The following is a collection of thoughts, words, passages that I have been gathering in my head and in my heart. They're not meant for anyone in specific, rather the beginning of a dialogue meant for healing. Its a process, but telling you how i feel now is one of the first steps:
I have been wanting to write this for a very long. The thoughts yearn to get out of my head, into words. And what better day to talk about love, life, desire, and pain than the commercialized appropriated day dedicated to a White Supremacist Capitalist Patriarchal notions of love.
Today I was reading another article about the consumption of the brown body by the gay cosmopolitan [read West Hollywood]. As many of you know (and if you don’t, you will right now), I am doing research on the physical, sexual relationships between White folk and Brown men.
Reading articles about the sexual/physical desires of Brown bodies as a manifestation of a neo-liberal manifestations of colonization. Yet, I ask myself: what does this have to do with me?
I am not that type of Chicano. I am not the type that people break necks for. I am not that type whose brown skins is salivated by Whites and other men. I am not the one people fight for.
I am the fat type. The chubby kind. The one that people reject in the dance floor. The one that drinks to forget that no one will look at him at the club. The one that cannot relate to any of the movies, because I am not that Chicano.
I am not the Chicano with a six pack, I am not the Chicano with bronze skin, I am not the Chicano who can speak a la Rico Suave.
Don’t tell me my body is in danger of consumption. The only thing my body is in danger of is no longer existing because to many I already don’t.
You would not understand what it means to be like this. Sure, I have options. Sure I could succumb to running. Sure I can succumb to eating better. But see what I have to go through to get your attention. To get mere recognition.
So I can be that Chicano.
I love my brown queer brothers, but y’all just don’t understand. You probably never will. Because for you, desire is different. I have to fight to be seen. I have to work twice as hard to have a better personality. Because my looks are not enough, they never will.
Yeah, whatever: looks don’t mean shit. But they fucking do. You can say that because you get the “oh you’re cute” compliments that my heavy tummy prevents me form receiving.
I’m tired of seeing all these eroticized cholos, the pretty boys, the athletes in the media. I’m tired of both White men and Brown men too, trying to seduce/captivate/fall in love with one of them. What about me? What about the big boys like me? Do you even know we exist?
Love to me means trying to love myself because no one else will. Love to me means trying to heal from a process of brokenness. Love to me means trying to love the fat body that drags me down. But its not a drag that I can’t embrace, rather a drag that makes me bigger and therefore better than you.
I have feelings too! I want to love, talk, seduce, flirt, dance, drink, play, fuck, suck you too! Talk about marginalizing. Because when you talk about a queer Brown type of love, you’re not talking about the big guys like me. You’re talking about the ones that need the most resistance: the ones that need to learn to dodge colonization form White men.
Y a mi, que? Que me valla a la chinguada! Go loose some weight, then we can talk about love and being in love.
Fuck off! You will never understand.
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