSELVES, too stuck on how UNCOMFORTABLE that person, that THING, makes THEM feel.
be selfless, not selfish. kind and not crude.
and the japanese girl's character made me feel bad for her.
why do people insist on making fun of someone who has to wake up every morning to face the fact that they can't see... can't hear... can't speak... can't walk.. that they LOOK different from everyone else... that they CAN NEVER be what everyone seems to want them to be? do people even stop and think how that must feel? NO, they're too stuck on THEMSELVES, too stuck on how UNCOMFORTABLE that person, that THING, makes THEM feel.
be selfless, not selfish. kind and not crude.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
21 meets 30.
And I guess I just like the look of age.
Jump and jolt with a simple graze
Of callused fingers on my sides.
And you, you and your calluses,
And sweat thick as molasses,
Sometimes too worn to even feel.
One learning the tricycle,
The other leaving the bicycle,
And I’m glad we just go for walks.
I guess I just like the look of age.
The feeling of age
Against an untamed youth
Is all the rage.
And I guess I just like the look of age.
Not only the look,
But the sound,
And the taste,
The taste of part upon part,
Like plastic upon rubber,
One easier to glide on than the other.
I am tasteless, to myself I am tasteless.
And I guess I just like the smell of age.
Jump and jolt with a simple graze
Of callused fingers on my sides.
And you, you and your calluses,
And sweat thick as molasses,
Sometimes too worn to even feel.
One learning the tricycle,
The other leaving the bicycle,
And I’m glad we just go for walks.
I guess I just like the look of age.
The feeling of age
Against an untamed youth
Is all the rage.
And I guess I just like the look of age.
Not only the look,
But the sound,
And the taste,
The taste of part upon part,
Like plastic upon rubber,
One easier to glide on than the other.
I am tasteless, to myself I am tasteless.
And I guess I just like the smell of age.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
