1000 Questions

I usually get many questions about my last name. When people see the name Porturas, and look at me, they never imagine that I’ve got Native American blood. But I do, I’m a white Inca Indian and my father is from the Andes Mountains. When people think about the Andes they usually think that people there live in small huts and are chocolate brown. And when they see me, a blue/green-eyed girl with light brown hair they think it’s impossible that I hail from there. And I have to explain what a mestizo is. “Mestizo is a term traditionally used in Latin America and Spain for people of mixed heritage or descent. In some countries it has come to mean a mixture of European and Amerindian” – Wikipedia

My Spanish descendants come from the Basque country. I found some people in the White pages with my last name. I really want to go and see where I’m from.

Question number one is usually: But your last name doesn’t seem Norwegian.

Answer: No, it’s not. It’s Peruvian.

Q.2: …But you don’t look very Peruvian.

A.2: My father is a mestizo, a mix.

Q.3: Do you speak Spanish fluently?

A.3: No, I don’t. My father didn’t want to teach me.

Q.4: But can’t you talk to him in Spanish?

A.4: I don’t have any contact with him.

Q.5: Why?

A.5: Because he’s a machista. Do you know what it means? If you do, I don’t have to explain more.

Silence…

Q.6: Have you been there?

A.6: Yes, I have, three times.

Here people usually get really uncomfortable and change the subject. And I usually do it too, because I’m tired of the questions.  Even though I’m white I feel like I am a mix, because I am a mix. And Yes, my father is my father! I’m really tiered of those jokes.

Deal with it; in the end the whole world will be a mix, and race won’t exist.

Easter part 2

After my stay in Sevilla I went to Malaga with my Japanese friend. I stayed in Malaga one month in October November, so that’s how we met and she also stayed at my flat during Las Fallas. We saw the procession there too.

I wanted to see Alhambra and get new memories of it, not those of a horrible trip with my father. I went there alone because me friend had already been there three times. It was very nice, I needed to see some nature again, so I walked around and smelled the flowers. After my short stay in Malaga I went to Barcelona to meet my mother. I came early and got time before some friends were arriving.  My mother got there the next day so we ate dinner together after tying to buy tickets to the Barca game. It would have been cool to see.

With my mother we saw La Sagrada familia, which I saw three years ago so it was almost as i remembered it. We visited Parc Güell and Las ramblas and the Gaudí houses. When we arrived in Valencia we were both really tired. But we managed a little shopping trip and La ciudad de las artes. She really wanted to see the university so we did and took some funny pictures. And I wanted her to see the beach and try the Valencian paella.

When I met her at the airport I started crying I was sad and happy at the same time, and I ended up laughing butt he tears didn’t stop. It was weird. I didn’t cry when he left, but I was quite sad. I always leave her and I feel bad that I don’t study my whole bachelor in Norway. I constantly seek outwards and don’t feel comfortable there. But I’m giving it another go only a different university and city this time, maybe it’ll get better….

Finding someone special

I’ve done something I didn’t think I would ever do. Well, I did it out of curiosity. I made a profile on a dating site. I was quite surprised that so many men contacted me. Many of them wrote on their profile that they’re shy, and I figured that it’s hard for them to make the first move. You also got some freaky pervert-people. A 62-year-old man contacted me, and I immediately blocked him. There are some risks, but also a lot to gain. I personally am quite tired of the whole going out thing, with drunk guys hitting on you, trying to hump your leg. Most of the girls I talked to about this subject tell me that they first sleep with a guy then maybe find them on Facebook, add them, chat with them, and then get their phone number so they can meet again. It’s a very long process. People decide for themselves what they want, but I like to do things differently. I’d rather have my integrity intact. I am very direct, some guys like it and others get frightened and feel intimidated. The last part saddens me a bit, because girls should be able to ask a guy out face to face. But it’s their loss, not mine.

My two best friends found each other on the Internet, and they’re very happy together. I don’t know why going online to find someone is still taboo. But I know many use it as a last resort. I must admit I’ve always been a bit sceptical, but I wont just sit on my ass waiting for Prince Charming to come along.

I saw this very funny movie some days ago, its called “What’s your number?”  You see the protagonist going through her exes trying to find her true love, yes that part is a cliché.  In the end she finds out that being in love means being yourself. I think that’s kind of true. A lot of people try to be perfect, something they’re not. You can’t really be anything but you, with the good and the bad. Either they like it or they don’t.

Self-pity

Rolling around in your own self-pity is the worst thing you can do. It hurts comparing yourself to others, seeing what others have and you don’t. It creates jealousy and evokes sadness. You see their privileges, privileges you never had. It can be upsetting. It’s no good comparing yourself to others. See your life for what it is, and don’t take what you got for granted. Others may have benefits, but it’s their right to enjoy them. A good friend told me this while I was feeling sorry for myself, and only saw the past and didn’t appreciate the present. The present is a gift not an enemy. You should look forward to the future, not get stuck in the past and what’s missing. The only one who can be a safe harbour is you. You’re the only one who can give stability and maintain balance. It might be sad knowing you don’t have someone else to lean on, but it makes you stronger and more confident.

Girlism part 3

I was quite surprised and happy when a friend told she could definitely model naked, because she’s proud of her body. I am proud to be a woman, but I must admit I’m not confident enough to show myself naked like that. It took me years to accept my figure, hips and ass, when all I saw was people stribing for an anorectic looking body. We’ve come a long way for woman rights, but we still got a way to go. This “Ideal woman”- campaign has to stop. Nobody’s perfect, why strive for something that you can’t achieve, and that isn’t you.  Be proud, not ashamed. Being a woman is great, we need to take a stand for what we represent and put all aspects of it in a positive perspective.

Girlism part 2

We used to hide our tampons. (We stopped using towels because it showed too much, or we thought it showed through our pants.) When going to the toilet to change you had to use as little time as possible, so nobody would suspect anything. It was awfully embarrassing dropping a tampon on the floor, in case anybody saw it. We used to put it in our pant-pocket and nonchalant cover it with our hand.  We girls are happy now when we can stop the process entirely and not getting pregnant. I use an Implanon, I can’t say I’m not happy because having menstruation is quite a messy business. One girl in my class told me her mother wanted to celebrate with champagne when she became a woman. In a way I think we deserve a celebration. I think its enough that we have to live up to the standards portrayed in magazines, being skinny, have hairless bodies, volumized luscious hair, pretend we don’t go to the toilet, and hide our womanhood (the fact that we get our periods).

tbc- to be continued

Girlism part1

I have this friend whom I use to discuss different subjects with, subjects or topics that people tend to shy away from. One time we talked about being a woman and why there are so many things we are ashamed of, like for instance our period. She recommended a book called The Red Tent, red representing blood. To be honest I just read the first chapter. It depicted the lives of women of the ancient Jewish tribes, their secrets and knowledge passed from generation to generation. This happened in the women’s tent. In a way it’s still like this today, the different aspects of womanhood are not to be heard by men. We still feel insecure about them knowing and thinking they might dislike us for it. I remember when at school my friends and me would use a codeword for our menstruation, “homework”. Every time one of us had their period we would say we had «homework» while asking for a tampon, if we forgot. My sister cried when she got her period and my mother (when she was younger) dreaded it for a whole year before she got it.

tbc