Chicana on the Edge

Mentioning the unmentionable since 2004

You can’t cure families: you can only prevent them.

I’m Regina Rodríguez-Martin and this is the blog of a middle-aged Mexican American woman. In 2004 the word was that blogs were over, but a friend had a blog and I wanted one, too. I started Chicana on the Edge on June 17, 2004 and have kept it going ever since (my friends’ blog ended years ago).

The “edge” refers to being in the margin of the margin of culture and society. For instance, as a Chicana I’m on the outside of mainstream American culture, but I’m on the margin of Mexican American culture as well.

Invoking Steve Martin: I was born a small white child. Actually, I was born in the 1960s to Mexican American parents who raised me in a very white part of Northern California. My parents were born in the U.S and my dad’s parents were born in the U.S. but his grandparents and my mother’s parents were from Mexico.

In the 1970s and 80s I grew up in a white city with white friends, went to white schools and dated white boys. I sound like a white woman when I talk. (As “Regina Rodriguez” I went to Las Lomas in Walnut Creek.)

Later I went to U.C. Berkeley and Cornell and got degrees in English literature. Cornell is where I first faced obvious racism, which made it the first place I really felt like a Mexican. I’ve become steadily more Mexican ever since.

At the age of 27 I moved to Chicago to seek my fortune (still seeking) and every year since I’ve become more aware of racism in all its degrees. 

My favorite color is pink, I couldn’t live without peanut butter and my favorite season is winter. Chicago’s gray, protracted winters are a main reason I moved here in 1993 and I’ve always known it was the perfect decision for me. I don’t want to live anywhere else and I don’t want to die anywhere else.

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I Don’t Want to Own a Home

I Don’t Want to Own a Home

It's an extremely American desire to own a home, and often we think the bigger, the better. Americans love large, sprawling pieces of real estate that we can stuff full of physical possessions (and our children's physical possessions) and the ultimate American dream...

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Prince Is Dead

Prince Is Dead

According to Vox's Why we grieve artists we've never met, people can mourn and weep over people they never personally knew for this reason, "We don't cry because we knew them. We cry because they helped us know ourselves." Writer Caroline Framke reproduces this tweet...

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Nostalgia Is a Lie

Nostalgia Is a Lie

My sister recently saw a production of the musical Oliver and emailed me that it reminded her of when I was in our high school production of the same musical. "Oh yeah," I mused. "Oliver. That was so much fun! My god, that was a hundred years ago. I was 17 and so...

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