survival (March 30, 2011)

I write to survive. I organize to live. I live for liberation. My essence of existing is one marked by my intersecting, frequently clashing and always changing identities: poor, Brown, queer, middle-class, fat, immigrant, male, versatile bottom, student, lover, friend, son, fuck buddy, etc. etc. When I write, I have an audience in mind. He is always Brown, and more than likely queer. He cries himself to sleep and prays to la Virgencita to make him normal, to rid him of those impure thoughts that haunt him in his sleep. He rides the bus from East L.A to visit the the older man he met online that has promised him a couple of bucks after they fuck. I write with the joto that didn't make it in mind. The one who took his own life because he could no longer tolerate the pain he felt inside after getting rejected from his parents. The one who could not find shelter in his own home after getting his ass beat at school. 

I write with that Chicanito in mind.

When I organize, I organize from a queer person of color standpoint. Never willing to compromise any of my identities, communities, values. I organize around a vision of liberation that does not exclude, but instead encourages all forms of identities and expression to be free. I organize to help the queer youth in East LA find a voice to speak out against his teacher for not protecting him from "thats so gay" slurs. I organize to find avenues of empowerment to queer youth to carry a campaign to educate his school about intersecting hate crimes. I organize so that queer youth can have access to relevant cultural education, so he can see himself in the curriculum and be able to relate to historical figures and events. I organize around a holistic sexual paradigm so that queer youth can have access to resources that will benefit their sexual desires and medical needs. 

I organize with that Chicanito in mind.

I live to see these Chicanos alive. 

Because no matter how much I have been told that my queer work is irrelevant to the greater Chicano community, I am reminded of that Chicano that hated himself because of his skin color, his sexual frustrations. I am reminded of the Chicano that is at a higher risk for HIV/AIDS. I am reminded of the Chicano that wanted to commit suicide when he was young. I am reminded of myself. 

I write, organize, breathe to see myself alive. My life is not up for debate.