Extra

"Extra"

By Yulkendy Valdez

I am going to tell you my story. But, let me remind you, my truth might be your lie, but your lie might be my truth. And my truth is who I am.

My truth is that I became an alien when I was 11. I wasn’t the green one you see on TV, but I sure felt green. Green as the parrot that flew away to tell a message no one heard. I didn’t have the huge bulging eyes, but I learned to open them up to make sure nobody took me from home.

I am an extraterrestrial, and I sure felt like a scientific spectacle. Let me explain; here is my truth. Hey Yulkendy, where are you from? I am from the Dominican Republic. Oh so you like climb the border or something? Oh your accent is so cute! You’re so foreign. Alien. I was extra. I saw people make a hypothesis of me like I was some mathematical formula. Hear me out; there is not hate. I am just here to show you how I became the person I am today.

Back to the story; it all started when I arrived at an American airport. There was my alien mother waiting for me. Tears, watery tears came down our eyes after seven year of separation. But, I sure felt it was all in my imagination. Mami, Mami yo grite y ella dijo mi hija “Bienvenida a los Estados Unidos, tierra de la oportunidad, land of opportunity. My mother was trapped in the United States with no documentation. You know, I am getting tired around all this regulation. I feel like it’s all hidden discrimination. Yet, my mom was there and it was real and that’s how I started my alien transformation.

The truth is I was an alien in an alien world. In America, I saw the dishes washed by themselves, the refrigerator will make its own ice—it was all cool. When I came to school, I did not speak English, and I was getting D’s and F’s. I am like so much confusion. What could be the solution? Here is the conclusion. I learned English but I am losing my Spanish. I am like what is this madness? I got my US citizenship and now I can walk in the airport and nobody question me. It is like that blue sleek passport says I am American so the problem is “fixed”. The alien in me was fixed like I was some robotic figure with a broken circuit.

You know, maybe this poem is not about me, not even about a fallen American dream. Quizas este poema es sobre un silencio que me mata, de un deseo en mi Corazon que me destruye…. De un amor tratando de escribir su propria cancion en un mundo tan tan……. Wait a minute; maybe the poem is about the fact that I can’t finish that sentence in Spanish. Or maybe it is about my own inferiority that keeps me vanquished.

There is a fire in me; a passion that I cannot hide or take away.

As a human, I weep.

As a woman, I hesitate.

As a member of the lower middle class, I hope, I dream, I climb. And when I finally open that door. When I finally get that door opened

KNOCK...KNOCK…

When I finally get that door opened, they say it was a handout. A HANDOUT.

But you got to understand why I can’t call it a handout when all I see is my parents working 24/7 counting 7.25 bucks by the hour, by the week, by the month.

What is wrong with our society? That whatever I turn I am so targeted.

Don’t get me wrong, I am so blessed. I love life, and I live for the next day. I love my truth.

Why can’t my truth be one truth? And your truth another truth? Because life should be all truths.

I realized you feel alien too when somebody looks down at you. Extra, we are all extra but together we can chat and let our truths fly.

This was my letter to Mr. Judgmental

Dear Mr. Judgmental, comma

You oppressed me

And yet I push to better myself, but I am feeling like an elf

Working and working and working

Yet again, speaking for my race, mi raza, mi familia

Wondering how long can it take?

Before this madness ends