What's In a Name?

My name is Gabriela Esperanza Yolanda Guajardo

Syllables proudly scrawled on scholarship applications

As my parents claimed they did it on purpose

Because they knew that someday I’d need to be Hispanic and poor

So that colleges would knock down my door

Claiming to help the quote-unquote “underprivileged youth”

Expecting to interview a girl with drawn on eyebrows and a bedazzled tooth

The best place to use the word uncouth

Because yes

Latina blood runs through my veins thick like fresh tomato chunked salsa

I am spicy like the jalapenos that stains nose hairs

Because potency is something I’ll never be bad at

I can remember Christmas tamales and Linda Ronstadt records

As I’d pretend I was full enough to cry to the moon the way she did

I was a Selena kid, what can I say?

I’d do the washing machine like my hips were made for the spin

And sing “Ay ay ay Como me duele”

Repeating lines like rosary prayers I never learned

Busty-caca-delamente! It’s a bra!

I suck at buying pants

Because much like Jennifer Lopez in Selena

This ass isn’t fake

People often mistake me

For a Kardashian from behind

My curves leave them blind

Because they can’t find an answer

Because my paperwork claims that I

Am a Spanish Queen of the desert

Wearing red and waving fans

Dancing flamenco like I was born in solea

Being raised on beans and tortillas

And born with two tongues

All the while

I am a redheaded white girl

I love Taylor Swift and chai tea

I read Ginsberg and write poetry

I wear converse shoes

And have barely built up enough a tolerance for green chile

I can’t dance

And beans are still a very musical fruit to me

I am latina but it’s not all I can be

Because I believe that my culture

Is me

A culture of my own

GiGi

I didn’t change my name because I was ashamed

Because I wear Angel of Hope like a creed

Tattooed on my heart

I changed my name because in those four letters

I am art

I am the best picture in the year 1958

I am whoever I create

Gabriela as my soul

GiGi as my fate

I am disappointed

In my lack of culture

As teachers call roll and expect me to answer in Spanish

Looking like ghosts when I raise my hand and claim my name

Wearing regular clothes and pink berets

I am no different

Yet I am glared at by bandana brothers

Who are sure I don’t deserve to wield heritage when I know nothing about it

Yet they were not there

On Saturday mornings

When the smell of oil and potatoes hit the pan

And my Granny

Would throw hot dogs in

Saying that this is what a real Mexicano eats

Because they were not there

When I explained to fourth grade friends

About Ninas and Ninos

And Uncle Nono

And how long it took me to keep them all straight

Because although I am not a Garcia or a Martinez

As common as Smith

I know this

My heart is Burquena at least

Though I laugh at Lynette

I know that I’ve called every soda Coke at one point and time

I know I always have a Burque state of mind

Because I may not go to every Lobos game or sing the national anthem for isotopes fame

But I am Gabriela Esperanza Yolanda Guajardo

And a person is not a name**