Tonight, one of my greatest and closest friend at UCLA (who also happens to be my roommate), asked me to go to Unide Run with her. I hesitated at first. While I can cope with your with Bruin Spirit, I do not bleed gold and blue (and if you’re human, neither do you). But I could not say no to one of those girls that has been with me through some of those horrible days this year.
What I experienced at Undie Run was nothing less than what I expected: being in a crowd with hundreds of students, most of whom I did not know (or even knew of their existence). Which is okay I suppose, I doubt any of them knew, or cared to find out, of my own existence. The feelings perchance mutual.
What was most noticeable--as everyone shouted “Ole, Ole, UC-LA” and of course performed the [in]famous 8-clap-- that I did not belong. I felt extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps it’s an immediate feeling I get surrounded by people who I don’t understand, people whose intentions I do not understand.
To them, showing off their body was a sign of pride and power. To me, hiding in my body is a sign of vulnerability and weakness. But my presence there, either a sign of assimilation or strategic resistance. If I was not an 8-clapping, ole UCLA type of Bruin, then what type of UCLA student am I?
The one that spends his nights at the Community Programs Office. The one whose life revolved around making sure that underrepresented communities at UCLA continue to have access. The one who spends 12 hours during M.E.Ch.A election meetings. The one who does not sleep so qualified and deserving student leaders get elected to USAC. The one, that by apparent of this list, does not prioritize his family.
And on my way home, I start thinking of the last thing my grandfather told me in person, before he died: portate bien y as toda tu tarea (behave and do all of your homework). How did my grandfather know? That throughout all those painful nights, all those moments I doubted myself, the times I just wanted to stop and quit….his last words would be my source of motivation.
I was still in 6th grade. And almost 10 years later, those words mean the world to me. For I keep holding on to his last memory. For this education, the degree I am striving for—is not only mine, but his, and all those in my family who depend on me.
My situational identity as a Bruin is not synomyous with “FU$C,” the NCAA Championships, or keeping with a family of Bruin tradition. My presence at UCLA is about transformational resistance. Just the mere fact that my father can say “my son goes to UCLA,” or my mom: “mi hijo se va a Sur Africa este verano de la UCLA” – is powerful. For once, I could hear the pride in their voices, feel the boldness in their presence. For once, feel like they, themselves, are someone.
Though I doubt that this is the purpose of Undie Run, I appreciate Lucy for bringing me out with her. These are the moments, the ones that teach us the most unforgettable lessons, which we must treasure forever. Because, I could hear my grandfather talking to me during Undie Run –I have a purpose at UCLA, and it is much greater than a feckless event with people I have never seen.
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