La Virgen y El Put'illo

Every day, I make a prayer to La Virgen de Guadalupe, the matriarchal figure for many Latinos. I am, admittedly, not very religious in the similar ways of my grandparents, whom also left a linage of adulatory and unclaimed, beautiful children. However, I am superstitious where I lack strict and vigorous urges to pray rosaries. Superstitious because I feel a greater, super force in my soul which I cannot explain. Whether these are Orisha, souls of my descendant, the transformative auras of my beloved ones or La Virgen- I am always uncertain of the exactness of my superstition. I am certain about one super power, the feminine divine. Not the linage of Mary Magdalene or the lady version of Jesus, exactly, but rather the celestial power of the vagina.

Motherhood could easily be mistaken of what I believe, after all, vaginas have been used in my Latino culture for the sole purposes of recreation, but rather the symbolism of the flesh. A christian god has been made man, by men, and so a refusal of a male hierarchy would be a feminine divine- an extraordinary resistance. Feminism is a good name but on superstitious plane. Perhaps like how early 1900s' Anarchy was a capitalist resistance rather than it's own dissected theory. It is my religion that we can transform our bodies, use our bodies and our souls to create resistance and contradictions. Like some, my identity started transforming with my mental and physical genitalia; but, if we could claim our bodies and souls, we can a living and spiritual resistance.

Back to the terrestrial, I use my body to liberate my queer soul. This goes beyond getting fucked in opposition to the chains of gender conformity I was born into. I use my body as an expression of who I feel I am, who I want to be. I am lucky to be raised male, I feel male, yet I become more secure and comfortable in who I am in the way I treat my body and set the boundaries of how others may use my body. My soul is a blend of femininity/masculinity and balancing that with my flesh is something I do in defiance of being uniquely male. I also use other souls and auras to confirm my being.

I am fortunate to be surrounded by other souls with mixed body expressions. Most transgeneras in my Latina community identify very differently from one another, but most admit, to me, they had an evolution of their initial boy identities. Like me, most were raised with the gender indoctrination that either forced a boy gender, or most of us accepted it as a game of theater and improvisation. Many of my trans-familia began their journeys with and end in mind. Much like how manhood is modeled, womanhood or a female identity was something that had been modeled through their families, religion and sex.


My family is a narrative of women abused, beaten, cheated to; yet, my family's women were also strong, outspoken and leaders in their communities. There were also those that settled in passive leadership roles- a typical mother of my clan- and those that struggled for their own self-reclamation. These were the uncommon divorcees, community organizers and my queers like my sister. They didn't often used call themselves feminists, but independents. I also seek that model of independence through how I claim my body, voice and how I use my male privilege.


Catholicism has the ability to make men believe they are masters of the world and its inhabitants, yet slaves to their god. Now, I've never really bought into this theology that would've made me turn around and claim anything from my sisters- a chancla would've stopped this, regardless. Fortunately, I had La Guadalupe as the counterculture. Where tales of kings, masters and misogynists seemed farfetched, La Guadalupe seemed real and plausible. I had her ingrained as a spiritual symbol of resistance (historically against Spanish colonialism), compassion and acceptance. Virgin Mary was different form La Guadalupe; Guadalupe was a spirit that became the face of the oppressed. It was a transition before the eyes of mezitos and indigenous. She wasn't an European queen cloaked in a pancho, rather a fully transitioned indigenous spirit that didn't wear gold, she was cloaked with nature and the sky. In a sense, she wisely chose how to reclaim her celestial and earthly privileged.


La Virgen also embodies purity- I embody desire. In a safe space of queer Latina sex workers, I remember coming to the conclusion that passive sex was linked to my gender, it didn't make me a man, but it made me feel like the man I wanted to be. At that particular space, my trans'migas also connected to that sentiment in their affirmation of gender and identity. Like how my amiga had put it, Soy una mujer libre hasta que cobro mucho-I am a free woman even if I charge a high rate- meaning to me that we can use sexual boundaries and reclamation to define us or in spite of.


I, too, am a putillo, a bottom bitch, and who I am is with that claim and regardless off of it. I am fortunate to have been inspired by strong self-affirming women, transgeneras and feminists that kick the can of oppression and claim their beings against governments and oppressors. It is extraordinary and beyond earthly- it is the feminine divine.

Gay Hispanic vs Queer Latino

When I started first grade, I remember one my barriers from full play pin games was being to communicate and understand the rules from my fellow classmates. Although I only knew scarce bits of Spanish, English quickly became my primary language and I became the master of the "'you're it" line. At the beginning, I was only identified as Mexican where most of my classmates, regardless of race, were Americans. By the time I reached the third grade, I was my own blend of American-of-the-streets and Mexican-at-home. I identified with my classmates and teachers much more than my own parents, whom regularly worked beyond the time the school buses returned us home. When I started taking standardized test, I began to identify by the bubble option that I was told to fill with my #2 pencil.

Standardized exams were being pushed by the US Department of Education, backed by the Clinton Administration, to use blanket exams to compare the education and progress of students. These "End of Course/Grade" test became a standard by states to see if students were unqualified to advance to next grade. The Bush Administration later used these same test to punish "under-preforming" teachers and schools. The basic information of these test also used race as a comparison between students. Of the options, there were African-American, Asian, Pacific Islander/Eskimo, White or Hispanic.

So, I became Hispanic after my teacher came by and made sure the seven year old students were bubbling correctly and not drawing ducks and horses on the paper exams. Although there was no "Other" option, my classroom had three other kids that looked similar to me, also with Spanish last names; together, we began our trip on the Hispanic train. We were all of Mexican nationality, but the diversity of Latin American became more ubiquitous at our Catholic Church, which the other four Hispanics attended, when he had visiting pastor from Costa Rica.

Later in the years, there was the evident racial clicks limited to whites, blacks and Hispanic that comprised of descendants of Mexico and Central-America. This continued till I attended a historically black high school and my identity was, simply, other. Similarly, I began to wondering how much "other" I was when I began to notice that I was more different than I was willing to let on.

After I was outted as gay by a flamboyant opera singer, I began to be part of a circle of gay boys. I later attended a safe space where I met other girls and I saw myself as part of something more than just gay.

The rest of these kids were also more than just gay or lesbian. There was diversity in shapes, bodies, colors and personalities. While many of them did not want to be called gay, they expressed that they were simply different. I later saw this identity with another name, queer. Queer became a form of expressing complete inclusion yet difference from heterosexuality. All non-gender abiding straight folks were foreign in my own identity. I identified and saw my linage connected to transgenders, lesbian, butch gay men and genderfucks. Queer sometimes has a progressive connotation, it also seemed different from lgbt and gay labels. Hispanic also didn't seem to fit in my name tag any longer.

Hispanic originally had meant, for me, a connection to brown faces with Spanish-speaking parents. Bring Hispanic no longer matched when languages was blurred and faces came from too many colors. The "Spanish" label was also unfavorable in my family because of our inherited despised. I easily preferred Mexican/Mexican-American/Chicano as a specific culture and historical base of my family, but when I lived in Florida, it only separated me from others. Puerto Ricanos and my Caribbean classmates were astonished that I was of Mexican nationality, many had never met a Mexican so pale skinned. I knew much of this cultural shock was due to an exposure of Latin American diversity yet I also connected to them better than some of my past Mexican community members. Latin America, which I saw as anything south of Canada and the US, was the vast land that connected us. Latin America had historically hosted European migrants, slave trade and indigenous.

All that historical baggage watered the seed of a diverse colors and accents. In the same way queer had separated me from heterosexuality, Latino also was what separated me from a different history of transnational migration. These identities are more water than soil, they change and adapt to where I am, whom I speak with and in what language I speak. Sometimes, it is intended to show my different shade and sometimes it is intended to show my place in a spectrum of colors.