An Alicia by any other name...

My white mother named me after my grandmothers.  She fell in love my paternal grandmother’s name.  My grandmother was delighted when she found out I had been named after her.  Growing up my name was not popular, in truth, most Mexican-American/LatinX names were not popular.  There were no bike license plates with my name on it, no pencils, or pens.  

However, monogrammed bike plates, pencils, and pens were small compared to trying to get people to understand and pronounce my name correctly. 

Trying to get people to understand was always tedious.  The correct way to pronounce my name is Al-lee-C-ya.  Here’s the pronunciation:  Alicia.  When I gave my name, most people inevitably heard:  Elise, Alisa, Lease, or Lisa.  Even when I spelled my name after saying…A L I C I A…they still got it wrong.

So I started using the white American pronunciation:  A-lee-sha which was better except the spelling was butchered.  I became Elisha, Alisha, Aleesha, etc.  But it was easier to have my name misspelled rather than mispronounced.  Then some where along the line a white teacher changed my name to the “American” (really the white) name Alice and by default my classmates followed suit and called me Alice because who are/how dare we questions/correct adults.  Side note:  my mother HATED that I was called Alice.  She would always exclaim, “you’re name is Al-lee-C-a not Alice!”  She didn’t care that it was hard for people to say.  She named me what she named me and in  her mind everyone else needed to get in line.   

Finally, when I went to college, I became Alisha because I wanted to use my name but knew I had to make it easier for white folks before they changed my name again.       

Then my name became popular, the world started to become more inclusive, I became an adult, and people started to ask me, “How do you pronounce your name?”, “Why did you tell me it was Alisha?”  And I had to explain to people the politics of being Mexican-American/LatinX with a Spanish name. 

“It’s easier for white people to say Alisha” which offended some and made others feel guilty.     

The truth is there was more to it than just mispronunciation of my name.  It was about assimilating and making it easier for the majority to accept another Mexican-American and to call me by a name that, even if it wasn’t exactly correct, was more correct than it had been before. 

I’ve started to use my correct pronunciation more often and have gotten to spelling my name right after even though the person still spells it wrong but baby steps, you know?   

Not Really a Compliment

To understand this blog, I have to tell you a little about my mental health.  Which doesn't bother me as much as it might bother others.

In a nutshell, I have been diagnosed with anxiety and depression.  I take medication and I see a therapist.  The anxiety is much easier to control than previously.  It still rears its ugly head from time to time and I have to fight to keep it from overwhelming me but I do okay. 

The depression, on the other hand, is a monster that I have a much more difficult time handling.  It's always there under the surface and there are times when it's worse than others.  My depression is marked by a loss of appetite and weight loss and a more reserved and quiet me.

So, anyway, a few nights ago I went to an end of the year get together with classmates and professors.  Everyone was happy to see me as I don't have classes this semester so I have been MIA, so to speak.  During this get together someone remarked that I looked good; that I'd lost weight.  I replied that I hadn't been trying and the person remarked, "Well, whatever you're doing keep doing it."

At that moment, I had a choice.  I could 1) let the comment sail by me, smiling and nodding in agreement or 2) I could be discomfort inducing honest with the person.  I opted for honest because misery likes company, I don't know, I guess.

I looked the person straight in the eye and said, "I'm going through a serious depression and am not eating much or at all at times."  Their face went blank then embarrassed because complimenting my weight loss should be a compliment, especially for someone my size, right?  Oh yea, I forgot to mention, I'm also fat.  And as a fat person, I should be trying to lose weight and I should be happy when someone compliments my weight loss.  

Except, I'm not trying to lose weight.  I'm trying to make sure I eat rather than just sleep or stare into space.  I'm trying to keep breathing even though I'm suffocating.  I'm just trying to survive.  Which means telling me I look good having lost weight and that I should "keep doing what I'm doing" is not really a compliment.  

I know compliments about weight loss are well meaning and some people (those who are actually trying to lose weight) appreciate those compliments.  But unless you know for a fact that the person is trying to shed some pounds maybe find something else to compliment them on; maybe compliment their hair, or clothes or shoes.  Otherwise, you might be flashing a light on a personal battle.   
 

Go the Distance

When people ask me to name my favorite film, they’re often caught off guard by my answer – Rocky.  I get it.  I don't look like the type of woman who would like something like Rocky.  It's not a romance drama/comedy or action film filled with hot guys.  It just doesn't seem to go with my outward appearance--hair, makeup, and nails done.  Unless you know me.  Then you get it.  For those who don't I'll explain why Rocky is my favorite film.  

At its core, past the grit and blood and sweat, it’s a story about a man going on a journey not to reach a goal set by others but by himself.  Rocky is seen as a loser, a thug, someone who was too lazy to reach his potential.  Prior to becoming his manger/trainer, Mickey says as much to him.  Frustrated and angry Rocky sets out to prove others and himself wrong.  When others tell him he isn’t going to win and he’s wasting his time, he tells them he doesn’t care.  Because, Rocky doesn’t agree to fight Creed in order to win the championship.  Rocky decides to fight to prove to himself that he can go the distance with something. He says, “just once I’d like to go the distance on something.”  And he does and it makes him a better man.

 

 Ultimately, Rocky loses the fight but he meets his goal.  We watch as he trains his mind, body, and spirit to meet his personal goal --punching meat, chasing chickens, and running.  

 

As the music swells during his long solitary run we understand what he's gained.  And we know no matter what happens he's already won.  

So at the end, exhausted, bloody, and beaten to a pulp, he celebrates his personal victory, calling for Adrian to tell her he loves her.  

Too many movies now focus on the hero winning the fight.  And while winning is important what’s more important is what is learned on the journey to the win.  Even when we lose, we take the knowledge we’ve gained from failure and use it to win the next time.  Life is not always about winning more often it's about the losing and what we learn from that loss that helps us to grown, change, and win our next challenge. 

Rocky is a movie about the journey not the destination.

And that’s why it’s one of my favorites.