#her mom is half mexican half native american and her dad is white. she looks like her dad

[apple-coring]

peggy is mexican american btw

[weirdocvnt08]

ROTTMNT x SR:US Crossover Human AU: Basics Intro

Bruh I keep making drabbles and oneshots within my own rottmnt x samurai rabbit human AU but never post any actual info or “lore” but it’s cus idk how to start?? Soooo I guess this’ll be like the concept plan? Idk I’ll just try to make this look organized so I can introduce the world I’m always writing about ε-(´∀｀; )

AU Name: Crazy Little Thing Called Life

AU Summary: Take Rise TMNT and Samurai Rabbit into a crossover world where they’re just normal human people with no magic or mystics, just living and experiencing this crazy little thing called life (hehe) and just go through normal human things.

Characters (Older Adults): Splinter (Hamato Yoshi), Big Mama (Adeline Desir), Baron Draxum (Berry Powell), Usagi’s Auntie (Shimada Noriko), Hueso (Jacinto Gerrero-Vazquez), Foot Lieutenant (Fukunaga Kenji) Foot Recruit Brute (Tsuchida Kazou)

*sidenote that bc I’m making all the non-humans, well…human (:p) I’m giving them full names bc I’m extra like that so what’s in parentheses is what their names will be in my fanfics*

Characters (teens/young adults): April O’ Niel, Cassandra “Casey” Jones, Sunita (Sunita Modi), Gen (Murakami Gennosuke), Chizu (Ogawa Chizu) Kitsune (Shimada Kitsune), Yuichi Usagi, Frida/Venus (Frida Hamato), Raph, (Raphael Hamato), Leo (Leonardo Hamato), Donnie (Donatello Hamato), Mikey (Michelangelo Hamato), Mona Lisa (Mona Keke)

Race/Ethnicity

Bruh so this is kinda embarrassing but my brain got scrambled really bad every time I tried to organize it so I’ll just tell you guys in paragraph form (´ω`)

Starting off on the ROTTMNT side, the Hamato kids are blasian but only Raph, Mikey and Frida are half Haitian since I’m making Big Mama Haitian but Donnie and Leo aren’t since their bio mom was born in the U.S. Splinter is still Japanese lol and Draxum is Native American, specifically Cherokee. Hueso is Mexican and born in Yucatán (I will not elaborate any further or else I’ll never post this thing bc I’ll over complicate my answer), Casey is wasian with her mom being Japanese and her dad being a white American and Foot Lieutenant and Brute are her gay uncles and they’re Japanese too but Brute’s been in the US way longer than Lieutenant, April stays the same as a Black American and Sunita is blasian as her dad’s also a black American but her mom is Indian. Mona will also be in and I’m writing her as Polynesian Hawaiian.

Now with the Samurai rabbit side. This is pretty easy since they’re all Japanese BUT Chizu is half Filipino, Gen has Polynesian roots from his dad’s side and Kitsune is Ainu which is a small indigenous group in the north side of Japan. Usagi, his aunt, Hana and Kiyoko are mainlanders so they’re pretty “average” I suppose you can say even though it feels icky saying that given Japan got their issues when it comes to people they don’t deem as Japanese

Relationships

*adding deets on Splinter and his relationships bc it’s relevant for my new fanfic so I’m his is the one I’m only gonna reveal for now. But also I have another fanfic that’s set within this AU brewing in my head actually so what I wrote for Lieutenant and Brute is for future use*

Yoshi/Big Mama (past)

Legally married for nearly a decade but close to the end of their marriage they (more so Big Mama) opened their relationship so they could see/be with other people if they wanted to (Yoshi only saw 1 person and it led to Leo and Donnie to be conceived lmao)

Biological parents of Frida, Raph, and Mikey

Met the same way as they did in canon

Few years down the road Big Mama would later became Splinter’s boss for a bit since she got a huge promotion to be his manager (she’s just that girl ✨💵✨)

Were on bad terms for a while but for the sake of the kids learned to be civil with each other so they could healthily co-parent

Yoshi/Draxum (Current)

Started off as just a professional relationship as Yoshi hired Berry to be his personal chef since he was pretty much on his own taking care of the tots and cooking wasn’t really his specialty (spoiler, Berry wasn’t good at it either) and one thing lead to another and somehow Berry just stuck to the Hamatos since the tots saw him as their 2nd dad

They don’t want to label what they got going on but they do be cuddling each other most sometimes in bed

Homosexuals indeed

Yoshi/Dona (Past)

Had a rough introduction at the library after accidentally bumping into her and making her spill her coffee onto her shirt. She didn’t like that at all that it took nearly 2 months for her to forgive him

Started as just library buddies until she invited him out clubbing and then after series of events ended up in a friends with benefits type relationship

They were 30 and 29 when they had Leo and Donnie; Dona would’ve also been 30 if she hadn’t died a month before her birthday :( (yes I’m evil)

A lot of their hangouts consisted of them staying inside Dona’s studio, drink wine or smoke herb and vent about their childhood trauma with Depeche Mode or The Cranberries playing in the background

Yoshi didnt know Dona was pregnant until five months into her pregnancy when she finally confessed to him because she initially didn’t want to keep them but had no choice because she didn’t know she was even pregnant until she suddenly felt really sick and after a trip to the doctors found out she already close to her 2nd trimester already so she couldn’t get an abortion even if she wanted to.

There’s a lot more drama with them but I’ll just reveal that stuff in my future fics

In conclusion. Yoshi just has a thing for pretty and intelligent people who are mean to him and I think he’s so real for that 👍

Foot lieutenant/Foot brute

Met at a underground rock show in New York, (brute made the first move lol)

Moved into a studio together 3 years down the road and dated a year later

Initially took Casey in for a bit when she was 6 due to her and her parents rocky relationship but would officially gain guardianship over her 2 years later she threatened to run away if she went back with her parents

Younger couples included in this AU so far

April/Casey/Sunita

Raph/Mona

Donnie/Kendra

Donnie/Jonathan

Leo/Usagi

Kitsune/Chizu

And that’s pretty much it for now, geez I can’t believe I had this drafted for a whole 4 months :;(∩´﹏`∩);:

[kookies2000]

I have to add my own experience here too.

My father comes from the native people of Mexico. A mix of Aztecs and Mayans. My mom is half and half. Mexican and Spaniard, my grandmother is Mexican and my grandpa is Spaniard. So my brother and I have light brown skin, ethnic nose/features, and dark, thick, and curly/wavy hair.

My mom remarried a Spaniard man and had my two half-blood sisters. I see them as my full sisters no matter what, I adore them with all my heart. Both have very pale and light hair.

So yeah, one day I'm taking care of my baby sisters at Chucky Cheese. Helping them at the basketball game. A little boy comes and joins and I help him the same way I helped my sisters.His mom comes in and tells me I'm great with kids. This is how it went.

Her: You're so good with kids.

Me: Thanks, I take care of my sisters a lot.

Her *looks at my sisters* : Oh they are beautiful.

Me: They are very beautiful, I love-

Her: Are you their babysitter?

Me:....... what?......

Her: They are so white, and their hair is nice. Very beautiful, very American. How long have you been babysitting them?

Me:......... I'm their sister........

Her: Oh........ *quickly takes her son away. Who was still playingwith my sisters.*

Not the only experience. Another time at Chucky Cheese. I was helping my sisters wash their hands in the restroom. A lady walks in, stops, and looks at us for a good few seconds. She then walks back out. I didn't think anything of it. I just thought the restroom was crowded with my sisters and I in there. Once my sisters were done, I walked out with them. I then see the lady recording us as I'm walking out with my sisters. How do I know she was recording? No normal person will have their phone's camera perfectly angled to record the inside of a restroom. And then turn the camera to follow a person's movement. I was more than confused when I saw that. And then I remembered. Duh, I look very different than my sisters and I was speaking Spanish to them while they responded in English. If you think a kid is in danger, then yes, record. But all I was doing was speaking Spanish, which they obviously understood, and helping them wash their hands. They were laughing and having a good time. No sign of distress. I told my mom this a few days later and she said the next time people treat me that way, to tell her. She'll be sure to give anyone an ear full if they treat me like that. I usually just shrug it off and focus on my sisters. This has happened many times. People refer to me as my sister's nanny and compliment my sisters for looking white.

My brother had his share as well. He looks after our sisters and he gets called slurs for it. Or his classmates will bully him for not looking like his sisters.

People usually shut up when either my stepdad or mom (who's white-skinned because of her dad.) Step in and claim us as their kids.

Again, we shrug it off and focus on our sisters. As long as they love us like their siblings, nothing else matters....... my brother can lose his temper though so he snaps sometimes.

Ps, my brother and I adore Latin representation. So we will carry Mexican Kitty and Perrito to our grave. ��

Because I'm seeing people confuse Puss for being Mexican.

Puss was born and raised in Spain, and his actor is Spanish. Hence making Puss Spanish, not Latino.

As for Kitty, considering her quinceañera line and her actress being Mexican, she is Mexican by canon.

And if we're gonna go the route of the characters being the same as their actors. Perrito is Mexican as well. And his actor is queer which explains why I kept getting queer vibes from him. 🤣

If you want to know why Antonio played a Mexican in the 1990s, it's because of colorism. Yes, some Mexicans think white skin is better and that dates back to the time Spaniards colonized Mexico.

[this-is-all-sorry]

2pm Poem

Circle White

I came across the question

Circle if you identify as white or African American or American Indian

or Latino or Hispanic

We all have, this time I stopped to think about it

I grew up white

My skin is white I look and speak white

But my grandma, my nana, looks Hispanic

Looks Mexican but she also talks white

I remember asking her what it was like for her

Growing up

She told me stories about her family how her

Dad would work so much how he had a firm hand

Her mom would stay at home and cook

How one time she opened the oven and

Saw a lamb’s head cooking

(terribly scary I was told)

My favorite stories are

When she talks about seeing her parents dance

around the kitchen before dinner

Where she learned to make tamales

Standing around the tina

Watching it slowly empty

Laughing and joking with

Family

But when I look at movies today

I see the celebrations

The quinceaneras

The dia des los muertos

The legends, the family

That they have and I wonder why my nana

Didn’t tell stories like that

Why she doesn't have them

My great-grandma, my grand-nanny, was half Hispanic

(Mexican) half Native American

(Apache Indian)

My great-grandpa (dead before I met him)

Was Mexican

They did all they could

To raise their children Caucasian

(white)

My grand nanny

Didn’t celebrate the day of the dead

She didn’t have an ofrenda

She didn’t throw her daughters

A quinceanera

She wasn’t Mexican enough

She didn’t want her children treated

Like Mexicans

My nana married white

White as can be

Red hair and freckles white

Her kids were whiter in turn

They had a large family

Six kids

They lived in a small town

Never treated like they were less

My mom married white

Utah white

So I came out white

So strikingly white

I grew up white

But no matter how white I am

Some heritage peaked out

Some things refused to be smudged away

Tamales made as a family

Made in mid-December

The hands that touched the masa

Not allowed to leave without risk

Of ruining the whole pot

Making dozens upon dozens

Of pork, chicken, cheese, sometimes sweet tamales

To freeze and have on Christmas or Easter

My heritage Is enough

I’m not saying it isn’t

I just look at what I could

Have had. At what I am missing

Because my great-grandparents were

Boiled down to a color

A color they didn’t want to force

On their kids

So I look at the question

Circle if you identify as white or African American or American Indian

Or Latino or Hispanic

And I want to circle Latino, circle Hispanic

But my skin, name, speech is white

I am treated white

So even though I wish it was different

I circle white

[flowapuddle]

Just a bit of info on you and Aaliyah and the family

Okay just little info page for anybody who is reading this and wondering what the fu** is happening 🧍🏾‍♀️

-

BASIC INFO:

:Full Name: (Y/n) (M/n) Immah

:Meaning of name: Immah meaning a Girl Who always Loves To Make People Smile. She is a person who tries to help people out & she hates seeing people suffer for nothing. She always Smile Even when she get in trouble . she is loyal , sometimes she can be immature , nice , amazing & all those good stuff. She has a high Future ahead of her . - Urban Dictionary

:Nickname(s): sweetie/honey

:Gender: female

:Age: 16

:Date of Birth: August 25

:Place of Birth: In (C/n)

:Native language: English (sorry if it isn't)

:Languages spoken: Japanese & English

:Ethnicity: Whatever ethnicity you are

:Occupation: Athlete

:Education: Highschool 1st year

MEDICAL INFO:

:Allergies: dust

APPEARANCE:

:Height: 167.64 (5ft, 6)

:Hair color: black-brownish with a white streak

:Hairstyle: usually down or half up and half down

:Eye color: (e/c)

:Piercings: ears

:Tattoos: none

:Scars: only on her arm but it's a tiny cat scratch

Beauty Mark: (Y/n) has a beauty Mark under her left eye like her mom

:Clothing/Style:

(If you don't wear anything like this then f**k 🧍🏾‍♀️ I am sorry for the sake of this book you wear this )

:Jewelry/Accesoaries:

Chocker/Necklace/Earrings

(Remember guys the same of the book 🧍🏾‍♀️)

:Scent: vanilla/cherry

:Others: uhhhh yes .

PERSONALITY:

:Overall: happy and joyful

:Likes: playing volleyball/collecting jewelry/ and whatever you like doing also/sleeping

:Dislikes: grunge things but will tolerate, not being organized, teachers who give out too much homework 🧍🏾‍♀️

:Fears: I already mentioned spiders ?

:Secrets: that's in 3rd grade she accidentally fell off the playground because she was trying to impress her crush 🤧

:Hobbies: playing sports, collecting things, simping, modeling

:Dreams: of being the #1 ranked volleyball player when going professional

:Flaws: overthinks

:Fun facts/Habits: (Y/n) is very expressive so you can tell what she thinking by the look on her face

:Others:

Quote(s):

Aaliyah: Just ramble (y/n) like you always do.

(Y/n): I don't ramble on. I know I am a great speaker and all but I don't ramble. People who ramble just keep talking and talking on and on without stopping. I can stop talking because I don't ramble. For insist you remember that one time I talked your ear off about literally what would happen if a kite caught electricity. Now that was rambling

Aaliyah: *faceplams* Ugh, thats 50 seconds of my life I will never get back

Favorite season(s): Summer

Favorite food(s): (f/f)

Favorite color(s): (f/c)

Favorite holiday: April 1st (in attempt to get Aaliyah, but fails)

Favorite animal(s): (f/animal)

—

BASIC INFO: THIS IS YOUR OLDER SISTER

:Full Name: Aaliyah Harper Immah

:Meaning of name: She's beautiful. She doesn't realize how beautiful she is. She may have a lot of enemies- Urban Dictionary

:Nickname(s): gumdrop/love

:Gender: Women

:Age: 17

:Date of Birth: April 16

:Place of Birth: Hospital back in (C/n)

:Native language: English

:Languages spoken: Japanese & English

:Ethnicity: Black/Mexican

:Occupation: Athlete

:Education: highschool 3rd year

MEDICAL INFO:

:Allergies: dust, pollen

APPEARANCE:

:Height: 182.88 cm (6'0 ft) tall ass mf 😐

:Hair color: black that fades into brown that fades into dirty blonde color (her original hair color was brown but she bleached her hair)

:Hairstyle: Long curly hair that reaches the back of mid back, but it's usually half up with space buns

:Eye color: bright blue

:Piercings: bellybutton, tongue & ears

:Tattoos: none

:Scars: on her leg from a fight she got in with (y/n)

:Clothing/Style:

:Jewelry/Accesoaries:

Belly/Tongue Piercing

: Earrings

Chocker/Rings that are worn on thumb and middle and first/Necklace

:Scent: Roses & Sugar Plums

PERSONALITY:

:Overall:(fuck 🧍🏾‍♀️) dense lowkey like Ushijima but have a sense of humor more on not very emotional (on rare occasions yes very emotional) nor expressive

:Likes: music, writing, modeling, playing basketball, cooking/baking, clothes & jewelry

:Dislikes: cockroaches & loud people 👀

:Fears: not succeeding

:Secrets: won't admit that y/n is generally a funny person & won't tell anybody she likes taking photos of the clouds and ladybugs 🤫

:Hobbies: taking photos, traveling, sweets

:Dreams: of being #1 best girls/women basketball player

:Flaws: dense, emotionless, says what's on mind

:Fun facts/Habits: Tends to scrunch or wiggle her noise like a rabbit lowkey when something interests her

Quote: "She never spoke, never made a sound, but the look in her eyes told me exactly what was about to happen"

Favorite season(s): winter & mid-fall

Favorite food(s): ramen, pho or anything sweet

Favorite color(s): royal blue, bright purple and electric yellow

Favorite holiday(s): Christmas, she likes giving gifts to (y/n) knowing she will enjoy them makes her generally happy

Favorite animal(s): polar bear, cats & owls

-Credit to CookiiesPWN on DeviantArt for template

Extra:

Your dad: Elijah Jager Imaah

Age: 40

Race: African-American

Profession: (was a professional basketball player retired after having his first daughter is now a trainer)

Height: 6'6

Languages Spoken: English/ Japanese/ A bit of Spanish since his wife sometimes talks to him in Spanish

Your mom: Homura Yua Imaah

Age: 40

Race: Japanese/Mexican( more mexican than japanese)

Profession:(Was a professional women volleyball, retired to give birth to her first daughter and shortly after started a sports company with her best friend in Japan)

Height: 5'9

Language Spoken: English/Japanese/Spanish

Aaliyah

-Artist Credit to @/AlohaSushicore on Twitter found her artwork on Picrew me and did my OC's in her style and I absolutely love it

Part 2 is here!!

Back to Storyboard!

[analogical-trash]

I'm sorry but what the actually Fuck.

I when to a rich all white school. And let me tell you a few things. In high school a few girls called this girl a terrorist due to the color of her skin. I didn't know her to well but some of my friends did. And she was always nice to everyone. I found her crying in the locker room. Her younger sister was in my mom's classroom and I did talk with her sister sometimes. Cause my moms class had recess when I get off of school and I would talk to the younger sister cause no one wanted to be her friend cause her name was weird and she didn't sound like them. She was so sweet and in need of actually friends

My friend from middle school and high school was full Hispanic (where im only half. And most people know my white mom) was told to go back to Mexico and was asked if he did dugs. When he didn't and the whole school knew this white boy did he even told teachers he did but no one give a crap.

Ive heard people call me there Mexican friend. Like thats all I was.

But I'm so sorry that you white people are getting called racist. That must be so hard.

Also can I bring up the whole college thing. The whole point of the "quotas" is to start evening out the playing field. If you look at percentage more of the minorities are in lower incomes familes. So we trying to make it more even. Sometimes is it taking advantage of yes. My mom friend (who is a selfish piece of shit in my opinion for many reasons) took a scholarship for Native Americans when she was only like 1/32 native American and white as can be.

Also privilege builds off each other amd this is something people don't understand. Kids at my school got really good grades and if they didn't there parents could pay for a tutor. And get one on one help. Kids in poorer schools like the kids in my neighborhood. Had to stay home and watch there younger siblings while there parents worked just to get food on the table. So some people have better GPA but it doesn't mean they are smarter. (No I did not live in the same neighborhood as all my classmates I live in a lower class neighborhood my single parent on a teacher pay couldn't buy the houses that my classmates with two doctor parents could). A lot of white families have had generation to build that wealth that minorities and immigrants couldn't.

Also might I add that yes I think the victim mentality is a real thing. I'm half Mexican and I can't speak for all of us of course. But my dad side of the family has always had the mentality work extra hard so your kids don't have to. (My dad has said life not far but you got to work hard anyways so you can be better off) My great grandparents work in the fields so my grandparents can go to school. And can get a high school diploma. And both my grandpa and grandma where so happy to have one. My great grandparents don't speak English. My grandparents speak both English and Spanish. But they where taught English is better. And got in trouble at school for speaking Spanish so they made sure my dad only knew english. My grandpa work 3 jobs while my dad live with them. When I was born he only worked one but that cause he worked his way up enough to only need one. My dad was the first in the family (including cousins (my grandma has 12 sisters and my grandpa has 5 siblings)) to go to college. He took 6 (or 7 can't remember) years cause he started at Community College taking a few classes.

We have to work hard for what we have life doesn't give everyone the same cards. Some people have it better. Some people have it worse. But I can say the color of your skin does play a matter. I can only say what I have experienced. And I'll love to heard other people's as well.

[lessthanthreeman]

Personal Post

I just wanted to write this because it’s been on my mind and I find it frustrating how few resources there seem to be about it. With Cinco de Mayo coming up, and Latino media being all around, I’m reminded that I’m technically of mixed descent, which to be clear, I’m pretty proud of. I was raised by my mother and her side of the family who are white through and through so for a majority of my life that’s what I identified as and where a lot of my mannerisms and cultural understanding comes from. I imagine it was probably for the best, particularly growing up on Long Island, especially considering I am VERY white passing.

I never met my father (who was Puerto Rican [though later DNA tests on myself reveal that genetically speaking he was predominantly Spanish, so white Hispanic)] and have no desire to. Literally, the extent of my knowledge about him is that he was ethnically Puerto Rican to some capacity. I genuinely believed that women just got immaculately pregnant on their own until I was 7 as I just assumed I didn’t have a father (it’s somewhat embarrassing to admit, even if I was young and how was I supposed to know? I didn’t understand what was so special about the story of Mary for a long time to put it mildly.).

I remember the night I found out so vividly. I was at a sports practice and the kids were talking about their dads. I proclaimed that I didn’t have one. One of the older kids informed me that that was impossible. I was honestly offended and went to our coach, who I assume didn’t know how to respond or why I would even ask (I don’t blame him), so he told me that I definitely have a father. Again, outraged, when I got back home I asked my mother about it who told me that I did have a father.I asked “Well if I have a father, that means I must be half something else” as she had grown up telling me her half and that the other half was “American” because I was born in America (lmao). She told me that I was Puerto Rican, which I didn’t have a problem with. I didn’t even know where that was (and I guess by some technicalities, she wasn’t wrong in saying I was “American”, just “American Territory”) so that was of little impact to me. I was furious that whoever my father was chose to have no part in my life and I felt nothing but bitterness, so when she asked if I wanted to know more about him, I said no. I still like to keep it that way if I’m being honest. I am still bitter and if the little snippets I’ve heard in hushed tones from my other family is any indication, I don’t want to know more about him even if I wasn’t.

So, I continued to consider myself exclusively white because that’s what other people considered me, that’s how I was raised, that’s what I look like and likely subconsciously because I was bitter and it did benefit me on some level. As it turns out though, my mother has a thing for Hispanic guys (a little weird I guess, maybe a bit fetishistic [I don’t know the extent and I don’t want to know so I can’t say for certain], but good for her I suppose) and she soon after got involved with another guy, my now pseudo-step father in all but legality really. He’s of Mexican and Puerto Rican descent, his father lived in Mexico (and has since gone back of his own volition), his mother (IIRC) lived in Puerto Rico, etc. He’s not deeply associated with his roots, he’s definitely “assimilated” having grown up in New York and California. He speaks broken Spanish, perfect English, and really is an American through and through, save for some more traditional cultural vestiges (which isn’t bad to be clear). He loves chihuahuas, sombreros, maracas, Mexican cuisine, Speedy Gonzalez etc. It’s somewhat superficial and a bit stereotypical, but I understand why he feels a connection to it as a very American man. It’s an easy way for him to very clearly connect to his roots, even if they’re not pieces of great cultural significance. Whether or not it’s problematic, I’m glad it gives him some of the connection he wants to his culture and it makes him proud.

Growing up around him and his kids, I felt a bit like an outsider, and I’ll probably admit, initially I was arrogant. I grew up being an only child (which definitely was a big shift to begin with) and couple that with the fact that I was still at that time an academic golden child in traditionally very (BIG quotes here) “polite” (Read: white) environments, I didn’t really jive with my brothers for a long time. As things went on though, I had my golden kid breaking point, crashed out a bit, eventually my mom moved in with him bringing me in tow, and I mellowed out a bit as I got over some teenage angst. During that time, I never fully connected with the heritage because it wasn’t mine, I’m not Mexican, but I understood and appreciated it. I can earnestly say, it is one of the cultures that I am the most fascinated and captivated by. I can go on and on and wax poetic about the historical achievements of Native peoples of Central America, their food, their ability to weather adversity, and their faith that things will get better. The culture is so much deeper than the “illegal immigrants” and cartel ties that we’re constantly shown in media, and I’m glad that to an extent things are slowly shifting to show the humanity of the people. But anyway, tangents aside, I’m still very culturally white and white passing, albeit with a better understanding of Latino cultures.

As more and more time goes on though, I am starting to feel like I’m a bit disconnected from a part of my culture and heritage, but I feel uncomfortable claiming it. Not because I don’t want people to know that I’m Hispanic, I have no issue with that, in fact I love whipping out that I’m sleeper Hispanic with a Hispanic family when people think they’re safe to be a little racist with me before I call them out on it. The reason is just because I don’t feel Hispanic enough and I’m too white, and it’s something I’ve struggled with for a while, but it becomes more and more obvious to me as time goes on. I understand that this is a really common issue for people of mixed races, particularly for those with mixed heritage upbringings. They feel adrift between two worlds and people are always looking for a way to categorize them into their preexisting schemas of how we view race in America. Some of what these people say when I’m looking for it resonates with me, but a lot of it also doesn’t. It’s not because my life is harder or I’m special or anything, but it is a very particularly niche scenario. I grew up almost exclusively white, it’s difficult for me to convince a lot of people that I’m more than white, I grew up with white privilege, and I never really had a Hispanic/Latino experience.

I want to be clear, this isn’t me crying about being white, particularly also being male, cis, and generally het. It’s been a privilege for sure that’s opened up a lot of doors that wouldn’t have otherwise been open to me, I’m sure, and I wish I could extend those same rights, opportunities, and safeties to everybody. That said, I feel like a complete outsider to those roots and feel dirty claiming them. Like I’m taking it away, diluting, or appropriating those cultural celebrations from the people who really deserve them. My experiences with the people and the culture is that they’re ecstatic to share it and have people take an interest in it. It’s generally very inclusive, friendly, and they love to treat you (or at least me as a very small boyish looking man) like family. It’s genuinely awesome. I can’t not think of myself as the generic white dude who works a boring office job and says every Spanish word with the whitest accent possible (to be clear I do work an office job, but I do a pretty solid job of pronunciation with EXCELLENT R rolls, trills, etc.) invading a space not made for me.

It’s a really complex topic, one that’s hard to fully articulate, which is what I’ve seen is a consistent thread in writings from mixed race individuals talking about their experiences. I’m friends with a surprisingly large amount of white passing Puerto Rican mixed race people and you’d think I’d talk about it more with them, but no. I probably should, but it’s a personal and somewhat intimate topic to just suddenly spring on people. For now though, I suppose I’m content to observe and appreciate Latin-X culture and people “from a distance” and amplify their voices as much as I can as a white passer.

[drilovskyclan]

My KND OC's (Part 1):

Natalie Drilovsky - Patton's younger sister of 3 years, friends with Sector W, beats the shit out of Harvey and Paddy on the daily, besties with Sonia, prankster with THOMAS (we don't call him Tommy in Natalie's house), Lee's ride or die, artist, tattoo artist when she grows up, pansexual, like an 8th Chinese otherwise white, the life of the party and will fuck your gf/bf/nbf, Natalie says Trans Rights Are Human Rights.

Seth Ajaya - Sonia's younger cousin by 1 year, Shaunie's best friend, also in love with him, they fuck around cuz poor redheaded child is confused, liked Mushi since they were like 5, Sandy is a homophobic shitstain, bisexual but literally only because Mushi Sanban exists, half Native American, people think he's half black or Hispanic though, "You don't speak English right?" "Tina I'm Native American..." super monotone, unless a cute boy walks past, photographer, Mushi is his favorite model, Maria's voice of reason.

Andilea "Andi" Jenkins - Muffy Jenkins' half sister, she's half Korean so people don't believe them, straight even if you disagree, hairdresser, her mother was so controlling she looked like the Grudge girl most of her childhood, shaved her head freshman year, Cree and Stacy bullied her all the time and Chad Dickyboy just stood around and watched, Maurice is her only friend in school and calls her Andi J which is where the nickname Andi originated, she hates her name, was supposed to be on Broadway but hair is cool, hates her stepmom and dad, loves her baby sister to death though, doesn't even really like her mother tbh, Chad didn't even remember her from school till Maurice pointed it out, hates living above a funeral home Chad Dickson, also hates the name Andi Dickson but Chad is cute so she'll deal with it, didn't miss the irony of a Chad dating a Stacy.

Maria Garcia-Asello - The older twin, Mexican/Phillipino/Black, is getting tired of America, practically runs off with Shaunie to South America just so she can stop telling people she was born in NEW Mexico not Mexico, is technically the straight twin, really only dates Shaunie cuz she's got a fetish for Fulbright's being hotter than anyone gave them permission to be, needs Seth's guidance to get through life unscathed, more in touch with her Hispanic side, "conservation but i'm scared of chimps".

Mya Garcia-Asello - The younger twin, really wants a poly relationship but is a coward, technically straight but it depends on the day, "Mya talks, just not around Gilligans", Shaunie's platonic wife, Seth and Mya are the Rachel and Patton to Shaunie's Fanny, is plotting a way to kill Tina without being arrested, Tommy Gilligan knows how to kick ass and take names and Mya is #impressed, "We have a lot of kids, maybe we should have just ONE more", definitely more in touch with her African American and Phillipino heritage, ghosts don't exists so I prefer True Crime, "I bite racists", gets piercings to spite her mom.

I'll do part 2 later lol

[mikenewtonhateblog]

My oc’s aka too long of a gd post

The “BL” Crew (does not stand for boys love I’m just a moron who made that abbreviation before knowing what it stands for). My main crew and main series, a lot is a big WIP right now as I’m slowly redoing the first book and all the lore. Why? I love torture. Book is fantasy type but I won’t specify what.

Lacie, the protagonist. God tier idiot, bisexual bipolar depressed MESS, insomniac, former theater kid, doesn’t know what she wants out of life but currently it is not This(plot of book). Hot headed, impulsive, crude, rude, Mommy IssuesTM, would rather be taking a nap right now, rules are made to be broken, absolutely fucking FERAL, more bags under her eyes than the airport lost and found. 5’5, 130lbs, Aries, age 18, white as shit like literally the whitest human you have ever seen, strawberry blonde hair in a 2011 Hayley Willaims haircut with long bangs, the darkest brown eyes you’ve ever seen that stare directly into your soul. Lanky, no curves, body of a 12 year old boy but works out so she can and will kick your ass and thats a threat. Not human?

Josh. Soft boy, smart, Lacie’s cousin and only friend for like the first 18 years of her life, autistic anxious mess who’s special interest is anchient egyptian history, is in honors classes, despises math, passes out when his girlfriend looks too cute, just needs a hug. Can eat a whole carton of easy mac if left alone, whole wardobe is the same outfit just different colors/hoodies, sensory issues, seriously can someone give this guy a hug. 5’9, 150lbs, Pisces, age 18, mixed (half whatever flavor of white Lacie’s family is [they don’t even know its just some scandanavian shit and irish], and half mexican on his mom’s side), medium olive skin with freckles and moles, dark chocolate brown hair that’s a bit of a 2009 Beiber cut, warm brown eyes, not beefy, a lil thicc and self concious about it but squishy boys are GOOD. Gets bit by a werewolf so now he is one his mood on it is “thats a lot to unpack but let’s just throw the whole suitcase away”.

Zander. There is not one braincell in this man, himbo KING, pansexual dumbass with undiagnosed ADHD, no impulse control, head empty and full at the same time, PTSD, his fashion sense should be an actual crime, gets in fights to feel something, basic requirements for him to be attracted to you: kick his ass. Drinks his respect women juice, sees a folding table and must immediately launch himself on it, chaotic, cannot drive a car and will not, food aggression and eats enough for 3 people but never gains weight which is ILLEGAL, him and Lacie may be a couple.....but in this house we stan slow burn, he talks in caps and every sentence either ends with a question mark or exclaimation point, likes romcoms. 6’2, 190lbs, Sagittarius, age 19, austrailian roots and has the accent but is from [REDACTED FOR STORY REASONS], white, dorito shaped with long legs, blueish black hair that’s long and messy, dark navy eyes that match his hair, bigass neck scar from [REDACTED]. Not human

Peter. Gay dad friend who is TIRED of having to be in charge of a bunch of teenagers, only one with full functioning braincells, lowkey a genius who loves engineering, mixes magical technology with human technology because he likes to play god, is he ever sober? No one knows, will kill for a bottle of single malt, his fashion sense? Tastefully expensive suits perfectly tailored. Likes building his own weapons that no one else knows how to even use, generally non-threatening but can get scary if needed. 6’4, 140lbs string bean man, Scorpio, age 179 but looks early 30s, I know I said Lacie is the whitest human but he’s even paler like a literal sheet of paper with scandanavian roots/ancestors were vikings or some shit, blonde hair styled like 2013 Brendon Urie lmfao, light crystal blue eyes. He’s a vampire and was born one.

Danielle. Tiny, sweet, queen of girls supporting girls, comments on all her friends instagram posts with 20 emojis, LOVES fashion and has a wardrobe that would make anyone jealous, oozes feminine energy, only child and parents are in love still, gets exactly 8 hours of sleep each night and wakes up looking like a disney princess. Just because she is small and cute doesn’t mean you should underestimate her she WILL fuck your shit up. Quiet when angey which is terrifying. Josh is her bf and she loves him so much but also loves teashing the shit out of him. Legally cannot cuss, polite, used her high heels as a weapon once, speaks like 5 languages because studying them is her hobby, gardens, hugs everyone. 5’0, 110, Taurus, age 18, mixed (half french-american, half Korean-american), glowy skin always, PETITE frame aka the friend everyone can pick up when they hug, long past her waist curly brown hair, bright green eyes. She’s not fully human as she has fae blood in her and this gives her the ability to talk to and control plants. Flower crowns for everyone

Becca. Theater kid who would die to sing in Wicked and has the vocal range to do so, cannot wait to graduate and go to her dream college which she got into and a scholarship, closeted lesbian bc her whole giant family is extremely catholic and she feels like not dealing with it, “no boys allowed in bedroom” rule is her favorite joke, chill, middle child of 5 siblings and just wants some peace and quiet for ONCE. Her fashion sense is “I’m dropping subtle hints I’m gay but only to other gays”, has a black belt and took self defense classes. 5’6, 145lbs, Virgo, age 18, Latina (cuban and mexican mix), darker brown skin with light freckles over her nose, athletic build, eyebrows on POINT, bright caramel eyes, short light brown hair cut in a bob, has a tiny nose stud, always wears a blue friendship bracelet her gf made her. Human

Anika. Calling her a bitch/slut is a compliment, bisexual, a bit of a mean girl but she grows out of it give her time!!! Is always Too Much, the horny friend, favorite color is red so thats almost all of her outfits, loves to show off her body as much as she can because she’s hot and knows it and thrives in her own confidence. Her mom is literally like Regina George’s mom from Mean Girls but married a rich man 20 years older than her, Anika doesn’t know her bio dad but thats fine neither does her mom and her step dad is nice and does his best to be a dad. Becca’s gf, always hanging out at her home so Becca can get some quiet because Anika’s an only child and has a pool. 5’9, 135lbs, Gemini, age 18, white, long layered dark reddish brown hair, teal-blue eyes, swimmers body type (I normally do not mention bust size but she would want the internet to know she was blessed with big bahoogles so there you go), can sprint in heels. Half mermaid (boy was that a surprise considering her mom doesn’t know who her father is LOL)

Rex. Nb uses they/them he/him pronouns but honestly will respond to any, goth lite, only attracted to men and ace, can read minds so knows all your secrets, mischevious little shit, great friends with Zander and enjoys his dumbass thoughts and that he’s basically a human version of Jackass, wears too many rings, goth boots for kicking and fashion babey, always has the freshest memes and will not hesitate to roast in the group chat, hangs with the girls most of the time. Chaos god who loves making art, be gay do crime, skateboard and spraypaint. 5’8”, 165lbs, Leo, age 18, Native American, masculine frame, dark brown skin, blue eyes, firetruck red shoulder length hair that’s usually in a ponytail, knock-off gucci sunglasses just for judging their friends. Has magic in their blood so not entirely human and can cast spells and shit (don’t roast me its a wip and I’m doing my research)

Sam. Boho goddess, aromantic, makeup and nails are always instagram worthy, quiet and stoic type but losens up around close friends, Rex is her best friend, has some trauma and doesn’t want to talk about it, emotionally numbed out a bit and wants to purely vibe. Has seen some of the worst parts of humanity and wishes she hadn’t, finds no point in being bitter or resentful though because that won’t change anything, loves cats and once she moves out shes adopting one or three. Has wine aunt energy. 5’4, 200lbs PLUS SIZE QUEEN, Scorpio, age 18, Filipino (her parents are immigrants fun fact!), really olive skin sometimes has a grey/green tinge to it, dark brown almost black shoulder length hair, gold-hazel eyes. Sam’s the victim of a family curse that requires her to consume human hearts to survive, she can transform into a pretty scary looking being and uses this curse to hunt down pedoph*les, r*pists, murderers, and abusers. The less often she feeds the less human she looks, hence the constant grey/green tinge to her skin. 

Andy. Baby of the group, must be protected at all costs, 100% didn’t sign up to be in a friendgroup of 90% monsters but highkey loves it, trans, bi, anxiety MAXED, just wants to draw comics and cosplay spiderman, has to babysit his two younger sisters a lot because his parents are....not great, and as a result now knows all the lines to Tangled and The Little Mermaid. Big nerd energy, has to draw on everything including homework, gets inspiration for comics from his friends, awkward and socially anxious, drinks way too much tea and will accidentally steal your pens. Fears include: crowds, thunder, tall angry men, tiny spaces. Just trying his best. 5’2, 100lbs BEANPOLE BOY, Leo, age 16, white (irish and scottish roots), freckles absolutely EVERYWHERE, orangey red hair thats in desperate need of a haircut, chocolate brown eyes, braces, chronic nail biter. Human and kinda wishes he wasn’t.

That’s it for now if you read all this bless u thank u here is my whole heart. Please no discourse, literally these are fictional people I’ll never publish the books they go to.

[charminglatina]

If you’re interested in watching a true story about a forbidden interracial love story, please watch this video. It’s a beautiful love story between an African-American nurse and a German POW from WWII.

This story hits a little close to home for me because of my parents and what they went through being an interracial couple growing up and being together during a time of racism and prejudice in America. My Dad and Mom were an interracial, intercultural and interclass couple. My Dad is a non-Hispanic White-American, born on Nov. 08, 1959 in Queens, New York City and he came from an upper middle class family. My Mom is an Hispanic Multiracial WOC, born on Jun. 25, 1960 in Detroit, Michigan and she came from a working class family. Physically, my parents couldn’t be more different, but that’s because racially and ethnically, they are total opposites. My Mom is half Cuban-American through her mother. My maternal grandmother is Afro-Cuban or Afro-Latina but racially, she is biracial/Mulatto-Cuban. My maternal grandmother is Cuban-American born to Cuban immigrant parents. My maternal great-grandmother (my maternal grandmother’s mother) was White Cuban of Lebanese, Iranian and Spanish descent and my maternal great-grandfather (my maternal grandmother’s father) was mostly Afro-Cuban (with Afro-Jamaican, Afro-Haitian, Indo-Jamaican, and Chinese-Cuban mixture). My maternal grandmother’s father (my great grandfather) was very dark-skinned and a very proud Black Cuban man. My grandmother told me that she has dark brown complexion, despite her mother being White Cuban, because her father was a very dark skinned Black Cuban. My Mom is half Mexican-American through her father. My maternal great-grandmother (my maternal grandfather’s mother) was Mexican-American of mixed Indigenous-Mexican, Afro-Mexican and African-American descent. My maternal great-grandfather (my maternal grandfather’s father) was Mexican-American of Indigenous-Mexican and Spanish descent. He was also distant Pardo-Brazilian heritage (Brazilian who is mixed with White, Black and Indigenous-Brazilian). Both of my maternal grandparents are darker-skinned and therefore, are visible POC. Both of my maternal grandparents faced tons of racism and racial discrimination from White people growing up and were frequently called racial and ethnic slurs. My Mom looks more Afro-Latina than anything because she takes more after her mother in physical appearance. She has very tightly curly, slightly frizzy black hair, brown eyes and medium brown complexion. My Dad, in contrast to my Mom, is very White. He is White-American of European mixture. My maternal grandmother is of French, Italian, Dutch, Scottish and Norwegian descent. My paternal grandfather was primarily Irish-American along with German, English, and Croatian heritage. In addition, my paternal grandfather was distantly Native American, being 1/8 Cherokee Native from his father’s side–this makes my Dad 1/16 Cherokee Native. Physically, my Dad has blond hair, very light blue-green eyes, and very pale complexion. My father is the embodiment of White in every way imaginable. My father and his family relocated to Detroit a few years after he was born. My parents met when they were only 4 and 5 years old, when they were just little kids. They had an instant bond and connection with each other from the moment they met. They became instant best friends and they were inseparable throughout childhood (both my Mom and Dad say that it was the Scorpio-Cancer compatibility and magic that made them instantly drawn to each other LOL). Both of my parents described it as “love at first sight” when they met each other. Unfortunately, my father’s parents (my paternal grandparents) were strongly racist and extremely bigoted against all POC. My grandfather was a racist and my great-grandfather was also a racist, so my Dad’s side of the family has a lineage or bloodline of racists. My father’s family didn’t associate with POC and they didn’t approve of my father associating with my Mom or POC in general. My parents have been in love with each other since they were kids, but they didn’t start officially dating until their early teen years. Things got really messy for them because my Mom’s parents didn’t approve of her relationship with my Dad because he wasn’t Hispanic and my Dad’s parents didn’t approve of his relationship with my Mom because she was both Hispanic and a WOC. They were met with opposition from both sides of their families and they struggled to be together. Even kids at school, mainly White people and even some POC, disapproved of my Mom and Dad being together because they were an interracial couple. After all, my parents grew up during a time (the 60′s and 70′s) where racism was strongly prevalent and interracial relationships were often frowned upon and seen as taboo within society. It was also a time when there was alot of racial injustices towards POC and when the Civil Rights movement was active and POC, primarily Blacks, were protesting and fighting for their rights as humans. My Mom was the target of much racism and racial discrimination from the time she was very little. White kids would bully her, pick on her and harass her at school because she was brown and a POC. My Dad, a White kid, was constantly defending my Mom from racist attacks from White kids who were bullying her because of her race. He had been doing this from the time they were little all the way into their teen and even adult years. My Dad disowned his racist family and his parents because he couldn’t stand how racist, bigoted and prejudice they were and that they couldn’t accept my Dad’s relationship with my Mom. For my Dad, it was either his love and relationship with my Mom or his family. My Dad chose my Mom without hesitation. As an act of rebellion, my parents got married when my Dad was only 17 and my Mom was only 16. They didn't care what their parents thought of their relationship because all that mattered was that they loved each other. My Mom and Dad have both said that they are each other’s soulmate and great love and that they will never love another person the way they loved each other, even though they are both currently married to someone else. The racism that my Mom had to go through and the disapproval towards my parent’s being an interracial relationship is why I’m so passionate about fighting against racism, bigotry, prejudice and White supremacy. True love knows no colour, race, religion, gender, or sexuality and I hope one day, people can accept each other no matter who we are. Love knows no bounds. 

#InterracialLoveIsBeautiful. ❤️

[fuji09]

Here is something that I want to share with everyone.

You CAN change. I was raised in a Southern Baptist church. My family is very religious. My family is also very conservative. My family has that thinking that black people think everyone owes them something, that slavery is over and they weren't slaves so they don't have any reason to act like racism still exists, that racism is no longer a thing, that Mexicans should never come to America "illegally", and yeah you get the point.

I used to think that way because it was all I knew. My dad is a Hispanic man thinking like a conservative white man. My mom is half Native American and thinking like a conservative white woman. It honestly does not make sense how in the world they can think this way.

And yes I know I pass as white, my grandma who was born and raised in Mexico and first language was Spanish, and didn't come to America until she was in college, she is lighter skinned, so is my grandpa, and so is my dad. My papa (may he rest in peace) who was Native American was very darked skinned but my grandma is very fair skinned and my mom got her complextion. So lighter skin Hispanic plus lighter skin half Native American equals me having lighter skin as well, although when I'm out in the sun I sure can tan and then I look more like a POC.

But you know what? Once I got out on my own, away from that bubble they kept me in, out of hate and narrow mindedness, I was able to think for myself. I was able to see how wrong they were. I was able to see and care about other people because I used to not care if it didn't effect me. But the thing is, a lot of it does effect me, I just didn't know it at the time.

Growing up I was called a Mexican, and not in the nice way, I was picked on. I was experiencing racism and I didn't even know it! Now its no where near as bad as what black people face so please don't think I am saying I know how they feel because I don't because I am not black, I am a POC, but today is about black lives.

I was raised to be a mindless drone, follow the Bible, what your parents said, and not ask questions and think for yourself. I was scared of making my parents mad, but that's a whole nother topic. I am no longer like that.

I care about the awful things that happens to other people. I see hate and racism. I don't think the way I used to because I know it was WRONG. If I can change, so can you. You CAN unlearn racist thinking and behavior. I sure did and I'm happy I did. I do feel ashamed for how I used to be, I do have moments where I feel guilty.

I am a white-passing non-black POC and I stand with black people in this time because their lives matter.

So my entire point is, you can unlearn racist upbringing. You can change. You can stand with those who need you now more than ever. You can bring change. You can stand in between a black person and a police officer. You can stand up against oppression.

[huckleberrycomics]

On this Thanksgiving, I’m going to give thanks for some of my favourite First Nations artists who continue to fight the good fight against colonialism

(that I have to research as part of my final exam anyway)

Lawrence Paul Yuxweluptun, Coast Salish and Okanogan, born 1957. Surrealist painter, history painter, and creator of the Manifesto of Ovoidism. Featured here are his paintings “Red Man Watching White Man Fix Hole In Sky” (1990), and “The Fish Farmers They Have Sea Lice”.*

Rebecca Belmore, Anishnaabe, born 1960. Performance artist, sculptor, and activist. Pictured here are her works “Ayum-ee-aawach Oomama-mowan: Speaking to Their Mother” (1991) (a sculpture in response to the Oka Crisis in Quebec) and “Vigil” (2002) (a response to the missing and murdered Indigenous women in the downtown east side of Vancouver, BC).

James Luna, Payómkawichum, Ipi, and Mexican-American (1920-2018). Photographer and performance artist. Featured above are his works “Take A Picture With A Real Indian” (2010) and “Half Indian/Half Mexican”. Here’s his memorial article.**

Norval Morrisseau, Anishnaabe, 1931-2007. Painter. Founder of the Woodland School of Canadian Painting and a member of the “Indian Group of Seven”. Pictured above are his famous “Thunderbird” print (1960) and “Indian Erotic Fantasy” (n.d.).

Bill Reid, Haida, (1920-1998). Hugely influential Canadian sculptor who had an enormous impact on the art world surrounding the work of First Nations artists. Pictured above is “The Spirit of Haida Gwaii” and “Raven and the First Men”.

Susain Point, Musqueam Coast Salish, (born 1952). Printmaker. Pictured above are “Beyond the Edge” (2015) and “Transformation” (2005).

Edgar Heap of Birds, Southern Cheyenne, (born 1954). Mixed media. Pictured above are two examples of his work from two of his series “Native Hosts” and “Genocide and Democracy: Secrets of Life and Death”. 

And now for some writers!

I highly encourage you to read some of these books if you can.

The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian by Sherman Alexie. You can find a free PDF here, or buy a copy here!

Bestselling author Sherman Alexie tells the story of Junior, a budding cartoonist growing up on the Spokane Indian Reservation. Determined to take his future into his own hands, Junior leaves his troubled school on the rez to attend an all-white farm town high school where the only other Indian is the school mascot.

Monkey Beach by Eden Robinson*. You can buy it here!

As she races along Canada’s Douglas Channel in her speedboat—heading toward the place where her younger brother Jimmy, presumed drowned, was last seen—twenty-year-old Lisamarie Hill recalls her younger days. A volatile and precocious Native girl growing up in Kitamaat, the Haisla Indian reservation located five hundred miles north of Vancouver, Lisa came of age standing with her feet firmly planted in two different worlds: the spiritual realm of the Haisla and the sobering “real” world with its dangerous temptations of violence, drugs, and despair. From her beloved grandmother, Ma-ma-oo, she learned of tradition and magic; from her adored, Elvis-loving uncle Mick, a Native rights activist on a perilous course, she learned to see clearly, to speak her mind, and never to bow down. But the tragedies that have scarred her life and ultimately led her to these frigid waters cannot destroy her indomitable spirit, even though the ghosts that speak to her in the night warn her that the worst may be yet to come.

Not up for something that old? How about Robinson’s new book, Son of a Trickster that came out this year?

Everyone knows a guy like Jared: the burnout kid in high school who sells weed cookies and has a scary mom who's often wasted and wielding some kind of weapon.

Jared can't count on his mom to stay sober and stick around to take care of him. He can't rely on his dad to pay the bills and support his new wife and step-daughter. Jared is only sixteen but feels like he is the one who must stabilize his family's life, even look out for his elderly neighbours. But he struggles to keep everything afloat...and sometimes he blacks out. And he puzzles over why his maternal grandmother has never liked him, why she says he's the son of a trickster, that he isn't human. Mind you, ravens speak to him--even when he's not stoned.

You think you know Jared, but you don't.

Something a bit more historical is Richard Wagamese’s Indian Horse.

Saul Indian Horse has hit bottom. His last binge almost killed him, and now he’s a reluctant resident in a treatment centre for alcoholics, surrounded by people he’s sure will never understand him. But Saul wants peace, and he grudgingly comes to see that he’ll find it only through telling his story. With him, readers embark on a journey back through the life he’s led as a northern Ojibway, with all its joys and sorrows.

Kiss of the Fur Queen by Thomson Highway is somewhat convoluted, but a thoroughly enjoyable read with a touch of queerness inside.

Born into a magical Cree world in snowy northern Manitoba, Champion and Ooneemeetoo Okimasis are all too soon torn from their family and thrust into the hostile world of a Catholic residential school. Their language is forbidden, their names are changed to Jeremiah and Gabriel, and both boys are abused by priests. As young men, estranged from their own people and alienated from the culture imposed upon them, the Okimasis brothers fight to survive. Wherever they go, the Fur Queen--a wily, shape-shifting trickster--watches over them with a protective eye. For Jeremiah and Gabriel are destined to be artists. Through music and dance they soar.

Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden is another excellent, tragically dark tale.

It is 1919, and Niska, the last Oji-Cree woman to live off the land, has received word that one of the two boys she saw off to the Great War has returned. Xavier Bird, her sole living relation, is gravely wounded and addicted to morphine. As Niska slowly paddles her canoe on the three-day journey to bring Xavier home, travelling through the stark but stunning landscape of Northern Ontario, their respective stories emerge—stories of Niska’s life among her kin and of Xavier’s horrifying experiences in the killing fields of Ypres and the Somme.

Not in a reading mood? How about some of my favourite films!

Indian Horse is now a movie.

Smoke Signals shaped my childhood.

Powwow Highway is amazing.

Reel Injun gets to the core of the history of Indigenous Cinema.

And Atanarjuat is arguably one of “the most indigenous films ever made”.

Happy Thanksgiving, lovelies! Support your local First Nations artists!

*I have met Lawrence and Eden. They are both very nice people. :)

**Huh, turns out my professor in the class I’m currently taking wrote this article.

(disclaimer: I am of settler descent, I am not Indigenous. I’ve grown up in Indigenous territories with lots of exposure to First Nations cultures, but I can’t claim that title for myself. I merely hope to uplift some First Nations artists and celebrate them, never to speak of behalf of Indigenous cultures <3)

[the-joshua-peck]

Qué Me Importa

If you are reading this, it is likely that you know me, and that in large part is because it is probably myself reading this at a later point, reflecting on what is my first attempt at writing. I think that it is important to know the context that I’m writing this in, I have been both inspired and frightened by author and The Atlantic writer Ta-Nahesi Coates. His is one of talent and a lot of luck, a luck that pulled him from the life of a starving artist to one of success and acclaim. Either way, his story and the way that he tells all stories has inspired me to begin writing myself. While it is not the first time I have ever written, it is the first time I have written with this purposeful self-awareness, and I have him to thank for it, whatever the outcome.

          The story I look to tell is one that I don’t believe is necessarily unique, however, I do believe it is relatively untold. Mine is the story of a boy with identity conflict. My parents come from Mexico and Massachusetts, and I come from nowhere in particular. I was born in the United States in a city called Downey in the state of California, but that is rarely the answer I give to the question “Where are you from?” If I have given that response it has never been the truth. While I may have been born there, I have no real memory of that place, no sentimental attachment to my first home there or really any other home after it. We moved often when I was young, and although I have now lived in San Antonio for nearly half of my life, it still is not home to me. But the question of where I’m from goes deeper than any place that I could be born, to where my heritage lies. I am Mexican-American in a way that feels very different from most other people. I come from an Anglo dad and a Mexican mom, yet the way I indicate on official forms is the same way that those who come from two Mexican-American parents respond. As a child I always struggled to fill those forms out correctly, at times identifying as more than one race even though I am only white, at other times identifying as “other,” and always indicating my Hispanic ethnicity, not knowing how to get across that I am somehow mixed and not mixed at the same time. It is a struggle that continues today and that I am sure will continue for a long time after now. My internal conflict is one that is reflected and reinforced in official forms of the state, furthering the divide between myself and I, a divide that can be easily seen in my own reflection.

          When I look in the mirror, I see the white boy that I most often feel like. I am not sure what others see when they look at my light complexion or hear the way that I speak without any semblance of an accent or recognize the Americanness of my last name, but I have only ever genuinely felt white, even though I now wish more than at any other time that I could see at least one Mexican eye looking back at me in the mirror. I am not ashamed of being white, but I am ashamed that I don’t feel more Mexican. When I curse at myself in my head for mispronouncing a word in Spanish, it isn’t because I’m upset that I misspoke, it is because I’m struck with guilt that Spanish feels foreign in my mouth when it should feel as natural as breathing. It is for that reason that even as I try to learn and become fluent in a language that comprises half of my heritage, I turn away from practicing with those around me who are native speakers because I fear that I will never be as good of a Spanish speaker as they are, and by extension as if I will never be as good of a Mexican as they are. I have always felt that, and not just because of a language barrier, but also because of my family.

The Mexican side of my family loves me very much and accepts me with open arms whenever I see them, but the same arms that bring me into their embrace push me away from my heritage with every offhanded comment about how I’m a “white boy.” Comments that are never made from bigotry or prejudice or malice but are purely made because that is their truth when they look into my eyes and hear the way that I fumble with a language that I cannot call my own, even as the youngest of their children fumble in the same way. But they can lack an ability to speak the language because they have grown up within a culture that called them Mexican. My early childhood has passed, and it is too late for me to mature in a culture that would call me Mexican if I had only been exposed to it. Because of that, I will never be Mexican to some people, at least not Mexican enough. When they’ve seen me dance, they comment on how the “Mexican side” of me comes out, as if that is the singular moment that I can claim my heritage and only then. It certainly doesn’t help that I am more sensitive and less dominant than the machismo men in my Mexican family, traits that I do not at all regret having but one that separates me from being a “real” Mexican man in their eyes.

There have been nights of tears created by this internalized belief that I am not enough. I am not Mexican enough because I do not know the language and because it is too late for me to grow up within its culture. I was never a member of a cousin’s quinceañera court and I do not have a home that connects me to my heritage. There are still some days when I do not feel like I should call myself Mexican-American. But it was a speech from a Latina blogger at a summit for women empowerment of all places that I heard what I never thought I would from a place other than my own thoughts. She had believed she wasn’t Mexican enough and she had been told by one of her Latina heroes that her Spanglish made her less than, and she had come out the other side. She realized, and I did in the same moment that she explained it, that there will always be someone who doesn’t think you’re “something” enough, but the only opinion that you should be concerned with is the one that is with you every sleeping and waking moment: your own. It’s an obvious enough conclusion, but to hear it come out of the mouth of someone whose story felt so much like my own, a story that I had never heard before, it resonated. Someone will always think I am not Mexican enough, but they can never refute my heritage and they will never take away my Mexican-American pride.

- Josh Peck

[djwaglmuffin]

It would be cool if you could talk about your bad experiences you’ve witnessed being the daughter of a police officer!

The reason I haven’t up to this point is because I don’t want to divert from the conversation as it pertains to the racist structure that PD’s usually adhere to (even if it’s generally unspoken or unknown in general)

My biggest gripe with fellow white people, especially these Blue Lives Matter people, is that they have elevated cops to sainthood and assume they can do no wrong. I was merely laughing at them derisively because…I know the truth.

When the cops shoot an unarmed black man in the street, I wasn’t as surprised as most everyone else and I said it then before most other people did: What? This has gone on for god knows how long…and it’s not just black people, either. While black, Native American and Mexicans get the worst of it, homeless people, women, and the mentally ill will also fall prey to cops and whatever extreme measures they deem they gotta do to their jobs and literally, all they have to say is: I was in danger and BOOM, they get away with it.

I remember when my mom and dad were getting a divorce, my dad beat the shit out of my mom but now imagine him being a cop and doing this. Where was my mom going to go when all my dad’s buddies were on his side and dismissing her. When his a bad day turned his attention to beating the shit out of me? Social services stopped coming to the house because he was threatening them.

Dad was not a substance abuser, didn’t do drugs, wasn’t addicted to anything but power and authority and TO THIS DAY (I just turned 34) I am deadly afraid of the man. Every time he looks at me, his eyes fill with a hatred that no child should see in their parents and for the longest time I REFUSED–REFUSED– to believe that men actually loved and cared for their daughters. When I saw a dude treat their daughter with love and caring, I dismissed it like it I was seeing a ghost and wouldn’t acknowledge it as fact.

My dad picked me up one day from one of his shifts and I was in the front seat of the swat car, he pulls over in front of city hall steps in Fort Worth where some homeless dude was sitting and threw him in the car for public intoxication. The dude started running his mouth, my dad drags him out of the back of the car, beat him half to death and left him. LEFT HIM.

He then promptly turns to me, who is about 4-5 years old at the time and says: You ever do anything like that, I’ll make sure every cop in Fort Worth, Texas does worse to you.

My dad was violent with us and violent with the people he shook down: a grade A bully; period. And it only “stopped” when he was off-duty one day, he went to the gym with my little sister, she was in the play area and this little boy was playing with her. According to witnesses, he accidentally tossed a ball at her a little rough and knocked her over or something. My dad saw it, barged in, beat the shit out of this kid.

This random fucking kid and I was 13 at the time and my parents were in the middle of this custody battle for my brother and I and I told this bitch lawyer: hey, look. If he’s willing to beat the shit out of a kid that’s not his, what do you think he’s doing to us?!

They dismissed me and my witness statement and rescinded my paperwork to live with my mom.

He was ultimately dishonorably discharged from the Air Force reserve and suspended from the FWPD. But there was no further investigation, no steps to remove my siblings and I from that environment and it didn’t stop. He still had connections with the FWPD and still, somehow, had Social services scared to come to the house. My dad confessed to me grandfather just before he died that the only reason he wanted ME (just me) was that my presence = money at income tax time.

My thing with all this is: If a black man tells you that he was shaken down illegally by the cops or someone says they were bullied by the cops, maybe believe them. Especially if they’re POC. 

[cries-and-sings]

88It is on fire, I’m on fire. I feel it in my extremeties. I feel my face flushed with, yo no se que, anxiety? Uncomfortable for sure. Panicky even. 

therapy day today. Unlike other days, it was more of a conversation. It was fine, though it felt a bit like i was paying someone to be my friend. lol. 

my fingers are so warm, my feet are burning too. the window is open. It’s almost comical, every past year, it’s been complaining that we don’t really get summers here. Well we skipped summer weather and went to a scorching hell. Trees burning, I’m burning up. A symptom of something that’s been a long time coming. But it’s here bitches, and no one gives a shit. 

There is no turning back now. A chunk of ice, the size of Florida, melted in teh Artic, in one day. flooding will be an issue, except for here, where everything will be burning up. 

I’ve always thought that my quality of life, as a woman of color, is better off in the present day. I think it was a gross over-simplification. For one, I wonder how much more majestic our surroundings would be. If nature is so beautiful now, I can’t imagine what it was like back then. Mi pueblito wouldn’t smell like burnt plastic. Water would be present, and there would be many birds full of chirp and color. The parakeets, I think it is my favorite childhood memory. That flock of flourescent lime green. Instead it is what it is. and the fish, I wouldn’t know that they existed, so i would never have seen them. Not that I’ve seen it for myself now, but i hear that someone’s dad’s dad said it used to be beautiful. to clarify, on a documentary a man talked about the drastic decrease in coral reef fish and biodiversity in the ocean in general. I think this was in some tropical island. I dono’t remember how young this man was, but it doesn’t matter because the result is the same and his perspective highlights how drastic the downward trend of oxygen depletion in general is. Well then let me throw another one at you, this same man, talks about how when he was a young boy, his father told him the same thing. How there were less fish than there used to be when he was a boy. And of course, wouldn’t you know it, the man’s father would tell him the same thing. 

I think I’m pretty mad, as an avid admirer of nature, that I will never be able to see it, not even in picture. Of course one could create a realistic image of what that would have looked like. But at the end of the day, it would just be all speculation, a guess. 

Global warming most likely began during the pre-industrial and industrial times, according to the internet. 

in my typical indecisive fashion, I can’t choose which period of time i would be better of in. 

Maybe I would’ve been happy in pre columbian times, though my existance wouldn’t even be possible. Why that infuriates me, I don’t know. I’m mized race, wether I like it or not. 

So I’ve digresed, the story of my family:

Dad- Short (5′4″ maybe 5′5 in his young days, his nose has a bit of a hook. He for the most part, took after his father. Beautiful thick black straight hair. Thick eyebrows, his teeth are virtually the same size. Small shovered teet. His eyes are wide, East Asian like almost. His parents, I imagine, were both short. 

His mother was born in Tixtla, Guerrero. A bigger town than where I and my father were born, which to me, is an isolated little town. I see now that that isn’e necessarily true, the isolated part. It is crazy to me that everyone knows everyone. I worry about incest lol. Eveolution fascinates me more that I realize, and the fact that the gene pool is small, you can see why one could worry. But again, me distraigo. I am proud of her lineage the most, because it would be the most native one. I was born in Native country and I am enamored with that culture. Not all of my antepasados are native to that area though. And they must’ve not have been good people. At least from the stories dad shares, they weren’t. The thing is, I don’t know arnything about my grandma, because I never interacted with her, i mean im sure i did if i was born in her home, but i remember all of my grandparents more than i remember her. Like i remember what she looked like, I just can’t remember even talking to her. And then there is the fact that I even existed, just at first though. I mean i can’t say for sure, but she was not happy about that my dad and mom got together. And she loved another little girl more. It’s fine though? Maybe, because I don’t remember being sad when she passed. I was afraid my father would be taken away from me, but not as sad about my grandma dying. I am still not super sad about it. I exaggerate it with dad, cause he loved his mom. But from what I heard, I was not her favorite. lol. I mean I’m sure she loved me some. and mom says she did apologize for the way that she treated her, so remorse or fear. quien sabe. y hasta le encargo a su hijo, her baby, that must’ve meant something.  

But her dad was a real prick. he left her mom, taking with him, a year’s harvests. What he did leave were a few hungry mouths. My dad hates the man. He would hate the fact that he would stop by my granparent’s place to get some mescal from my grandpa. Such a shameless man. I wonder what her mom’s name was, Lucina? I honestly don’t remember, I remember that I did know that when I was little. I wonder what her story was like. I have a picture of them though, so I know what they were like. Did dad know his great grandparents. Do most people know who their great grandparents were? about half of Americans know 1 or more of their granparents name. I wonder if that statistic is the same for Mexicans. 

On my grandpa’s side. His mother got around. Paternity quien sabe quien, dad knows, a Najera maybe? shit what are my granparent’s maternal last names? Well I know about her the most, becaus she lived with dads family. Story goes that her mom died when she was little, then her dad was a wealthy man, better to do at least. anyways he didn’t want to join the Mexican Revolution and ran and was able to hide for some time, but was eventually executed for it. I think dad told me the story of how that exactly unfolded, but I don’t remember it now. 

Anyways the girls were orphans, but she remembers her dad taking her to Chilpancingo, and she made it sound like she had been to Mexico City too. Which is huge, travel by horse would be insane. It’s crazy to believe that that was reality for most of humanity up until the last 150? years or so. thousands of years that was the norm, and now we fly,too. she sowed dresses, she saw a soldier shoot himself when he dropped his rifle from atop his horse and kill himself. Eran chismosos lo viejitos? who knows. Well then she was orphaned and she supported herself through sowing. She was white, her family was European, the last name, what was her last name? It just hit me that I do not know. but she did give my uncle a very italian name. but who was the man whose last name I carry. A missing puzzle piece.

Mom’s dad 

Mi hermoso viejito. The loving father I wish I had. The one that would curl his grandbabies up. Oh how I ache to be in his arms again. Mi viejito. His mother was either a prostitute or she got around. I wonder what her side of the story was. She was not a good looking woman. She looked like my grandpa with long hair. the features taht made her masculine, also made my hermoso such a handsome man. And that would be my poor chaparrita’s reason for pain many a time. His dad, who knows. I think his last name is his moms. My favorite tio uses that last name, why, who knows, in an attempt to rectify something that wasn’t supposed to be. MY uncle, the male version of my mom. it’s quite trippy to think about, groundbreaking realizations, truly lol. Oh and her mom, a living relic lol. An old woman with long hair, i don’t know her face as she was when i saw her last, or saw her in general. Did mom grow up with her there? was she always old?

I wonder what life was like, poverty after poverty. Were they even aware? More recently that makes sense, but what about back then.

It terrifies me that if it weren’t for leaving my birthtown, I would be stuck. Only seeing the outside world through a screen. And not having had flied to different places. A luxury that they do not have. 

[unabashedtheatretrash]

About a month ago, I went with my roommate to go see John Leguizamo’s Latin History for Morons. As I like going into shows as blind as possible, I knew essentially nothing about what would take place over the course of this 100-minute, one-act play. A month later, I still feel that it is one of the most important shows I’ve seen in the three and a half years I’ve been going to school in New York--and I’ll try my best to explain how, and why.

Latin History for Morons is a play highlighting and educating people on Latino erasure in the context of how damn important they are to history. There’s more to it than that, obviously, but that’s kind of the premise.

The “plot” of this show is that John Leguizamo’s son was being picked on at school for his ethnicity (half-Jewish, half-Latino, though the bullying focused mostly on the Latino half), and he didn’t know how to validate/prove that his culture and the people that came before him were worthy of being valued; in conjunction, he was also supposed to do a personal “hero” project for school, but was struggling with the assignment because he couldn’t find people like him to look up to. Both of these things spurred John Leguizamo to look high and low for the history and people and accomplishments that his kids weren’t being taught about in school, and in turn find this sought-after validation for himself as well.

John Leguizamo relayed this story to us in a pseudo-educational format (I.e. he was in a room full of books and research and used a chalk board, as if actually sitting us down to educate us), but it was full of hilarious, shocking, devastating, and too real moments. It was actually really enlightening and eye-opening, not in the sense that I didn’t know any of what he was teaching us (though there were some finer history points that I didn’t know, most likely because I’m not really a history person), but in the sense that I’ve always struggled with knowing and understanding and connecting to my cultural background, and though it’s different for every person because there’s just such a variety of Latin ethnicities and immersion, it was nice to see that I’m not the only one who has issues connecting or finding validation in it.

I found myself relating remarkably to the son, even though he’s never actually seen and only gets a voice through his father’s imitations. But other than being bullied for his Latino heritage (which I’ve also experienced, though albeit in a different way), he’s a half-Latino, half-Jewish kid who lives in America. And while the show makes no real reference to the degree in which this kid embraces his Jewish heritage, it focuses on his struggle with trying to figure out the value of his Latino heritage and how to fit that into his life in a positive way. It’s hard because he doesn’t live a 100% Latino life—he has another culture (Jewish) and another world (modern America) that he can choose to embrace instead—and fighting to figure out how your culture fits into the modern world you live in is really tough. It’s part lack of exposure to the importance of these things, through both school education and familial education, and part being unable to reconcile this unique thing about you that not every person has in their life and put that part of you in the important place it belongs. It’s much easier to never learn about these things and just go along being an American kid. It’s a choice I half-made a long time ago, but it’s one I’ve always wanted to rectify—I’ve just never known how. Because for those lagging behind like myself, all of the wonderful things I should know are seemingly inaccessible. You don’t know where to start, where to look, what pertains to what exactly it is you’re searching for, because it’s not something that most people are interested in or deem important. It doesn’t have the appropriate exposure it deserves.

For me, the struggle is exacerbated by the clash between my heritage and my ethnicity. I look very white. My half-sisters ALSO look very white. The difference, though, is that my whiteness comes from my mom, who is German, French, Luxembourgian, essentially what she herself refers to as “mixed white”; my sisters, on the other hand, get their whiteness from their mother, who is Cuban—a Hispanic whiteness. That’s the difference between us ethnicity wise. Culturally, they were raised in a completely Latino and Hispanic household; they had exposure to that language and music and those holidays and traditions. I was raised in a half-Hispanic, half-white-American household. Though my mother is all of these European things, there aren’t any traditions from them that her family really knows or practices. My dad by the time I was born had been in America for probably about 30 years, and while he still held on to some of his cultural traditions, it was hard to pass those things along to me for a variety of reasons.

Additionally, I would definitely put myself under the white-passing category—but it’s even more than that, because I AM half white. My dad isn’t 100% native Mexican either (there’s some French and Spanish, and I’m sure there’s other stuff mixed in there too because colonization is a bitch my friend), but that was his world growing up. There wasn’t a choice between cultural heritages for him, it just was. I had that choice, to whatever degree I could consciously choose such a thing at such a young age. I chose to just live my life as a “mixed-white” person, not even really understanding what and how much I was giving up.

The parts of my Mexican side that shine through have always made me very proud. But I’ve always felt like I’ve had the option of not acknowledging it. Sometimes saying I’m white feels like it’s a lie, and sometimes it doesn’t—because I’ve always questioned my claim to a heritage I’ve never really known, never experienced in full force--one I wasn’t raised in but I still have tangled ties to. I struggle to find where I fit in this culture--and then when I try to immerse myself in it, in its beautiful traditions and important advancements and rich histories, they’re no where to be found. Even the people who belong to these heritages cannot find where they fit into the world, and that’s disappointing to the point of being damaging. I think it’s important for everyone to learn about all sorts of cultures and traditions--but if they’re not first and foremost well-versed in their own, how can we preserve and share and teach these things to others?

I don’t know whose job it is to decide these things. Whether it was a higher up school system decision or the American tendency to quite literally white-out everything and everyone that isn’t white. But these things need to be taught and shared. They need to be treated with respect, and valued for their true importance to the fabric of the entire world’s history.

I don’t know whose job it is to change these things, but John Leguizamo, for his sake, his son’s sake, and my sake, has taken it upon himself to start the conversation. And I thank him for that.