Amor
Amor
I love the color of my skin. She is not me and I am not her and still, I love the color of my skin. Brown is beautiful. It reminds me of aromatic spices filling up the kitchen while Nana talked about this and that at the stove. Oh how I miss hiding underneath the table and stealing tortillas de harina. Sometimes, Nana would give me one to dunk into a cup of cafe con leche. It was the best treat ever and, it was brown.
My eyes are not black. Hers are and many songs have been written about them. “Que bonitos ojos tienes, debajo de cejas. Debajo de esas dos cejas, que bonitos ojos tienes.” What beautiful eyes underneath those brows… it goes on to say she is enchanting like a sorceress. Black is beautiful. It’s penetrating. Strong.
Kids grow up. We all know this and still, it takes us by surprise. Time passes and we sometimes forget to tell them it’s not only okay to be who they are, but that they must. I know, they don’t listen, but if we say it often enough, surely something will take root. Also, it’s okay to tell them they are beautiful. That word has somehow become…bad? You should tell a kid they are smart, strong, funny… why not beautiful? I never felt that way. Beautiful. I was only smart. It still haunts me.
Amor was so little in my eyes when she first came into my teaching studio. She looked shy but I could tell it was the environment and not her heart. Comfort is something that comes with time. We’ve since become something akin to family. She is still so young in my eyes, but no longer that little girl. She has a strong woman in her life, her own Nana, to show her… she is beautiful.
Beauty is complex. Something that emanates from the mind. The heart. But, beauty is also brown and black.