I loathe my name.
It is dramatically long and sounds like a flower threw up on me at birth. I think it must be the reason I can't walk through nature without a swarm of bees following me.
But the worst part about it is the way gringos look at me because of it, and that I always have to yell out the same absurd justification:
"No! I am not related to Fidel Castro!"
You can imagine how much worse it got during October of 1962...
Margarita Blanca De Castro y Pardo Benavides.
Can't really blame the gringos too much.
"Muy blanca no es."
That's what my abuela, Dayana, said once.
Yes, it may be ironic to be called 'white' when more than half my blood is black. Nothing special in Cuba, where skin color was the least of my parent's concerns. Here, however, life is so much more comfortable that people do have the freedom to notice mundane things and be bothered by them. It seems they always need to seek something to be bothered about.
My dad takes more after his Spanish and Canary Islander side. I think he used that Spanish charm to win over my mother, his 'rosa negra'. Mamá also has some Spanish in her, but is ten tones darker than him, and with a last name such as Benavides... Well, it may have played its part too.
In short-unlike my name-I just wish for it to stop defining me in one way or another.
I just want to be Rita.
Bobby's chica.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
"Rrrrita... My chica."
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Bobby photo/gif dump
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black daisy ♡ RFK
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