Why I am not the stereotyped latina; or, stop generalizing!
1. First of all, which century do you live in to think that just because I'm from Central America, I live in the jungle? Heck no! I've always been a city girl. There's close to a million people where I lived. I was raised eating at Pizza Hut, Burger King, Wendy's, Taco Bell and all that junk. I ate at Friday's whenever I felt like using my dad's credit card. No, I've never seen a cow up close, and have only seen horses at shows.
2. No, I don't like salsa, merengue, or bachata. Reggaeton makes me want to hurl. I enrolled in a salsa school (not so long ago, I may add) just so I could perform decently at dances. I can still shake my hips, and go through the motions, but no, no latin blood in these dancing veins.
3. No, people, I do not like warm humid weather. It destroys my expensive hairdo, keeps my face in a state of endless exfoliation, and prevents me from daily physical activity, since sweating all day is not my idea of a preferred lifestyle.
4. I do not like spicy food. Even excessive amounts of pepper send me on panicky races for the nearest water dispenser.
5. On that same note, I do not like greasy food. My mom became an extremist vegan when I reached my teens. So we were always eating a lot of vegetables, tofu, soy milk, barely any meat (maybe fish, chicken or lean meat a couple of times a week). She also decided salt was the incarnation of the devil, and totally flavorless meals became a part of my daily diet. So no, I don't know exactly what the typical Honduran eats.
6. Oh yeah, I'm also not a big fan of tortillas. If anything, we would sometimes eat our meals with regular white bread; that is, until Mom decided whole-grain bread was best.
7. I hate novelas. My dad forbade them in the house, labeling them as a stupid waste of time and brainwaves. I totally agree. I loved MTV.
8. Except for my dad, soccer was never a major event in our house. The only way we'd know Honduras was playing was when we heard the neighbors screaming at a missed goal or celebrating a victory. I remember my mom watching the final game of a World Cup once. Actually, the first time I watched a whole soccer game (and even that's debatable, I spent quite some time at the concession stands enjoying the variety of hot dog styles) was in Denver, about 6 years ago. My host thought I'd enjoy a soccer game, little did she know!
I need to get somewhere else right now. There might be a sequel to this post.
No comments:
Post a Comment