If you've been following me for a while on Instagram, you'll know that this page was inspired by Elizabeth Acevedo. I didn't know who she was until one day, September 22, 2015, when a friend shared a video of hers on Facebook. I watched the video, a performance of her poem "Afro-Latina", and it was like my entire world shifted. I had never felt so understood by someone and it was like I had finally found a box I could check myself into. An identity I never knew I could claim.
Elizabeth is from New York, born to Dominican immigrants. She received a BA in Performing Arts from George Washington University and a MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Maryland. She's toured both locally and internationally, given TEDTalks, and been featured on BET and Mun2. So I don't end up rewriting her entire bio, you can check out all she's done on her website here.
It's been over two years since that Facebook post, and this year, on October 23rd, I was finally able to see Elizabeth live at Bridgewater State University. I did a live feed on Instagram, so I do not have any personal videos to share, but it made me so happy to finally be able to see her perform. As soon as she walked in, her beauty smacked me in the face (she's stunning). Although her hair and style are literally jaw-dropping, her personality, confidence, and talent are truly what makes her beautiful. That night she performed various poems and told us about her educational, personal, and cultural experiences, sharing with us how she gets through this thing called life via writing and performing. It's been about a month since that night, and I found it fitting to post about it now.
The end of the year tends to be about giving thanks, reflecting on our lives, and looking towards a better future. This year, I've realized that these past two years have been a crazy journey for me, both emotionally and intellectually. I am in no way the same person I was when I watched Elizabeth's video for the first time, but I'm definitely not done growing or learning. I'm thankful for having developed an open mind, which allows me to learn and grow intellectually. I'm thankful for emotional growth, which allows me to speak my mind without breaking down. I'm thankful for my immigrant parents, whose lives have not been easy, but who have struggled and worked tirelessly to make sure my life can be a little easier. I'm thankful for the opportunity to help others (including my sister) on their identity journey. I'm thankful for friends and followers, who give me a little push to keep striving for excellence and a better me. And finally ... I'm thankful for Elizabeth, because without that video that day, I wouldn't have created @afrolatinas_ the very next month, and I definitely wouldn't be the woman I am today.
Afro-Latina
Camina conmigo
Salsa swagger anywhere she go
Como "la negra tiene tumbao - azúcar!"
Dance to the rhythm
Beat the drums of my skin
Afro descendant
The rhythm's within
The first language I spoke was Spanish
Learned from lullabies whispered in my ear
My parents' tongue was a gift which I quickly forgot after realizing my peers did not understand it
They did not understand me
So I rejected habichuela and mangu
Much preferring happy meals and big macs
Straightening my hair in imitation of Barbie I was embarrassed by my grandmother's colorful skirts and my mother's "ehbroki Ingli" which cracked my pride when she spoke
So, shit, I would poke fun at her myself
Hoping to lessen the humiliation
Proud to call myself American
A citizen of this nation
I hated caramel colored skin
Cursed God I'd been born the color of cinnamon
How quickly we forget where we come from
So remind me
Remind me that I come from the Tainos of the rio
the Aztec, the Mayan, los Incas
Los Españoles con sus fincas buscando oro
And the Yoruba Africanos que con sus manos built a mundo nunca imaginado
I know I come from stolen gold
From cocoa, from sugar cane
The children of slaves and slave masters
A beautifully tragic mixture
A sancocho of erased history
And my memory can't seem to escape
The thought of lost lives and indigenous rape
A bittersweet bitterness of feeling innate
The soul of a people past, present, and fate
Our stories can not be checked into boxes
They are in the forgotten
The undocumented
The passed down spoonfuls of arroz con dulce at abuela's knee
They're the way our hips skip to the beat of cumbia, merengue, y salsa
They're in the bending and blending of backbones
We are deformed and reformed beings
It's in the sway of our song
The landscapes of our skirts
The azucar beneath our tongues
We are the unforseen children
We're not a cultural wedlock
Hair too kinky for Spain
And too wavy for dreadlocks
So our palms tell the cuentos of many tierras
Read our lifeline
Birth of intertwined moonbeams and starshine
We are every ocean crossed
North star navigates our waters
Our bodies have been bridges
We are the sons and daughters
El destino de mi gente
Black, brown, beautiful
Viviremos para siempre
Afrolatinos hasta la muerte
Elizabeth's next novel, The Poet X, releases next March. It's available for pre-order here.
