Okay, I got a PM on the forum, saying about contributing to a book about Latino Culture. It took awhile to come up with something, but then I thought about how people expect me to go over to the bilingual cue, because I’m bi-racial.

It would be so funny, me and my broken Spanish.

“Hola Senior. Que es el numero de telephono?”

“quatro, quatro, ochto. . . nueve, dieca y cinco. . . catorce y cinco, catorce y cinco.”

“Gracias. Por que se el problemo?”

That’s about as far as I get, because I know after that whatever the problem is, I’ll just be saying “No se” and “No comme” until I get the supervisor.

Most of the time people don’t even know I’m bi-racial though. Usually just Latinos notice. I’m a rather tall Spanish girl. It throws people off.

After living in Texas awhile it was close to the first time anyone ever asked, “Se habla espanol.”

Luckly, I speak broken spanish. “Hablo un pacito espanol.” Sometimes I don’t even get that one right.

In a pinch I felt very resourcful. I was working on the floor, packing computers. The girl there told me she was bi-racial and all that stuff. I thought she was messing with me. Didn’t think it was funny. She even listen to Death Rock and Heavy Metal. How nice.

As time went on, I was about done with my assignment. The nasty Spanish guy across the way was seeing if he could get a rise out of me. See if I really spoke Spanish. I called him on it one day and then he asked forgivness. I signed, it’s under the bridge.

Work got a little better. He was from Spain too. In a sticky situation I really started noticing the difference. The computer was backing up and no one could give him the instructions to fix it. The real important part is the flailing of the hands. I think the only thing I actually said was, “Si y No.” Even after that, I just squinted to let him know he should know what I meant and he did. It was that and knowing a wastebasket is “el receptical.”

Who knows? It is an odd world being between worlds. Both are accepting and determental. All I can say is atleast I started looking around, enough to find out they were calling the other bi-racial gal a lesbian.


  1. Ahhhhh….here it is, finally. Someone who understands the Spanglish. I was born and raised here in L.A. Not many people know I’m mixed…shit my brother’s more Hispanic than I am and he doesn’t speak jack SHIT of Spanish. Over here though, at least in this part of L.A. it’s mosly Hispanic. A few blocks in two directions you hit areas dominantly inhabited by Asians and further than Chinatown you hit Downtown which is so diverse you can find someone of every race there. Cultural diversity is something to be proud of. Of course, not too much. I can’t really stand those people with the hardcore “Brown Pride”. Just knowing who you are, knowing where you come from, and being able to pass that down to your future generations is something that’ll be appreciated.

  2. I failed the second semester of Spanish 1. When I tell people this they get a shocked looked on thier face.. they all think I AM Spanish. There are TONS of hispanic people here and some would walk up to me and just start having a conversation with me in spanish and I’d just stand there a moment then tell them the one thing I know “No habla espanol”
    Works most times, some keep trying. I have friends of all races and I love each and ever one of them regardless, but sometimes I notice them drifting off from me because of what I am. Maybe their others friends might not agree with it. I dislike discrimination of any kind. I get a lot of it because of what’s been going on in the news, and I’d get it even if some of this didn’t happen. Those who know my actual ethinicity make racial slurs agaisn’t me at times and those who don’t call me a spic.
    My best friend is Iramaican (Irish & Jamaican). One of the greatest kids I know. I see what happens to him too. All the time. Sometimes I can’t help but think what’s going on in his head when poeple say these things to him. I’m surprised he hasn’t killed himself yet.

    People disgust me around here. Living in the south just isn’t a great place to be with all the KKK members.

    There I go again…rambling. Sorry.

    Oh yeah. Funny thing … I don’t even speak the language that my parents do. I’m too much of a damn American. No offense.

  3. LOL, no no no….You don’t ramble! When you talk I’m actually interested. I don’t often tell people what my other half is. I’ve met Mex/Germans, Mex/Italians, Mex/Caucasians, Mex/Chinese, and Mex/Irish….I’m the only Mex/Armenian I know. My mom teels me bad things about Armenians and a friend of mine who’s MediterranianArmenian tells me bad things about the RussianArmenians (which is what i am)….damn….i’m talking too much. Anyway, it’s way confusing. Ooooh, blue soda….I’m gonna go munch now.

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