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#mexican american
seekdestr0y · 4 months
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John Valadez, Couple Balam, 1978/80
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callmebrycelee · 5 months
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HAPPY 32ND BIRTHDAY, TYLER POSEY!!!
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wiccagirlmx · 9 months
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🔮
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phasesofamoonchild · 1 year
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a few selfies from my trip 🫶🏼🇲🇽
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I’m only 5’1
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this last outfit was for the Bad Bunny concert. I was obsessed 🤩
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magicturtle · 7 months
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I cried watching Coco, I felt very seen and it made me nostalgic for this ephemeral mexicaness that I could not have. When I talked to my parents about it, they were like “eh, it was ok.” Followed by a bunch of nitpicky complaints about it.
We all moved to the US at the same time, but of course, I was 11 and my parent were in their 30s. their Mexican identity was fully formed, but mine was not. So decades of synthesizing, and absorbing, and rejecting, and surviving American Culture have made me something else. This whole time that I've been changing and growing, and coming to terms with my internal diaspora, my parents were "Mexicans Living in the US".
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I went to watch Blue Beetle with my wife and, again, felt seen, even got a little choked up talking to her about it afterward. “His family is so much like yours” she said, and I agree, but I can’t help but think that if my parents watch it they’ll focus on all the things that make them different from us; all the virgin of guadalupe stuff, all the floridian stuff, all the spanglish, and say something like “it was fine, the machine gun grandma was funny.” And nothing else.
In a lot of ways I’m jealous; My parents don’t crave representation from their media because their Mexican identity is complete and intact, because they can watch Mexican shows on cable and feel fully reflected. But I’m not from here or there, and I’m only represented when the contradiction is on screen.
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mannyblacque · 1 year
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Source: Aranivah | Links
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sidthedollface2 · 8 months
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Pairing: Eddie Munson x Mexican Female Reader
Summary: Eddie tries to win over your affection and use you in hopes of getting signed to your dads record company. Theres just one problem. Your situationship and a heartbreaking past that threatens to expose the darker side of you.
Warnings: 18+ for crime related themes, angst, mental illness, death and eventual smut.
Authors note: Hi 👋 this is my first fic ever. I don't know what im doing so 🤷‍♀️. We're here for a good time not a long time so just hang out and enjoy.
Prologue
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I went to my university's (early)Hanukkah party today and the event itself was lively and fun but something happened as I arrived that still bothers me.
The important thing to note is that I am Mexican American, and a student receptionist for the event space that knew I was Mexican American made an offhanded comment that just blows my mind. She had originally asked me if I was Jewish, than she mentioned "but I've seen you at Latine events/organizations on campus, I've never met any Mexican Jewish person before." That in itself isn't that bad in my own opinion, but I tried to politely explain the Jews did indeed end up in Mexico through the Diaspora and there are Mexican Jewish people. I made a comment specifically about how Sephardic Jews ended up in Spain after being in Israel and from there eventually ended up in Mexico, although the Spanish largely either forcefully converted or killed a lot of the Sephardic Jewish people. She proceeded to tell me "Well that means they're not Mexican because they're invaders and we(Mexicans) are indigenous. They can't be both."
This other student is a very vocal political/social justice activist and all I could think in that moment was how could she possibly deny one's ability to be both Mexican and Jewish at the same time? Why was she so quick to want to shut down the statement that Mexican Jewish people even exist? More comments were made and I just felt so uneasy trying to finish signing in for this Hanukkah party that I had really been looking forward to and I just can't really forget the way she could so easily deny my ability to have both identities at the same time.
I suppose I will always struggle with taking pride in both cultures, as time and time again it seems to be something that non-jews can't understand as they mostly view Jews as white Ashkenazism only as well as the Pro-Palestine movement has definitely been bringing some people to believe the idea that all Jews are white and are racist through social media. The only people I can really talk to are my family and other Jewish people but this just felt like such a huge slap in the face as a convert that also struggles with feeling white-washed in Hispanic spaces due to my family living in America for 5 generations and assimilating in a lot of ways. Just venting I guess.
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zalixco · 1 year
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Valentine's Day Grams. Art by @zalixco reach our for yours
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redwuds · 28 days
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mexican+pink hair
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ygflame · 4 months
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Guadalupe🎭
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callmebrycelee · 3 months
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HAPPY 32ND BIRTHDAY, TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ!!!
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knottedskein · 5 months
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El Paso.
My parents lovingly doted on me in Spanish. I unknowingly babbled nonsense aligned to no particular world. My boundless coos came from the safety of my nest. Maybe it was too soon to tell which way I would sway. I was just a baby. Una bebesita. Were my cries in English? ¿Soñaba en español? Did I want to play with a ball or ¿jugar con una pelota? Was my favorite color rosa mexicano or did I ask to surround myself with Barbie pink? Did I go by Débbie or Debbie? Did mami and papi anticipate that I would lose my way? And did they know I would find my own path?
Miami.
Here la historia begins. My thoughts became tangible and solidified. My sentences brincando between dos mundos. I want leche. I want a muñeca. ¡Quiero candy! Dos padres very confundidos by my melange of Spanglish. They tried to make sentido of my words. There was no order to a lenguaje unconstrained by reglas. Mama y papa tried to teach me how to contar. So I counted to mis papas: one, dos, three, four, cinco, seis, seven.....
San Antonio.
¡En esta casa hablamos español! I learned to navigate the awkward Spanish words with the twist of my rigid tongue. Mi pobre boca felt thick with palabras and ideas that had no release. My fragmented Spanish no longer glittered the floor in broken shards. Instead, it was precariously pieced together—held tightly with anglicized thoughts. I tried to make the palabras come out, but it only chipped away at something that was already broken. My parents would come to lament the choice I had made. In this house, I spoke English.
Puebla.
Mi vocabulario se alimento con cultura. Estuve intoxicada con los colores y sonidos. Mis palabras se volvieron miel. Sacarina. Dorada y viscosa. Vivía en un paraíso mexicano mientras conservé mi inglés con solo mis pensamientos. La miel atrapó mis pensamientos como ámbar y preservó mi ingenuidad. Mi inglés se mantuvo inmaculado con mi juventud. Mientras, mi español pudo madurar y explorar este nuevo terreno. Pero este néctar empalagoso no logró saciar las gargantas de los demás. Les ofrecí miel, cuando nada más quisieron la pureza del agua. I wanted nothing more than to offer the very nectar that had sanded the callouses off my tongue. Yet, their fangs drained the sweetness from my fragile veins. Their forked tongues stabbed sibilant snarls into my sensitive ears. Their talons tore at my paper-thin skin while I stretched my arms out in surrender. I begged for mercy, but I was met with their vitriol. Their venom spat across my face and the acid was left to blister my delicate flesh. My Spanish offended them. So, they left me branded with gleaming rosa scars. La gringa.
Farmington.
Chillicothe.
Selma.
I clenched my hands around mis palabras like the flawless diamantes I chiseled from mi tierra sagrada. No puedo dejar que escuchen mi español. They wouldn’t hear my Spanish. Pero los diamantes dug their resentment into my flesh with their sharp points. I held a precious hidden treasure in my palms that I feared would be ripped from my clutches by overzealous thieves. I wanted nothing more than to wash off the sangre that dripped from my pierced fingers. I wanted to thrash and scream— ¡Mira! ¡Mira como brillan! ¡Mira que preciosos y radiantes son! But when I finally spread my fingers out wide for the world to see, they only saw the blackest coal glistening with the redness of my fear. They snatched black diamonds and set my mundo ablaze. From the glowing embers, they branded my skin anew. The wetback.
San Antonio. Again.
Again. There were others like me, but were they like me? Were the manuals to their lives written in English or ¿escrito en español? Do they prefer flour tortillas or ¿prefieren tortillas de maiz? Did they have to climb up to the stage and prove to the world, that like, ¡No, en serio! ¡Te lo juro! Soy Mexicana! ¿O les arrancaban el micrófono de las manos a pesar de gritar, “No, I swear! I’m American!”? I was no longer alone. We were alone together. Our existence and identities became a performance; a dance for no one that particularly cared. "Watch the amazing acrobatics! See how we jump between two worlds!" Uno que nos rechazó por haber nacido en el mundo equivocado and one that unwelcomed us for being born with a different language caged behind our teeth. They tried to mark us out in the open, but our skins held no more room for new scars. Instead, they abandon like the waste they deemed us. We were left ignored and unworthy of recognition. We became expendable. Unseemly. Incongruous. Nothing. Nada.
Here and now.
My skin is no longer tattooed with scars with which I was branded. It has thickened and matured. It’s the leather of an ancient tome that was bestowed secret knowledge of two powerful realms. It’s the bark of a wizened gnarled oak that straddles the old and new worlds. I am steady in my journey and I am sure of my path. Tengo mi voz y mis susurros will tear down brick walls erected by the deplorable. Tengo mi voz y mis gritos will demand for all dreamers to have their dreams realized. Tengo mi voz y anunciaré al mundo que I know who I am and am not. I am too white. I am not dark enough. I am not white enough. Soy descolorida. I am nothing. Soy nada. I am a wetback. Soy una gringa. I am something. Soy todo. I am the longing for Spanish to kiss me with their honeyed lips. Soy la boca que fue moldeada con la fuerza y dureza de inglés. I am Latinx y soy latine. I am mexicana. Soy American. I am both. Soy dos almas encerradas en un cuerpo. I am the amalgamation of the ancient and modern. Soy las tradiciones pasadas por mis papás and I am the resister of their outdated ways. Soy Mexican-American. I am mexicana-americana. I’m me. Soy yo. Me.
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riverberumen · 9 months
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"Tijuana View From The Border Crossing At Night" by River Berumen
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samerowisleader · 5 months
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I've been letting this place starve for too long. I am now a traditional artist
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lostghost0o0 · 7 months
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ITS HISPANIC LATINO HERITAGE MONTH CABRONES!!!!!! ESTO TAMBIEN ES PARA TODOS MIS LATINOS QUE NACIERON EN LOS USTADOS UNIDOS!!! VIVA TODA LATINOAMERICA!!!! VIIIIVAAAA MEXICOOOOO!!!!! 🇲🇽🎉🎉🎉🎊🎊🎊🍾🍻
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