Again

Hold me
Hold me
Don’t ever let me go
Say it just one time
Say you love me
God knows I do
Love you
Again

These song lyrics have nothing to do with my topic, it’s just me looking at that blank title and blank white screen…again.

So I’m obsessing (again). I saw my old boss today and for some reason after almost each conversation I have with her, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s not a physical attraction…it’s more like a kindred spirit thing, I think. I don’t know.

Today we figured out that we went to the same college at the same time. How many bosses will I have that went to CSU at the same time as me? Second one, now. I know it’s a big and popular school for CO natives, but come on.

The other day she said she thought it was great that she wasn’t our boss anymore  not because she doesn’t want to work with us but I think more because she gets to be more of herself and there isn’t as much of a “barrier” to our relationships.  Today she implied that she thought the two of us “clicked.”

Ugh. Why am I obssesing about this? I don’t like this feeling

Get it out on “paper.”

I think it’s because I don’t feel like we’re on even ground. She still has that “authority” feel to me  I’m not sure when or if I will feel that change. Maybe over time.

I’m thinking about inviting her to The Moth this month.  I dunno if that will cross a line or not.  She isn’t my boss anymore and we are now colleagues, but something about it feels a bit icky. Like maybe it’s a sycophant thing to do. Or maybe the shy introvert in me is overthinking it again. Who knows.

Today I was reminded of a story I sometimes tells about self-identity. When I was in 4th grade (?) I was invited to a slumber party at a classmate’s house. I don’t really remember liking this girl very much or being very close to her, but I was flattered to be invited and my cousin was going to be there so I went.

At the slumber party were some girls that I had once been closer with but we had drifted as friends. The host’s cousin was also at the party and none of us had met her before.

During the party, as we were getting ready for bed, we started taking about race/ethnicity. One of the girls at the party was black, my cousin and I were/are Latinas, and everyone else at the party was white. We were taking about being black or something like that and the host’s cousin looked at me and said, “Well, Alicia’s black!”

Now, I don’t really think we’d been talking about black people in a very flattering way, and the way she said it was sort of a “I’m not racist, my best friend is black” kind of way.

After she said that to me, I was taken aback and I started crying. My mom had always told me that if I was at someone’s house and I didn’t feel comfortable there, I could call her at any time and she would come to get me. Well, I was upset and asked to call my mom and I went home.

At school on Monday, one girl told me that I missed out on pancakes in the morning, and another told me that they “weren’t that good.” I just remember being shocked that everyone stayed at the party because of what we had been talking about.  I didn’t understand why everyone was so okay with it all.

That indignant/confuses feeling would become a theme later on in life.

For decades, I felt bad and confused about why I had such a visceral reaction to the girl’s comment. Every time I thought of it, I would cringe thinking about how it must have looked for me to get so upset and leave over someone thinking I was black. I felt guilty. For years I soul searched trying to figure out why or if I was racist for my reaction. I didn’t feel like a racist in my day to day life, but what else could explain my reaction?

Finally, in my thirties, it dawned on me.  I wasn’t upset that she had thought I was black. I was upset because I was misidentified and I didn’t have the word to explain exactly “what” or “who” I was.  I didn’t have the words to say, ‘No, I’m Hispanic.”

Culture and ethnicity can be such a personal thing. I don’t think that people who grow up without it can really identify with how pervasive it can be in one’s life.  I still struggle to identify myself. Am I Latina? Hispanic? Chicana? Native? White? French? Jewish? Female? Lesbian? Human? Which one do I put out there first? How do I prioritize? Should I have to? Who’s asking?

I am at least better at it now than I was when I was 10. For the most part anyway. Remind me to tell you about the time I found out I was part white/Anglo-saxon and the identity crisis it caused.