Finding Self-Worth

Introduction: Before starting the story itself, I would like to give a little cultural context for those of us who are not familiar with traditional Mexican culture.

Most Mexican women are taught that a woman's role in life is to marry and raise a family. These two things are not bad in themselves, but it is the culture and expectations that surround them which strip a young latina of her own feelings of self-worth.

We are told that we must serve and obey our husbands. We must cook for him, serve him, clean up after him, raise his children, and give into any of his wants or desires. Our lives are not about us as an individual, but instead about fulfilling our role in life.

And, when it comes to sex, it is expected that the only man we can be with is our husband. We are expected to remain a virgin until our wedding night. And if we are unable to wait until then, then it is expected that we marry the man who takes our virginity. He, no matter who he is, will be our husband. After the "act" has been committed, it is over. We have chosen our whole future.

Now, from a Euro-centric or Americanized culture this might seem ridiculous, but especially when my tia was young, this was just a part of her life. And, though this story is written as a work of fiction, it is largely based on her story. This story is based on the life of my tia and how she eventually found her self-worth, outside of her toxic relationship and her culture's expectations.

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She sat on the stairs of her front porch, observing the dark, empty street before her. She sat, waiting for a boy who was already an hour late and would be another twenty minutes. And yet, she stayed, remaining stuck in her spot. She waited for the boy who treated her badly, a boy that saw her as his personal plaything. She waited for the boy who left her feeling empty and worthless inside.

And why would she wait for a boy like that? It was simple, really. She had already slept with him. Her fate was sealed.

This would be the boy she would marry, the father of her children. He would be the boy who she was supposed to depend on for the rest of her life. Did he love her? She didn't believe he could love; at least, not in the traditional sense of the word. Did she love him? She tried her best to convince herself that she did.

When they first met, he was a different person, or at least he had seemed to be. He was sweet and endearing. He would constantly throw compliments her way. He had told her she was beautiful, that she was perfect. With the tenderest of voices, he told her that she was "his girl." But all of that kindness, almost his entire personality, disappeared after that night. He knew he had her, so why put in the extra effort of being fake.

She was still "his girl," but now it sounded like more of a statement of ownership, rather than one of endearment.

The new him, the real him, had little to no appealing factors. At 16, he had already dropped out of high school, not that he was on the path to graduate anyway. As an unlicensed driver, he drove recklessly in his beat-up, junker of a car. In his free time, he and his friends would get high and go on stealing sprees. He would constantly brag about the thievery techniques his tio Veto had taught him. He had yet to be caught. Around her, he no longer hid the scars gained from the gang fights he was involved in. Every week he seemed to have a new scar he was showing off to the other boys in town. This young gangster, was her boyfriend, the boy who took her virginity, the boy who stole her future. And, as he was always telling her, she could do no better.

A car raced through the neighborhood, screeching  to a stop in front of her house. She placed a fake smile on her face, got up, and hopped into the old clunker. The car sped away before she had even closed the door.