Café de Olla & Diaspora

So, I decided I wanted to go to grad school today. 

As a Senior. 

A second-semester Senior. 

A second-semester Senior with really shitty grades, not much experience and limited knowledge about how to *actually* apply to grad school.

Fuck. 

Yet, despite the very real odds being stacked heavily against me, I don’t think I’ve been this hopeful about anything in the entire 4 years I have been at Princeton as an undergrad. 

For the first time in what seems like a lifetime, I feel like I am actually motivated to work really hard for the completion of a concrete goal, something I haven’t truthfully felt since High School. I just did the math, and I have to get nothing short of immaculate grades this semester (including my thesis) in order to even be eligible to apply to a Masters program. And for the first time in my undergraduate career, I feel like I can actually do it. Get straight A’s I mean. Something which I felt was out of my reach from the very first day I stepped on this campus, and which I haven’t even gotten close to yet. 

But if I’m being perfectly honest,  I know I wasn’t really trying that hard in previous semesters and years. Partly because my mental health was very poor, partly because I just had no idea how to seek help and partly because I lacked motivation to do so. A combination of abusive relationships, shitty friendships, depression, assault and anxiety have kept me distracted from actual schoolwork, and I was always simultaneously berating and making excuses for myself in light of my shortcomings. That changes today.

I have motivation. I can feel the once-familiar rush of hope and excitement and determination warming up the ends of my fingers like the staggered jolt from a lampshade being plugged in after years of storage. And it feels amazing. 

Deciding on something may be just the first step, but is is a crucial one.

There’s still a lot to do. A lot to accomplish before I’m even eligible to  apply, let alone matriculate. But it’s something that I have resolutely decided upon. And if I know anything about myself, it’s that once I decide something and set out to accomplish it within my heart of hearts, I will accomplish my goals.

 I guess writing about this is my way of keeping myself accountable. and so it shall be. 

One of my professors asked the class to “ write a one-page manifesto about anything [we] are interested in within the sphere of Gender and Sexuality Studies.” I ironically ended up dropping the course before submitting the assignment, due to time commitment issues, but I felt the need to post it somewhere. 

When I am having a panic attack, feeling like I cannot call my skin home, I re-read this manifesto, which is now currently living on the wall next to my door. And Like many creative writing exercises I find myself doing, this one also arrived in the form of a poem. 

As i’m typing this, the boy who inspired this post is sending me funny and endearing snapchats while on the train to New York, in true Millenial fashion. 

Maybe it’s the fact that today is the first sunny day in a really long time, or that the ending the school year has me in a particularly reflective mood, but I wanted to share a bit about what i have learned so far from this boy I started dating recently, in hopes of creating/maintaining my own space. Because, as a young queer person, there is absolutely no guide whatsoever on what are good, healthy dating habits. here a few things that I have learned from my last three years of dating as a young gay man: 

1. First dates should be in public spaces

      No, i don’t want to go meet you at your dorm room at 3 am to ‘hang out’. I cannot stress how important this is. Unless you were already good friends and are going to a pre-agreed upon event within a private space, you really should strive for a first date in a public space. Coffee shops. Tea Shops. Art museums. Record shops. Walking around a park or square during the day. Even bars are better meeting places than “my apartment” and “the park at night” (no joke, these are places i’ve gone on ‘dates’ before noping the f*ck out). In my experience, public dates are great for two reasons : 1) you can get a feel for how comfy someone is in their own queerness and their own skin and 2) You are not obligated to stay if you are uncomfortable and are not having fun. I cannot stress how many times i’ve been stoked to meet a handsome guy or someone who sounds interesting, only to find them with eyes darting back and forth every two minutes at the coffee shop, hoping they won’t be recognized. Like, calm down, we are just grabbing coffee, not leading the SF pride parade. 

2. Be honest about what you are expecting from the person

 Look, I’m not saying go up to a guy you just went on a second date with and tell  them “ Hey buddy, btw, I’m trying to find a husband rn, and just so you know my tía said you looked like a nice boy when i showed her your picture, so you are a pretty good candidate atm”. Rather, what I mean is, don’t play games. The liberating thing about being a young queer is that we are already defying societies’ cisheteronormative expectations of what dating is like by proxy of being queer, we are free to define and create the dating experiences we wish to have. Skip out on the ‘no double-texting’ and ‘imagined non-chalant’ bullsh*t, and if you are having a fun time, let the other person know. communicate. send them funny snapchats. double text, within reason. Be honest about how you are feeling, even if you are feeling confused, rushed, or exhilarated, because you’ve spent too long keeping quiet to miss out on any more awesome experiences and conversations. 

3. Know yourself

In the words of the Queen Mother Rupaul herself, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?”, and boy do I agree. As queer people, many times we feel that the first thing we want to do after coming out (in varying degrees) is get into a relationship, in order to ‘validate’ our queerness. And while that works for some people, you really shouldn’t get into a romantic/sexual relationship with someone just for the sake of doing it. I mean, I am by no means trying to be preachy, I am totally guilty of this too. But rather, when we are so quick and willing to give our love and our bodies to people, we often times give them to people who are not ready or do not deserve them, who do not value or respect their multitudes. I myself am guilty of this, and a lot of the violence and trauma I have faced in dating as a young queer person has stemmed from looking for happiness in other people and jumping into unhealthy relationships too quickly because of the weight and importance that media and society at large conflates upon the notion of being in a relationship with someone. I think the most fulfilling relationships are those in which each person is their own happy, complete individual that chooses to embark on a mutually enriching journey with another person. I would argue that knowing oneself is a pretty big life goal in general, with many complicated avenues along the way, but really essential to happy living. That also means when you are not having a fun time or feel like your time, your body, mind or emotions are not being given the respect they so deserve, being able to remove yourself from the situation in a calm and healthy manner. 

4. Don’t be afraid to be silly (read; yourself)

I know, I know, this is the corniest piece of advice ever. And who am I to even say that any of this advice is even valid? Before this current boy, all the men I’ve dated have either been deeply closeted, manipulative or just plain FUCKING INSANE. But I think that’s all the more reason why I think this one is the most important one on this list of things I re-realized over the last few dates. Because, if you can’t handle my genuine love for acoustic covers, poetry, cartoons and mix-cd’s, then you definitely won’t appreciate the way I shine when everybody has told me my light isn’t special enough. And I expect (read ; hope) to find someone to be my best friend, encouraging my weird idiosyncrasies and hearty laughter, rather than settling for anything less than what I know I deserve. 

So, as this post is already entirely too long, I will return to writing papers and composing my next mix-CD for this new kid, who just might shine with my kind of light... 

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault

I’ve been thinking a lot about the concepts of trauma and healing lately. 

I would like to think that trauma could be reduced to the kinds of cuts and scrapes that painted childhood summers and playgrounds. I would like to think that healing still means a band-aid and some juice, and that a worst-case scenario was getting an infected scab, but even then, it would never be worse than a slight discomfort. 

But, that’s not how it works. 

I used to think that because of my body size and my cis-gendered maleness, that I could never be a victim of sexual assault. I used to think that despite my queerness, my stereotypically “masculine” presentation would be enough to deter predators, and if not, my 6 foot 190 pound frame could fight off any who tried.  Call it privilege delusion.

I was wrong. 

Because, as a young queer person, specifically a first-gen Latino with no friends who were also young first-gen queer latino males, sexuality is something that i have never really felt comfortable discussing with anyone before. There is so much nuance and anxiety leftover from 18 solid years of living in a conservative Mexi-Catholic home, that even after two and a half years of being away at college on the other side of the country living on my own, i still find it difficult to talk about sex and sexuality with my friends. Now, I have no problem talking about concepts and theory about gender/sexuality nor do i hesitate to engage in conservation about sex and sex-positive topics. A part of me just doesn’t feel comfortable talking about my own experiences, largely in part because I don’t feel I have someone who can listen with an understanding of the intersections I occupy. The best analogy i can offer is trying to explain diarrhea to your friend who doesn’t know what it’s like to have both Crohn’s and parents who taught you to be ashamed of pooping in public (let’s ruminate on that example for a moment). 

Yet despite my upbringing and (perceived) lack of QPOC confidant, I would say I am a very sex-positive person (even more so nowadays). I like sex. I have reached a point in my life where i am no longer ashamed of my homosexuality. I have learned to love that part of my self more and more. Coming out to family members was difficult, but i have (almost) come out to my whole family, save for my father. My brothers, my sister and, after some time, my mother, were all very accepting. For that, I am thankful.  

So when I went out to a clubhouse party on my college campus this past september, after three months of breaking up with my ex and having parted ways with my hometown FWB, I was ready for some action.

 Now, i think it’s weird how determined I (thought) I was to get laid, or at least make-out with some guy on the dance floor. Because that was the culture at my school, one that i had participated in since my freshman year: drink, dance, hook-up, rinse, repeat. on and on, a vicious cycle of meaningless hook-ups. Sex, when it happened, was fun but just that; fun, nothing more. I guess that’s where i let the lines surrounding the idea of consent blur into the gray area. I thought, “Well, I guess this is what i wanted, and it’s not bad, so i guess I’ll just go along with it”. But i had never realized how dangerous this thought process could be. That would change. 

As i said before, i was very ready to move on from the post-breakup life and have some fun. The semester was picking up, I was stressed and this was the first weekend I had afforded myself since the beginning of the year to go out with my friends. I went to a clubhouse party with a “butts” theme, wherein guests were encouraged to show off their butts ( problematic party themes post incoming in the future). Anyway, i swallowed up any body image anxieties I had, put on my brazilian swim trunks, a jockstrap and an open-buttoned shirt to head out into the night, accompanied by my female friend in a pair of my gold lamé boxers and a crop top: we looked (or at least felt) hot. 

Fast forward to an hour later, and we are on the crowded dance floor vibin’ to some Hip hop tracks, when I feel someone grab me from behind. Before I can turn around to see who it is, they start grinding into my ass, hands around my waist. I have a tiny moment of panic, where inside my mind i ask ‘Who is this?Is this okay? do we want this?’, where i decide that even though he didn’t ask me, dancing was fine i guess. It did turn me on, after all. After a couple moments, I can feel him grinding into me, clearly excited, and he turns me around. Up until this point, I was still trying to process what was happening and whether or not I was okay with it, when he starts kissing me, again without consent. At this point, my mind was reeling: Part of me was freaking out because i literally didn’t even know this guy’s name, and another part of me was getting excited to just be making out with someone. My thought process felt short-circuited. So again, I just went with it. After we began to make out, he got more and more aggressive, biting my lips, taking my shirt off and trying to drag me(like physically move me) into a dimly lit corner. I thankfully resisted moving to the corner, but felt like I couldn’t leave because 1) i had enjoyed it at first and 2) felt like I somehow “owed” this guy to stay because I had accepted his initial advances. 

At this point, we are still making out (more like he was eating my face), and he starts to bite my body. like, in the middle of the dance floor. That was were I really started getting uncomfortable, because despite several audible oww’s and stop’s, he wouldn’t. I pushed him off, but he just thought I was dancing, and came in for another kiss. I felt powerless. i felt frozen. Then I felt his hand inside my shorts, groping me. I forcibly removed his hand from my pants and said ‘No’, but he didn’t seem to hear me. He just used his other hand to get under my jock, at which point I realized this guy was trying to finger me on a full dancefloor. Horrified, I reacted, and took his hands out of my shorts, and said ‘I have to go’, quickly turning and swerving through the dance floor heading towards the door. I turned, and saw him following me, and got scared, so when i saw a friend on the couch in the living room, i quickly sat down and told her “Act like you really need to talk to me, please”. Thankfully, she caught on and played along, and to my chagrin, this guy had followed me into the living room and was standing by watching, circling me like a vulture around its prey. My heart was pounding. After a few minutes, he got the hint, and left to the dance floor again, after which my friend asked what happened. 

I couldn’t tell her, i just said ‘this guy was just really aggressive’ and said i needed some ice. I felt a burning on my neck and on my chest. I went to the bathroom and saw the beginnings of several bruises and teeth marks from where he had bitten me. I was horrified, and ashamed. I grabbed some ice from the kitchen and held it to my neck, and texted my friend to meet me so we could go. I found one of the guys in charge in the kitchen and explained what happened, and they told me they would find and remove the guy, but i didn’t hear what else he said because at this point my friend showed up, and before i could explain anything, I just started balling into her shoulder. I was like a five year old again. I’m sure it must have seemed odd with my large framed nestled into her 5′4″ body, but I was glad she was there.

She, along with my friend on the couch and another who was there in the kitchen, took me back to my room. they told me I did nothing wrong, but all i heard was my own thoughts: did i deserve this? was i asking for this kind of attention with my clothes? Was this assault or was i just being a wimp? Isn’t this what I wanted? Why didn’t I stop him sooner? 

I went to shower while they stayed in  my room and made my bed. i voraciously scrubbed my body in the shower, finished up and then came back. They were still in my room, looking visibly concerned yet totally unsure as to what to do/say: after all, none of them had ever had one of their male friends, or gay friends, assaulted before. I had this mini internal freak out wherein i wanted to just be alone, but i let them stay for a bit to console me, more for them than for me. I didn’t cry. Eventually, I told them i needed some alone time, at which point I called my sister. I got three words out before i began sobbing. she did what I needed her to do: be calm and listen. after a minute, I explained what happened through choked back tears and she comforted me with the kind of mixed tender/toughness i would expect of her. It was exactly what i needed. I fell asleep shortly after, exhausted from crying and feeling empty. And after that phone call, that was it. I did not speak about the incident again. 

I would be subtly reminded about the events in the weeks to follow: the next day when my friend high-fived me for the ‘hickie’ on my neck, the next week when i was called in to give my version of the story to get the guy banned from the club, the next month when i saw him after logging into grindr for the first time again. I felt awful. I couldn’t go out anymore, because I just was thinking about my own experience and seeing these guys creeping on girls and guys alike with a complete disregard for what consent even is. I stopped drinking because I was scared what would happen if i got drunk. And starting getting very angry whenever is saw guys being too forward with any of my friends. And yet, i couldn’t talk about it. i didn’t feel comfortable, didn’t feel like I had anyone who would understand, who would believe me: guys don’t get sexually assaulted after all, right? I ended up compartmentalizing it [read: ignoring], and pretended like nothing happened. 

That is, until yesterday. Five months later and I am in a school house in the jungle in a foreign country during my study abroad semester, talking with a new friend that i feel oddly comfortable with. the topic gets to personal space and consent, and for whatever reason, i just spurted out that I had experienced assault before. This surprised my friend, asking what had happened, at which point the flood gates of repressed memories opened. I told her everything and was amazed i didn’t start crying. Afterwards, she shared this look with me, and asked if i had felt like i had someone to cope with, a person or environment that served as a space for me to process my trauma. I gave her a blank look, and thought about it: No. I hadn’t processed it, how i felt, what happened, what i could do to feel better. nothing. Her next question was why.