Dear Diary,
Today I start extra school-- that's right, extra school. Mami and Papi say they're sending me to Zeferino Ramírez's new school so I can keep in touch with my "roots," but I say that I already do that enough already. I mean, it's not like we don't speak Spanish to each other at home or eat Mexican food every night. Mami says this way maybe I'll meet a nice boy from a good family, and stop "chasing after" the gringos in my classes at school. Apparently in this new after school Mexican school I will study "the Spanish language, Mexican geography, history, and native arts." (116) I feel like those topics have nothing to do with real life. When am I ever going to need to know exact Mexican geography or the intricacies of Mexican history? When I get a pop quiz on the sidewalk here in Belvedere? No way! The people who care already know and the people who don't, don't.
Maybe I'm just kind of mad that I now have two more extra hours of class. If I really think about it, part of me thinks it might be nice to learn about the country my family comes from. Sometimes it feels so far away, almost like it's not a real place, only a memory of dream that's been passed down. Papi always says that we'll go back and live like kings once we save up enough money, but I don't think that's going to happen. And LA is my home. I know I was born in Juarez when we were on our way here but I feel like that doesn't even count. I never even really lived in Mexico. If we went back, I wouldn't have any friends! What would I do without Rosita, Gabriella, and Rubi? Die, probably. I wouldn't even have anyone to share chismes with. Life would be so boringgg. But then again, sometimes I feel guilty that I don't have a stronger connection to Mexico, especially since it means so much to Mami and Papi. Sometimes I feel like we live in different worlds. It's like I have my home world where everything is in Spanish and we listen to the ranchero music Papi loves and we exist as a family in our own little unit. But then I walk outside and am bombarded with the sounds of corridos and Spanglish and guys who try to get my attention by saying "Mija, you're looking fine today," as their buddies elbow them in the ribs while holding back a laugh. And then I get to school and there's no mention of Mexico at all, no Spanish except for the Spanglish in the halls, lunch is meatloaf and mashed potatoes in the cafeteria, and after school we sneak away to see the newest Rudolph Valentino movie. I feel like I'm constantly being pulled in one direction or the other but I don't really know who I am yet, or where I fit in. I don't feel fully Mexican, but I don't feel fully American either. I don't really know what else to say right now, so maybe I'll just end here. Mami's yelling at me because I'm late for this dumb new school anyway.
Besitos,
Ana-Maria
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