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Category: queerlove

My Latina Girlfriend’s White Ass

My least favorite tokenism is the kind where you’re invited to a party to check off a box when you don’t actually fit that box, and they don’t even know you don’t fit that box.  But you’re the closest or most comfortably exotic thing for everyone and they get to high-five themselves instead of growing or getting up from their table from time to time.

Example: Like when everyone kisses my girlfriend’s white ass and checks off the POC seat at their table. I mean, I like that ass more than you do, but it was white in Venezuela and it’s white here. And every Latinx POC knows that. 

Anti-Racist Newsflash: They got white people south of the US/Mexican border.  And something else we don’t talk about much, there are Black folks in Latin America too.  

What does this require us to reconsider?

 

Everything.

 

But let’s pause here for now: 12 Latina Authors You Should Be Reading Right Now. 

 

Note:  Being an immigrant is always complicated.  It’s especially complicated for Latinx folks in the U.S.  This conversation is not meant to minimize that experience.  Our hope is to make our conversation as complicated as folks’ lived realities.  And being a white immigrant, even if you’re an undocumented queer woman, is not the same experience as being a brown or Black immigrant.  Being a Latinx immigrant in the U.S. is difficult, but as with most experiences, it is made less difficult by whiteness.  And language privileges.  But we’ll get to that later in this series as other voices join the conversation.

Language Note: “Our table” or “their table” is a common U.S. English phrase that usually refers to where a group of people meet or share conversations.

Definitions: Tokenism, Latinx

 

Stop assuming your kids are straight, please.

Stop assuming your kids are straight, please.

Stop letting people punch your son in the shoulder and ask him how many girlfriends he has.

Stop letting people tell your daughter she’s going to break all the boys’ hearts.

Stop imagining a wedding day that isn’t yours.

If you’re heartbroken, or angry, when your kid comes out to you, it’s because you’ve deceived you. It’s not because of a single thing they’ve done or who they are.

If your kid needs to come out to you, because you haven’t already openly offered possibilities for any version of who they might be, work toward it.

They’ve got the whole world to be uncertain about. Make sure your love isn’t at the top of the list.

Flirting with Disaster

I recently wrote a piece to be read at a local story telling event. The theme was Flirting with Disaster. I’m not sure that I know another way to flirt.

A few months ago, I told someone that something could be really dangerous and she replied, or really beautiful. Yes. Like this.

Flirting with Disaster

One

The first time I kissed a lover, we didn’t kiss.  I was 13.  She was older than me.  And I was the brave one.  She’s always older than me.  And I’m always the brave one.  We were lying on the bottom bunk, under my sister, facing each other, bodies so close it hurt.  It was this time of year.  I couldn’t kiss her.  So instead, I ran my tongue over the surface of her lips.  When I stopped, she ran hers over mine.  And we danced like this for hours, as if kissing was more dangerous than what we were already doing.

Two

Straight women.

Three

The first time you try to let someone touch the body your father raped.

Four

When I realized that my 4 year-old niece was calling my friend “Auntie” because she read our interactions as partnership, as romantic.  Where children cannot see societal boundaries they fully feel emotions.  We were having an ordinary conversation.  I said, “That’s her husband.”  And with that tiny string of words, I broke my niece’s heart for the first time.  Through sobs she kept yelling, “Auntie Nik, fix it!”  “No, please.”  “Fix it.” Until she needed it so desperately that she slapped me across the face.

My young niece doesn’t yet understand the power in friendship.

Five

When I was 12, or 13, I was a witness of the state, living in a foster home, ordered to testify against my parents.  My social worker asked me to list folks who felt safe, who were my support.  I gave her my girlfriend’s name.  She told me that I shouldn’t tell anyone about that, or I would lose the support I did have.  I found a boyfriend.

Six

I’m raising a child who is now 13.

Seven

Being the executive director of a nonprofit organization.

Eight

Have you ever been kind to someone?

Have you ever been kind to someone who is desperate to be loved?

Nine

When he proposed and I let him put the diamond ring on my finger and practiced signing his last name as if it would become mine.  It didn’t.

Ten

When I couldn’t tell if we were communicating to each other in jewelry, like hankies in our pockets, the things we were too afraid, or unwilling, or desperately trying, to say.

Eleven

Have you ever dated someone with children?

There is no sense in trying not to fall in love.

Twelve

Everyone is desperate to be loved.

Thirteen

Straight women who expect their boyfriend to love them the way you love them.

Especially when you’re just friends.

Fourteen

The first time you let someone enter your mind as you bring yourself to orgasm.

The first time you let someone enter your mind when someone else is bringing you to orgasm.

Fifteen

When she proposed and we put square rings on each other’s round fingers and then fed each other pasta with them the week after I had written a poem describing our kisses as manufactured brownies, the kind you don’t actually want, but eat because they are there.  We hyphenated our last names.

Sixteen

I’m supposed to tell you that threesomes are disaster.  I won’t.

Seventeen

She keeps reaching for my hand. Sometimes,

I let her find it.

Eighteen

Multiple times a day, I walk past a note in my own handwriting, giving me permission, or commanding me, to fall in love again today.

Nineteen

I started 9th grade at a new school.  A girl a year older than me stopped me at the water fountain and asked me if I was bi.  I asked her why she was asking me.  She told me because she was my friend and she’d tell people to stop spreading lies.  I told her to let them talk and walked away.  The next day “Dyke” was etched in my locker.

Twenty

Have you ever loved someone more than they loved themselves?

Have you ever let someone love you more than you love yourself?

Twenty-one

Any time you welcome someone to the body your father raped.  But, of course, it’s not that same body.

Twenty-two

When the world dissolves and suddenly you’re fucking her in the airport bathroom, at the train station, on the piano bench, outside the rock concert, outside the folk concert, against the tree, she’s inside you while you drive, in the bar bathroom, after your mother’s funeral, at the abandoned mini golf course you’re both pretending you’re going to buy and run together, which you’re calling Paradise.  When the police show up at your door to check on your wellness because entirely out of character, you didn’t show up to teach your class.  When the world dissolves and neither of you has ever uttered the phrase “making love” but now you can’t call it anything else.

Twenty-three

Knowing we only get one body.  That all the things we live, stay in our body.

Twenty-four

Reading this out loud to you.