I met Ana Gabriela Pajarillo when we were toddlers in preschool, and I can vaguely recall the two of us being rather chummy. We went to each other's kiddie birthday parties, sat next to each other in the duck-duck-goose circle, and played together in the church basement where our preschool was held. Those were the days I'm nostalgic for; the worst crime I committed was packing away raisins and goldfish crackers from snack time, and my biggest concern was figuring out if God wore tennis shoes or not.
Post-preschool, Ana Gabriela went to St. Augustine's, a K-8 private Catholic institution, and I dove headfirst into the public school system. I wouldn't see or hear from her until we met ten years later, at Blue Orchid High school in a first-year Spanish Class. She was one of the cutest girls I knew, with round, pretty features, huge boobs, nice legs, the works. Like most Spanish teachers, ours could be considered clinically insane. The bulk of our period was devoted to doing absolutely nothing at all. Ana Gabriela and I rekindled our preschool friendship. It was fairly casual, and we never talked outside of class. She was on a higher social level than I was, with lots of friends and plenty of admirers.
Ana Gabriela was half Mexican, and actually kind of embarrassed to be in the Spanish class. Her Mexican father insisted she take the course, and "embrace her Hispanic heritage." It seemed to be something she was almost ashamed of, and I couldn't figure out why. She had been the only Mexican in her class at St. Augustine's.
When you look at the girls who attended St. Augustine's, you might be able to understand Ana Gabriela's uneasiness with her (in my opinion) rich heritage. Affluent, white, and Catholic. Also, snobbish and bitchy. Ana Gabriela was never outright discriminated against, but there were remarks, and she can remember the exact moment when she realized that she was different from all of the other kids. She admits feeling self-conscious about her ethnic background, and feeling a strong need to somehow transcend it. This in turn caused her to try even harder to be accepted among the typified "in" crowd.
On the exterior, one could have never guessed such thoughts were tumbling around in her mind. To me, I saw one of the popular girls, Mexican or not, who had an edge up on me in the social sense. Our Spanish class ended, and I didn't see her until a year and a half later when we took the same English class. And what a transformation had taken place. Now, instead of sporting the standard Abercrombie and Fitch apparel that had become uniform at our school, she was dressed like a person, and not a clone. I was excited; I liked Ana and she seemed to be on her way to becoming her own person. (Personally, I decided that I hated high school about fifteen minutes after walking through those huge dilapidated doors. Any sign of unique intellect was a welcome relief.)
But in the midst of the transition, she appeared unhappy and unsettled, the unfamiliar territory of individualism looming ahead of her, terrifying and large. You see, her personal evolution had come at a very steep price. Rather, she was forced to become her own person. It was either that or become one of those people that everyone turns their noses up at during a party, whispers following them for the whole night. Ana Gabriela had experienced one of the more difficult aspects of high school, that being the rise and fall of popularity. People had at first liked Ana Gabriela because she was cute, sweet, and would go along with the crowd. Due to her accepting nature, she experimented with a good many substances. Now, I neither condone nor oppose the drug practice, but I don't think it was wise to go about experimentation the way that Ana did.
Being labeled the "friendly" girl also led Ana Gabriela to some rather compromising sexual situations. And she transcended the world of the "friendly" into the world of the "slutty." High school girls, by nature, are all too eager to leap to the throat of the girl who is receiving more attention from the boys.
(Of course, this can all be explained in an extremely long-winded diatribe attributing this phenomenon to instinctual mating rituals, but we will explore that some other day.)
Now, while sexual liberation may have reached it's hey-day, you would be extremely wide of the mark if you insisted that the insuperable "slut" figure has been killed off. We all know what it is, and it's really quite easy to roll your eyes in boredom; the fight against the stereotype has become tired, and dangerously dismissed. While a boys' sexuality is something that he can be proud of and brag about, teenage girls must keep theirs hidden from shame, and at the same time artfully wielded like a weapon which will bring hordes of unsuspecting boys into their hands. Unfortunately, it's still treated with disdain and scorn. Ana Gabriela met the ugly side of this.
The transition Ana Gabriela made from in to out was gradual, beginning with the deterioration of several of her friendships, mostly with girls who were jealous of her and (consciously or unconsciously) trying to better her one. So now the girls who could get away with being sexually liberated had ousted Ana Gabriela into a place where she was looked down upon for "that kind of behavior." Someone who couldn't hold on to their glory was worse than someone who'd never seen it.
Ana Gabriela went out quietly, in the summer between her freshman and sophomore year. She withdrew into herself and the few close friends that she retained, and went about her way. We became very close friends, but she still harbors complexes that would leave Sigmund Freud's head spinning. Coupled with a troubled family life and poor self-image, Ana Gabriela struggles to find herself every day. And while it's frustrating to deal with her "everyone-please-love-me" number, I have seen girls in her position take the narrow and winding road down.
What, you may ask, does this mean? What does it have to do with me? Are you pushing some kind of universal acceptance law?
Well, hm. While I think acceptance is important, and racial/sexual/political tolerance is crucial, more importantly do people need to look deeper into themselves to find the answers. Dependency upon anyone, particularly the harsh and cruel tribe of teenage peers, is the thing that will ultimately cause problems. My solution? Become your own person. Like the saying "you can't love anyone until you love yourself", the word "love" can easily be substituted for any number of verbs. Understand, know, tolerate, help�the list could go on into infinity.
This will probably fall on many a deaf ear. But for the girls who, like Ana Gabriela, have felt the sharp edge of the blade and pulled back, I'm sure I might find a sympathetic reader here and there.
Don't let the man get you down.
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