“She looks like a hard Mexican girl.”

 Hard Mexican girl? What the heck is that supposed to mean? Story of my life, I guess. Born Mexican so apparently I am “rude” and “aggressive” according to some people. They assume that I'm targeting them and all of a sudden I'm in the principal’s office for no valid reason, just fear. Fear of me and the stereotypes around my culture.

Maybe I'm gaslighting myself. Am I having a bad day? Nope, I'm just pissed off at you. Am I zoned out? Nope, I am definitely giving you a death stare. Someone told me they feel “uncomfortable” around me due to my “aggressive attitude”. When making sarcastic comments it's only rude when I do it, not when someone else does it right after. “Well we know she's joking, we can never tell with you.” 

Do they really want to see that stereotypical “rude Latina”. Okay. I’ll just give the people what they want. I changed my makeup, how I talk, how I act,  how I dress, all of it. Why? Because maybe it meant that they’d leave me alone. They didn't. If anything It got worse. “If she’s really that hard she can handle it.” Will they ever realize I might have my own problems I have to deal with? No, I should be able to handle it because I will always be the, “strong Mexican girl”.

Society calls Latinas ‘hot-tempered’, ‘strong’, ‘sexy’, and ‘rude’, and are always featured as confident characters in pop culture and social media. That is definitely not me. I’m a people-pleaser, timid, insecure, and I’d like to think kind. 

“You’re a Mexi-CAN, not a Mexi-CAN’T.” My father would tell me day after day. He would tell me that if I was a real Mexican I wouldn't be ashamed to sing, dance, or speak the language. I love my culture but it almost seems like I'm not allowed to anymore. Not only do people think that I am rude but they also think I am uneducated. 

“Aren’t you beaners stupid or something?” They’d tell me, “There's no way you’re getting into that college.” It was supposed to be a joke—I knew it was a joke—yet it stung like a knife in my once colorful heart. The colors of red, white, and green that composed me have now faded into a distant memory of the past because of people who will never understand that beauty—the beauty of not only the colors of my flag sprouting from my heart, but the beauty of the delicate soul that is mine. 

“Aren’t Mexicans supposed to be sexy?” Am I? Am I supposed to be anything? Maybe I’m doing something wrong. I don’t look like those ‘copy and paste Latinas’ that flood social media. Am I supposed to? I'll try then. I straightened my beautiful curls day after day, wore makeup that I never felt ‘beautiful’  in. I wore all black all of the time because I was told that black made my body look good . I wore the biggest hoops that made my ears bleed. But at least with the blood there was some color in my life. 

All of this to fit into the box that outsiders stuff me in, out of fear of my culture's beauty. I became so depressed because I was hiding my authentic self—the person God molded me to be. I was never made to fit into a broken mold that the world tried to shape me in. The world that led me to believe that I was broken from the start.

“You’re not yourself anymore. I don’t know you”. 

The person I love and that loves me, doesn't even know me anymore.  I thought to myself, “I don’t even know myself anymore”. I broke down in tears realizing that when I look in the mirror, the reflection that looks back is not me. All of the color in my heart is hidden by the social normality of my fake persona starting to peek out. I’m not happy, I haven't been happy. The mask that I wear pierces my face every second.

I think to myself, “I don’t know what to do anymore”. When I see out of the corner of my eye, my beautiful necklace I made by hand using the pendant my grandmother gave me. The vivid memories that I made wearing that necklace came flooding back to me, as if a dam had given way. Seeing my beautiful necklace stuffed in a box wanting to be worn, is a reflection of my true perfect self wanting to be seen. Each bead strung is a memory lived. The string is the foundation, my creator. Seeing my necklace sparks hope in my soul. Realizing I can get through all of the judgment and all the insecurities  because I am, a strong Mexican girl.