es que ella es rara.

so i’m at the cashier, paying with a credit card, and the lady asks me, “cuantas cuotas?” which i mentally translate into, “how many quotas?” and i’m like, “que que?” and she’s all, “cuotas. cuantas cuotas?”

“eh? es que no entiendo. explicamelo, porfa.”

“cuotas.”

“aja… es que todavia no entiendo.”

i look to my aunt for support. she looks at me like i’ve mutated, and says “tu sabes, cuotas.” jesus. you know, it doesn’t matter how many times you repeat the word, i still won’t understand it. you can say it in a whisper, you can say it super loud, you can say it in a box, you can say it with a fox, it still holds no meaning. break it down for me, people. my lack of understanding seems completely absurd to them; my differences, bizarre.

my grandma says i’m strange. me dice rara. though not to my face. i like to exercise, eat vegetables on the daily, i don’t care for sweets, and i am, when i can be, a vegetarian. i also eat whatever i want, regardless of the time of day. cereal at night. rice in the morning. these things are beyond peculiar. i don’t like to gossip, i don’t lie, and i refuse to talk shit. that shit drives them crazy. i do my own dishes and laundry, and generally clean up after myself. even when the help is there! scan-da-lous. i can’t imagine what they would think if they found out i used to be a dyke. se mueren, me imagino.

and it’s not like these people haven’t traveled all over the world. they have the internet too, for christ’s sake. but even with the recognition that other cultures exist, my own difference seems outside the realm of explanation and a bit freakish. maybe it’s because i am of them, but not like them. perhaps that’s just too much. that somewhere in them or at some point in the future, they could be different or they might change. maybe the realization they don’t have to be the way they are, that everything they do is a choice, is too chaotic.

which is all fine by me. they can have their plastic surgery, instant coffee, hot soup in riot weather, processed diet, strictly heteronormative and misogynistic experiences, and cuota payment plans. i rather be an odd cat with a queer soul.

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About trying not to touch anything

living in a space where i am half packed, or half unpacked, depending on how you look at it; going somewhere else; wanting to write about my misadventures on a planet i don't feel like i should be on

3 responses to “es que ella es rara.”

  1. Dasha says :

    I am not surprised that you are fantastic writer! What a great story of cultural differences within your bicultural experience. Bi. Hah.

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