It was my turn in Spanish class to pick a Spanish name.
I wanted that name because there was this really hot Mexican girl in the grade above me and everyone was in love with her including me. Actually, I want to be her so I named myself after her. Because no one ever got anywhere manifesting subtly into the universe.
“Oh nooo. Not Dolores. Do you know what that means mija?”
I glared at Ms. Sato.
It means who asked for your fucking opinion. Let me name my goddamn self.
I just shook my head.
“It means sorrow, pain, anguish. You don’t want to name yourself that.”
I told her I did. I could feel my chin involuntarily jutting out. It’s this weird thing I still do when I feel defensive. It’s super ugly and sometimes I wish my defense mechanisms were cuter—like flashing involuntary peace signs.Read More