Am I so bad?

I never could understand what was so bad about my heritage or the blood coursing through my veins.

But, I understand the mean comments like, “This ain’t your country” and “terrorists.” I knew that it would hurt some days, while others garnered simple eye-roll moments. Lately, I am having trouble understanding how I should feel. 

It’s bad enough that I feel the judgment on my Latinidad for being Mexican-American. Today’s racism and xenophobia being encouraged by the president is another scale of hate. It’s no longer an “eye-roll” but an echo in my head. All of the comments from media posts echo in the walls of my head. Perhaps a migraine would best describe the feeling. It’s a constant battle of telling myself I am worthy of success or that I’m a problem to society. 

Which could be the truth, America, if you haven’t had the chance to know me:

I like books, preferably the rom-fantasy genre. Documentaries are my favorite type of TV. My favorite food is my mom’s sopa verde con queso. My family has always been my support system, despite drama or generational curses. My dog, Oso, makes me so happy. My dream vacation would be a week spent in Oregon, exploring beautiful forests and waterfalls. The song on replay, at the moment, is “Tough Lover” by Christina Aguilera.  

I care about people and their stories. I embrace my empathy and compassion. I learn and read about cultures, international relations, crime statistics and human rights. I want to bring injustices to their final end. I am also the proud daughter of Mexican parents. 

So, I ask again, America: Am I so bad?