dominican-moms

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When you “Talk Back” to your hispanic parents in front of your friends.

favorite in the heights lyrics~

  • pop the grate at the crack of dawn, sing as i wipe down the awning/hey y’all, good morning
  • i used to think the bronx was a place in the sky/when the world was just a subway map
  • ah, mama, so many stars in cuba/en nueva york we can’t see beyond our streetlights/to reach the roof you’ve got to bribe the supa/ain’t no cassiopeia en washington heights
  • i remember nights/anger in the streets, hunger at the windows
  • i don’t know (yo no se) what to do (que hacer) now that i’ve found you (ahora que te encontre)
  • as i sweep the curb, i can hear those turbo engines blazing a trail through the sky
  • oh snap, who’s that, don’t touch me i’m too hot!! YES!!
  • we’ll be working hard but, if we should drift apart/let me take this moment just to say/you are going to change the world someday
  • when i was a child i stayed wide awake/climbed to the highest place on every fire escape/restless to climb
  • my mom is dominican-cuban, my dad is from chile and p.r. which means/i’m chile…….domica-ric-an! but i always say i’m from queens
  • here’s to getting fired/to killing the mood/salud!
  • hold up/wait a minute/usnavi’s leaving us for the dominican republic??/and benny went and stole the girl that i’m in love with??/she was my babysitter first!!
  • yo, this is bogus/haven’t you noticed you get all your coffee for free?
  • your father said, ‘usnavi! that’s what we’ll name the baby!’/it really said ‘u.s. navy’ but hey
  • i’ll be a businessman richer than nina’s daddy/donald trump and i on the links and he’s my caddy!
  • yeah, i’m a streetlight chillin’ in the heat/i illuminate the stories of the people in the street
  • the way they’d whisper to each other about the warmer winter weather/inseparable, they even got sick together
  • WHY IS EVERYONE SO HAPPY?? WE’RE SWEATING AND WE HAVE NO POWER
  • in this album there’s a picture of abuela in havana/she is holding a rag doll/unsmiling, black and white/i wonder what she’s thinking/does she know that she’ll be leaving/for the city on a cold, dark night?/and on the day they ran/did she dream of endless summer?/did her mother have a plan, or did they just go?/did somebody sit her down and say, ‘claudia, get ready/to leave behind everything you know’?
  • maybe, maybe not, but way to take a shot when the day is hot i got perfect shady spot a little ways away that oughta cool us down
  • and i can say goodbye to you smiling/i found my island/i’ve been on it this whole time
  • it’s a wonderful life that i’ve known/merry christmas you ole building and loan!!

anonymous asked:

Usnavi is Dominican, and Dominican moms use Vivaporu (Vix Vapor Rub) for literally every injury. Cut? Vivaporu. Fainted? Vivaporu. Broke ya arm? Vivaporu now and doctor later. I feel like Usnavi would do this SO MUCH, and no one in the bodega thinks anything of it because they all know Dominican people do that and they're not phased by it. But then Ruben comes along, and he's a doctor, and he's just utterly shocked that Usnavi puts so much faith in FREAKING VIX VAPOR RUB? Usnavi wth?

I didn’t actually realize this was a thing that actually happened…

But yes. Ruben finds out when he gets a cold and Usnavi shows up with a container of the stuff. And Ruben’s just laying in bed going “Navi, no Navi I’m fine no, stop it what are you…” as Usnavi just ignores him.

(And Ruben is completely blown away when it actually works??? mind you, the soup Camilla brought him may have helped a little more, but he still appreciates Usnavi’s attempt at helping)

altschmerz.

It took me a while to realize that I am black.                                                         I’m from Detroit.                                                                                                 Everyone there looks like me                                                                             And the people that didn’t look like me looked like my mom.

All Dominican kissed skin.                                                                                     Not too much,                                                                                                     Just enough to catch the black boys attention                                                     And not make the white folk uncomfortable.

And if they didn’t look like my mom                                                                     They looked like the people my grandmother has                                             Hanging on her living room wall.                                                                           People who even in their death                                                                                                                                    

Don’t really know what it means to be hung.                                                         Because she lives in Selma.                                                                                 Selma where the tornadoes sometimes knock                                                   White passing bodies to the ground,                                                                                                                                                                                    

Which is so unlike in their life.                                                                               I guess in death Mother Nature is trying to correct some things.                         A couple years ago she finally invested in plastic frame covers instead of glass. She said she felt like they kept jumping out at her.

It took me a while to realize that I am black.                                                     Because every summer I’d sit on her lap                                                          And she’d tell me the history of her people,                                                         Of my people.                                                                                                                                                                          

The tales of cursed ships and further cursed lives                                             Sung me to sleep like a lullaby,                                                                            I guess it’s something in my blood.                                                                      Something like their blood which still flows through these veins.                                                                                  

The same blood that poured out the gash,                                                     The same blood that raised the whip.                                                               Blood that sometimes feels at war, clouted in my veins.                                     It took me a while to realize that I am black.                

I remember a time in college                                                                               I was sitting in a Feminist organization’s general meeting.                                 When the girl talking about her white privilege said she was sorry                       That she was white.

And the faces on everyone in the room clued me in                                           That my correct response was not me too.                                                       That being honest about my ancestry was cause for a riot.                                  That slavery is more palatable

When viewed as a fairy tale.                                                                                 Not the girl sitting in the room with them.                                                           That they don’t like the thought of their bastard cousin                                       Sitting in the room with them.

It took me a while to realize that I am black.                                                       When the girls a little darker than me called me white girl,                                   I just thought that they’d seen my grandmother’s living room.                             I did not realize that it was an insult.

I did not realize that I should have felt ashamed.

-pero

so i’m prob gonna be gone most of the week because:

A) ouat’s musical episode is airing on sunday, and there’s a fucking screening today (tuesday) so lol SPOILERS ABOUND AND NO THANK YOU. I HAVEN’T EVEN HEARD THE CLIPS YET CAUSE I WANNA BE SURPRISED.

B) pitch got canceled and i’m genuinely really sad about it. i didn’t post a lot about it, but pitch really, really meant a lot to me so i’m really fucking upset about it. fuck you, fox, you’re on my shit list.

C) i’m approaching finals (lmfao okay, like why is this third on my list) and i really can’t fail CAUSE GRADUATION and all that good, good. soooooo, i have so much to do there.

D) my mom is coming back from her month long vacation to the dominican republic, and my house is a mess and dominican moms are nowhere near fucking around when it comes to their homes so i gotta clean.

E) i watch a lot of tv shows and i may use whatever free time in between studying and cleaning i have to catch up! 

ANYWAY, LOVE YOU GUYS. DON’T MISS ME TOO MUCH, AND I’LL HAVE A LITTLE QUEUE GOING.

PS: LEAVE ME LOVE NOTES AND FIC PROMPTS IN MY ASKBOX FOR AFTER SUNDAY! SHIP + PROMPT (maybe i’ll try my hand at pitch fic while i’m in mourning)

i watch pretty much every single show on TV except for like shadowhunters and the 100 so HAVE AT IT, FRIENDS.

On Dominican Mother’s Day

May 31, 201

Today, on Dominican’s Mother’s Day, I wanted to tell you all about my amazing Dominican (host) mom. Since the evening I arrived at her house over a year and a half ago—a total stranger, with only a shaky grasp of the Spanish language—she has treated me like a true daughter.

She runs our household, teaches kindergarten, and works in the family’s store. She also showers her children, friends, pets, and even strangers with love and affection, going out of her way to support them even while herself batting thyroid cancer and ensuing health complications.

She has made me tea when I’ve been sick and picked bugs out of my lice-infested hair. She has defended me from over-zealous children, helped me connect with the right people in my community, cheered me on in my successes, and empathized with me when I have been frustrated, disappointed, or sad.

Every day she inspires me with her resilience, uncomplaining attitude, and generousness of spirit.

Feliz Dia de la Madre!

Celebrating my host mom’s birthday a few weeks ago.

People never believe me when I tell them that I’m dominican. My mom is from Sosua and all my relatives live there. People usually think I’m lying or that I’m Haitian. I have nothing against Haitians but they are two separate countries with different cultures. I wish that Americans would stop thinking that the average dominican is white with long straight hair. No! There are negro Indio and white Dominicans! And some Dominicans need to get out of that mindset that they are not black! Our ancestors are from Africa!

feline-friendly-blues  asked:

I am so emotional over your Dominican Nursey HC. Please tell me more about him. I need pleasant thoughts

!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ok so I’m Puerto Rican, not Dominican so I’m going off of what I do know and things that are similar 

  • Nursey’s moms met in Santo Domingo and this is where Nursey was born (One of his moms is dominican, the other is american, he has dual citizenship!!!)
  • They moved to NYC when Nursey was still really young, around 5 years old, so Spanish is his first language, but he already knew the basics of English by the time he moved
  • His calls his moms “mami” and “mom”
  • His mamá makes The Best Food ok, not only has he grown up eating fantastic food at home, but also in the immense cultural hub that is New York City, this boy is definitely a foodie (Dominican food is his forever fave though, no matter what). He loved to help his mamá in the kitchen, they made it a family thing, cooking dinner together.
  • He visits the DR every year for the holidays, his family there jokingly calls him “el gringuito” and they adore him. He LOVES christmas in the DR because he gets to eat Arroz navideño and Quipes and Pastelón de amarillos etc.
  • He prefers writing poetry in Spanish, he doesn’t think poetry in English could ever compare 
  • When he first walked into a class with a Latinx professor he nearly cried because now he could hand in poems in Spanish too (he wasn’t supposed to but the professor let it slide bc they’re chill like that and they Understand)
  • When he wants to infuriate Dex even more, instead of saying “Chill” he just goes “Manéjate” and Dex just ~blushes but also WHAT DOES THAT MEAN DEREK
  • Listen, this boy can dance Merengue, Bachata, and Salsa. And he can dance them well, his mamá made sure of that. What I’m saying is, Nursey can Move.
  • While he loves Samwell, and he’s used to being away from home, he misses Spanish so much sometimes, and he just skypes his moms and talks to them for hours when this happens
  • When Whiskey and Tango show up, Nursey constantly chips them in Spanish and they chirp him back and it’s so great
  • He has a small joking rivalry with Whiskey because they’re always trying to prove that their culture one-ups the others (Whiskey is Puerto Rican) 

Ok that’s all I have right but if anyone wants to add to this, feel free!!

My best friend has a lot of self hatred. We’re both Haitian and she’s a quarter Dominican because her mom is mixed. She absolutely hates her features. She feels that she got all her dad’s “ugly genes” and she wished she had her mom’s type 3 hair, light skin, and light eyes. When she tells me this I try my best to show her that her features are just fine and just when I think her view of herself is getting a tiny bit better she’ll say something about how she hates that she doesn’t have “good hair” like her mom. She has a strong preference for Hispanic and mixed guys. I wouldn’t see any issue with this if she didn’t have such a set image of what she wants her kids to look like. She’ll talk about how they’ll have silky and curly “good hair” and light skin. When I mention that there’s still a possiblility that the kid could have type 4 hair and dark skin she says

“They won’t. Hopefully my mom’s genes will kick in” This makes me wonder how she’ll view her child if he/she comes out with mostly her features.