#rebeccalexaaa

This photo is from a shoot I did with a friend (@Jadebiggavel on IG) back in 2016. I wrote some prose inspired by both the photos and the song “Ride” by Lana del Rey (which I couldn’t stop listening to at the time) that I will share in the next two posts. The following lyrics that open up the song are what inspired me in particular : “When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I’d been living, they asked me why - but there’s no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people - for home to be wherever you lay your head.”  Post 1/3. 

“I was a loner for most of my life - at least in my head. I felt as unstable as my thoughts; always changing; always racing off to somewhere else, unable to stay still. I was a wanderer inside of myself. A sufferer of my own delusions. And there was noise. There was always so much noise. Then he came and saw me, and I saw him. It’s dangerous to be seen as clearly as we saw each other. It was the kind of interaction that made everything else feel meaningless. He came and he made the noise stop. He came and he made me feel real, less alone. It was all I ever wanted.”  (2/3) 

Ride - Rebecca Rivera 

 Let’s talk about representation, but first, navigation. As in, I have only ever navigated and existed in this world as a women of color (WoC), more specifically, as a Latina. And everything within this identity that I have come to view as a blessing was once its own set of wounds, inherited or otherwise. When I say “inherited wounds”, I mean that women of color either know or come to know that this world was not built for us to thrive in (see racism, sexism, and all of it’s intersections) . And this knowledge is passed down or born into us. It is inherited. And then becomes a truth you cannot separate us from. You cannot separate me from my struggle without erasing a vital part of who I am. But that is understood by those I allow into my life. Now, if you do not know me too well, then here are the basics: 

I am a Latina WoC. I am an artist. I have big dreams. Many goals. No blueprint. And very little representation in the fields I wish to break into. All of these smaller truths have molded my bigger, more personal one which is that - 

I have had to carve out and fight for the space I occupy. I have had to dig deep and coach my now booming voice out of its body. I have had to seek out my own mentors, role-models, and inspirations who looked like me and navigated the world in a similar way. And mostly, I have grown up impatient and starving for representation. 

One way I actively heal and seek out representation is by consciously consuming and surrounding myself with art, films, media, literature, podcasts, and all content produced by women, PoC, and mostly Latinxs. This month it has looked like this: 

I’m not sure why Sandra Cisneros didn’t come into my life sooner being that she is one of the most prominent Latinx writers of our time, but I’m glad I was able to sit down with her words. There is an indescribably comforting feeling that comes with knowing that someone who shares the same name as your mother, has a father with a voice like yours, shares part of your history, can love in the same two languages you can, can easily pass for one of your tia’s, and dreams the way you do, has already accomplished so much. And it’s not that you ever need permission to be great, but reading her books felt like a silent permission. 

These books provided a mirror and a temporary home for me. An excerpt from A House of My Own illustrates why perfectly. Cisneros writes, "We find ourselves at home, or homing, in books that allow us to become more ourselves. Home 'is not just the place where you were born,' as the traveler Pico Iyer once noted. 'It's the place where you become yourself.'"

part 2 in this month’s healing looked like this:

Before going to see Pixar’s newest box-office hit “Coco”, I was warned not to wear my signature winged eye-liner to the theater. Two on-screen duets and several wet tissues later, I was glad I had adhered to that advice.

If after my previous spiel about representation and navigating the world as a Latina/WoC you are still wondering what warranted such a teary-eyed response (besides the fact that Pixar endlessly loves to pluck at the heart strings of their audience) I want you to picture this:

A young Latina woman with the goal of one day becoming a successful actress goes to the cinema and for the first time in her twenty-two years of living is watching an animated film in which the characters look like her uncles, and cousins, and aunts. For the first time she can point to the screen and say, “that is me”, “that is us”. And in this way, watching “Coco” felt like coming home; like walking into a room full of the people I love and belong to, but who are rarely ever celebrated - especially in such a public way.

I went to see this movie with my boyfriend and nine-year-old sister. Being able to take her to see this film was another victory in itself (on par with being able to take her to see Wonder Woman). I had to wait twenty-two years to see this kind of representation in film; one that is both authentic and empowering. But my sister is still in the midst of her childhood; still being molded and shaped into the person she will become later in life, and I hope that holding these mirrors up to her this early on in her development will prevent her from inheriting the wounds I have had to fight daily to heal myself from.

1. Everyone says to write about what scares you & I guess that makes sense because that’s when you’re your most honest, but that is also like giving your enemies/opponents/the world a list of all of your weaknesses & the different ways to defeat you. 

2. I mean, I guess if you’re a writer, it is also a strength. People like people they can relate to. We’re all vulnerable, some of us just solidify it in a novel, or send it out into cyberspace for all the world to see. 

3. I never feel like I am doing enough. 

4.  I love poetry & meeting new people at slams, events, competitions, but hate feeling disconnected from them as soon as the poem is over. We can share our deepest secrets with one another for an uninterrupted 3 minutes, but can barely get past 2 minutes of small talk without using the same compliment twice & smiling viciously at each other while scanning for the nearest exit. 

5. Liquor helps. 

6. I just want to connect. 

7. There is so much reading to do. I wish I could just touch a book & absorb all of the knowledge. 

8. There are different kinds of romantic love. Some make you feel safe, loved, & appreciated. Others are so intense that every messy emotion inside of you demands to be felt. These are the most addicting. It doesn’t matter if the love is healthy or not.

9. No one wants a lukewarm kind of love. But no singular person should have that much power over you either. 

10. I wonder which kind of love you think we are. 

11. I’ve been trying to write a poem that captures the feeling you get when you look at a photograph that isn’t yours, but feel like you were there anyway. Like you can transport back to some October in 1997 just by looking at it. Or lean in & feel the cool wind in your hair & hear the rock song that was probably playing. I’ve been trying to write this poem forever. I have written several versions, but nothing comes close to the feeling. It’s the most frustrating thing ever. I would live in that feeling if I could. 

12. That’s why we do drugs, anyway. For the feeling. To experience something outside of ourselves. 

13. If nostalgia was a person, I’d definitely make out with them. 

14.  I know I am talented & dream big & am pursing my goals, but whenever people undoubtedly believe in me I’m like...”LOL OK. You obv don’t know me very well or do not know many people who ACTUALLY work hard & are amazing.” It’s horrible. I’m working on it. 

15. I feel better when people who have accomplished a lot are older than me because it gives me time to catch up. Like, “oh ok cool. This person is 25. I can totally accomplish that by then.” 

16. Nothing is sacred. Meaning the closer you get to your dreams; the closer of a behind-the-scenes look you get, the more the magic fades. People are still people & they are still petty & image is still important & not everyone is your friend. The magic is in the art itself, rarely in the people. 

17. Once in a while though you do meet amazing, genuine souls & that is worth holding onto. 

18. I want to dive headfirst into Latino-American history & then hand out flyers on every street corner & train station with all the contributions we have made to American society that most people don’t know about. Facts like: “Did you know half-a-million Latinos fought in WW2?” OR “Did you know that David Bowie’s song ‘Fame’ was partly composed by the Puerto Rican guitarist Carlos Alomar?” 

19. I used to categorize people by how much emotion & logic I’d think they’d have. I know humans are COMPLEX or whatever, but I still think this is a pretty reliable way to see how compatible you are with others & at least have a grasp on their way of thinking.