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A poet can spend a lifetime altering a single word's life, meaning and symbolism. I find that to be an honorable pursuit. For me, there is still a use for the word Latinindad. I acknowledge, for some, understandably, Latinidad is synonymous with the erasure of our indigeneity and blackness. I have witnessed this firsthand in my own family. For others, it is a rebel yell against the rigid categories of identity imposed upon them. Latinidad, for me, is a lived experience. It is a complex cluster of emotions, memories, and visions.
It can be all these things. It can become none. Let it exist in multiplicity, like us. Let us explore Latinidad as a means of liberation with nuance. Let us empower ourselves with more grace, respect, and dignity. Let us redefine Latinidad for us, one conversation at a time. Let us figure it out together.
I admit I have a lot to figure out. To know that I am both the colonizer and the colonized is to walk a tightrope tied to no edges. My mother is from Volcán, a town in las Tierras Altas district of Chiriquí, Panama. Her family are descendants of campesinos, part Spanish and Ngäbe. My father, born in Yabucoa, Puerto Rico, is the proud son of a jíbaro, but we still don't discuss our Afro-Latinidad. I am ready for these conversations.
In particular, as it relates to diaspora, identities offer a sense of belonging, essential to our well-being and self-assurance. First-generation trauma is real, and unresolved trauma becomes intergenerational—we must heal. How are you feeling? What do you remember? Are you willing to share your thoughts and dreams with us? These are the intimate conversations I want to have. These are the conversations on Latinidad.us. I want to converse with artists, authors, public figures, community organizers, policymakers, academics, and your tío y tía.