Skip to main content

Morena



    I briefly discussed the struggles I had growing up with the colour of my skin. I discussed it in terms of being comfortable in your body and accepting and loving yourself. You can do all that... sadly, we are living in very racially charged times. Racism is a systemic problem, even if it is not as bad in Canada, still something to watch out for, as we are (you girls, your dad, myself), a visible minority. What does that even mean? Canada is so diverse; you can hear different languages while walking through the aisles in the supermarket, go to other places of worship, and see different skin colours; you are growing up with that. Since you will witness this diversity since birth, I don't think you will grow up with as many prejudices as I or other people in other parts of the world have. While living here, you will grow up to understand these differences are not a threat; they make us special and unique and make our country stronger and wiser.
    Even with knowing all of this, people might feel the need to label and assume things about you every now and then. Strangers will rank people based on their skin's lightness, eyes, and hair, which is unfair and uncalled for; this is racism. Strangers will also presume to know you and call you "spicy," "hot," "passionate," and "intense" just for being a Latina. Now, I know many Latinas, and we don't all fit the mould. I find myself playing into the stereotype to make people more comfortable with me so they won't fear me and can put me in a box and leave me alone. 

    I have seen racism in the eyes of little girls who have been thought to fear me because I am "Morena" (brown/Latina/Mexican). Morena is what we (the Mexicans and most Latin countries) call people with brown skin, skin that varies in lightness, depending on the state you were born in and how much your family blended with Spanish people, slaves, or Indigenous people. To be "Morena" is not a good thing, at least in Mexico, even though most Mexicans have this skin colour. We are taught with almost innocent popular sayings that choosing a partner with lighter skin colour is better, so your kids are prettier because lighter/whiter is always prettier. White also means money; the darker you are, the poorer you are. Mexicans (gotta say not all Mexicans, but I have heard it enough) brag about their great-grandparents being Spanish, Italian, or even French. They never brag about grandparents being Indigenous people, as if they were less, like something to be ashamed of.

    Like I said before, it took me a while to stop wishing my skin was as fair as my sister's or my mom's. It took me a while to stop protecting it from getting tanned, afraid I would look even darker and, therefore, uglier. When people called me "morena," I would register it almost as an insult, not just as a fact about myself, and that is on me; my insecurities, my reaction to the world I grew up in. How screwed up is that? Canada has helped. I get many people trying to achieve my skin tone by going to tanning beds and calling me exotic, not like a bad word, but like my uniqueness is some sort of treasure, like they value it and even see beauty in it. I have to say, they saw beauty when I couldn't, so I am grateful. I got to reinvent myself and got some confidence back that was taken from me when I was a little girl when strangers would compare me to my sister or other little girls when they would give leading parts in ballet to girls that were blonde and not necessarily knew how to dance better than me, some of that happened without me noticing. Still, I felt it, affecting how I saw myself. 

    It would be nearly impossible to raise a child without any prejudices. I have tried to get rid of most of mine, but they are still there, at the core... hiding. I hope you learn to value people by their behaviour towards you, by their actions and their words, not by the way they look. I hope you don't fear what is different from you and are curious about other cultures and people. At the end of the day, we are just people with no label to attach before; we all love, fear, and try our best.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Unas por Otras

  My dear girls,  In Spanish, we say "unas por otras," which is how we justify the tradeoff: we gain some and lose some. It has been almost 18 years since I came to Canada. I know, think, curse, and dream in English just as much as I do in Spanish. We alternate languages around the house and speak some Spanglish version that only you and Dad can understand. There have been many ups and downs, losses, and many treasures gained. My mind is settled; I no longer wish to live in Mexico; I like my life and this version of myself here. That doesn't mean I don't miss everything about it; I miss driving through a street that brings out childhood memories; I miss the people I left behind, the people who loved me, the people who raised me, the noise, feeling a deep sense of belonging. Still, I convince myself daily that this was the right decision for you and me.  News about Mexico hurt my heart; the government, the violence, the murders, the unpunished crimes against women, the...

The Tradeoff

  My sweetest girls,   Yesterday was a hard and sad day. My great aunt Lolis passed away. It didn't hit me right away. I was having an out-of-body experience as my father was explaining over the phone that she had passed, and that she was tired and had wanted to die for a while now. I thought, "This is where you are supposed to cry, you should feel more upset, why aren't you more upset? What is wrong with you?" When I hung up the phone, you came to see me. You knew something was wrong, and when I tried to tell you, that is where my heart caught up with my body, and I started sobbing. I am sorry if I scared you. Amaia was curious. I don't think she remembers my aunt at all. She was too little; the interactions were so short —a couple of hours here and there. As the hours passed last night and I got talking to other family members, all the memories kept flooding into my mind; cherished moments of my aunt Lolis and my aunt Blanca, who passed away more than 20 years a...

Strong Enough To Be Yourself

My dear girls,  I grew up with strong, independent women and the men who loved them. I believed my opinion mattered and my voice was meant to be heard. Soon enough, I realized my family dynamics were rare. From the world, I was fed doubt and uncertainty. I started second-guessing myself as part of the routine; this never-enough feeling was planted deep inside me, this need to be small, to make myself useful, serving, willing, friendly and never challenging. I worked under the assumption that there was something wrong with all my feminine qualities, that compassion, empathy, and cooperation were weak attributes, that ambition has only one form, and that there is only one way to achieve professional growth. I was "too much," too articulated, too outspoken, too demanding, and too feminist.  My gender served as my own limit on what I could and should achieve. I created a dumbed-down, watered-down version of myself that was less threatening to the world I was living in, but ...