Understanding

I am brown. 

What does that mean? 

I believe the answer lies within my narrative and the narrative of my people. 

Who are my people?

As I seek to understand my history, my place in society, my identity as a Latina, I realize something. I realize that in order to understand that, I must also understand what it means to be a person of color. Brown, black, yellow, whatever color makes us "different than."

I am not blinded to the hurt and pain of my fellow black brothers and sisters. I see their pain. I do not understand their pain as much as I sometimes wish I did, or sometimes even believe I do.
But as a Christian and as a Latina, I believe it my responsibility to seek to understand more.
For me, for them, for us.

The struggle of being a Hispanic-American woman in this country is not just rooted in my being Hispanic. It is rooted in America's history. In America's treatment of Native Americans, Black Americans, Asian Americans, Middle Eastern Americans. In what makes white people white, colored people colored.

Realizing this means that in my pursuit to read more, I must also incorporate reading (or listening to, as I am a big fan of audio books) about the history and narratives of other people of color. With this in mind, I am currently listening to Ta-Nehisi Coates's Between the World and Me.

I cannot express my emotions and thoughts now an hour into this audiobook, but I will say that this quote has hit me hard and deep:

"This is your country, this is your world, this is  your body, and you must find some way to live within all of it."

That's all for now.

Actually, no.
I want to apologize to my colored brothers and sisters for sometimes ignoring their narratives as I pursue finding my own. For "liking" facebook posts, "sharing" articles, "checking-in" in solidarity, and yet not always acting.
I want you to know that my heart is fired up with a thirst for justice and peace. I want you to know that I care. That I, too, hurt. I hurt when I see you've been hurt. I anger at those who have hurt you. I cry when our country disappoints us in who they elect to office. I pray for you.
But I also want to listen to you. I want to understand you more. I want to walk with you.
If you are reading this, please help me.
I realize I have pain, my people, too, have been hurt. In that, we share. But you are unique, your narrative matters, and I want to enter into it with you. Together we are stronger.