i had this moment in class today (as i went toe-to-toe with a - how do i put this nicely - ignorant classmate of mine) where it became clear to me once again why i am here killing myself (and my love life). the idealistic vision i had when beginning grad school, nay, working towards grad school (seeing as all romantic notions faded as soon as i attended the recruitment weekend, which occurred roughly five months before the first day of class itself) was nearly forgotten until today.
you see, i've decided to once again pursue both mexican american and african american (and, of course, american in general - these are merely specializations) literature. initially, the idea of returning to mexican american literature was a selfish act: as both a mexican american and a woman, i have a better chance of getting a job with a specialization in mexican american lit. but today, the passion i once had for my own culture and people came flooding back as i challenged my colleague. i'm here for a reason and that is to do my part - how ever insignificant it may be - in changing the way people think about latinos (and marginalized peoples in general).
i'm an angry person, but, to be fair, i'm angry for a few damned good reasons. at this moment, i could erupt in a long diatribe concerning what i despise and why i despise it, but i'll save it for my work (seeing as it needs such passion). what i mean to say here is that i see it now, i see why i was accepted into this program that often makes me feel like an idiot out of her element. so yeah, maybe i'm here as a result of some fellowship that is just a thinly veiled version of affirmative action and maybe i'm not at the same intellectual level as everyone else, but i'm here nonetheless. and i'm getting shit done.
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