Well I must be doing something right.

Tonight, a white man (a neighbor’s friend, whom I’d met only this evening) told me, a brown man, that I was or had grown too confident in my position, as like, a witness to the American moment at hand, I should imagine (after all, we were talking…not politics per se, but about how we relate to one another and what is clearly going on in the country nowadays – that is some kind of justice for Breonna Taylor, huh…mmm not).

Don’t know what’s wrong with being confident, but lemme just tell ya, it was not I who had to run away from the dinner party like a little bitch.

This bitch don’t play that game.

Confident conversationists never tell other people how they feel, but we will make sure you know you’re not cutting the mustard. (It was not I who discounted the Black Lives Matter movement, and I felt like a point needed to be made of it, you know, especially as attempts to flip and reverse arguments were being made – OMG, the spinning is real.)

#BLM. #BLM all the way. Because my brown life matters, too.

The blatant, delusional disrespect I encountered tonight, outdoors at a nice restaurant in San Francisco, from a grown person I met through a most mortified new friend, is why I make such a big stink about the vote. Some of you people out there still think you’re better than others – than me – and I am not having any of it, OK. All I had to do to unpack this poor man’s ill-advised claim to a supremacy over me, a stranger he, too, had just met, was ask him if he spoke Spanish. Whether he could converse with me in French. If he knew enough Italian and enough about Italian wine to order a good bottle to share with our meal. Like, I do, can, and did.

Some of you people don’t know, don’t realize, maddeningly still, that we are – that I am – so much more than you assume (and I do mean assume) we are. If we gonna play the, quote-unquote, people game here, then people who look like me have been here, OK. Are here. Have died here, understanding that we are but mere spiritual beings having a (momentary) human experience on this Earth. Have bled for here. We are all here, now. Nothing really matters, except this kinda does. This is paramount. We are all OK to be where we are at exactly the time we are there. We all mean well, after all, no?

We are here. Confidently. Boldly. Proudly. Wherever we are. That is all we can be. If you or anyone has a problem with that, I’m sure there’s a Karen somewhere else who can enter ya in a raffle or som’in’.

One thing’s for sure, though: It is Latinx Heritage Month, OK. And one must be formidable. Always. And, yeah, everyone out there could use a little love right now. It really hits a nerve, when you point that out.

You gotta hold on to the little bit of magic in it – but ya also gotta check yourself, though.

We’re in the end game now. And I am nobody’s bitch.

Get your act together, America (get therapy! GOOP it up! figure something out!). You can walk and chew gum, right. Right?

Alrighty then. A-humble, already. Assemble.


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