i’m costarican and so are my parents and so are my grandparents and so were my great grandparents so i p much consider myself latino! you do know there are black latinos, brown latinos, white latinos etccc.. i am aware of my privilege though as my skin is white but i’m still latino and i have friends and family who don’t have this privilege so of course i care about my people
What do you think about the african and african american relationship? I've always loved your culture (I'm african) but seeing about the culture aproppiation issue makes me confusing cause I'd thougt we have the same roots. (sorry for my english!)
Your English was great! Even better than a lot of Americans’ english to be honest 😂😂
I honestly dont think theres any such thing as cultural appropriation between black Americans (dispora included) and Africans. Africa is where OUR direct roots come from; think about it, how can a Chinese-American “appropriate” Chinese culture? Just because their family was born in America doesn’t mean they’re not allowed to connect with the place the majority of their great-grandparents & ancestors came from. The Black/African American to African culture situation is the same way. The only difference is that as African-Americans, we were STOLEN from that place/home.
I understand why many Africans would get frustrated with us for trying to claim the “wrong” culture (for example: a black-American trying to claim Ghanaian culture even though their ancestors were probably from Nigeria). But here’s the thing: we truthfully DO NOT KNOW where we’re from. We don’t KNOW whether our ancestors were from Nigeria or Ghana or Liberia of Sierra Leone or Senegal or even Somalia or Ethiopia. We DO NOT KNOW because all of that was stolen and hidden from us. I grew up with a lot of Nigerian and Liberian friends and I always remember their parents specifically looking down on us (black Americans) for not being “pure African” or for being Americanized; but it is literally not our fault. We were FORCED from you guys and dumped in this place against our will. We were beaten and raped and degraded and murdered into creating our own culture here. And when West African specifically get mad at black-Americans for grasping at our African origins and trying to bridge that disconnect, it makes no sense to me. It’s like if your 13-year old cousin was kidnapped by some creepy white guy; that disgusting pedophile keeps your cousin locked in his basement for ten years. Then, after being held hostage for a decade, your cousin finally escapes captivity despite ALL the odds and then tries to rejoin the family they were stolen from. How can you get mad at your cousin who is recovering from years and years of abuse for trying to return home? Just because they are all grown up now? Just because they look and talk different now?
I know not all Africans reject black Americans this way, but for the ones who do, just think about WHY you do. When Chinese-Americans show appreciation for their Chinese culture, they are praised by distant relatives. When African-Americans attempt to appreciate African culture we are shunned, ridiculed, and rejected….
As far as Africans sharing in black/African-American culture, I also see no problem with it. The only time it is an issue for me is when Africans view us as “diluted" and inferior for the culture we created here while at the same time trying to SHARE in the culture we created here. To me that is no different than non-black POC appropriating black-American culture while calling us ghetto for it. As long as neither group is insensitive/ignorant towards what the other group has faced, I see no issue with black Americans sharing in African culture nor Africans sharing in black American culture.
No, no, no! You cannot be ashamed to be German! Everytime I meet anyone from Germany/Austria they apologise (I'm Polish) and it's not your fault! The people that lived before you in Germany were brainwashed and didn't know that what they were doing was wrong. WW2 is and will be one of the greatest tragedies in history but the past does not define you as nation. Just like Poland rised from ruins, you rised to be a great nation, just like us. I love you ❤️
I know it’s not my fault but…knowing what my people were capable off, being reminded everyday by seeing it on screen, in school, in documentaries, basically everywhere…it’s good that we don’t forget our past, it’s the only way to deal with it. However it can be quite shocking to know how much terror my “ancestors” spread. I don’t have any nazi relatives (my great-grandparents wer jewish so) but you know what I mean. And I do think they /did/ know and that’s what makes it more awful. They knew very well, they just chose to ignore what they did, they put their ideology over everything else.
And that fanatism is the worst thing that could happen to any country. Hence why we must be careful nowadays with the refugee issue at hand. We must ensure that we /never/ repeat the past, and not just the germans. Every country must remember how destructive wars are (especially in modern times), how destructive hate, racism and nationalism is. Stop electing right/left wing dictators, stop hating on people just because you don’t really know them. Educate yourselves, read books, watch movies, pay attention in history class because every new generation has the responsibility to remember and take care of not letting anything like this ever happen again.
I know I’ve shared these before, but here are some photos of my grandparents, great grandparents, and great aunts/ uncles
1) great aunt Rose at her high school graduation
2) my Mom at 1 year old
3) My grandpa and his friend while in the army
4) my great great uncles and some moonshine
5) my great aunt Laurie
6) my great aunt Rose and some of her cousins
7) great aunt Ellie
8) great aunt Carrie
9) my great uncles, my grandpa, my great grandpa
10) my great grandpa
I don’t have a type writer, I don’t have a publisher, and sometimes I don’t have much ambition, but I do have an amazing story that I’d like to share and even if it can’t be throughout the world,I thought maybe my tumblr friends would like to read and well, that’d be enough for me. This isn’t the full version, rather a summery of the few things I’ve learned this October. To start things off, the two people in these pictures are my great grandparents, (grandmother and grandad), Genevieve and JC Brock. They met when they were 14 years old, married when they were 18, and had been together ever since. 69 years. 87 and 86 years old in 2014, my grandmother had become sick and soon developed dementia. They wanted to hospitalize her or put her in a nursing home, but my grandad wouldn’t take no for an answer. He had promised her for years that he would always take care of her until the day she went to heaven and well, that’s exactly what he did. He almost didn’t want to believe that his wife, his best friend, his “little darling” was sick. Always told her to “snap out of it” or “you’re just hallucinating again, you’re silly”. Not long after, it became tougher and harder for my grandad to take care of the both of them. My mom had to fly from California to set up hospice care for them. Grandad was upset at first but soon realized it was best for his little darling. One morning, my grandmother had a stroke and it put her into a comatose state. The life that had filled my grandmothers eyes had been turned to a low volume. She lay still in bed, everyday, breathing every few minutes. I watched as everyday, every minute, every second, my grandad had sat by her bedside holding her hand and reassuring her that he was always going to be there. He sang to her, talked to her, kissed her forehead and hands. He never slept, stopped eating, and only drank coffee. He was afraid that she would leave him if he left and he wouldn’t be there to say “I love you” one more time. He knew that time was his enemy. He talked to God a lot, prayed and prayed. Started to forgive, let go, and let god. From that day forward he prayed that he would have a heart attack, drop dead, because he literally could not see himself living one day without the love of his life. I still believe that. He told me “suicide is not an answer. Not an option, because suicide will not get me to my wife, but I am only asking for help, for a favor, for a miracle” .. It broke my heart, but at the same time, brought a light into my life. My grandmother died on October 13, 2014, that night we signed DNR papers for my grandad.. I watched a brave veteran, tough grandad, and loving husband cry for the first time. He threw away all of his heart pills, got rid of all of his food in his house, and started to pack. He sang hymns loudly throughout the day, smiled, and told me he loved me more than he had in years. It sounds crazy, but when you love someone the way he does, and have as much faith as he does, home is right around the corner and he was happier than ever to know he’d be there soon again with his little darling. “ honey, I lived 69 years with that little lady and I don’t want to live one without her. I’ve done my job here, that was to love and protect her. Now what else am I gonna do? Nothing” …. 6 days later, October 19, 2014 my grandad met his bestfriend back in heaven. Love is the most powerful thing in this world my friends. I can’t express to you all enough how important it is and how much someone else’s life can change with it. It took one month, two people, and one irrevocable love, to take me on the best spiritual journey of my life. To reason with the circle of life. To realize how much our world has changed. I’ve never felt closer to myself before and I thank my grandparents for that. If you read this, I hope that you remember that love exists. Don’t ever give up on anything, but most importantly, please remember that it’s okay to slow life down. It’s okay to forget time, work, and money. The small things in life can never be replaced.
The past few days we have been moving into our new temporary house! Your great grandpa has moved to Florida to stay in a hospital down there and needed someone to look after his super house and watch over his dogs. We just so happen to love dogs and just so happened to be near by and house-less so this was perfect for us. We have already had so much fun in this house including dancing around the living room like crazies to the 60’s tv music channel, taking a family bubble bath in the jacuzzi tub, cooking some yummy food in the massive kitchen, and sitting out on the patio and playing with the dogs in the huge backyard. We have picked out this room to be your playroom. This room used to be “the yellow room” and it was the room I always played in when I stayed the night over here. This house used to be my favorite house to come to spend the night at when I was little and I have so many memories being here. I can’t wait to make new memories in this house with you. Yesterday was your great grandmas birthday and I couldn’t of been more happier to spend it with you in the house that she lived in.
My entire life, I have been told that my great-grandmother had left me her china set and that someday I would get it. Finally, this year I got the china. It was all wrapped in newspaper from 1992 and in flawless condition. There was an envelope inside with two photos of me as a baby with both of my great-grandparents. This is such a beautiful gift and I feel so grateful for it.
These are my great grandparents (Mom’s side: left, dad’s side: right) and I want to be as happy as them when married I mean look at them.
Rose and Donnie didn’t meet for a long time, not until I was already born, and they were both married before so it’s important to understand that sometimes life is trial and error, unfortunately. Still rad.
On the other hand, Millie and John met when they were teenagers in Arkansas and never ever had anyone else. (That’s my favorite story, maybe another time.) I think that’s super rad.
Aren’t they beautiful?
After work we went out to eat with Navyy’s extended family to celebrate her grandparents’ 60th(!) wedding anniversary. 60 years. A little cursory Googling tells me that in the US only 5% or so of couples reach their 50th anniversary. So glad that we are now living nearby and can see them regularly. I supposedly met a few great-grandparents, but have no recollection of them. With any luck the Minky will have the great pleasure of having them in his lives for many more years to come.
Hold on to your hats folks, I’m about to tell you about a woman who is basically legend in my family: my great-grandmother.
Ah, but put aside any images in your mind of sweet little grannies who knit and make cookies, for I mean to tell you about the exploits of The Spitfire.
Mary was a wild girl. Now, this was the early 1900s. When I say “wild girl”, I don’t mean “does unladylike things, plays with boys, thinks women ought to have the right to vote”.
I mean “holy beans this child is wild and destructive and has quite a temper, she is going to destroy the house”. She was quite literally so wild that her own parents sent her to live with relatives on a farm until she’d settled down a little bit. And that was just her young years.
Mary lived through both World Wars and married a man I usually heard referred to as “Red”. I never met Red, but I’ve heard that he had a wicked temper. I don’t suppose he expected a bride quite as independent and fierce as my Great-Gramma, given that it was probably during the 1920s when they married.
Anyway, fast forward a few decades.
Great-Gramma has married again after the death of her first husband (the second husband was a jolly old German fellow I just knew as “Great Granpa Hans” who would laugh apologetically when we cried as babies as though he was the reason babies cried). She was living in the same state as her twin daughters, my Nana and Great-Aunt. Well Nana was married as well and raising five kids at the time.
Great-Gramma came over one day to find that one of the five children was having a meltdown of epic proportions, for unknown reasons. Talking wasn’t working, nobody could calm the child. Great-Gramma walked into the kitchen.
She came back with a cup of Sprite.
Oh, they probably all thought, she thinks a drink will calm down (my dad’s sibling).
Nope. Not even close.
She poured the Sprite all over the meltdown-sibling’s head.
That sure ended the fuss in a hurry.
This is the same woman who didn’t get her driver’s license until she was 84, then promptly backed into a tree and didn’t tell anyone for weeks because reasons.
The same woman who, at the age of 99, stole the nursing home’s medicine list and hid it, then forgot that she’d taken it and innocently pointed out it’s hiding place to the frantic orderlies.
This woman was epic.
Shortly before she died at the age of 100, we went to visit her. She was having difficulty staying in one time zone. Or rather, one time period. The first thing she asked us when we got there was “Are you alright?”
My dad said, “What do you mean, Gramma?”
And she said, “You were on the ship, weren’t you?”
She thought it was 1915, over ten years before even our Nana was born. She thought we’d been on the Lusitania when it was torpedoed.
Years later, after she’d passed away, one of my cousins had a baby girl. Since she’d always been close to Great-Gramma, she named her daughter after her. To our surprise, the little girl very quickly began to show some of the exact same traits as Great-Gramma….particularly an unusual habit of smoothing the tablecloth with two fingers. This was when the child was a baby. She had never met Great-Gramma.
Which, of course, makes me wonder if certain habits are genetic?
I think about that feisty little old lady sometimes, and I think about the way the some of us take after her, and I’ve decided that should I grow old, I’m probably going to end up wreaking as much havoc as she did. :D
The tomb was built in 1930 and it’s one of the first niches built in the Peñaranda Public Cemetery in Nueva Ecija. It’s probably my 3rd time to visit this niche because we literally have to cross and walk over other niches built around ours. I believe we have the tallest tomb in the area because I can still see its peak from my lolo’s niche, where we really stay.
This tomb still have available spaces for bones but my grandmother’s family, the Borbolla siblings, decided not to use it anymore after their mother was interned in the 1970s. Only 3 persons were interned in this tall tomb, Miguel and Dionisia Borbolla and someone I can’t recall.
My dad told me the story about the family’s history, we have Chinese blood. My great grandfather, Miguel T. Borbolla, bought Christian names during the Spanish occupation. His Chinese surname, Tan, became his middle name.