Before this past year, I wouldn't have seconded guessed my Halloween costume. If I am being honest, I probably wouldn't have even worn one, because of my lack of self-confidence. But this year, I went for it. I transformed myself into the iconic Mexican artist, Frida Khalo.
Scrolling through the Frida tag on Instagram proved to be conflicting for me on Halloween day. As I swiped through the various pictures, I reflected on my own cultural identity. I also questioned whether or not just anyone should be able to dress up as Frida. Should ANYONE be able to apply fake bold eyebrows and don over-sized jewelry and floral crowns? OR Does dressing as Frida with no personal connection to her culture turn her image into caricature?
I think it does. It is important to ask yourself questions like these when deciding if you should dress up as a certain person or character. Cultural appropriation is an overt problem especially on Halloween. Don't try on someone else's culture as your own even if "it is just for fun." It's not fun or cute. It's demeaning. Celebrate someone from your own culture instead.
Celebrating Frida on Tuesday was something that I have been talking about for years. I felt proud to step into her shoes for just one night. Though I will never truly know how her personal struggles affected her mentally and physically, I can say that she was a powerful woman and artist who overcame her inopportune circumstances. For that, she is an inspiration. Frida Khalo is the embodiment of the phrase "she believed she could, so she did." I hope to keep persevering through my life's struggles with a even just a shred of her grace and badassery. Her work and memory inspire me to do so every day of the year.
If you're a Doctor Who or a sci-fi fan, then you have probably seen this video blowing up the
nerdosphere over the past two days:
If you haven't, then give it a watch before reading further!
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There is insurmountable criticism and just really horrific displays of misogyny surrounding the above video's reveal of the 13th Doctor. Who knew a minute long video could incite so much hate and divide a fandom in the span of 48 hours?
You may or may not be familiar with Doctor Who, so let me break it down for you. Doctor Who is a show that has been running for a little over a half a century on the BBC. The Doctor is a time traveling alien part of the "Time Lord" race from the planet Gallifray who travels around in a stolen time machine that appears to be a cobalt blue police box known as the T.A.R.D.I.S (Time and Relative Dimension in Space). The T.A.R.D.I.S. takes the wacky and lovable Time Lord where the Doctor wants and needs to go. It wooshes it's way through the wibbly wobbly mess of space and time, and it is fantastic to watch!
During all this gallivanting, the viewers have seen the Doctor encounter many enemies such as: the Cybermen, the Master, the Daleks, the Silence, the Vashta Nerada, etc. With a countless stream of enemies, the Doctor is bound to get hurt. So to keep the show going (most likely when an actor tired of the role), the creators/writers gave the Doctor's race the ability to "regenerate." In other words, the Doctor takes on a new face, dress, and personality when gravely harmed by his enemies during the course of events that would typically cause a human to die. But most recently, some Whovians have become the Doctor's enemies. For the first time in fifty years, the Doctor has regenerated into a woman, played by Jodie Whittaker. Fans always knew this was a possibility, and for many it is a dream that has come to fruition. Personally, I am still waiting for the Doctor to be ginger. I wonder what River would say about this exciting change?
The Thirteenth Doctor
All jokes aside, the issue is that the fandom is split. We have one side who is ecstatic to see a woman FINALLY take on the role. And we have the camp that is infuriated that the Doctor is now a woman. To recap, we are discussing a show about a regenerating space alien who travels around in a blue box through space and time, and the thing that is driving away fans is the new GENDER of said space alien! If you can suspend your disbelief for the show's extraordinary cast of characters, events, and loopholes, but you can't accept the Doctor as woman, then you should probably tuck your misogyny back in. It's showing!
I'm excited for my children to watch the first ever female Doctor explore space and time while having grand adventures. And I am so so happy for all of the young girls and female fans that love Doctor Who or look up to the Doctor that now have Whittaker's character to admire as a strong female lead. I hope the writers do her justice. I can promise all of you trolls or "loyal fans" out there who are upset about this that the true fandom will not miss you.
Here are just a few comments that I mentioned above for you to peruse:
Can't wait to see her shine despite the trolls! Welcome, Jodie!
Creating has always been a therapeutic experience for me, a coping mechanism. For as long as I can remember, I've been drawing, making, cutting, pasting--creating. Art allows me to take my energy and emotion and channel it into something beyond myself.
I have been creating as an "artist," since middle school. When I was about twelve, I did all of my art in black and white or plain gray pencil. I was afraid to express myself in color. I was afraid to mess up my work. I was afraid to live vibrantly. I was also in a deep state of depression which can account for my choice of medium.
Now, I am at a better place in my life. My art is full of color and whimsy. It is full of quotes, flowers, metallics, and happiness. It's a different time. A new type of art for me. A different stage if you will. Picasso had his "blue period," and I had a gray period. And I still have my gray days.
One of my most recent hand lettering projects
Art is so beautiful, messy, weird, and fascinating, and it is dying in our public schools. How are kids supposed to express themselves in ways that they never expected? How are they supposed to dream and wonder? We must keep art in our public schools to give young people an outlet to communicate without saying a word. Art is powerful and has the ability to change lives. Children need to be exposed and immersed in it during their education experience in order to learn and grow as humans.
A page from my high school Narrative Project
For me, art class was an escape. An escape from the chaos around me. A place where I could just focus and learn. I could listen to Nora Jones and the Red Hot Chili Peppers while I cut and pasted magazine pieces into the negative space of my still life. It was my favorite part of my day. However, the quality of art education that I received beyond middle school is not what I would call education. The classrooms were messy, unorganized, and the teachers didn't teach technique, style, or even art history. They didn't teach at all. The supplies were few and far between or ruined due to lack of care. Once I was in college, I was given the opportunity to take an Art Appreciation class taught by a teacher with so much passion. She talked about art in a way that allowed me to devour it, and I was utterly amazed. I will never forget her giving me that experience.
A page from my Narrative dedicated to
Warhol
Art has helped me through the bad, it has allowed me to shine through the good, and it has given me a voice when I was too afraid to speak. Art is so important. I will never stop, and we must make sure that the next generation is exposed to it. Without art, the world is lackluster. Without art, the world's beauty and future voices are stifled.
My first love in the art world was Claude Monet with his water lilies and Paris landscapes in middle school. Then, came Andy Warhol with his bold use of color and line in high school. After that, I discovered the likes of Yasumadsa Morimura and his self protraits and Maria Abramovic in The Artist is Present in college. Now, I'm in love with the typography of Kimothy Joy. I will always be a viewer, appreciator, and creator.
Art has influenced my way of thinking and my view of the world. It has shaped me as a person. I hope my children and their peers can say the same. Do what you can to save the fine arts in our public schools by writing your local school board a letter, by donating to Americans for the Arts, or by directly donating to your school's art program.
Here are a few pieces of my art--a now and then if you will.
Two of my latest hand lettered pieces
Three of my paintings from 2016
Two of my very first collages created at least 12 years ago
Being pregnant is hard! Your body is making a tiny human(s) for goodness' sake! It is hard on your mind, your relationships, and your body especially. I have spent the better part of the last two years as a pregnant woman. Pregnancy has had its ups and downs in my book. One of the biggest annoyances were all of the unsolicited comments hurled in MY direction by strangers and acquaintances. The same can definitely be said of being a mom too-- the comments and advice never stop! Make someone's pregnancy a little easier, and think before you speak.
When I was pregnant with my first son, I got the run of the mill comments. "When are you due?" or "What are you having?" But with my second pregnancy, the comments became much more intrusive and outlandish the bigger my twin belly grew.
From the time I was about three months pregnant with my twins, I actually looked about six months pregnant. I was carrying two babies, so this was to be expected. Once, my husband and I were at a Starbucks in a Target, and the barista asked me when my due date was. She said, "I bet it's coming up pretty soon, and you're ready to be done!" This was November of 2016, and my boys were not technically due till the coming May. No, random barista! I am not giving birth soon. But thanks for reminding me how big my belly looks, and how I am in fact not giving birth anytime soon. Not that it was any of your business anyway. Now, if you don't mind, I need to go pee like a race horse, so I can browse the Target Dollar Spot in peace before I get too tired to walk, my ankles swell, I have to pee yet AGAIN, or I get hungry.
Another time my husband and I were at Target, --look, I know I go to Target a lot-- we had made it to the check out with no comments! Whoo hoo! Well, this was obviously too good to be true. The checker asked "What are you having?" I responded with, "Twins." Then another lady in the next lane pipes up and says, "Twins! I keep running into people having twins. Is this your first pregnancy?" My husband and I lost our first son to stillbirth, so this question is particularly painful for us. I of course told her that it was not, because I am not in the business of denying that my other son, Finnley, did in fact exist. She replied, "That's so great that means you will have a little helper at home!" This comment cut me straight to the bone. I nodded politely, because I was flooded with emotion. My husband quickly shuffled me away. Then, we went back to our white Ford Escape that we bought as a family car for our first son and cried. He never got to ride in that car.
Another instance happened at a baby shower for a good friend. I got the usual, "What are you having?" from my friend's grandmother. I told her, "Twin boys." She said, "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!" Sorry? You're sorry? I'm not. I am so thrilled and happy that I could burst to be having two beautiful rainbow babies is what I thought to myself. I politely told her that we were very excited for our boys, but it hurt nonetheless.
What I am getting at here is that you NEVER know what a stranger or acquaintance is going through as a pregnant person. It's probably better to avoid intrusive questions and comments altogether. The woman you're intruding on could be suffering or healing from a loss, like myself. She could have body dysmorphia and be having negative thoughts about her appearance. She could have spent years trying to conceive and does not want to hear how much you think she can't wait to be done with her pregnancy. She could have been raped by her boyfriend or a complete stranger and doesn't know how she feels about being pregnant. You don't know! So, please I beg of you think before you speak to a pregnant woman. We are emotional and hormonal, and we could use compassion over intrusion.
To end this on a lighter note, I will leave you with some tweets from comedian Chelsea Peretti that inspired this post.
Many individuals, myself included, struggle with mental illness or some type of disorder. For me, depression accompanied by anxiety has been a part of my story, since I was 11 or 12 years old. Mental illness is overtly stigmatized in our society. People who live with a mental illness and are open about it are very often unfairly stereotyped at some point as "crazy," "insane," or "out of control." This type of language surrounding mental illness is harmful. When used, it can cause the individuals struggling to withdraw and can potentially reaffirm what they already feel about themselves which could lead to an episode or worse. Normalizing mental illness is my only solution to this problem. We should actively try to learn more about mental illness through research, we should discuss it often, and we should support one another to eliminate unnecessary shame. It's okay to have a mental illness. It's normal.
Me, around the age of my first episode
I had my first depressive episode during the 8th grade. This may sound hard to believe, especially of someone so young, but this is not as uncommon as you may think. The suicide rate for young people ages 15-24 as reported by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention in 2015 was 12.5%. This number is alarming to say the least and only increases with age. As a teacher and a once depressed young person, --not saying that I am cured merely that I am no longer what I consider to be a young person--I worry. I worry about my past students so much. I want them to have resources, and I want their friends and parents to be able to recognize the warning signs and triggers and understand the coping mechanisms. I want normalization for that lonely, distraught, terrified 8th grade girl.
For me, my depression coupled with anxiety are like two dancing shadows. They are dressed in a black darkness and glide up behind me while I am trying to stand in the light. They're inviting me to dance, and I have no say in whether or not I will accept their hands in invitation.
In this video posted by Button Poetry, the speaker describes what depression is like for her through spoken word poetry. The poem tells her story and fight to have her mental illness recognized as valid by her mother:
This video is so powerful, because you can hear the cries of approval. You hear the speaker's voice and the voices of others overcome by affirmation of their like minded feelings. I know I will always have bouts of depression, but videos like this give me hope. Hope that we are building a community of support.
If things become too bad with my depression, I know that I can seek support in other ways. I can do this through counseling when needed, and I have through Multi-County Counseling of Oklahoma. Their services are amazing. I also know there are other resources out there like the Suicide Prevention Lifeline, the Trevor Project, and online support groups. Not everyone knows this or has access to these resources which is why we have to spread this information like our lives depend on it. Because the life of someone we know, very well could.
Tell people how you feel. Offer support. Be there.
There is a popular show on Netflix right now called "13 Reasons Why" based off the young adult novel that demonstrates the need for access to resources and support systems. It brings to light the fact that people with depression who are contemplating suicide rarely reach out on their own. The story that is depicted throughout the series is about a girl, Hannah Baker, who takes her life and the 13 reasons that lead her to the decision. If you notice someone withdrawing like Hannah, then you should go to them. Plead with them. Tell them of their value to this world. We have to try. We have to communicate.
WE can't give up.
In order to enact change, we have to offer support and as much understanding as we can to anyone suffering from a mental illness, so people know with assurance that they aren't in this dance alone. There are so many of us. Each defined by our unique experiences yet existing as parts of the same whole. We all make up the face of mental illness. We need to redefine how the world views us. We are here. We are people trying our best everyday. We want life, and we want a sense of normality. We may not always know how to get their by ourselves, so please offer any help you can to aide in the cause for normalization. We are the new normal; it's time we all accepted it.
At times, mental illness can be so debilitating, but when we stand together there is hope for the future. Hope for the next generation. The more we talk, listen, research, and attempt understanding--the more we do-- the better things will become. Have hope. We can end the stigma together.
Have you ever been asked if you speak Spanish? Have you ever been asked, what are you? Where are you really from? Have you ever been made to feel less than because of the color of your skin? If you answered no to most of these, then you may look or be white. It's okay to not have experienced these injustices, but it is not okay and never will it be okay for you to allow them to continue to happen to persons of color (POC). The racial divide in the United States is increasing by the day, the hour, the second. I am a POC and someone who has faced racist, discriminatory, and bigoted comments from people my entire life.
Let's talk about something that happened recently. The racist incident in this video. If you have not watched the video, then I ask that you do. Everyone needs to see this. It is disgusting and horrible, but it NEEDS to be seen. The irate man in the video, Mike, spouts racial slurs at Mr. Torres for talking in Spanish to his mom on the phone. His mother is a Puerto Rican American, and her first language is Spanish (it isn't revealed if she herself speaks English like her son). Throughout the video, Mr.Torres attempts to have conversation with Mike. He attempts to appeal to him and relate to him, befriend him if you will. Instances like these fill me with anger and rage. I can say for certain that I wouldn't have handled this situation with as much grace and composure as he did. It makes me sad like Mr. Torres stated in the video. I feel sad for Mike. And people like him. And for people who don't see how wrong Mike is. We can't let people like Mike speak to others this way. We can't tolerate this in America or any part of the world.
Try to not push people away if you don't agree.
I beg of you. Try to understand them instead.
If you cant, investigate.
I referred to the world as a collage in my last post, and the U.S. is commonly referred to as a melting pot. We are a diverse group of people made up of different skin tones, backgrounds, cultures, etc. When did we lose this identity? Why is our country so afraid to discuss race? Why do people say they don't see race or that it doesn't matter? Race matters. It is part of our identity as individuals, as a country. When you say it doesn't matter, you are stripping the identity of people away--of your country away.
We have to keep talking, keep learning, keep striving for understanding, keep educating each other. We must practice tolerance, but we must meet intolerance with resistance. We MUST keep resisting racist and discriminatory ideals. We must unite as country.
On a related note, my husband sent me a link to this page last night:
This page spreads hate. It is egregious. It is run by racist white people for white people. Their mission is to keep the white race alive. They believe that if white people have children with people outside of their race that they are infecting the purity of the white race. According to this page, my children would be considered "mud." How are we still allowing this type of hate speech to exist? If you feel so inclined, report this page as it violates Facebook's community guidelines (I have embedded the link into the caption). I hope that you would report it for its message and pure hatred first and foremost.
This video and this page have prompted reflection of my personal experiences. As I have stated before, I have benefited from white privilege, because I am a white person. But, I am also Hispanic. I have experienced several instances of discrimination because of my maiden name, Espinosa, and my appearance.
Once during an interview, the principal of a school asked me if I spoke Spanish fluently. Not only is it illegal to ask this during an interview, but it is downright ignorant and discriminatory to assume so. I insisted to this man that I did not speak Spanish fluently and neither does anyone in my family. --I have taken many classes as I do wish to speak it fluently one day, but I digress.-- This principal kept insisting that someone in my family must speak it. He wouldn't give it up. Needless to say when he offered me the job three times over the course of the next week, I declined each time.
Another instance that comes to mind happened on a typical morning drive to my first teaching job. I was driving through a tiny town that is notorious for being a speed trap in Oklahoma right as the sun started to peek over the horizon of the purply pink sky.
As I was driving my tiny blue green Chevy Cobalt out of this speed trap of a town, I started to apply pressure to the gas peddle to get up to 50 mph. The speed was supposed to change from 40 mph to 50 mph in less than half of a mile. --Something you should know about me is that I always wear a seat belt, I never text and drive, and if I need to make a phone call I will pull over. In other words, I am typically very cautious while driving.-- As you have probably already guessed, I was soon pulled over by one of the town's officers for speeding.
As the officer approached my window, my heart started to thump with ferocity. I had never been stopped before, and I was unsure of what was about to happen. What happened next was uncomfortable to say the least. The officer asked for my license and insurance verification which I promptly gave him. Then, he said he would run my plates back in his vehicle. Once he came back, he said, "So, your last name's Espinosa, huh?" I replied with, "Yes, sir." He then asked where I was from, and I told him the name of my hometown and where I currently lived at the time. He then said, "No, where are you REALLY from?" This made my skin shiver. What did he mean? I had never been asked this before. I was shocked. So, I repeated again the name of my hometown and added that I had lived there my entire life until college. He looked at me with a puzzled expression like he didn't quite believe me. He asked me where I was headed, and I told him that I was headed to my job in the next town at the high school to teach my 10th and 11th grade students. He said he would have to write me a ticket for speeding which was completely justified. However, the ticket ended up costing me $300. Why? Why was it so much when I had never had any other traffic violations, and I was only going 10 mph over the speed limit? You tell me.
If you are a POC, speak and give yourself a voice. If you are
not, then I urge you to be an ally and offer support in any
way you can.
Now, I know that these experiences are not the worst instances of prejudice and discrimination--not that this is a competition. The last one is debatable. You could read through my encounter and think that it's not completely prejudice if at all, and that I was in the wrong. I was in the wrong. I should not have been speeding and should have received a ticket for doing so. The officer was also in the wrong. The way that the question about my place of origin was inflected and insisted upon as if I was lying about where I am from leads me to believe there was more to his question. That he was insinuating something else.
Whether people are outright discriminatory, racist, or prejudice, are one of these without meaning to be, or they idly stand by when someone else is acting in one of these ways, it's wrong. This must stop. We have to keep actively pursuing justice by writing, by talking, by protesting, by reaching out to one another --by taking action.
Thanks for reading,
I have always struggled with my perception of myself and the way I fit into this collage of a world. Am I a torn tattered piece ripped from a ratty and weathered magazine? Sloppy. Careless. Or am I a piece snipped with the utmost precision? The lines and edges smooth and straight. Am I both? Growing up an overweight female, an ethnically diverse one at that, in a predominantly white town in a country that capitalizes on the sexualization of women hasn't helped me grapple with my struggling perception of myself. I can tell you with assurance that after 25 internally warring years that I perceive myself as a body positive Hispanic woman.
Body positivity in a nutshell.
A collage I created in middle school. This was an attempt to define myself through my art. I was trying to give myself a voice when I felt I didn't have one at all. I worked on this for years if that tells you anything.
The world tells me that many things are wrong with this idea of myself that I have crafted, molded, shaped and reshaped in my mind. I have only come to realize in the past few years that it is not me that is wrong, but the world and society in general. Why can we not be human with flaws and individual distinctions? And why is there this underlying pressure and system that exists and is forced upon women to adhere to? To be thin. To be quiet. To wear a smile always. To love a man. To be light skinned. To be dark skinned.
In this world and the U.S. in particular, women are told who to be, how to be, and what to be from the day that they are born. I have been told by the women in my life--my entire life--to be "thin" or "curvy" but not "fat." I have been told to speak my mind and that I "can be anything," but as soon as I speak with conviction, power, passion, then I have been told that I am being too loud and that I need to reign it in. I am sorry if my truth--the truth I so desperately need to speak-- that has been welling up inside for my entire life beating its fists against my insides trying to break free just one hushed whisper is too loud for you. Not. Sorry. I am not going to be told who I should be so that I fit into society's idealized and outdated perception of a woman. I. Am. Not. I am a size 18 woman with belly overhang, cellulite, jiggly arms, and stretch marks. And I am beautiful. I love my body and everything that it does for me.
I am sure if you look at these photos long enough your implicit biases will start to activate, and you will be able to decide which photos show a picture of a white woman and which show a Hispanic one.
What about these selfies?
As I have made peace with my body, I have had to examine where my features originate from. They come from my mom who is white and my father who is white and Hispanic. This is who I am, and I can't change it. To say that I have not benefited from white privilege in my lifetime would be ignorant at best. And to say that I have never been discriminated against for looking Mexican and having a Hispanic last name would be even more so. No, I don't think your jokes about my ethnicity are funny. They aren't cute or harmless. And neither are you. I might smile through them or even muster a small laugh, but I promise you that in my mind I am calling you an idiot. The interesting thing about my appearance is that I can look very white which I am. Or I can look Hispanic which I also am. It depends. My skin stays much much lighter in the winter and darker in the summer. If reading this, you do not think that this has impacted the way I am perceived and treated by others, then you're lying to yourself about how biased and discriminatory the world can be. How biased and unknowingly discriminatory you, yourself, can be. Lucky for me, I now have what would be considered a white last name through marriage. Or is it lucky? Or does it just make everything that much more complicated?
Does one of these images de-
pict a Mexican woman and one a Cau-
casion woman? Or do you just per-
ceive it to be that way? Why? They
are the SAME person.
Take it from me, speak your truth as loud or as soft as you wish. By doing this, you can shape the perception of yourself. You can be a voice that advocates for yourself. You can be you--wholeheartedly you--and not what the world perceives you to be. Speak it now and release it from its internal cage.
Each year around this time, I become extremely reflective. I graduated high school 7 years ago and college 4 years ago. Where has all the time gone? How am I NOT still sitting behind a desk in a classroom in Seminary Hall listening to a lecture and discussion about Storm Front by Jim Butcher and all of Harry Dresden's wacky wizarding ways? I miss being a student as I am sure many of my past students that are graduating today will soon realize that they do as well.
It's a funny thing--growing older. You only become nostalgic about things in your life once they're in the past. But, I suppose as John Green theorizes in "Looking for Alaska," "imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia" in and of itself. As my past students go forth and pursue higher education and careers, I urge you all to only be nostalgic every now and again. Try not to long too much for the past, and try not to worry too much about the future. I know this is easier said than done. But try to live in the present moment, or you will miss the great things happening right now.
I know the future is scary, and many are terrified of things not turning out as expected. My life has definitely not gone according to plan. Don't plan too much. Life is going to smack you in the face with unexpected waves of darkness and trickles of happiness. You will need to learn to ride through the waves and immerse yourself in the trickles. This is the ONLY way I know how to cope with adulthood without letting the waves pull me under into the depths. Don't let the waves pull you under. Don't drown.
I wish you the best. Your generation is so awesome. You are way more politically and socially aware than my generation and even more so than the one before that. You give me hope. My only wish is that these words give you hope as you embark on an incredible and personal journey that you get to be the author of. You are writing your story. Every day. Write it in loud bold colors if you want! Incorporate a slew of pictures. Whatever you do, make it your own. Congrats to the class of 2017.
Before this past year, I wouldn't have seconded guessed my Halloween costume. If I am being honest, I probably wouldn't have even worn one, because of my lack of self-confidence. But this year, I went for it. I transformed myself into the iconic Mexican artist, Frida Khalo.
