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The perfect woman do not exist- La mujer perfecta no existe!

Laura A Cruz,
Hicksville, NY

The gender roles are the expectations that society has for how people act, speak, dress, and groom based on their assigned sex.
Gender roles can also have a tremendously negative impact on a person’s mental health. I often fill all my roles and leave the person I am for last. I am restless, mad at myself, and feeling empty at times!
In my culture, the role of a woman is extremely hard to fulfill:

In Colombia, We have beauty standards – the ideal body for women has been established as having large breasts, a thin abdomen, and large, firm buttocks and legs.
Family life is essential in Colombian culture, so you must sacrifice all as a woman to keep the family together. Men are the primary income earners for the family, while women are expected to be the homemakers. If the men cheat, you move on and act like it never happened; people will make you internalize, “You can’t let the other woman win!” forget about the pain, and focus on the ego instead! Fidelity isn’t a thing that most Colombians worry about. They don’t consider a side of love as being wrong or even unusual. All they ask for is discretion.
Colombians are generally expected to be loyal and committed to their families, putting the family’s interests above their own. People will often go out of their way to support their relatives.
You must always talk to people with respect, and it starts at home with the “rule that you should always use titles like “Señor” (Sir) or “Señora” (Madam) unless told otherwise.” You must respond like that to your parents and adults when they call your name.

Education is crucial because if the man leaves you and takes everything he provides, at least you will have your education. By the way, you must graduate College with a promising career. There is no time for following your dreams.

If your parents gave you a chance to be born, you are already in debt to them forever. You better be prepared to take care of them when they age.
Marriage ceremonies and services usually follow the Roman Catholic tradition. Colombian families stay together no matter what because “you made a promise in front of God.”
If you got pregnant before getting a career, “you ruined your life,” parents and relatives will judge, and you feel like you are the most irresponsible person in this world.
If you gained significant weight during pregnancy and or after, you better lose it because the man will find another woman with a better body than yours!
You better learn how to cook for your man because men love to eat, or he will find another woman to do it for you and replace you.
Domestic violence is a big thing in Colombian Culture and there is this phrase that comes along with it “La ropa sucia se lava en casa” which translates “dirty clothes are washed at home” if you talk about it to family members they will be most likely to say ” that’s the life you chose! I told you once you cross that door there is no going back!” so women stay in violent relationships. Femicides remain an alarming issue in Colombia, with a significant number of women and girls falling victim to gender-based violence.
In Colombian culture, nothing is ever enough for some parents; they always expect more from you. Not enough credit is given to all the hard work you put into your pursuits.
For all the reasons listed above, I will raise my children with my own beliefs, not the ones dictated by my culture!
The chain of nonsense with my family breaks here, with me!
La cadena de mi familia se rompe aqui, conmigo!

Why isn’t my Quincenera proof enough?

Emily Angelica Roldan,
Saint Francisville, LA.

My father is from Colombia and my mother is from Georgia. I have pale freckled skin, glasses, and I am a natural blonde with bottle red hair. I did not grow up speaking Spanish (my siblings and I the only cousins who do not speak it). When I was 15, very few of the people I invited to my big day believed that I was Colombian American. It was like if I wasn’t “Hispanic enough”, I didn’t deserve the party at all.

My skin doesn’t reveal my soul

Traci Neal,
Columbia, SC

As long as I can remember, growing up in the South, I have had my experiences with racism. I think, in some ways, it became normal for me to encounter it occasionally. Still, nothing would prepare me for what I would face in April 2023. I am a professional poet. I felt amazing to be a part of a book anthology for African American poets.

We, poet contributors, were celebrating our book launch on April 26, 2023, via Zoom. We were halfway through where poets were reading their individual poems. All of a sudden, we get Zoom bombed by a hacker who puts up these derogatory images of male private parts and was shouting the “n” word while typing it in the chat. It hurt to my core so much that I had to walk away from my husband’s laptop.

Many thoughts ran through my mind that night and sleep didn’t seem to even be an option for me. It took a few days to reflect and wrap my mind around it all, but I am sharing this story as a declaration. I have a soul. It is beautiful. It matters. It cares about humanity. My skin doesn’t reveal my soul. It just opens up the door for conversation and maybe even growth. You can never judge a book until you take the time to read it. I hope each of us will listen more in order to learn more.

I’ve been called my sister’s nanny.

IMG_0171Mary Carroll,
Columbia, SC.

I am biracial and adopted into a white family. Growing up in a very southern affluent area, people were always asking me if I was paid well to look after the child and if I would work for them. When I would tell them that the child was my sister, generally they would respond with a laugh and “if that’s what you call it” then turn to someone else and say “that nanny calls the child her ‘sista'” assuming I was using a colloquial term rather than defining a familial relationship.

“Rahsheba…that is an interesting name”

Rahsheba Major,
Columbia, SC

This was said to me by an unsmiling white female department store cashier, likely around the same age as I, early to mid 40s, at the time, while looking at my brand new SC driver’s license. I had recently moved to South Carolina from Maryland and was applying for the department store’s credit card. Initially stunned into silence, I finally said “I’ll take that as a compliment”.

THE WALL, BLACK, AN HONORABLE COLOR.

David DeChant, Marine Vietnam Veteran
Key West, FL

Michele,Greetings again. I am a member of the core group of Vietnam Veterans who built The Wall ~ National Vietnam Veterans Memorial in D.C.; and was at the meeting in Senator Warner’s office when General George Price, US Army Retired, ended the color controversy about “black” granite and Maya being a “gook.” I am very humbled by his courage. He lives in Columbia, Maryland.

Paraphrasing his response about “black being a dishonorable color” ~ if anyone else comments about black being a dishonorable color, you will answer to me personally!

There was an incredible silence for several seconds; then the meeting continued. Never again were there any disparaging remarks in the media about “black” and Maya’s Chinese heritage.

Semper Fidelis,

David DeChant

Never Been Asked: “What Are You?”

Ella Harris,
Columbia, MD

I always felt disconnected from my African American identity. With my blonde hair, light green eyes, and fair skin, the world that I live in is fundamentally different. I am never asked where I am from, or if I am mixed. I am never asked the notorious, “What are you?” And rather than facing the discrimination that most African Americans face, my dilemma is that I must prove my blackness, and thus my biracial identity, in a society that views me as white.

For a long time I equated my own adversity to the discrimination that most African Americans face, but in reality, I possess a unique power: If I so choose, I can live my life as white without contradiction. This was a privilege I refused to acknowledge for years until I watched the death of George Floyd.

A few days later, dehydrated and aching from holding a sign for hours at my first protest, I somehow felt energized — I wanted to do more. I could no longer wait for someone else to present me with an opportunity to take action. I had to forge my own path to advocacy. I ultimately created an entire website, https://blacklives2020.weebly.com, to present what I had found.

Creating and sharing this website has empowered me to develop my voice and stand firm in my beliefs. I have the privilege of being white-passing and the responsibility to tell the narrative of my African American ancestors.

Becoming an activist has also forced me to be vulnerable with people I have known all my life and people I have never met. I revealed my insecurities about my conscious and unconscious privileges as white-passing. I came to terms with my outsider status in both the white and African American communities, while also accepting that even though my narrative is different, it is still valid.

George Floyd’s murder fundamentally changed how I perceive myself and my role in society. I am black, living under the guise of a white person — a juxtaposition I hated for so long — but now I see the power I possess. It is this power that drives me to continue my journey.

You’re lucky; you have good hair

up-close-2

mephotoAminah
Columbia, SC

Being a light-skinned African-American has afforded me the ability to kind of live on multiple sides of the race coin in terms of my superficial assets. Many people assume that I’m mixed; I’m not. Many people assume that I lucky because, since I’m fully black, I have good hair. Man, if one more person, black or white, says that I’m lucky because I have good hair…basically you’re saying that my personality sucks and all I have to fall back on is my awesome hair (I know they’re not really saying that). But really, why can’t we stop looking at the superficial and start looking at the internal? My hair doesn’t make me who I am, nor does my skin, nor does my “race”.

Who lives here? You or him?

95facebook95-141546669195Beth Brawley,
Columbia, SC.

My son is mixed race and when he was young a neighbor had a cousin over. They wanted to shoot a pellet rifle at cans. I told the neighbor and cousin they needed permission and I would supervise. The little boy who was visiting asked who lived at the house I was standing by, my son or I. I simply said, “We both do. I’m his mom.” Kids seem to be much more open.

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