#FridayFive – the perks of being 30

I’m only ONE day late this time!  I’m going to get the hang of this by the end of the month.   #FridayFive was started by my fellow FTL Launch Team member who writes a blog called Mrs. Disciple.  Each Friday she posts a topic for us all to write on and a place for all of us to link up.  Today, as I wandered over to her site and I scrolled through her post I realized that she and I actually met in Austin.  We chatted for a few minutes after dinner at this great BBQ place and I didn’t realize she was the same woman that writes this blog – which I’ve grown to love.  So sorry, Kelly, for being so slow on the uptake!  (That’s the phrase right?) That just goes to show you how crazy that weekend in Austin really was for all of us.
Anyways, without further ado… This week’s #FridayFive is:

The Perks of Being 30 (and single)

I’m throwing my own little flair into this one – adding the “and single” part for me.  So many times in my life I get asked why I’m still single at my age, whether overtly or more subtly.  And no – not by anyone who actually has a relationship with me, but it comes up.  So I’m taking this chance to be a little thankful for the life that I lead.
Confidence in myself – It wasn’t like a magical switch on the day I turned 30, although that would be nice.  But it’s a been a slow feeling growing within myself over the last few years.  I’ve suddenly began to find that self-confidence people are always telling me about.  The one that comes from actually listening and believing the encouragements people give me and owning those things I’ve been gifted.
Getting to be the fun Aunt – not just to my three little loves but to all my friends’ kids.  This is an extremely rare opportunity that I get to have where I get to invest in the lives of my friends and their littles.  Being so far away from my own family, it means that much more to me to be able to be Auntie Alicia to my friends’ kids.  I realize that this stage won’t last forever, but for now, I’m loving the opportunity.
Stability – It took me a while to get to this place.  I’ve moved around a lot since college – I always had an expiration date on my position, on my living situation, on my time in any given city.  But now, this place I’m in, it’s more permanent.  It feels stable but not stale.  It definitely feels like I could be here for a while.  I have a great job, a great apartment, great friends – all in all, it’s a great life.
Friends – Oh these friends of mine.  Being 30 means that I have adult friends – real adult friends.  There’s something about being a little bit older and making friends – it’s at the same time extremely hard and extremely rewarding.  It takes work because you aren’t just naturally surrounded by like minded people the way you were in college, in grad school – but it’s also extremely rewarding because we’ve grown out of our insecurities and mean spiritedness.  We’re kinder, we’re more accepting and we’re more vulnerable.  My friends are amazing, they love me well through all the ups and downs of life.  It took me a while to find them, but now I have them and I want to hold onto them forever.
Free Time – Even though my job keeps me really busy, I also have a fair amount of free time.  Time to read, write letters, color in coloring books (yes I’m serious), hang out with friends, etc.  It’s a perk of being single and again, I realize it won’t last forever.  But for now, I’m really enjoying the independence and flexibility of spending my time exactly as I would like to.


That was fun!  Looking around at this stage of life and taking stock of what I’m thankful for in this time.  I know these things will change, will only get better as I move through the stages of life.  But for now, I’m really enjoying this time of life.  I didn’t freak out about turning 30 like I feared I would a few years ago.  I ran full throttle into my thirties.  Thirty, flirty and thriving – ain’t that right?

colour me in

I heard a discussion recently on these new emojis that Apple has released that range the full spectrum of racial diversity… well probably not the full spectrum but the fullest you can probably get on a little emoji head.  It was a discussion about how people are “supposed” to use these emjois, are we supposed to be the emoji, or is the emoji the person we are texting, or are we just referring to random people who are just sort of out there and therefore can be any race?
The conversation got really interesting as they continued to reach out to their white friends and ask this question – what emoji choice do you make?  And what does that choice say about you?
I, for one, have always struggle with my racial identity.  Well, almost always.  Being bi-racial in a predominately white world has mostly caused questions in my world, from me and from others.  There came a point where I started to resent the assumption of being white.  I can’t fully explain what that means fully – it probably has something to do with losing my dad, and the idea that identifying as white is in some way forsaking him and his history.
But identifying fully as a Latina, that has it’s baggage too.  It means that I’m shutting down the other half of my family – even though we don’t know our heritage as well on that side of my family.  Add into this midst my internationally adopted goddaughter whom feels more a part of me than anyone I’m blood related to.  I look at pictures of our family and I see a beautiful mosaic.
Represented in our little family are many cultures, many worlds.  And it is so beautiful to me, to us.  We cherish it with open arms and hearts.  We don’t see different races when we look at each other, we just see family.
But outside in the “real world” – the story doesn’t feel as beautiful.  I try to fill out my ethnic background on forms and I find myself asking those same questions.  Please – just give me a bi-racial box.  Give me a Multi-Ethnic option.  And some forms have, to which I am so grateful to proudly check that box.
So when Apple gave us options for emojis, I admit – I was excited.  I wanted something to represent my skin tone better.  And I know that sounds weird.  I know that sounds like I’m putting too much stock into those dumb little cartoons that I use to jazz up my texts…  but in a world where I get asked “what are you?”  Where people look to me to raise my minority flag but also feel free to mock me for liking tacos and salsa.  Where I see my goddaughter mocked for the color of her skin at a young age.  Where I hear her struggle through what it means to be Asian and to be proud of a culture she left at a young age.
In a world where race tensions are still entirely too present, whether purposely malicious or ignorantly neglectful, I sometimes just need a win. I’m not going to say it’s a win for all minorities.  I wouldn’t dream to make an assumption for every person of color.  But for me, a tiny little emoji that gets closer to my brown hair and darker skin, is a win.
This post’s title comes from a Damien Rice song, I discovered it while writing this post and it hit, it hit my heart so hard.  I’m still processing it, but sometimes my struggle with my own racial identity feels like the tension in this song.  I’ve had moments when I feel like I’m trying my hardest to help people see things through my eyes and it ends in pain, when I’ve been looking for Christ’s love in others but when the love of others has let me down.  I’ve often confused it with Christ’s love letting me down.  But I realize his love will never let me down.  But as followers of him, our love lets others down all the time.  We do it wrong.  And I know that I’m called to love others through the tension – but it’s so hard at times.
But I have to keep trying.  To love others through this racial reconciliation journey, and when it’s hard to love, I have to rely on Christ’s love for others through me.  I pray his love can shine through me stronger than my own frustrations.

our whispered words are louder than bombs

I have a very clear memory from a solitude retreat I took my second year of Seminary.  It comes back to me frequently, like a still voice from the Spirit reminding me to keep myself in check.
I was taking a walk through the neighborhood by the church I was currently attending (that I now work at).  I was walking past all of these cute houses with kids playing in the yard and I felt that feeling that most single girls of a certain age feel… I want that.  I don’t want to be stuck here in Seminary.  I want to be in my call.  I want to know where I’ll be spending the rest of my life (or just the first chapter).  I want to know who I will be spending it with.  I want to have the wrap around porch where I can sit with my friends and watch our kids play.  I don’t want this – I want that.
Then a line from the Shauna Niequist book I was reading at the time rang through my ears, “Don’t try to fast forward yourself into a future you haven’t yet earned.”  (From Bittersweet).
I didn’t know then that that neighborhood would be one I would drive through several times a week once I received my first call.  That neighborhood would be one I would take prayer walks in with our kids on our All Church Retreat.  That neighborhood would be canvased by me, alongside our leadership team and staff.
That moment floods back to me a lot.  When I see someone or some situation that I wish I had in my life, Shauna’s words continue to ring true in my ears.  It reminds me that I still have a great life to live right here right now.  All that stuff awaits me in the future – maybe, who knows?  I know there are things in life that I want to have, that I want to experience.  And I know that my God loves me and wants to give me the desires of my heart – in his way, in his timing.
I know someone who says that when we’re waiting it’s because God still has something left to teach us.  The immature person in me wants to tell God I’ve learned enough – I’m ready for my hearts’ desires.  But the mature person in me tells me that there are mountains of lessons to learn before I’m fully ready for that next step.  I’m still in process, as hard as it is to admit – it’s true.
Jesus tells us not to worry in the Sermon on the Mount (See Matthew 6).  He tells us to “Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, live righteously and he will give you everything you need.  Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries.  Today’s trouble is enough for today.”
Some days I need to repeat this to myself multiple times.  Some days I live it out without reminders.  And plenty of days fall in between the two extremes.  I just continuously remind myself that in a world where I’m told my worth is determined by whether or not I have a ring on that finger and kids in tow, those messages are not from God.  That is a future that I have not yet earned.  For now, I will seek the Kingdom of God above all else, try my hardest to live righteously and trust in the fact that He will give me what I need, when I need it.

nobody loves me quite like you love me

A few posts ago I wrote about a writing contest that I entered over at Hello Giggles.  It was a writing contest call “Tales from a Bestie” and I wrote a piece on my former Roomsmate and how we met.  It felt good to right it, to reflect on our first weeks and months of friendship.
I was not, however, chosen as one of the finalists.  Although I read the posts that were chosen and they were seriously good!
I did, however, get an e-mail back from them asking me to pitch some ideas for the website.  They said they liked my voice and thought I had an interesting point of view.  Which was cool to hear since I tend to think my point of view isn’t all that special.  But maybe because I see it everyday.
I’ve been trying to put myself out there more, in the writing world.  I’m trying new things and making myself put my ideas out there.  But it’s hard, friends.  It’s hard to look at the world around me and think so many thoughts but then to write them down in a way that others would be interested/challenged/whatever.  But I want to keep trying, so we’ll see.
I have other writing news that I’ll be sharing in the next couple of days, but for now, here’s the piece I wrote on the Rooms, for your reading enjoyment.


 
Relationships are full of moments.  Significant ones that change everything like a cannonball into the deep end and insignificant ones like a drop into an ocean.  Most of them go unnoticed in the real world.  There aren’t any orchestras following us around to swell and crash when something is happening that we should take notice of, like in the movies.
Imagine with me for a moment – picture a grad school orientation in a small room full of chairs and a podium, the walls lined with coffee, tea and assorted pastries.  It’s late August in Chicago which means you could cut the humidity with a knife, every window in the room is open but it doesn’t help the stale summer air circulate.   As I walk in, I instantly feel the social pressure of the situation.  A room full of mostly twenty somethings all wearing name tags and mingling.  Everyone is subtly eyeing everyone else – sizing each other up if we’re all being honest here.  I look around and across the room I spot a girl my age but much more put together.  She’s chatting with a group, laughing periodically and I feel a pull toward her.  I immediately know that this girl and I are going to have a story.  Either we are going to come out of this program as best friends or we are not going to get along.  Later when it’s time to break into groups, I end up in her group, where I learn her name – Hilary.
The next day there is a breakfast for the whole school and the professors.  I end up sitting with Hilary again and at the end of the introductions and announcements over eggs and coffee, I decide to through out an offer – “Wanna walk to get coffee before whatever’s next?”
“Sure, can we stop at my apartment first?”  To which I respond “Sure.”  And that was it.  The moment we became friends.  I’d later come to find out that Hilary hated coffee – everything about it.  So her agreeing to go with me was a bit of an anomaly.
Fast forward two months, Hilary comes over and tells me we need to talk.  We go into my room, close the door and she is grinning from ear to ear.  We had been petitioning our campus housing to let her move into the third bedroom of my apartment.  We had finally gotten a yes and we celebrated the moment we became roommates.
In a lot of ways, Hil and I could not be more different.  She is a pastor’s kid who moved from the south to the west coast before coming to Chicago.  I didn’t become a Christian until High School, moved from the east coast to Colorado before moving to Chicago.  She is up to date on fashion and trends while always being perfectly accessorized and before we moved in together I couldn’t even paint my nails efficiently.  She is a pop music queen and I have a tendency to be a bit more indie inspired.  She loves movies with car chases and lots of action where I could watch chick flicks everyday and never get bored.
But at the same time, we always found common ground in the strangest places.  We both knew all the words to every song on Robyn’s 1995 release Robyn is Here.  We both loved to dance it out when stressed.  Neither of us were morning people and need caffeine before we can even think about talking to each other.  We’re both into craft beer and love to find pubs or neighborhood bars to frequent.  She’s a planner and I’m a follower of plans.  We just tend to fit together in the oddest of ways.
There was this one moment that seems to sum up our interactions – we were driving home from church in my car.  As we listened to music and talked through what homework we needed to do that day I asked her to remind me to do something when we got home.  She pulled out her phone and added a reminder to remind me.  I laughed and said, “One of my favorite things about you is that you set reminders to help me remember stuff.”  And she looked at me in disbelief and said, “That’s one of your favorite things about me?”
But the truth of the matter is that yes, in that moment I realized that she was the type of friend who went above and beyond to help her friends.  This was just a small example of it.  She was constantly helping me become a better person, a better friend, a better pastor.  It was a moment when I realized just exactly how much I appreciated her in my life.  That mundane moment that really didn’t mean a lot was the moment when I realized she was the best kind of friend, one who cares deeply about you – not because what you could do for her but because she loved you.
I’ve heard that it’s hard to live with your friends but once again, Hilary and I were an anomaly.  Although I am positive we often got on each others nerves, we also had no qualms about just coming out and saying what was annoying us.  It’s not that we didn’t fight, it’s that we fought out of a place of mutual respect and aimed for compromise.  I remember a few tense conversations standing in our kitchen, each of us refusing to turn away until it was resolved.
One night in particular, I was in my room crying over some dumb guy.  We had been at a party and I came home early to wallow.  She stood in my doorway giving me that look that I knew meant she had something to say that I did not want to hear.  When I asked her opinion she gave it to me and I was right.  She essentially told me what I already knew – I was wasting my time on someone who could care less about me.  It was within that quiet moment that I realized she wasn’t ever going to sugar coat something that I needed to hear.  We didn’t need the sugar coating anymore – we were Besties – the fact that we loved each other unconditionally was all the coating we needed for the hard truths.
Our friendship has had hundreds of other moments.  Good moments – dinners out, birthdays celebrated, new crushes discovered.  Hard moments – hearing that she was moving away, new heartbreak, big life changes.  And all the in-between moments – runs to the store, car singing, texting about the latest bit of celebrity news.  Each of the moments are treasured.  She is one of the best people in my life and regardless of the fact that life has taken her to the west coast and kept me in the midwest, we continue to be the anomaly in each others’ lives.  She is one of the only people who can call me on my crap and keep me laughing while she does it.  She’s a beautiful friend and I hope we get a million more moments together.

before I put you in those boxes

Pastoral Identity.  We spend so much time talking about it in Seminary.  So much time thinking about it.  We talk about how hard it is to nail down, how hard it is to believe in yourself, how hard it is to listen to that small voice of God saying you are called and gifted – especially in the face of every day life and ministry.
Then you get into your first call.  People start referring to you as their Pastor.  You fill out your taxes as a self employed member of the clergy.  You get your ministry license.  Later you get your ordination.  Your denomination recognizes you or your congregation if you are a non-denominational pastor.  You start to put Rev. in front of your name – or not.  Everything point to the fact that you are the pastor.  Your identity should be rock solid right?
You are Pastor.
But then you’re out in the “real world” one day and you think about the work that you do in comparison to those sitting around you at the coffee shop.  Or someone asks you what you do and then responds in one of those many hurtful or confusing ways…
“You’re a what?”
“You don’t look like a Pastor.”
“But you’re so young.”
“But you’re not wearing a collar – you don’t dress like a pastor.”
“Can women even be Pastors?”
“You must mean you work with children. Or do you do women’s ministry?”
The thing about being a pastor is that it permeates every single space of your life.  It makes a lot of life decisions for you.  The way you act, the things you do, or don’t do.  I can’t really think of another profession that has that much power over your life.
Because the thing with Pastoral Identity, is that it isn’t your average profession.  It’s a calling on your life from God.  It’s different.  It’s in the Other category.  But our brains can’t fully handle it.  They can’t fully comprehend what it looks like when there isn’t anything to compare it to.  Just like I look at people in other professions and think “I could never do that…” I shouldn’t be surprised when they look at mine and think the same thing.  Right?
So what does it mean to struggle with Pastoral Identity?  To have something so contextualized to your specific call but also your general call.  Because I believe that I was created in a way, gifted in a way that prompted me to be called by God to be a pastor. He has equipped me and shaped me to be a pastor.  Simultaneously, I have been called by the church I serve to be a specific type of pastor – to serve a specific congregation, in a specific town, during a specific time.
There are things that I believe that God has called me to be about that effect my position and vice versa.  So how do I remain faithful to both at one time?  Pastoral Identity means we are constantly asking a series of questions about ourselves and our world – What does it mean to be a pastor here?  What does it mean to be single and a pastor? What does it mean to be female and a pastor?  What does it mean to be Latina and a pastor?  What does it mean to be a pastor?
How do we figure it all out?  Through community and BY THE GRACE OF GOD.  We interact with the Spirit and we try our hardest to decipher what He is leading us to.  And we attempt to walk the walk.
The thing is – I look at other around me in the coffee shop and I think to myself, “I could never do that.”  Because I believe in my call.  I believe that I was created for this and I now that I wholeheartedly love it.

it's all coming back to me now

When I was in high school, there were things that my youth pastor did that I thought all youth pastors did.  They were little quirky things that were a regular part of our youth group meetings, missions trips and services.  It wasn’t until I was in ministry myself and sharing ideas with other pastors that I realized that was specific to my youth pastor and my youth group.  The other thing I realized was that usually they were things that when you look back at it – it’s completely ridiculous.
Example – On one mission trip I was on, at the end of every day we gathered together as a group to recap the day.  During which we would do “Rotten Thermos” and something like “Mad Props” – basically it was a chance to nominate someone who had done something great (Mad Props) or funny/not so great (Rotten Thermos).  After we went around and shared for each of these, our youth pastor would decide on a winner for each and there was usually a prize/penalty for that person.  But instead of just choosing who won, she had a “person” in her finger that would tell her the winner.  We all thought it was the funniest thing ever – or at least I did.
The other day I was remembering this and thinking to myself – I wonder what the kids in my ministry are going to look back and laugh about when they are grown up?
Then it hit me.
On our retreat last year for 3rd-5th graders I started something called “Pastor Alicia Points.”  They were ways of encouraging them to be kind and helpful to one another.  They got a point if I caught them doing something kind or helping each other (or me).  And then magically, by the end of the weekend, they were all tied!  There was no winner or loser, just a group of kids who had all spent the weekend being nice to one another.
Now, almost a year later, this has spilled over into the classroom.  When we are reviewing the story from last week or talking through various bible stories, I offer up extra “points” to the kids who can remember small details from the story.  I also give out random “points” for when they are being quiet during story time or doing well at a task.
The thing about these points is that they don’t really exist.  It’s not like we have a chart in the room that has each child’s name and how many points they’ve gotten.  It’s a completely valueless reward system.  They’ve even stopped asking how many points they have, or for prizes that go along with the points.
It’s mind boggling to me really, one of those things that I was using as a means to an end – the end being well behaved and easier to manage kids during a sugar high filled retreat.  And it has become a staple in our interactions.  Last week I asked a question in our Kids’ Club and someone responded with, “Do I get extra points if I can remember his name?”
This all just hit me in the last week.  I wonder at what point in their growing up are they going to look back and think that I was crazy?  I mean – I don’t think my youth pastor was crazy.  It’s just a fond memory of her.  Here’s hoping it’s a fond memory for these kids and that they don’t feel ripped off.
Also if you are reading this and go to our church – please don’t tell them! Let’s just call it my own “Elf on the Shelf.”

the daylight's wasting

(I’m trying to get in the habit of writing more – which I am not doing so well – which I feel like I’ve been trying for a year now!)
My mom and I have been having a lot of heart to hearts lately.  A lot of hard conversations about our family life and what has transpired in it.  We’ve talked about the root cause of a lot of pain in our family and how (or if) it could have been avoided.
You see, growing up in a family like mine, there are certain messages that get ingrained into your brain.  Into the fabric of who you are.  Messages that are like a broken record, skipping, stuck on short sentences that cut deeper and deeper every time they repeat.  One of the biggest problems is that these repeating messages are reinforced by other messages we hear in our everyday lives.  And when that happens the cuts get deeper, reopening wounds.
I used to think that if I just had enough faith.  If I tried taping over those messages with the Truth of how God feels about me that I would never feel insecure again.  That I would get to the place where I would never have to struggle with those hurtful messages anymore.  I just needed to get strong enough.  Block others out more.  Look towards God more.
But I am starting to think that those messages are there forever, regardless of what I’m doing – they will always be playing in the background.  But that each day I can choose to hear the reassuring words of my Savior and Lord over power them.  That my faithful response is to acknowledge them but not let them take over.
Because the person that I am cannot just pretend those things did not happen.  I cannot just choose joy over the pain, that would be fake for me.  It’s not fake for everyone but it would be fake for me.
Instead I choose Truth over lies.  Daily I choose to believe what my Almighty Father has said of me instead of the lies that I have been told about myself.
Because those cuts are real.  And because we are sheep being sheep – others will say similar things about me in the future.  The only way to move forward is to acknowledge the message, stop pretending they aren’t hurtful still and then choose Truth.

it's hard to get around the wind

I attended a meeting at my home church while in town last week and all of the parents in the meeting corresponded with moments in my first few years of ministry experience.
Two sets of parents whose kids I taught in Sunday School when I was a teenager.
A handful of sets of parents whose kids were in the 5th and 6th grade program that I ran in my first internship.
One parent who fit in both the above and had a daughter I was in youth group with.
Before the meeting started one parent gave me a huge hug and said to me, “My son still has hanging in his room a note that you wrote him when you left here and every time I see it I think about you and wonder how you’re doing.”  She asked where I was and I filled her in on the details.
But her statement kind of stuck to me.  Her son was in 6th grade when I left.  He was a staple at our gatherings with his best friend but was really shy and rarely talked to me.  I never would imagine that he would still have that little note I wrote him all these years later.  Now he’s a junior in high school. still a staple in their youth group, sings on their worship team.  Like most my former students I get to see his life unfold via Facebook posts of our mutual friends.
In ministry, there are no guarantees.  There are days filled with heart bursting joy, there are days filled with heart breaking sorry.  And there are days that fit squarely in between those two extremes.
But some days you get the exact reminder you need that you’re still called to walk this journey with people when those days come you thank the Lord for his provision and strength.

quit these pretentious thoughts and just punch the clock

There’s a quote from 30 Rock that has been rolling around my head for the past week.  Jack’s boss says to him, “You’re in the rough Jack, you got to get back on the fairway.”
Sometimes I get in these modes when stuff gets tough.  I just tell myself to put my head down and get to work.  And then I do just that, I put my head down, get the job done and when it’s over I look up and realize I have no idea where I am.
You’re in the rough, Jack.  You got to get back on the fairway
I’ve never played golf but I know the difference between the rough and the fairway.  I picture Jack in the rough, trying desperately to hit his ball out from behind trees, thick grass and weeds.  Swing after swing, just using up his energy and hoping for that one good hit that will chip the ball back to the plush green of the fairway grass.  The carefully manicured lawn where the golf ball is meant to be.  To get back to where he feels in control of the situation.
I can imagine the frustration of someone pointing out to him that he’s in the rough.  That where he currently stands swinging is not where he is meant to be.  He knows it, you don’t have to point it out to him.  He knows where the ball is supposed to go, and he’s got to figure out how to get it back there.
I looked up recently.  Pulled my head out of the work and took a look around.  Thick grass – check.  Weeds – check.  Trees blocking my view – check.  A few wrong turns, misguided hits and suddenly I’ve landed myself right in the middle of the rough.
I’ve lost it.  The momentum that got me here, which is maybe a good thing because here is not where I’m meant to be.  Here is not good.  Here is not the life intended for me.  But I got here.  I chose the wrong club, didn’t square my hips, just swung wildly and landed myself here, in the rough.
Luckily for me, each day is brand new.  Each morning the sun rises and God’s riches and mercies are renewed for me.  The fairway’s out there and by the grace of God I’ll get back out there.  Because He is strong when I am weak.

we're the diamonds rising up out the dust

Whenever I have time to kill and my phone in my hand I almost always end up on BuzzFeed.  It’s such a time waster and I try to only tap that little red icon when I have nothing else productive to do.  When I’m early at an appointment or in a waiting area for the DMV for example.
The other day I found myself scrolling through the Feed and I came across a quiz that peeked my interest.  It was entitled “How Latino/a Are You.”  I feel as though I have been asking this question of myself for 20+ years.  And for most of those years I feel like that’s the question (or statement) on people’s minds when they meet me.
So I couldn’t help myself.  I clicked the link.
There was one question: “Can your roots be traced back to Mexico, Puerto Rico, Cuba, D.R. or any other South or Central American county?”
So I clicked yes and the results simply said “You are very Latino/a: and you’re awesome.”
I’m not sure I can really explain the sense of relief that I felt.  It might sound ridiculous that I was placing any stock in an online quiz on a social media website.  But on some level I think I thought it would reveal what I’ve always feared or what some people have told me all along – You don’t fit in our box of what Latina looks like.  (or on the flip side – you don’t fit in our box of what Caucasian looks like.)
For many biracial or multiracial people, this is a struggle that is very real and very misunderstood.
I’ve been getting a lot of inquiries to do some writing on topics such as this one.  And topics that have nothing to do with this one.  I have been encouraged to take these opportunities and to try and embrace all the pieces of me that seem to not fit together.  But the mere fact that they are all pieces of me means that they do fit together.
So here’s to vulnerability and to allowing myself to be myself in attempts to become a diamond rising out from the dust.  Albeit an imperfect diamond, but a diamond nonetheless.