Growing up Mexican in America can be confusing. Even if the U.S. Census tells you you’re “white,” you don’t really see your kind of “white” on television or film.
I used to be ashamed of living in South El Monte, California, a predominantly working class, Mexican American suburb of Los Angeles. As a child, I felt that my classmates and neighbors weren’t cultured or educated enough. The city itself was an eyesore, with block after block of light industrial manufacturing, a gritty crossroads of the 10, 60, and 605 freeways. The Catholic school I attended from first through eighth grade didn’t have a music or art program, and our textbooks were outdated and falling apart.
Continue reading “Growing Up Mexican in America: What TV Taught Me”
Originally published in my secret, anonymous blog on August 21, 2014.
I dream vividly almost every night. Sometimes I’m the main character in the dream, watching the events unfold around me, but sometimes it’s as if I’m watching a movie with a twisted plot. I try to write my dreams down when I can remember them. Often, I have dreams about airplanes, and every now and then, about out of control elevators.
I was on a plane that was getting ready to take off. Except I was the only one on the plane, aside from the captain, who was about my age and handsome. I had never seen him before, but he seemed familiar at the same time. The inside of the plane was in disarray. Some of the seats appeared to be missing, and there was litter strewn all over the floor.
Continue reading “Dreams About Airplanes and Elevators”
Originally published in my secret, anonymous blog on July 18, 2014.
Part I: Ticks
This morning, as I’ve been trying to do every day for the past week, I woke up by 7:00 am. I’ve actually been getting up between 6:00 and 6:30 am, but I stayed up until 1:00 am last night because my husband came home late from playing a music gig. Also, earlier that evening, someone had posted a close-up picture of a humongous sunflower on Facebook, which triggered my trypophobia (fear of clusters of holes). So I had a hard time falling asleep, feeling my skin crawling all over and regretting that I had eaten okra for dinner. (Visualize the inside of one. I refuse to post a picture.)
Continue reading “Ticks, Laundry, and Broken Hearts”
Who said 38 was too late to start a new life? The last several years had been a struggle for me, as I suffered from anxiety, stress, and perhaps even slight depression. After getting my MFA in Creative Writing from Texas State University in 2004, I admit that I stopped writing fiction and had lost my motivation to submit my writing for publication. But at least I blogged on a fairly regular basis from 2007-2012 (read the original blog here), and in 2011 and 2012 I was actively writing for several publications. In 2013, I only published three blog posts. In 2014, I wrote nothing, except for some very personal writing in an anonymous blog, published in the late summer, which no longer exists. Continue reading “New Beginnings”