brownwitchy

[brownwitchy]

Kristen Miranda // F. Scott Fitzgerald // r.i.d.

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What do I look like?

As I look at my golden orange brown skin I wonder if I fit in it because I don’t tightly fit the words of things you say I am.

When you see me walking I’m not sure what you see. I don’t even know what I see when I look in the mirror. I don’t know how to describe myself to others, and I can’t tell you 3 things about myself or my favorite song in an introduction. My skin doesn’t match what you THINK America is suppose to be like, and I question that because my skin and it’s neighbors of shades are all I’ve ever seen.

Even surrounded by my own community I was an outcast. I wasn’t suppose to like reading, having hobbies was strange, I was suppose to like dancing, I was suppose to like corn tortillas, I was suppose to wear color, but nothing bright that clashed with my skin. Tattoos are trashy on women, piercings are unprofessional, and having a man was essential to be what my mom thought was a Hispanic daughter.

But mom...I like wearing black. I have piercings on my face, I have tattoos, I like colored hair, I like to read, I like to paint, I enjoy collecting dolls, I date men outside my culture/race, I married without your consent, I don’t follow a specific religion, I enjoy decor of naked women, I even like women... so who am I?

My husband is dressed in his shalwar kameez headed to the mosque and I’m in a black T-shirt next to him, it feels fine... but not outside my home. And he knows this too because my clothing is only questioned in public . We don’t match. We have never matched. All the men I’ve been with I have never matched, and they never cared. They knew I was always gonna be secret so they never cared enough about it to consider my fashion sense or body modifications wrong.

And I don’t match my beautiful slim sister, I don’t match my tall handsome brother. I’m just there...the weird one. Although my Spanish playlist is what I listen to the most as I drive to work in scrubs and colored hair... I don’t match and I’m not Hispanic enough. But to people lighter than me, even other Hispanics, I am Hispanic enough because my skin is toasted.

Am I Hispanic or not? But we can break it down more.

To Mexicans I’m not Mexican because my father is Salvadoran.

To Salvadorans I’m not Salvadoran because my mom is Mexican.

And to Mexico and El Salvador I’m nothing cause I was born in America.

But in American I’m nothing because my parents are from there.

And in public I’m nothing because I’m fat and dress outside my body shape, in black or like vintage hippie.

And to my husband’s family I’m nothing because I’m not Muslim or Pakistani.

So? Who am I?

I’m Hispanic regardless because that’s a label I can’t remove although my family claims I’ve removed it, lost it, and gave myself the label of WHITE.

I’m given the title of WHITE because I read, I draw, speak English more, have broken Spanish, and wear the clothing I do, because I’m a LIBERAL and care too much about feminism, racism; and everything in between.

This is white to them.

But that’s not white to the whites either.

And that’s not white to the other shades of brown.

So as I walk down ft worth Texas in the stock yards, in a black satin dress with my fat arms exposed, my piercings shining and glistening in the sunlight, drawing attention away from my fat nose and small eyes, next to a brown man with an accident and “strange clothing” I will tel the people not to stare.

I will say “no no listen, I am not Hispanic enough for my family, I am not enough for my husband’s family, I speak English more, I read, I went to college, I still go to school, I don’t live at home” is that okay for you? Is that enough for you to accept I am not here or there, so take me as I am and ignore your views and labels you give me because I do not fit the mold for that either?

I won’t say anything.

I’ll just wait until I get home and take off the baggage of not having a label and wonder once again...who am I?

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14.05.21 / reading setup this morning. i made sure to get tasks done early so i could have a few hours to read. wishing you a lovely friday ♡

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This is how real change is made, through direct action.

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Erika Lee Sears on Instagram

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dark green in dark academia.

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yeonmmm

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"i could fix him" "i could make him worse" well i could be brown i could be blue i could be violet sky i could be hurtful i could be purple i could be anything you like

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Karen Vega by Dorian Ulises López Macías for Vogue México - July 2020

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source.

+ fadedforest.

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honestly i’m sick of white women talking about normalizing “ugliness” when they’re talking about features that majority of people of color have and only a few white people have. like you’re gonna complain about your nose which is a little big and crooked and u’d look at other people of color who are just minding their own business and tell them we need to normalize ugliness!!!! like stop we’re not ugly, your ancestors decided that we’re ugly and now we’re still trying to unlearn it i know u thought you were saying in it in a feminist way but it’s actually racist af. like this belief that the point isn’t about being beautiful it’s about learning to accept yourself is worth nothing because u choose to give women of color a label anyway. your sentiments come from racism, like what if i tell you today that i don’t want to think of myself as ugly lmao.

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🕯.

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❝Monday, 19th April 2021 - 1.44 pm❞

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Mary Ruefle, ‘The Tenor of Your Yes’

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[brownwitchy]

So, India is dying.

Look, I know a good number of you are from the US and things aren't amazing there either, but my country is literally on the brink of collapse. So I'd love it if we could talk about that for a minute.

If you can't do anything else, please just read and reblog.

A second COVID wave has taken out the healthcare system. There are no more hospital beds. There's an oxygen shortage. There's a critical vaccine shortage. The Central Government has thrown its hands up and is passing the baton to the State Governments to do what they can.

There are over 16 million covid cases. A record 330,000 new cases reported yesterday - comparable to the US at its peak. 187,000 dead as of today.

There is no plan.

Mass cremations are taking place. The cremation grounds are running day and night and they are short on wood. People are watching their loved ones die while waiting for a hospital bed, and then they're unable to give them the proper burial rights.

Hospitals are overwhelmed. Patients are being confined, two to a bed. They're the lucky ones.

We are on the verge of people dying in the streets.

This is the second-most populous country in the world. The largest democracy. A country that encapsulates over 15,000 years of recorded human history and has endured everything from famine to invasion to colonisation.

We might be at the end. This might be the thing that does us in.

People are dying.

People are dying.

People are dying and there is no plan.

More good news? Variants are popping up. A double mutation strain has shown up. It is resistant to current vaccines. This will not go away. This is the devastation they warned of when the anti-maskers were out protesting the minor inconvenience of covering their face in public.

My country is on the verge of an emergency state. Our government has failed us. This is as dire a situation as it ever could be.

Look. I don't do much with my life. I write fics, some of you have read them and that's pretty much it. I spend my days with my head in the clouds because that's where I like to be.

But two days ago, my grandmother tested positive, had to be taken to hospital and the ambulance caught fire.

She barely made it to the urgent care she needs.

So, here I am, using whatever meager platform I have to cobble this request together. Because I have to do something.

If you can, donate.

Or spread the word.

Help. Please.

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