Moving to Portland has made me highly aware of the fact that I am not another face in the crowd. I am some shade of brown with infusions of cultures that I have grown up with or adopted, and ultimately I am a mis-mash of traditions, expressions, cuisine and language. There's no denying that in the center of my soul, I am brown. I use the word brown because I cannot bring myself to say Latina, Chicana, or the one that sounds like a disease, Hispanic. What brings me to this heightened awareness of my ethnicity was a the group run that I had this morning.
Now running for fun isn't exactly something that us brown folks are known for. Sure the jokes are made that we run from 'La Migra' or that we're better swimmers, but for me, being the whitewashed gal that I am, its something that I'm passionate about. But arriving at a massive training event for the Portland Marathon, its obvious that I am the splash of cafe in the leche. In the sea of white people packed in NikeTown, I feel like the little poor brown girl who cant afford all of the fancy gear... the 300 dollar watches, hear monitors, hi-tech water packs, aerodynamic tights, reflective gloves..... no, I'm there with my tights from Target, Nike shorts thrown over them, a sweatshirt I found on clearance in Texas during the summer, and my refilled Aquafina water bottle that I plan to carry in my hand. And although its just in my head, I feel these fancy runners staring at me. Looking at me like I looked at the 3 Spanish speaking guys who I registered at my running clubs 5k. They looked like complete armatures who had just fallen off of the chicken truck, and as I gave them their running bibs, I felt sorry for them that they were wearing off brand shoes and sweat pants for the race. I thought to myself, 'those poor guys, they have shitty gear, but bless their little hearts for trying'. Now the tables were turned, I might as well have been those guys, except with better english skills, and skinnier legs.
So, to make matters more awkward, we were broken up into groups and told that we cannot use our Ipods, this is to be a fun group run where everyone is there to help and support each other. Umm, excuse me? I thought this was marathon training. Im here to kick ass, not make friends. But, rules are rules, so I get in my group and let the bonding begin. Well, I do not pipe up much during this hour of forced friendship. The conversation is just so... well, white. While these people are talking about gluten free diets, and so-and so's to die for quiche, and the sale at Williams Sonoma, I can't help but try and imagine what a run with Latinos would be like. For one, we wouldn't running in this perfect formation. We would be swapping places and traveling in a moving clump rather that these two straight lines. Second, there would be a lot more laughing. Not these fake chuckles over lame puns, or corny running jokes. No, instead we would be taking shots at each other, making fun of who runs like a duck, who's tights are a bit too tight, and who is a p*ssy for not being able to keep up with the rest of the blob. We would be talking about bad children, good for nothing husbands, the latest scandal in the community, and above all, what we were going to eat after this run!
As I'm imagining this group being transformed into a louder, livelier, and more tan bunch, I realize that I am a whole lot more brown than I ever gave myself credit for. I guess I just have never been in a situation where I have ever felt like a 'minority'. Whats funny, is that anywhere else I lived, i was so quick to sweep my heritage under the rug, because pretty much everyone around me had some exposure to Latinos, and a few of them were brown themselves. Living in Portland, this is not the case. People have little to no exposure to us brownies. Immigrants here are mainly Russian, and Vietnamese.... I guess they can handle to cold a little better than what we 'South of the Border' types can.
So to sum it all up, I guess I can appreciated the tones of brown that run through my veins. Being the outsider in a dominant society has not only forced me to acknowledge that I do have a sense of belonging to 'my people', but has also made me realize that I can no longer neglect that. So long as I plan on traveling and exposing myself to new cultures and ways of life, I must also be able to present myself in the holistic way that I am Latina, and that I do not just identify with the 'white side' of life. I should take more advantage of mt heritage and love it for all that it is, and for all of the differences that it has with my new found home.
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