REFLECTIONS IN J21

“Un Verano Sin Ti” is not only the title to the Bad Bunny album but the name of the first party I had ever attended that permitted more than one song in Spanish. See, although I attended a high school that was roughly 50% Hispanic, it was my white classmates and their parents that vehemently opposed music in Spanish from being played at school dances, events, and even house parties.

So, when I venmo-ed my five dollars to Ballet Folklorico for their party, I had expected a sweaty God Quad with a couple of songs in Spanish here and there. I was prepared for the usual: “Pepas”, “I like it”, and of course “Tití Me Preguntó.” But when I entered J21, it felt as if I had left New Haven and was back in Colima, in a safe space for my culture to prosper without prejudice.

However,I had never felt more out of place in my life. It was my people, community, and music, but I felt lost. I knew a maximum of two songs. But how could I feel upset at myself? Could I have made a better effort to create Latinx spaces around me? I was a product of my environment. My teachers, coaches, and classmates in High School instilled in me that in order to succeed I needed to abandon everything in myself that made me Latina. I needed to be white so that my dreams could become victories and my victories valued rather than taunted. Whiteness became my vision of success. I truly believed that in order to achieve my ambitions I had to assimilate.

Irememberfeeling so embarrassed when my best friend laughed and looked at me mumbling, pretending to know the words. She said “you need to broaden your range to more than Bad Bunny.” Little did she know I only knew the Bad Bunny songs because of Tik Tok. My face immediately turned from my normal pasty white self to bright red. Someone had noticed what I had already known — I was an imposter. I did not fit in. I did not know the songs.

At the same time I looked around in awe, completely enamored and unable to comprehend that I could take part in this. For the first time in my life, it was acceptable to have a Latino social space. A space in which I was not judged for my bachata, love for Shakira, and unhealthy obsession for reggaeton.

Thissocial space made up of about forty other Yalies allowed me to break my own toxic ideology that my success was attributed to my “whiteness.” I can make my silly little playlists titled “Arroz con leche” and “Que lindo es mi canto.” I can speak Spanish in public places.