6
" We all have our coming-out story, or why-we-haven't-come-out story. More precisely, we have two. There's the official version, paragraph-sized for conversation, for when it comes, usually on level-two get-to-know-you with friends and dates and curious coworkers. That one covers the basics; when, where, how, the end. You will tell it again and again over the course of your life, polishing it to a fine sheen, until it's as close to frictionless as you can get it. Then there's the real story, the full version, which you tell only a handful of people ever - even if you're one of the lucky ones with a good family, with loving parents who eventually accept you. Because, as Lawrence once said, when the only time you've seen your dad cry is at a funeral, what does that mean about you? "
― Chelsey Johnson , Stray City
10
" Still, when I went back home I searched my father's face for what I thought was Mexican-ness, something still visible in him but diluted in me. I had his mouth, his brown eyes, but my skin was lighter. My hair was fine and dark brown, while his was thick and silvering at the temples. What was I looking for, though? Who knew how much of his ancestry, and thus mine, was indigenous and how much European? I realized I was seeking a trace of purity, as if such a thing existed - as if one's roots could be a single clean bright plunge like a carrot, instead of the complicated dirty tangle that most of us actually had. Essentialist was an accusation my friends and classmates had flung around liberally in arguments, yet secretly maybe we all wanted it for ourselves in some way or another - to have an essence. To be an identity. "
― Chelsey Johnson , Stray City
