I’m left to wonder: \u00bfC\u00f3mo se dice, \u2018Mom, I\u2019m queer\u2019 en espa\u00f1ol?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I always believed that being bilingual would be great for my career. I never thought it would wreak havoc on my relationship with my mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Growing up in a Colombian household meant that my immigrant parents made damn sure that we held on to our heritage. They proudly passed down their Spanish to my younger sister and me. Our parents, aunts and uncles would band against us and our cousins, reminding us at every opportunity en espa\u00f1ol, por favor. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n So, for a good couple of years, a younger me dutifully did the grammar-book exercise my parents gave me. Stuttering and pink-cheeked, I\u2019d say, \u201cHola mucho gusto \u2026 bien y tu?\u201d <\/em>to <\/em>family friends who swore they knew me as a baby. <\/p>\n\n\n\n It is only now, in my 20s, that I feel I have a good handle on my Spanish, at least conversationally. I introduce myself to extended family with ease, gossip with my sister in public and even coo to my dog, \u201cMi bebe lindo<\/em>.\u201d<\/em> Still, I have come to see my life dichotomized by language. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My Spanish, no matter how well I wield it, has been limited throughout my life. Growing up in the suburbs of southern Ontario, it was only ever spoken with my family, during Saturday evening masses and used to text my parents. Meanwhile, most other aspects of my life were and are in English, from my exploration of identity and friendships at school to my exploration of queerness in online spaces. Even now, my closest relationships, my passions as a writer and artist, and my academics are all conducted in English.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Until recently, I had no issue with these two distinct aspects of my life. I resigned myself to these two lives quickly and quietly. As there was no overlap between my two worlds, there was no cause for concern. I let them coexist, parallel and peaceful, but I was also in denial and wilfully ignorant to an impending disaster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I had decided a long time ago that I would come out to my parents only after moving out and becoming financially independent. Living with the belief that the love I had from my family was conditional, I expected that my queerness would unravel and complicate many of my familial relationships. Being haunted by this knowledge but ultimately accepting it, I\u2019ve learned that to be queer is to exist without approval; we do so, in spite. <\/p>\n\n\n\n That is, until my mother came knocking at the closet door I was so sure was hidden from her and my father’s view. Until she took me aside one day and told me, \u201cQuiero que sabes que te amo, no importa quien amas<\/em>.\u201d<\/em> Until, incredibly, my mother proved this belief of mine wrong and brought my two worlds spinning and crashing into each other. <\/p>\n\n\n\n In that moment, with a twist of panic, I chose to meet her with silence and indifference. My heart frantically beating, I waved my hand, and quickly changed the subject. \u201cOkay\u2026 vuelvo a casa m\u00e1s tarde, tengo que ayudar en un evento en la U<\/em>.\u201d<\/em> I ignored her attempts at acceptance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n To simply say to my mother, \u201cI\u2019m gay,\u201d seems inadequate and impossible. Ni s\u00e9 c\u00f3mo empezar\u00eda esa conversaci\u00f3n.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n Despite my aloofness, my mother continued to express her support for many weeks after this initial conversation. She\u2019d wander into my room to affirm that if she were right, if I were queer, she would receive me with open arms. Still, I continued to dismiss her and even began to avoid being left in a room alone with her. Now, she expresses her openness less often after my consistent dismissals of her gentle gestures and words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Although my mother has never been an outwardly homophobic person, I hadn\u2019t expected her to be so forward or accepting. After all, it was in Spanish where I learned to assume that queerness was a phenomenon far removed from our family and who we were. Every time I try to imagine my queerness in Spanish, <\/em>all I hear is my family\u2019s casual usage of marica <\/em>and maricaditas. <\/em>My family has not granted me the gift of a queer vocabulary. I\u2019m left frustrated, unable to find the words and phrasing in Spanish to describe my identity. In turn, this leaves my mother heartbroken, and confused as to why I won\u2019t simply take the loving hand she extends to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I always thought that if my parents were going to reject my queerness, then it didn\u2019t matter how I would tell them about it. But now, faced with my mother\u2019s eager acceptance, I cannot find the words to explain what I want her to understand. To simply say to my mother, \u201cI\u2019m gay,\u201d seems inadequate and impossible. Ni s\u00e9 c\u00f3mo empezar\u00eda esa conversaci\u00f3n.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n On top of this linguistic lack, I don\u2019t feel <\/em>queer in Spanish. Me siento asentada en lo que mi familia piensa de qui\u00e9n soy en espa\u00f1ol, en vez de lo que he explorado y cultivado en ingl\u00e9s.<\/em> I feel <\/em>like an entirely different person in Spanish, and I have found that this is an experience that is not uncommon amongst multilinguals<\/a>. Many multilinguals feel and see a difference among their different linguistic selves. Recent studies suggest that this is because each language causes speakers to perceive their realities in a different way<\/a>. So, perhaps, my two metaphorical worlds aren\u2019t really that metaphorical afterall. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My English self has grown into themself. They are the first of my friends to beg to go out dancing, are loudly passionate and love a good bit. My English self is emotional, a lover and a poet. Conversely, my Spanish self is politely quiet and quite agreeable. My Spanish self is, above anything else, my parents\u2019 daughter. Intelligent, at least based on her grades, responsible and presumably, almost unquestionably, straight and cis. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I know that this distinction I make between my queerness and my Spanish is not an innate quality of the language; it is a learned one, but it torments me all the same. <\/p>\n\n\n\n So now I am left to wonder \u00bfC\u00f3mo se dice,<\/em> \u201cMom, I\u2019m queer\u201d en espa\u00f1ol<\/em>?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because gay <\/em>in my mother tongue tastes and sounds like disappointment. Like Other, like \u201cdon\u2019t say that word again,\u201d like whispered disdain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wonder if I can let myself be understood in half measures, knowing I may never find all the words I need.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n I am left to wonder, because there is no direct translation for the word \u201cqueer\u201d in Spanish. Because I have never theorized about queer futurity in Spanish. Because I have never loved someone in Spanish, nor would it feel right or comfortable to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because I betray my non-binary identity every time I speak of myself in Spanish, because my mother tongue is gendered and self-referential. \u00bfPor qu\u00e9 como existo en esta comunidad, si no hay la lengua para describir qui\u00e9n soy? <\/em>Because I am burdened by the fact that I could never write this essay in Spanish. <\/p>\n\n\n\n There are, however, small bridges, little pieces of vocabulary I have built while trying to amend the relationship between my two worlds since my mom\u2019s knocking. I know that someday, I could introduce una novia <\/em>or una pareja mia <\/em>to her. I learned how to say Feliz Orgullo <\/em>without it feeling awkward. These are a start, but there are still so many other words and ideas and phrases and feelings I am learning to embrace in Spanish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My mother seems willing to at least try to understand this part of me, and if she doesn\u2019t understand, at least, according to her, she loves me. Still, as someone who insists on clarity, I wonder if I can let myself be understood in half measures, knowing I may never find all the words I need. Tal vez siempre va a estar esta distancia entre mis identidades.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n So maybe I will reach for a dictionary and thesaurus, or maybe I will seek to fall in love with someone whose only language is Spanish, force myself into learning and loving and being in Spanish. Perhaps, unfortunately, most likely, at least for the time being, I\u2019ll continue to hold my tongue as my mother continues to wonder and worry, and I\u2019ll leave her waiting at the door.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I’m left to wonder: \u00bfC\u00f3mo se dice, \u2018Mom, I\u2019m queer\u2019 en espa\u00f1ol?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1200,"featured_media":277625,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"editorial_slug":"150","_editorial_slug":"150","exclude_from_latest_block":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13,4,11],"contributors":[3102],"topic":[162,2602],"clients":[],"series":[150],"timeliness":[63],"editorial_format":[34],"type-of-work":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/277621"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1200"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=277621"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/277621\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":277648,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/277621\/revisions\/277648"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/277625"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=277621"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=277621"},{"taxonomy":"contributors","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributors?post=277621"},{"taxonomy":"topic","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/topic?post=277621"},{"taxonomy":"clients","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/clients?post=277621"},{"taxonomy":"series","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/series?post=277621"},{"taxonomy":"timeliness","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/timeliness?post=277621"},{"taxonomy":"editorial_format","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/editorial_format?post=277621"},{"taxonomy":"type-of-work","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xtramagazine.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/type-of-work?post=277621"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}