You Are Not Who You Date

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For most of my life I completely rejected partners of my ethnicity. I did this because I constantly saw crime, poverty, and deviance from Mexican men in the media and from men I knew personally. Most I knew were gang members, who were psycho jealous and would beat their girlfriends or wives. They were manipulative, misogynistic, and unforgiving. This made me reject not only any Mexican man who approached me, but it made me reject the part of myself that is Mexican. I began looking around and thinking all Mexican men were trash.I know to some of you this might be offensive, and I apologize. But I also know some of you are like me, in that you were around a lot of bad people growing up, people that looked like you, and made you develop a negative association towards them.

When I went off to high school I was finally free from the reality I had grown up in. I was not black, I was OJ. Or so I thought. Suddenly, I was surrounded by white faces, all who did not know anything about me. They only knew what I projected, and to me this was addictive. I was also suddenly around a new species of male that I had never encountered: the white boy. They were so carefree and in their own heads. There was no baggage or heaviness with them, it seemed. These boys were untouched by poverty, deviance, and stigmas. I was surprised at how many wanted my attention. I was surprised that most of them did not go for the skinny, blue eyed, blonde haired jars of mayonnaise that surrounded them. And this attention was addictive. I was new and exotic to them, and they were prim and proper to me. Naively, I had believed that they were better than me, and if they accepted me, if they wanted me, it somehow made me better than them, and at least better than I had been. My self worth had been so chiseled down by my childhood, society, and stigma that I began measuring my self worth by who I dated. And for some reason I, regrettably, felt that the white male was the ultimate status symbol in terms of dating.

This went well for a good few years. I did not encounter any problems and I had my fun. It was when I was confronted with my reality that I began to see the flaws in my thinking. It began with one of my high school boyfriends, Jake. Being British, he was super white and super sheltered. He came from money, so he had a self-confidence that only wealth could give you. He treated me like a princess and his family loved me. I thought I had hit the jackpot. It was when he came to visit me in California, that I realized our relationship was a lie. He stayed with me for that week, and I remember feeling ashamed and embarrassed about where I lived, who was around, and my reality in general. I remember thinking at one point that I could not wait for things to get back to normal. I would be at school in my dorm, away from the mess that I had left behind. He was kind, did not judge me or my family, and actually had a good time. But the shame and embarrassment I had felt bothered me, because I knew things were not supposed to be that way. I asked myself, if I had spent all this time hiding who I really was, did he 'love' me at all? Can someone love you if you are not the person you make yourself out to be? Are they really just in love with the idea of you? We broke up eventually because we were going to different colleges and these thoughts I had were pushed to the back of my mind. But like so many things do, they came back to bite me in the ass.

When I began dating Chris, I felt like I was in a better place. We had known each other for a while, and were friends before we dated. He was kind and understanding, and we both had family issues. His father, like mine, was an alcoholic and his family was far from the picture perfect american dream. I felt like he was on my level, and despite our different races, we were a good match. I did not realize that thinking he was 'on my level' because he was damaged goods, really said more about how I felt about myself than about him. I thought for once, it would not matter that he was white, and that I was not. We were similar in so many other ways. And yet, it came to an end, as most good things do. This time it was when I went to visit his family. They were hostile to me from the start. The only kindness I received was from his mother, but I could  see it in her eyes that  she did not approve of me. Still, I did not think this had anything to do with my race. One night, his father came into our room, drunk off his ass and in his underwear. He began telling us that we would never last, and told Chris that I was more for fun than anything serious. When he went off to college, he would find someone more suitable. I later found out his father assumed I was not going to college. After that fiasco I found out that his sister had gotten knocked up by some Guatemalan who then left her to go back to his country. I suddenly had an inkling as to why I had been received so negatively. They saw me as less than. I was not good enough. And they had no problem telling Chris. His parents saw me as some deviation, some exotic tryst that he needed to satisfy before settling down and doing the right thing, which was marrying some white girl. He claimed he did not see this, but I knew him better than that. And I knew the weakness and insecurity behind those blue eyes. Despite this, I never fully accepted that he would succumb to the racist wishes of his parents, but he did. He broke up with me  a few months into college. And before you accuse me of being close minded and dramatic, get this. He did end up with some blonde haired, blue eyed, white girl. And from what I have heard from our mutual friends, his parents love her.

The first experience woke me up to the fact that you cannot run from who you are, that there is nothing shameful or embarrassing about where you come from. What is shameful and embarrassing is pretending to be something you are not in order to please others. My experience with Chris, while devastating and heartbreaking, really taught me a lot about love and about myself. Before being with him I always felt like I was not good enough. But being told I was not good enough simply because of the color of my skin, made me realize I was more than good enough. And the whole idealization of whites was over for me. Not all of them were nice, not all of them had class, and none of them were better than me or where I came from. I am embarrassed to say it took heartbreak to realize all this, but I am proud to know what I know now. I hope this helps anybody that has ever felt less than, not wanted, and not good enough. You are valuable, you are beautiful, you are desired. Most importantly you are not who you date. I will leave you with a quote:

“What a beautiful thing it is, to stand tall and say, I fell apart and I survived.”