How It Feels to Be Latina Me


Jasmine Varelas, Opinion and A&E Co Editor

I am Latina, but my skin is fair and sprinkled with freckles, unlike my fellow Mexicanos/Mexicanas  whose skin is rich mocha; I also may be the only Latina who can’t dance.

I discovered this newfound patriarchy towards my motherland when this feather headed orange chicken  ,stirred up hatred towards my people. Instead of cowering towards these hateful bigots I rose with pride. I flew like the eagle on my flag; the hatred and racism were the snake in my claws. This is what’s so great about my people; we get pushed down again and again and again, but each time we rise up like a flaming, powerful, horchata-filled Phoenix.

My mami may have came to the U.S. illegally trafficking drugs for El Chapo, (JK) but she stayed to give my brother and I a brighter future. My Latina mom taught me many things, but the most important lesson she taught me was nothing is free in life, and if I want something, I am going to have to be willing to work hard for it. Every Hispanic person I know has this saying and lifestyle engraved into their head. Yes, we may be “stealing” jobs that no white man wants, and basically “ruining” America – even though thousands of American college students go to Mexico, rape locals and trash the beaches – it’s what we want. So we put our blood, sweat, tears, and brujari into it. I am proud of being a pale skinned Latina, Mexicana to be specific.


In my 3rd period AP English class my teacher, Ms. Krause, gave us an assignment to write in the style of Harlem Renaissance writer Zora Neale Hurston. The essay was supposed to be something that we take pride of in ourselves. At first I was going to write about how proud I am about being a female, buuuut being a Latina means more to me. I’m going to be honest, I wasn’t too happy when this assignment was given, but when I actually sat down and wrote it – the night before it was due – I really got into it and it just flowed out of me.

Zora Neale Hurston’s writing is filled with humor, figurative language, and slang. Since I’m going to have this essay published on a school newspaper I had to change a couple words that I used. Like when I referred to Donald Trump as a “feather headed orange chicken”, I had originally used a different word for chicken. I used the alternative name for male chicken, which was a little inappropriate for this issue. I had also used hyperbole to add a bit of a comedy to kind of mimic Hurston’s style; when I said that I’m the only Latina who can’t dance that was a hyperbole and when I wrote that my mami worked with El Chapo, I was joking.

This essay also contained a bit of a serious note. This past year or two was the fist time that I had really experienced or noticed any racism towards myself or my people, Donald Trump was a man in power that stirred these negative opinions about people that I love dearly. Trump called my people rapist, drug dealers, and just criminals in general, but he doesn’t bring up how Americans go to Mexico each year, rape the locals, and trash the beaches. Like I said in the essay, Mexicanos are hard workers and “steal” jobs from Americans but the thing is these jobs are unwanted by Americans. These workers are trying to support their families so they’ll take any job just to make ends meet and if  these jobs are for Americans why aren’t any applying?

So ya, this is what my essay is about. I will always be proud of my people and of what is running through my veins. I will also never back down to bigotry.