my dad says i should be more conceited.

& although vain is a synonym, i believe being conceited and being vain are two different things. i love looking at myself in the mirror. not because i think i'm pretty but because i enjoy the akwardness of my features. my lazy eye & the moles on my cheeks. my dimples, etc.

the first twelve years of my life included my father in my ear at the beginning of every school year telling me not to get into verbal altercations with any of the other kids in my class. i had a short temper. this was before my mother decided to test me for ADD/ADHD. nonetheless, he always made it a point to tell me that there were people who "disliked" me. he said people disliked me because i was pretty.

i have never thought myself to be extraordinarily attractive. never. if not now, of course not then. i had knobby knees, missing buttons on my uniform blouse, big clunky Vans that made my feet look two sizes bigger, frizzy red hair, bottle cap glasses. the list goes on. akward then, akward now.

the only difference was my level of insecurity. or the lack thereof.

i understood -- even at age six or seven -- there were ignorant, nosy ass people in the world. childen at my elementary schools who had a hard time understanding why my sister looked "Blacker" than me & why she went home with my "White" dad. there are still people to this day who after meeting my father & mother, cannot understand how i "came out" looking the way i do.

it's funny, but it's tiresome. especially when you're so young & your peers are asking you why your sister looks different from you & your Dad. & then saying in response that she's only your half sister but your sister regardless because you took baths together & even shared the toliet sometimes to go pee :), only to have to later explain what exactly a "half" sibling is.

i've been asked the same question for as long as i can remember: what are you? followed by "if you don't mind me asking". ha.

i went to same elementary school for 6 years so by second or third grade -- everyone knew my story so there was little to explain. until seventh grade rolled around & i had to switch schools for behavioral problems. then the questions returned. only this time, i was at a primarily Mexican American school so these students couldn't understand why my "Latina-looking" mother couldn't speak Spanish. better yet, why my name was Carmela and i couldn't speak the language either.

so i answered them quickly & moved on to high school. freshman year was full of the same questions & of course, i answered them all politely. unless someone new transferred to my high school, i had everyone "in the know" about my ethnicity before my 15th birthday.

& i thought for sure that when i got to college it wouldn't matter. because well, i made it a point not to speak to a soul. if i didn't speak, they wouldn't ask. of course people would glare & sometimes down right stare but no one dared to ask me the starving question.

it's funny to see people's reactions when you come to class one day with your hair curly & then next day it's pin straight. i'm sure many people i've shared classes with have thought i get weaves. lmao.

& after all this time, i prepare myself of the same inqusition. when i start a new job or meet a new friend ..


so, what am i? a human. a young woman in love. i'm me!