My full name is very hispanic. But I am of a growing hispanic minority born in the USA that didn't grow up speaking Spanish. My bilingual parents spoke it a little between themselves. And my mother
did try to teach us a little bit. But, let's face it - they should have spoken it all the time to us at home because all of us kids greatly suffered in our personal and professional lives' at our not being bilingual. And, as children, it's the easiest way to learn languages - for you soak it up like a sponge. As an adult, one becomes self-concsious at making mistakes or having a bad accent. Point blank - I have
suffered learning this language but have a lot of pride that I did so on my own. People just assume all latinos speak spanish. I am 3rd generation born American - I can assure not all of us are bilingual.
Here's a little walk down Memory Lane:
It was my first year of college, at the age of 18, that I really started yearning to learn more about my Mexican heritage and its romantic language. I became involved in the hispanic student organization MECHA to meet the few latinos who attended UC Irvine in the early 90s and sometimes wrote articles for
La Voz Mestiza - the hispanic student school paper. But, mostly, I made a herculean effort to learn Spanish on my own. Interestingly, I mostly learned it through my huge love: Music.
I started listening to spanish radio
all the time. I bought spanish-music tape cassettes (this is pre cds and mp3s). I would listen for hours to music and try to write down the lyrics in a notebook that I still have at my parents' home. I became a huge, screaming fan of handsome crooner
Luis Miguel who was my age and a HUGE singing star. He was my favorite.
I also started watching telenovelas (soap operas) during my vacations back at home in San Diego. The first one I watched was called, "La Picara Sonadora" - I even got my sister and mom to watch it with me. When I say it was the 'first one' I watched I refer to the fact that spanish-language soaps actually end after a few months. And they almost always end with a happy ending of the poor girl getting her prince *I mean rich, handsome man.
You can imagine, thus, that my spanish, from listening to music and watching over-dramatic novelas - was full of vocabulary about love, nature, revenge, romance and pain. HAHAHAH. Very dramatic. But not very useful, every-day language, one can say.
I needed to do more, then. So I decided that I could only have crushes on Latino boys. That way I could practice my spanish. Now, I was the biggest virgin in high school and college - and PROUD of it. But I had crushes, sure! And Latin men are muy romantico.....
Spring Break of my freshman year - I was en route to having my first heart ache by a Latin man. I went with Diana, my roommate in college (and mentioned in the blog a few times) to Tijuana, Mexico for the first time to go dancing. We went with my younger cousin, Maddy, who was already highly-seasoned at going even though she was only in high school. She was also in a latin identity faze as well. She took us to where the real Mexicans were - not the bars full of drunk underage American kids and sailors. She took us to the OTHER end of Calle Revolucion ("Revolution Street") the main drag of bars and discos in TJ where there was a huge club called, "Las Pulgas" - The Fleas. I was in heaven with the spanish pop and roc-en-espanol on 1 floor and more traditional mexican music and dance on another.
I still remember it like it was yesterday. I set my eyes on a tall, Mexican boy across the room - I was a virgin, but I knew how to flirt! The girls nodded in approval. He was wearing jeans, boots, a shiny belt buckle, and a button down shirt and drinking a beer. His hair was straight, thick and longer on top - pushed back with a little gel.
I said to the girls we needed to walk past him and his boys so I could make eye contact (who knew this goody-goody was such a natural??!!) Well, we paraded past them and when I walked past, I gave him a sideways look and smile over my shoulder and he literally ran after me to catch up with me.
I always thought he looked a bit like a Mexican Elvis. For he had full-lips and a handsome but baby-face that Elvis had. Even the hair reminded me of his circa 50s' look.
He asked me in spanish, "Como te llamas?" What is your name? And little did I know my life was to change forever. He was my first latin man. And my first heart break.
Efren would figure in my life for the next several years - setting my even-nowadays standard of really trying with someone until they have absolutely killed me and there is truly nothing left of Elsa to give and cling onto.
By now, Diana is rolling her eyes and fanning herself over the memories and nightmare that would be my knowing him those many years. God bless her - she accompanied me many a night to TJ to meet him down there or to go to his baseball games.
And she stood by my side through the pain as well.
Was I in love with him? No. I knew we were young and inexperienced (he was my age). But I
wanted to eventually be in love with him. I was crazy about him. He sang and danced mexican rancheros with me, literally sweeping me off my feet. "Six foot two, and all for you," he used to say, grinning that boyish grin of his. We met at 18 and he left my life at 28. We will eternally be remembered as young and stupid.
Too bad, with him, I set the precedent at being involved with men who can't commit and take but don't give much back. It's amazing when I look back now at 35 that I have always given much more in my relationships and continue to still do it. I know it's a latin trait in women - we are extremely giving. But, I've gone to hell paying for it and continue to suffer even now for possessing that character. A character that is so generous it is actually a
negative fault when it comes to me and men.
I will say one thing though. Dating someone who speaks spanish was a
great way to really accelerate my learning! Do you like elsamart's novela? Stay tuned for more. I figure
something has to come out of all the memories in my head...
