Como luna en el agua.

I can understand that it’s something that happens without one noticing… It’s engraved in the core of your culture. I can take it the first, the second, even the tenth time, but one day it’s going to hurt more than others, and it’s not going to be okay. Getting mad at me for not liking the humor just makes it worse — it diminishes my feelings; it makes it as if I were a prude, when in reality, I protect who I am. 

Telling me I blow things out of proportion and getting insulted thinking I called you a racist is kind of the discrimination I endure day by they when jokes are thrown around… But I learn to take them. Open yourself up to think that, maybe for once you should apologize instead of getting mad. Open yourself up to accept that sometimes you do some things wrong, because you’re not perfect, but that you’re completely willing to accept it and partake in better behavior. 

It hurts when anyone does it. But it hurts especially when it’s a dear friend.

Understand that some day, I beg you.

• Almost getting caught
• Laughing too loud
• Popping it, locking it and dropping it around campus while drunk
• To playing in the rain
• To scavenging for food at 12:30am
• To pretending to have accents
• To being ourselves.

I have one that lives on my floor, and I really love him ‘cause he’s the sweetest guy. Also, very dedicated to his studies. That’s why he almost knocked over my door while knocking trying to find if I was in, because he was looking for colorful shoes to shoot. I had a mini heart attack thinking that something had happened to a friend. 

In any case, an ode to you NewHouse, and an ode to your students who are often sleep deprived but fun to be around.

cuandomenospienses:

But, man, has SU grown on me.

Coming from Puerto Rico to Syracuse New York, although my political affiliations count me as an ‘international’ student, to most, I am regarded as an American because of my American Citizenship. I’ve endured my fair share of stares, comments, and racist remarks about how my culture is not real, and Puerto Ricans needing to accept themselves as not being just that. All of it I’ve accepted with a hard face, because I’ve always shut it off to ignorant students who walk among me and others on campus. 

But all of that changes when it’s the system, the legal entity, that seems to be discriminatory above all.

I was accompanying a friend to a CVS near campus, after our lunch together. When we got there, she found out she had left her ID in her dorm — kind of difficult thing to do when you’re trying to buy cigarrettes anywhere. In the county we now live in, the age to buy cigarrettes has to be 19 or older. Knowing that I had just turned 19, she asked me if I could buy them for her. I accepted, asking for her money and walking to the register. The young lady behind the counter brought over the cigarrettes and asked for my ID. This is where it gets interesting. I more than willingly bring out my ID, and give it to her for her to revise. She reads it over, and then denies me the cigarrettes. I asked why, pointing out my age was 19. She stared at me for a second, and went to her co-worker asking if they could accept my ID. The co-worker looked at it and said “No. Only US IDs, licences, or passports.” 

Obviously, I did not understand what was going on and became offended. My ID clearly stated that it was a Puerto Rico issued ID—Under law, it is US certified, and legal. She again repeated that it had to be a US ID, or a passport. Obviously, I don’t carry around my passport with me to verify my citizenship. I was quickly getting agitated, because I didn’t understand if it was just plain ignorance or racism in itself. My friend asked me to calm down, and told me we could go to the corner store near buy to purchase her cigarrettes. A little ticked off, I accepted.

We walked into an Indian corner store were I felt more hopeful. Maybe, from someone else, they could understand my predicament and accept my obvious ID specifying my age and citizenship. When we walked towards the sales clerk, I faced an even worse problem — my ID, obviously in Spanish, did not grant me the pack of cigarrettes. The clerk didn’t believe me when I told him that ‘ENE’ stands for ‘enero’, meaning January, the month I was born in 19 years ago. This is where I got mad. There was a cigarrettes representative woman behind him. An American one at that. I asked her if she could look over my ID to see if she understood, because I obviously didn’t understand what the problem was. The woman did not even look at my ID. She didn’t even look at my face. She looked at the store clerk and very firmly told him, “I’m the cigarrettes representative and even I wouldn’t accept it.”

My friend had to practically drag me out of the corner store while I felt the pang of needing to physically defend myself. 

It is not about the cigarrettes. It’s about how racism is so structured within this society, that not even the legal system can aid me. It begs me to question, what about international students who don’t have their American citizenship but have their visas, legally allowed to be in the country with their very much valid ID. Or is it because I’m Latin American in this very varied society, and I can’t seem to be accepted among the traditional Americans living within the city? 

If I had problems with this system before, I have them very distinctly now. 

Thank you very much, America, land of the “free.”