I took Brad into Gresham to a Mexican grocery store to get the huge pumpkin piñata for the party. We were both starving so we had dinner there. Except for him burning his mouth severely for 10 minutes by taking a huge bite of a whole roasted jalapeño on his dish; he enjoyed his food and he stated “I love The Mexicans”. To which I laughed so hard and said “THE Mexicans?…… Well; I love THE Whites” and we both bellied out….. way too loud.
As we were checking out he made a stupid joke by putting the stopper at the very end of the conveyor belt for our 3 little items (piñata excluded); even though no one was behind us. Claiming the entire belt for us. I then said “yea; don’t let THE Mexicans get close”. It was a bad continuation of our previous joke but of course I talk way too loud and the Hispanic man and his boy in front of us heard. Then to clarify for their sake I said “but no one ever thinks I’m Mexican”.
The damage was done though. What I said gave that man and cashier severe anxiety. He left not only his keys but they both left some of his grocery items there as well. I felt horrible. This place was/is their sanctuary. Their place to come together amongst themselves. A place for them to not have to think or worry about racial injustices and not fitting in. I think I took that for granted because I’ve never had such a place for myself and I didn’t recognize how significant that is to them. Needless to say I’ve banned myself from ever going back.
But my point remains that because I don’t look like what I am; neither Cuban, Mexican nor American (white US citizen) I’ve never had a place I truly felt I fit in. Never a place where I could take for granted that there were people exactly like me there. I remember telling my parents that I wish they had never migrated to this country to which they both correctly state I would have never then been born. I still affirm that as a worthy sacrifice.*
This is not to say that I take for granted the privileges that being born in the US have allowed me. This is not to say I am not proud to be from the USA or California made. I truly am. It’s just to say that not having an identity that is relatable to anyone else has been one of my greatest difficulties in life. It’s fine. I don’t let it get me down. I don’t rest my happiness or unhappiness there but maybe that is also why I don’t understand how people can be racists; because I can’t claim access to any of the clubs. I’m a bystander in the turmoil with no homefield advantage anywhere in the world.
I belong nowhere. Sometimes; especially since my family disowned me last year (over me testifying against my molesting uncle in court,) I feel like Stitch (Lilo & Stitch) in the first movie where he can’t find home, because it never existed for him to begin with.
I see the little boy that just came from China at my daughters school and I feel for him. While he does have a dedicated culture and country; he left it all behind to start fresh. He still struggles with the language. This culture is completely new to him. He is a very sweet boy who I see struggling to fit in.
The children around him aren’t cruel or trying to be hurtful; but they are just young children who don’t understand that their laughter when he makes mistakes and doesn’t understand something which they see as completely basic hurts him deeply. This is his unfortunate cross to bear; no matter that he is only 11. We all have them; he may have more and worse. Who’s to know. Life can be very unforgiving.
Brad stayed for the first time last night. I tried so hard to make him comfortable and tried also to let myself find happiness there. He woke me up twice for sex. After the second time (and he was sure I orgasmed…..maybe a 4 😉) he left. I’m neither happy nor unhappy about it. It’s probably easier that he did. I recognize that him being around my kids still brings me anxiety; and tonight was no different. Hard to say how much is me and how much is him. He can be very inappropriate and I have severe PTSD. Maybe not the best combination.
Plus the fact that we are both extreme perverts doesn’t help probably. In BDSM there is an inherent underlying current of danger. Even though truthfully he has been less and less aggressive with me as we go along…. which I actually like. There is something to be said for tenderness. But it still doesn’t negate the difficulties we are having. I keep thinking it should be 100%. That I need to have absolutely zero doubts and yet will that ever, given the trauma I’ve experienced, be the case? I somehow think it won’t be, but….. I also can’t settle for less. See the problem?
*I’ve written about it on my other blog. I won’t go into extensive detail but I think people shouldn’t leave their countries. I think they should stay and fight for their lives; for their livelihoods, for their culture, land, families. It sucks that we live in a world where countries, governments, corporations, people pillage all they can and just sit back and watch those they’ve raped suffer needlessly…. horrendously sometimes. This world is maddening.
Tomorrow is another day. The possibilities are endless. I open my heart…. looking for happiness wherever that lies. Trying not to perpetuate more crimes against humanity. Forgiving myself for my idiocy. Forgiving others for theirs. Finding a common thread. Trying at least. Me, bubble bath, chocolate and strawberries, THC, 9pm tomorrow. It’s a date. Happy Place….. I’ll see you soon.
I need some more beauty sleep. 💤🤗❤️💋