Mourning

April 13, 2008

I registered this blog not to write in it– but to cultivate an online identity with which to communicate and foster community with other women of color.

I was too afraid to write. Too afraid that I was not smart enough– that I had nothing to contribute. Then, ironically, I was afraid that someone would steal my words– take my ideas and present them as their own. Paranoid, I know– except it just happened to the mujer responsible for bringing me to the world of WOC blogs.

I am mourning the loss of Bfp in a way that I was not prepared for. I needed her voice. It was like air to me and now I am suffocating. The hole this fiasco has left in my heart and in my intellectual life feels beyond repair right now. The reaction from the white blogosphere, though predictable, is no less infuriating. I want to throw up my hands. I want to shout. I want to let my inner chola out and inflict bodily harm. I am enraged.

Angry Black Woman wrote a beautiful post about how her anger does not equate to hate. She must be a far better person than I am because today, I can honestly say: “I hate.”

… and so I write. I write (and might continue to write) because I don’t know what else to do. I write because I will not let them win. i will not let them erase our voices from the conversation. I will not let them say “Well, that’s one less WOC voice we will have to worry about.” Fuck you and fuck that. I am a woman of color. I am a Chicana. I am angry. I HAVE A VOICE AND I AM HERE.

¿Y sabes que? Vale mas que no te atreves.

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