pinche wally (part 1)
the fall
Photography: Ray Spears
My favorite kind of minority is one, like pinche Wally, who has ascended from his miserable roots. Who has tasted the crumbs of finer things and mistaken the scraps for golden tickets out of brown-land. Experiencing life outside of the hood’s fortress, he deems it unsuitable for living and incapable of birthing any real opportunity. Its people, nothing more than savages without hope. For this kind of pompous ingrate, a local food kitchen or drive is merely a résumé builder than an act of empowerment. And just as arrogance consumes the former man, numbing his conscious and limiting his gaze to prosperous blue skies, he is sure to make his name known among the “peasants” (formally known as neighbors) he serves seconds to.
His superiority burns me. It unsettles the tame in my rage. More than anything, it is a humbling look at what could’ve been and who I would’ve become had it not been for divine intervention.
“it is a humbling look at what could’ve been and who I would’ve become had it not been for divine intervention.”
From Wash Heights to Lincoln Center, life took a turn for the ritzier when I reached high school. Narrow hallways saturated in spanglish notes traded up for wide passageways filled with performers and eclectic personalities. For the first time, I was among hundreds who looked nothing like me nor shared my values. Spanish slang that once surrounded me on the way to class wasn’t common in these white corridors. What was left of my Spanish accent faded with mimicry and the adoption of high pitch cadences that later formed my “office voice”.
Different from any school I’d previously attended, this place was a dream. The building, its classrooms, curriculum, and equipment wreaked of investment and white socio-economic status. Even the train stop was a thing to admire; paved in tiled art that dripped in gold and opulent hues. It was a stark difference from my stop uptown and daily morning commute that often consisted of stuffy elevator rides, moldy tiles, littered platforms, and crowded train cars. Though many of my former classmates auditioned for the school, only I received acceptance. It was a weighty and lonely privilege. The utopian experience away from home made me all too willing to lose myself in the free ride.
“...in the rise of my arrogance, the years that followed gave way to a force far more powerful than my pride — humility.”
Entering college, the train rides led me further and deeper into the heart of the city. The exposure to new people, distinct worldviews, and the downtown buzz egged on a simmering desire to escape. Of the few who had heard about my slice of uptown, they knew it for fast girls and good drugs — associations I wanted no part in. Lower Manhattan boasted of glamour and sophistication compared to the crate-filled streets that I came from. At the height of my educational journey, I was above it all; better than whatever the Heights had to offer and the people who would choose to stay there. Determined to leave the hood behind once and for all, I told my mother I’d be moving downtown as soon as I graduated. In typical Dominican mom lack of regard, she scoffed. Calling me “una chica de downtown” (a downtown girl) — a poke at my arrogance and ode to bougieness. Her mockery became fuel for my stubbornness and determination. But in the rise of my arrogance, the years that followed gave way to a force far more powerful than my pride — humility.
