In
Who’s Irish, I found it somewhat
upsetting that there is such a disconnect between the mother’s life and the
daughter’s, as if nothing she learned as a child transferred to adulthood so
she could pass it on to her wild daughter.
When the daughter comments that she has “no one to turn to,” I found I
was angry, for at least she had a mother who was physically there to help her.
The unsuccessful transfer of culture sometimes morphs families into split and unrecognizable
entities. Despite this, the mother never
ceases to comment on the beauty of her daughter, hinting that there is
something stronger than culture that holds people together.
Anzaldúa
is searching for balance in Borderlands.
She alternates between English and Spanish and conveys that she is, in fact, a
whole, just a whole of different parts.
She finds herself at many borders and crossroads that seem to define
her, but she refuses to let them fissure who she is.
In Borders, the mother’s determination, pride and unwillingness to
lose her identity actually becomes quite annoying and I feel slightly ashamed
in feeling that. But, by the close of the short passage, I found myself saying
that this lady was right; she shouldn’t abandon who she is because she has met
a physical border. It requires courage
to retain your identity when you may be considered different, or not American,
or not Canadian. This woman considered her Blackfoot identity as a vital part
of herself and what would happen if she gave that up? What would her son think
of their identity if she had chosen to give that up?
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