I stole the title of this blog post from a longtime friend on LiveJournal, where I used to blog years ago. That blog was pretty much the same as this one, except more profane and whinier. If that makes this blog boring, I apologize. I had to draw the line somewhere to make my personal life fit for human consumption.
I have changed since I arrived in the Dominican Republic. I haven't undergone any profound personal growth. My Spanish is improving at a snail's pace. I've managed to keep my articles around 500 words--I'm sorry, I just can't handcuff myself to the exact word limit. You'll get 515 words and that's the best I can do. Damn this concise writing nonsense.
Instead, I have received a new identity. Here I am an upper class white person.
Those are odd labels for me, as I don't identify with either quality. A friend once described me as "bootstrappy"--you know, pulling oneself up by the bootstraps. Coming from nothing and working hard to get somewhere. Plus I never identified with being white, other than laughing at the blog Stuff White People Like: http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/. I always considered myself a Mexican wandering through a multi-racial American landscape where my last name was the key to acceptance. I attend a state university, financed completely by loans and grants as I can't afford to pay for my education out of pocket, and I work two jobs to make ends meet. I live in a hole of an apartment and I had to sell my car before I came here because I couldn't afford the repairs to keep it going.
Here, I live in a gorgeous spacious apartment in a nice neighborhood with a stunning view of the Caribbean Sea. I have a doorman and security guards who greet me as I come and go. I have cable with 400+ channels and HBO still has the same six movies on every week. Step your game up, HBO.
It's Monday, which means it's cleaning day. Two women come to clean my apartment every Monday morning. They even change the sheets for me. This is not something I'm used to, and I'm still not comfortable with it. Part of me is resistant because I've always cleaned up after myself and done my own chores, and the other part of me is a relentless control freak who gets nauseated by the idea of strangers touching my stuff and doing chores for me because I'm sure they'll do it all wrong. It keeps me up at night.
I don't have school today so I'm sitting around typing this and watching the women clean my apartment. I can't say I'll ever get used to the idea of someone cleaning up after me.
I attend a prestigious university. As I mentioned before, UNIBE is one of the best schools in the nation. I feel a sense of satisfaction that I can go here after Stanford turned me down. Who cares if nobody knows what UNIBE is? The point is that I was good enough for a top school somewhere. It's good enough for me.
In my brief time at UNIBE, I get the impression that it's a school for rich kids. I'm not knocking the university or the student body, but my friend at school will corroborate my story. Yes, I made a friend. Hooray for me. She's smart and cool and for some reason likes spending time with me.
On the walk home from school last week, I looked down at my arms under my parasol and saw white skin. My tan from the pool is fading now that I'm no longer in the sun 24/7. I walk with a parasol when I go out too, so I don't get sunburned.
All right, so it's a stupid blue umbrella I got from the bus stop ages ago. It was free. I'm trying to stay within the lines of this whole upper class thing. Parasol it is.
My golden brown tan is almost gone. Now the only clue to my Latina identity is my last name. I'm white now. I'm definitely white among the darker skinned people here. Anyone can see it and assume I'm at best a snobby European descendant, or at worst a dumb ass-backwards American. Woe.
My upper class status will fade once I return to the States, where once again I will be broke and Mexican. Here, having a little money and the privilege to attend university bumps me up the ladder. It's made me change my perspective of social labels. One small change has led to an enormous shift for me. I can be upper class for a few months, but deep down, I'll always be a twit.
I thought the only things I'd learn about here were Spanish and baseball. The passive lessons are just as valuable.
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