They tried to take my wild - Tammy Diaz

Tammy is back in school for her second Bachelor's in Spanish. She has been working as a veterinary technician but is now leaning into things she has always been passionate about and didn't give enough time for in the past. Creative writing, speaking Spanish, karaoke, hiking, mental health, and traveling are at the top of the priority list now. She is an independent, Latinx, homeowner in Troy and lives with her three dogs and cat. 

***

All the names I've been called, because of racism, misogyny and ignorance,

swirl in my thoughts. 

They sweep into my head, at random times of day, 

planting their little intrusive thoughts, 

like seeds, trying to take over the garden of my mind. 

The cards were always stacked against me, having been born in a country 

taken by force in the name of colonialism and the patriarchy. 

How dare I have the audacity to look like me. 

When I was born, I looked more Asian. 

My eyes were narrower, and my hair was wild. 

As my hair grew longer and darker, 

the wilder my spirit grew and my joy for life. 

As a child, my brown skin and my black hair, 

Identified me as Latina. 

And only Latina. 

In the 90s, for my friends and I, the word mixed was reserved for African Americans. 

Even though I was also mixed, I never identified myself that way. 

I had obachans* and abuelas.

With my mom, we greeted each other in Japanese in the mornings and when we went to sleep. 

I never saw it as something different, because it was my normal. 

I spoke Spanish with my mom and dad, and English with my friends. 

There was no talk of it being possible to be mixed or blended in any other way. 

I grew up in a very diverse community, but then we moved to Dutchess County in New York. 

The sidewalks I was used to being surrounded by, were now replaced by endless woods. 

The diversity I was used to, was replaced by a sea of white faces, 

in the hallways of the school.  

Unknowingly, the more white friends I made, 

the more I erased my culture to fit in and be smaller.

So as not to stick out.  

I tamed myself as I was expected to, 

and silenced my loud and excited nature. 

You're Mexican, right?

No, she is Filipino. 

What are you?

I started distancing myself from Spanish and my parents for having accents, 

and for not being like all the other parents. 

What do your parents do for work? 

I was embarrassed by these questions. 

Where we used to live, it was normal for immigrant parents to work cleaning houses 

and work in construction. 

But most of these questions came from white adults. 

from my friends' parents. 

Typically, during a dinner I was invited to. 

The initial chance to not be trapped in my house and being able to stay overnight was a lot of fun, 

but I felt deflated when they asked me things like that. 

I suppressed my anger, and my defenses crumpled into timidness. 

I developed the ability to identify and befriend the outcasts,  

or the people that others thought were weird. 

I felt stronger and like I had superpowers, when I stood up for others.

But, for a long time, I couldn't do it for myself. 

I shrank myself even more with all my white boyfriends. 

Can you shave your sideburns?

I straightened my thick, frizzy hair and shaved my arms instead. 

One day the song "Born in the USA" by Bruce Springsteen, was playing, when an ex said to me: 

Does this song make you angry? Because you weren't born here? 

It was a joke, but he always expected me to laugh, 

And to never get too hung up or uptight about anything.  

If I got angry, the stereotypes would come out: 

She's getting feisty! 

Just another angry Latina. 

My partners knew that my mom was Japanese Peruvian, and my father was Chilean.

But their parents never understood it. 

Especially with the rise of racism with immigration issues 

and the border being a hot topic in politics and the news. 

They wanted an easy label for me. 

Tammy is not Latina, she is Asian. 

This is what an ex's mother told me, after knowing me for years. 

As if being Latina was a dirty thing. 

At the peak of my unhappiness and being completely lost,

I cut off all my hair, as if not having the weight of it would free me.

I wanted to untangle from everything that was expected of me.

I wanted to get rid of all the pressure I was feeling.

But I still felt too inadequate to claim any identity.

My cousins in Chile used to tell me:

You are truly a gringa. 

My Latina American amigas, called me preppy, because I was studious and liked school. 

I never identified myself as Asian, because I didn't have any Japanese friends. 

And I only learned bits and pieces of the culture from my obachans, when they came to visit. 

I never knew which box to check on the census.

And it wasn't until I was in my mid-twenties that I dove deep 

into appreciating and learning the different parts of my culture.

The different parts of my identity. 

So much history that I didn't know and was never taught; 

And I'm still learning.   

The more I learn, the more my wildness returns. 

I'm more comfortable in my own body than I've ever been. 

My hair will grow long and my wild will regain her power, 

once more. 

My joy of life has returned because I'm now happy being different.

I’m happy being a weird Latina. 

I'm happy I don't fit into a perfect box. 

I am an educated, queer, feminist yonsei-latinx.

Now I'm standing up and defending myself, for once. 

(*Obachan is the Japanese word for grandma)

(*Yonsei is a Japanese diaspora term used in countries such as Latin America, to specify the great-grandchildren of Japanese immigrants. The fourth generation.)