My eyes slowly peel away from the dance floor to my phone. It’s 1:49 am. Only 11 more minutes until the quince ends. My eyelids feel heavy, but not as heavy as the burdens my parents carry on their shoulders, as they left everything in Mexico and forcibly moved to New York. I look at them. It seems like in this split second they can’t feel it. It has creeped back into the shadows of their minds, waiting for the next moment of peace they have in order to drown them with memories of their past. My brother is sleeping on two chairs. He hates being away from WiFi and his PS4, so he just spent the night whining. I personally love parties like these. The music shakes your soul, the sweaty bodies are freed from the shackles life has placed on them, the intimate dancing makes you feel alive and lustful. I wish I could join but I don’t know how to dance any hispanic dances. I have learned the basics of each dance but I still lack the flavor, the passion. I don’t want to disrespect this form of art; I don’t want to bring any more shame. Someone’s weird uncle walked up to me and invited me to dance. I just sat and shook my head no. He kept talking but all I could do was continue shaking my head left and right. I didn’t know how to tell him I can’t speak spanish, so I didn’t. The clock strikes 2. My parents walk towards me after dominating the dance floor as the DJ played the final song. Their smiles change. The happiness has evaporated from their lips (unlike their sweat) and now they’re just forcibly holding up the corners of their mouths. Was it a coincidence that this happened when they looked at me?. I fall and shrink back into my seat as they creep closer to me. I’m sorry. I know you never expected to have two heavily Americanized children. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like you guys haven’t done enough to teach us about our Mexican culture. That’s all on me. I’m sorry I have taken all these resources here for granted. You couldn’t make it past 5th grade because your family needed you to work and make money instead. And you, who was at the top of your class in high school, had it all go downhill once you got pregnant with me. Now look at me; failing my exams, turning in my homework late or not at all. I’m sorry for the disgrace I’ve brought upon your name. I should be doing better. You guys deserve better. “Melissa, estás bien? Porque estás llorando?” “I just yawned really wide. I’m super tired.” “Despierta a tu hermana mientras llamo un taxi. Okay?” “Okay.” You would think it’s great to be Mexican-American, and it is! It truly is such a beautiful experience I have the pleasure of partaking in. The only problem is finding the balance between your two cultures. I haven’t quite mastered it yet. I hope I do soon though. Melissa Benitez (BHSEC Queens)
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Updates Every Sunday
ARCHIVES
May 2022
Categories
All
|