I'm not Icarus. In this scenario, I'm Daedalus. I've escaped the Labyrinth and stayed my course flying to safety. Poor Icarus though. Flew too close to the sun, wax wings just melting. Crashing to his death in the aquamarine waters below. Ah well, so sad. The world keeps turning, life keeps going. If you've never looked Icarus in the face, allow me to introduce to John.
Unlike my arch enemy blog, Episode 3/Season 1, I'm not withholding names. His name is John. John is 19, of mixed race and with Dominican heritage on his paternal side. He's an odder looking fellow. He's not the ugliest bastard in the bar, but if there were 10 average men, I don't think he'll be in the first four you're looking to attract. He's socially awkward. He's clueless to most things, be it sports, history, politics, music, religion, and beyond. His opinions are usually second and third hand. There have been numerous times he has spitted out what he feels on an issue and it's often close to verbatim to what myself or one of my friends have told him. He claims to be a stud in history but he hasn't read a book in over three years.
That's just the tip of the ice berg.
For some reason, I talk to this kid a few times a week. I don't know what I get out of it. It's often torturous. Sometimes, we chat about soccer. I give my input on the same six questions he always asks, he says "I see," I expose him for a fraudulent fan, he admits it, and we'll have this conversation next week.
Recently, the kid can only talk about his girlfriend. Now granted it's his first girlfriend ever, and to wait til 19 to finally have a relationship--Christ. I contest that the girl is indeed his actual girlfriend, regardless of her committing herself to him. For months, all I ever heard from him is how she's so great, she's the hottest bitch ever, how she can make him feel like a man two days a week, how she's so curvy, how she's the perfect embodiment of a white Latina ever, or at least fairer-skinned, how her body is a wonderland, how he's so great at eating her out even though it took him months later to realise that clitoral stimulation is a key aspect to cunnilingus. O yeah, this is John.
I can say John, relax. It's your first relationship. It's not the girl, it's a girl. He was never able to understand that last sentence. I had to explain to him he's gone all of his teen life seeing friends date while he was taking girls out to movies and dinner and getting nothing at all. So now some strumpet comes along and pretends or maybe even has some reciprocated interest in him and he shoots off to the moon ready to marry her. I say, kid, look around at all the people you know. How many marry their first loves? But no, fuck that, I'm 28 and wrong. He's 19 and still breastfeeding but he knows best.
Smash-cut to the last couple months, and he finds out that she may have had a fling in a tropical location, she may have had a date with an older guy from her church, and that she isn't always there when he thinks she should be. I'd say to him all the time, no one likes to date down. If you're an eight, you don't like dating sixes. Now this girl isn't any dimepiece, but she's a decent five-and-a-half, six on a great day. Either way, she's quite too good looking to be in this relationship. So I'll say John, she's dating down and she knows it. She will wake up and see that no one is jealous of her relationship and she'll want out. Oh no, I'm wrong though. But ask him about the guy he's most jealous of and it's the early 20s, college-educated lad that's in her church. Sounds like a girl who knows she can date at her level or up.
Now all he can tell me is how shaken his trust is, how he doesn't know the real woman inside of her, how he's over all this shit. But tell him to break up with her and he's not having it. Of course not. This woman is the only reason he lives. And no, that's not exaggeration nor hyperbole. To prove it, he says if this relationship fails, he has to move out of Tallahassee immediately.
Icarus. You're flying too close to the sun. Cuidado.
As I said earlier, John is of mixed race. His mother is African, gonna assume African-American, but definitely Africa. His father is mestizo from Dominican Republic. Apparently, he doesn't see this though. All he sees is that somewhere in his father's family tree, someone came from Spain. Some conquistador or poor bastard emigrated from Spain and landed on Hispanola. Because of his pure Spanish roots, no matter how watered down before it gets to John, he feels a kindred connection to Spain. At the same time, because myself and my friends are so into the effects of Maafa, he tries to appeal to our senses by boasting his love for "Mama Africa." His words, not mine.
I don't know if you need a history lesson in Spain, but like a lot of the European nations, their relations with people of colour, sketchy at best. We can show him folders of evidence to suggest that his own mother would be a second, third class citizen if she were over there, but that means nothing. This kid has Spaniard blood! It should be celebrated.
At the same time, he identifies by heritage, as do most Latinos, not by race. That's cool. But his notion of Latino is so contrived and stereotypical, that as a person who can trend Latin myself, it's offensive. It's like for him to validate his notion of Dominican, he has to fly the colours on his wall, go blast merengue, and praise bachata as the world's greatest music. Oh, that and say, hey Rafael Trujillo, he's not so bad. If you need to know about the atrocities of Trujillo, I can sum them up in one action. President Trujillo once had his army forces go to the river border and just slay thousands of Haitians. The number killed was so large that their blood flowed down the river, turning it red, and ever since, the river has been named Massacre. But then again, his grandfather liked Trujillo, so he's great! (Second-hand opinion, again.) By the way, did I mention that Trujillo was part Haitian and even painted himself with make-up to appear white? Yeah, great guy.
Work with me here, I'm bringing this full circle. The nature of race in Dominican Republic is touchy. Most of the population has African in them, but their census would do everything to dispute this fact. So I understand the complexity involved. But then again, the kid is from here and with an African-American mother. So his head shouldn't be so fucked up.
So again, he loves the throne in Spain, he also loves Mama Africa. Seems slightly contradictory when you boil it down, but hey, I guess. He loves Mama Africa, but ask him who he wants to date and it's white Latinas. Ask him where he'd like to go in the world, it's Madrid. No mention of any reclamations of roots lost in the dark continent. But all of this aside, he continues to appeal to myself and my friends as if he's one of the brothas, just another black kid because his hair is kinky and he likes Gucci Mane.
Amazing. I once asked a mutual friend of ours if he overemphasizes his Latinismo with their friends as he tries to do with his blackness with my friends. This mutual friend answered back with a resounding yes. The mutual friend even exposed him for not knowing fairly simple and common things Latino that transcend international borders, and so aren't nation-specific.
I can say John, don't try to be black because you're with the niggas. We know who we are, we know who you are. You're spending too much time trying to be us. We're not right because we think the way we think, see the world how we see it. We're right because we stay true to ourselves and our principles. Find yourself. And you'd be amazed how much clarity you can gain from just reading. Stop being a generalisation of your race and heritage. Stop using youtube videos to gain cultural perspective. Read. But no. No dice. I would say to him to emancipate himself, but he'd never know from whom or what.
Icarus ... cuidado ...
This poor bastard has even come to me and said, "I don't know what I want to talk about, but I feel enlightened right now." I asked if he finally read something. Of course not. Doesn't that sum up everything in a nutshell.
Maybe I should shut up. I can only tell Icarus to watch out so many times.
His political insights are amazing. For someone who just wants to marry his "girlfriend" and have a nice family life, who comes from such humble stock, you would think he digests Rush Limbaugh with many of his opinions. But he thinks he's liberal. One night, he came to me like this: I think I figured something out and it could really work. What if we cut taxes everywhere and let the rich keep their money? Then they'll spend it more, hire more people for jobs, and these dollars will flow all the way down the economy. I'm like, and you really think you invented this? His response was he's never seen it anywhere else. This damn kid thought he invented trickle-down theory. Reading is fundamental. And even still, I'm sure that idea came from someone else he had a discussion with; he then retooled it, repackaged it, and passed it off as his own.
Oh Icarus, so young.
I know, this episode is loosely structured, but if you knew him, it would make so much sense. When you rail on the kid, so much just flies out in disgust or in rage, it's impossible to keep it centred or formulate it to a specific pattern. Talking with him is like beating your head against a wall. It's pure, utter pain.
I can't stop though. It's my cross to bear. Sometimes I think he has a chance to wake the fuck up, to free himself, but just when I think so--BAM! Head into the wall.
John, you may think this blog is just to roast you, but no. It's to put how silly you sound in one location so you can see some gripes in one place. And if you need clarification, don't just go to me. You know my other friends who know you. Ask them. You really could become something great, but you're so mired in bullshit to realise that. So much potential energy, just none of it turns kinetic.
Oh Icarus, I tried to warn you.
No comments:
Post a Comment