Oh yes, I am from the San Gabriel Valley, and I am totally the half white Mexican girl without a white parent who gets made fun of by every Mexican person on earth who is a friend, relative, classmate, until going into the world and being told and treated like shes white. That's my next fucking book, let me tell you, its going to be called, PASSING: A HEAD FUCK.
So, this incessant re-entry into my formative years is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated. It's just an essay, but in a way, it's the essay that precedes ME, this point of reference is so loaded with DAMAGE, internal questions zooming around the brain like, who do i want to be, who am i, what will be my path. I've never placed much weight on the different years of my life other than to say, 'oh yeah, that year sucked, that year ruled.' And I've never dug so far back into my past searching for answers. As it turns out, the years 1990 to to 1995 sort of put the stamp on what was to come in the next decade and even now- when I feel I've had enough time and distance to reinvent myself as an adult ( i would say this has been most recent, since 2006, really)and I never thought I'd say this, but getting older really is a joy.
It strange to look back on my 11 year old self and, dig through her journals and zines, and see how all those old fears meant more to her than her own happiness. So desperate our we to belong when we are young that we really do miss the wonderful opportunities that surround us. But, then again, the things I did grab onto, weather defensively or defiantly have led me to this moment right now, and I must honor who I am today, someone that well, I think is pretty nifty.
After this essay is done, I'm putting a moratorium on Guns n Roses, and perhaps, finally, closing the book Axl Rose. Really, I just don't think I can listen to Appetite for Destruction one more time without wanting to murder my stereo. I hand him to the next girl, but they've never needed me to give him away.
