are you brown?

That shit stung.

I didn’t need one of my deepest insecurities

brought up on a casual Thursday

on which I’m dodging my work (in part)

to spend time with you.

Do you know how much I hate 

the color of my skin some days?

How much I wish I was playing

tennis in Texas so I’d have some damn melanin?

I just miss the tan of my youth

I’ve never been as dark as my brother

There’s a reason grandma called me

“goldie” and him “brownie”

but I never worried about it.

Cause I felt like my color back then

accurately reflected who I am.

But I’m in Michigan now

and the pandemic meant no summer band 

before I came here.

So all I’ve been doing these past four years

is letting myself get lighter.

During my freshman year I noticed the change

And Fucking hated it. 

This light color still drives me nuts,

causing me to do crazy things.

I’m out here in Ann Arbor tearing off

my gloves between playing reps 

in hopes that a few seconds of sun 

before I play “The Victors” again will 

stave off the pale fingers that haunt me. 

It isn’t enough. 

I’m writing in February with the knuckles of a white man.

I’m not a white man. 

But I am so desperately afraid

of being seen as one. 

Cause all my beautiful heritage 

comes with a nasty past 

that my grandparents hid both 

their kids and themselves from.

So I lost both the languages I could have had 

in the translation of my family becoming American.

And now there are so few pieces of a brown home

that live in my Austin abode.

I’m not white, but to believe something you

got to know in your soul

and sometimes mine whispers back “eres blanco”.

So I got to fight to remind it 

también soy mexicano y Chamoru.

But that fear is there whispering in my ear

making its point through the light skin in the mirror. 

This feeling ain’t just in me.

Just yesterday, I said to my brother

I know you’re darker than me

but michigan got me feeling lighter than in our youth

and sometimes how light I am bugs the shit out of me.

I just want to know if you feel the same.

He responded “Yes - like genuinely”. 

He’s mad a weird caramel replaced his tan color

and though he and I both know his beauty

the color in the mirror still stings. 

This ain’t just a texan thing

reserved for two brothers of not just brown blood

who’ve never found their community. 

My Ecuadorian-Filipino-Puertorican roommate

from the backwoods of Pennsylvania

looked me in the eyes and told me he’s lighter here. 

And though he’s more secure, more sure

of his brownness than I am

the mirror still whispers insecurities to his ears.

So he finds solace on the dance floor

where the salsa and the tango trade places

yet always bring joy. 

I’m glad he knows who he is. 

I’m still trying to find that surety.

But that only comes from the soul

and mine still wants to say “eres blanco”

But yes, Neel. 

I am brown.

Please don’t ask again.