source: @lockscreamss sherlock bbc - random reblog/like if you use. |part two| cred to: @mrjwatson @johntective @ughmartinfreeman (also others, but I can’t remember whom. message me if you recognise any and I’ll add creds.)
my friends @veitstanz und @uniformshark haben dieses jahr einen tisch ergattert in der zeichnerecke (MK 274!) und dank zeitmangel und cosplay irrsinn werd’ ichs leider nicht schaffen was neues zu präsentieren, aber von meiner seite gibts die drei motive hier in A4 zu holn!
ihr solltet auf jeden fall veitstanz’ und uniformsharks merchs auschecken, die beiden haben sich echt ins zeug gelegt und
bieten weit mehr als poster an!
“I grew up in touch with my blackness and out of touch with my latinidad. I remember thinking I was not part of Latinx culture because of my skin.”
I actually don’t know where I was born. I say Ecuador, but I’m not entirely sure. I was raised in D.C. and the orphanage I was at before is in Guayaquil. Even if I find out I wasn’t physically born in Guayaquil, there’s a part of me that will always pay homage. At three, I was adopted and I moved to D.C. There, my blackness could thrive early in my life, in Chocolate City—which is now more white chocolate, but that’s another conversation; Nineties-D.C. was crucial for my growth as someone transnationally and transracially adopted.
I grew up in touch with my blackness and out of touch with my latinidad. I remember thinking I was not part of Latinx culture because of my skin. Throughout my adolescence, my peers and strangers would point to my skin and my figure and say this was why I was hard to identify as ‘latino.’ When I spoke Spanish, I still felt like a stranger. As a kid, I loved my skin from the jump and got frustrated when anyone tripped over it. Strangers asked, “What are you mixed with?” or asserted “You don’t look like any latinos I know.“ Not being Caribbean, African American, African, or BlackEuropean, I didn’t claim the word black until I lived in Buenos Aires.
From middle school and on, my peers told me my hair wasn’t kinky enough and my features looked ‘too latina’ to be black. I thought by claiming my blackness I would take up space that wasn’t for me. Visiting Ecuador and Panama, I started seeing people who looked like me and recognized that there were many blacknesses. In my six months in Buenos Aires, Dominicans who looked just like me called me negra and morena. It was so loving and almost revolutionary for them to liken me to their sisters and mothers and aunties and for all of us to be collectively afrodescendientes. We kept in touch and started gathering for holidays and cooking together; it was so beautiful for me.
I’m someone who takes up space. A lot of it. Before I could own that and call myself BlackEcuatoriana, I felt pressure of the Eurocentric idea of womanhood, that told me to be soft, to quiet, to shrink in the U.S. society. But ‘being small,’ wasn’t me. Nor was it supposed to be. Once I could identify the box whiteness had placed over my identities, I was able to expand in every direction. My blackness is inclusive of thick, indigenous hair. My latinidad is inclusive of darker skin. I am of these two attributes and so very much more. Colorism allows mainstream and social media to place lighter skin at the forefront of even AfroLatinx media.
You know, I read and hear a lot of people cite Sofia Vergara when discussing Latinx in media and I don’t think we add that Sofia Vergara does not even look like Sofia Vergara. She is a natural blonde who spent much of her life walking around as a narrow figure wishing she was more curvaceous. I think what is more interesting about this conversation of mainstream media is that social media affords latinx people of all backgrounds a wider scope. I scroll and come across more black people across the diaspora and spanish speakers with my skin tone, often deeper, expressing themselves in all kinds of ways. And we all get to be in conversation with each other.
Of course, social media is, in part, about people creating mirrors in which to see themselves, which is valuable regardless if it is mainstream or not; it is real. Off the top of my head, I think writers like Es Mi Cultura newsletter curator Tamika Burgess, BuzzFeed producer Julissa Calderon (LaJulissa), Closure producer Angela Tucker, Well-Read Black Girl founder Glory Edim—I could go on!—are crafting physical and virtual spaces where the survival of everyday, prismatic lives of BlackLatinx people are prioritized and honored.
This is why my poetry and Candela are so important to me. I co-founded, with poet Darrel Alejandro Holnes, Candela Writers Workshop, a monthly writing workshop open to poets who self-identify as persons of African descent and/or as Black with a connection to Latin American and/or U.S. Latinx culture. Candela for me is to garden a space where artists can create and see themselves look back, where curious, engaged, and self-determined writers of various communities can explore one’s interest in poetry, find or exchange resources, and strengthen one’s craft. In an interview, Lucille Clifton talks about how black people have windows while white people have mirrors. White people look into mirrors wherever they go, while black people look through windows into the homes and lives of whiteness. It was so essential for me as I grew up to hear someone like Celia Cruz—Úrsula Hilaria Celia de la Caridad Cruz Alfonso—who was proud to be herself, to be Black, to be Cuban and who was displaced, but still holds her memory of home wherever she went. Celia, along with Whitney Houston, gave me permission to take up the space that I do. I would watch their early career performances or music videos on TV or online and turn to my white Cajun mom and say, "That’s me!” I want everyone to feel that energy and release their uniqueness. I think that’s why I love producing as well. In my free time, I am getting the chance to collaborate, either artistically or as a producer, with native New Yorkers (beautifully coincidental) to create projects and support spaces where people are welcomed to fiercely express themselves and exist face-to-face.
Thank you all so much for getting me to 1k followers! I love & appreciate every single one of you. To celebrate, I’m doing my very first Follow Forever. This is essentially just a list of all my favorite mutuals in no particular order (because I’m too lazy to sort them alphabetically, sorry).
I decided to make my first ever follow forever! I thought it was the perfect time since I have recently reached 1,600 followers plus season 2 has now ended. Here is a list of my favorite blogs that will keep me entertained through the HeAteUs!
Okay, I’ve been here for a far too long time. I’ve waisted too many hours and tears on this website, but there are many many people who make me enjoy (almost) every single second of it and I can’t even say how fucking thankful I am. I’m not good at this, saying ‘Thank you’ and all that or making clear how I feel about something that makes me so incredibly happy. So, take this… My first Follow Forever.
I know the list is too short and I’m 100% certain I forgot a few people, I am truly sorry about that, but all your url changes are friggin’ confusing and I’m a lazy ass person.
I recently hit 2k, and to celebrate, I’ve decided to do a follow forever! I follow over 800 blogs (my dash is a mess) so here are just some of my top favourites. Every single person I follow is amazing, so check out my blogroll uwu