Disney and the Princesses

I grew up a big fan of Cinderella.

I had no other Disney Princess options, spare Belle whom my older sister always barred me from being. So I spent my childhood wanting to be just like the French peasant-turned-princess, to the point I even spent time cleaning the small patch of tiled floors in our kitchen on all fours singing "Sing Sweet Nightingale" to pass the time.

What wasn't to love, really? Cinderella's calm, loving, hardworking, and patient. But she's also a more realistic princess than Snow and her endless lovely charm. Cinderella got fed up; she tried to fight for herself, and she found her prince after sneaking out on her own! I enjoyed the rebellion as a girl!

Where this love of the blonde beauty became dangerous, however, was in how I began to view myself on a physical aspect. I have an older sister with lips as red as the rose, skin as pale as snow, and (at the time period) hair as bright blonde as the sun. On the other hand, there was me: hair as black as sin and skin I couldn't see as anything other than the color of dirt.

So I'd spend hours on end in our small bathroom trying to cover up every ounce of skin with my sister's white powder, until she started hiding it. Later, I spent time dipping my hands into flower and wishing it would seep into my pours so I could be as pale as Cinderella, and my sister.

The most infuriating part was knowing I could've ended up like her--I could've gotten my dad's ginger Spanish genes, but I was stuck with my own Native Latin American roasted tone.

It wasn't until I asked my mother how I could make myself as pale as my sister that she sat me down and told me the Virgin Mary was nicknamed "la Virgen Morena de Guadalupe" in Mexico ("Or Lady of Guadalupe", an apparition of the Virgin Mary). He logic was that if God chose a brown lady to carry her son, then it must not matter if I'm a toaster shade of people.

I never hated myself for what I couldn't change again, but I did have problems looking at Cinderella for a few years.

The point behind racial diversity in a Disney line up isn't really because children from other races cannot relate to a white Princess. I related to a white princess! It just comes down to not wishing they didn't look different.

I don't think I can stress enough how bothersome it can be to be a darker skin tone with Spanish blood peppering my family tree.

And I know I'm not an individual case: Color is no longer an allowed subject under my aunt's roof because my little cousin asked her mommy why she can't be as white as her little brother, often praised and called beautiful for his complexion.

Could this have been fixed by raising your children differently? Yes and no: society itself would have to chose a more realistic standard of beauty to live by. In Mexico, European-looking actors and actrisess are always the leads of every TV show, while more inigenous looking people are maids and common, uneducated folk in rural villages. The United States tends to only use tolkien-minorities in every show, even proliferating the "dark guy always dies first!" trope.

Disney can't fix all of society's problems--the vast majority of that preference for a lighter skin tone comes down to cultural roots. But what a company that firmly encompasses the childhood of millions of children can do is change around the skin tone of their characters.

Now I've heard the arguments behind not doing so: Disney's a company! They need to sell their product! More people will relate to a white over a non-white princess! 3D animation is very limited in what it can do!

Most of these are true. Spare excuse two.

Saying that variation in skin tone would kill what a person can relate to, or that changing skin tones would cater to specific races is, well, racist. This is not only erasing the rest of the world outside Europe (because the US is so diverse I laugh in the face of immigration protesters), but is also insinuating a darker skin tone cannot be registered as human.

Tell that to the girls trying to powder their skin lighter.

As for what 3D animation can do: if Disney could make Paperman and Tangled happen, they can sure as hell find a way to darken skin tones if they feel like it! Don't bullshit me with that.

Paperman happened!

Brave happened!

These movies exist!

Why not try out this diversity thing some more? At least have a character who spent a lot of time out in the sun for a change, no?

With Love
Nikola Strange
--------------------------------
Notes:
Because I wanna share. :)
Current favorite Disney heroines?
Esmeralda and Kira! :D
And Lilo.
Captain Amelia too.

Princesses?
Rapunzel
Belle
Merida

Rape in Disneyworld.

http://m.xojane.com/it-happened-to-me/disney-rape?utm_medium=facebook

I'll leave this here.

And I don't care if I get one or a thousand responses, or if the company's made up for this yet. I don't care.

I want to shove their mistake down their throats.

Nikola Strange

Dealing with Stress

I am notoriously horrible with dealing with even the slightest bit of stress! Imagine my near mental breakdowns at college. Not just expenses but college in general! I can near crawl up and die every time I imagine it all (and smile briefly at all of the great things).

For me, "stay positive!" has never quite worked with the bigger issues (and college is definitely a big issue at the moment).

So here's a list of ways I dead with my stress:

Lifescout Badges

Taking a bit from one of my favorite people on the internet. . . . ever, Charlie McDonnell and Alex Day, I’ve decided to try and post up a group of little something called “Lifescout Badges”, an idea by Mr. Day, or Nerimon on YouTube, to make Boy or Girlscout badges for things most human beings are generally excited about as a means of motivation!

Here goes, and good luck not falling asleep *wink*:

Learning how to Archery
Most recently I took an Archery class with one of my best friends at our town’s Olympic Training Centers. It was the absolute bomb, and I couldn’t have enjoyed it more. We kept making LOTR and Brave references and took extra delight in making the yellow Thandrul’s face.

Learning to ride a bike
I was about 13 I’ll say when I first learned how to ride a bike (yes, I was old). I took my neighbor’s old rusted bike, about two sizes too big for me, and tried to not crash into cars (a task more daunting than you can believe). I’ve had past horrible experiences with bikes, including ramming into a car right when a group of older boys were walking by. . . . that day was not a nice one. I’m proud I actually got back on the bike after that, though.

Learning to swim
Oh man that was fun! I almost drowned that day, but I managed to “swim” to the deep end of the pool and not die! I can’t remember how old I was, but it’s been a while: during a family vacation (and by this I mean my immediate family plus a boatload of extended family members) to a place called Muleje in Baja California, Mexico, I was the one kid in a group of at least six that could not swim. It was the first thing I sought to learn upon reaching the pool. Though I didn’t win any races that year, I did finally earn passage onto the deep end and that was good enough for me.

Un peu. Je ne parle pas bien le français
(I totally know wtf this means).

Learning a different language
English is not my first language! That’s not an uncommon thing here in the States, actually, especially considering that my hometown’s a massively diverse area. Yet I still hold some pride and resentment towards that five year old whom refused to speak Spanish in school for the entirety of kindergarten just to be able to speak in English with all the other kids in the neighborhood: I learned English via Pokémon and “chick flicks”, yet I wasn’t allowed to take my school’s bilingual classes, thus killing my ability to communicate in Spanish much farther than the average helper in a business setting (believe it or not, it’s not much. It makes me sad.) I’m currently taking French and took three years of Japanese (don’t ask me to speak or type in either please! I’m terrible!)

Look at it! OMG it's got little stubby legs! :D

Holding a snake
One of the first people I ever considered to be a friend was a proud owner of a small snake. She was an absolute beauty we’d take care of together. I really loved it as a kid, and remember it fondly now as a sort of adult.

Having a pet
We have owned a couple dogs at my house! Lots of dogs, actually. I want to try my hand a cat at some point in life, particularly a Munchkin cat named Napolecat (or Gatoleon in Spanish).

We're also called the Urban Knights!
That's a pretty damn awesome name!

Making it into collage
I made it into the Academy of Art University in San Francisco! Sure, that’s not a big deal considering their lack of criteria, but to me it’s an important first step! I wasn’t sure I even really wanted to go to College, despite my AP class credits (I took ‘em for funsies). Finding a passion in animation set things in motion for me, especially when I found out I sort of fit the bill really well for what an animator should be—artistic, creative, attention to detail, history nut, keen on diversity over routine, a bit of a tech nerd. I found something and that’s important to me, less I’d refused to evolve as a person at all.

As proof, here's a busy
Street in SF herself!

Going to San Francisco
I went to San Fran to visit the Collage I wanted to go to, actually, with my best friend (whom will be dorming with me and eventually renting an apartment with me). The city’s a gorgeous place, and definitely earns its’ reputation for being one of the healthiest cities in America—the hills are ridiculous! You cannot afford to eat junk food there, less you’re one of the elite few whom have the luxury of being able to afford the parking meters (and even they looked mad at the prices)! All in all, after you’ve found your way around, it’s a small place, and rather cozy, yet still so much more vast than my own humble hometown.

Moving out of Mom and Dad’s
This one’s a technicality, I think. . . .but I still think it’s an important first step in my life. When I went to San Francisco to visit my collage, I got sick on the last day and got scared. Because of this, I was silently crying on the way back home, and it didn’t help that I had dropped my phone in the car and thus lost communication to the rest of the world (and my parents, more specifically my mother). So, partly for scholarships and partly for my own sake, I moved into my older sister’s house. I set my own alarms, make my own breakfast and dinner, and spend most of my days alone since my sister’s a workaholic. Sure, my mother babysits my nephew and still takes me to school, but I’m removing myself some, which I feel is important for me at the moment.

Going to Disneyland
Who, by God, in all the world doesn’t love Disney, or at the very least didn’t love Disney at some point in their lives? I personally adore it! Every bit of i—well, almost every bit of it. Despite being a national treasure of sorts, I don’t think Disney’s too big to critique, but I digress.  Disneyland’s a wonderful, beautiful place, that in my mind never ceases to be amazing. As children, we’re all tricked to believe it’s this magical kingdom where all dreams come true and no bad things happen. As an older person, I’ve come to appreciate that trick. Bad things happen all the time, but escapism never ceases to refresh the optimistic (and I do this I’m pretty optimistic, for a pessimist).

Going to a party
I’m an antisocial schizoid, so parities are few and far between for me! I’m not proud of the actions displayed by peers whom attend these parties with me (I’m usually the killjoy in the corner, pretending not to know anybody), but in the end it’s sort of lovely to see my friends having fun, even if it’s not the type of fun I would normally have. In all their imperfections, my friends are perfect and I enjoy seeing them like that—natural. A person never looks more beautiful than they do while wearing their everyday expressions and walking in everyday life. I seriously need a stalker camera to catch them in the act of being beautiful.

Going to the Zoo
Zoos!! My hometown has a world-famous zoo, which I’ve visited over the years and still greatly enjoy going to! As of late, I’ve only gone because of my nephews and siblings, but I desperately want to go again to sketch out the animals some. I love sketching out animals, and sometimes googling an image isn’t enough of a challenge! XD

Made the playbill and
drew up costumes. ;)

Going to a school event
Again, I’m a bit of a schizoid so this is a rare activity for me: my best friend was in a play*, which I actually had contributed a lot of my time to, not to mention I knew a lot of people in the play and was close with the teacher, so I was obliged to go. I thoroughly enjoyed it! Seeing those jolly idiots spout Shakespere at each other might be the highlight of my senior year.

Going to Cancun
I got to go on my ninth birthday! My biggest memories were a) extending my birthday to an entire week so I could get cake and “las mananitas” sung to me at every restaurant, b) my cousin and uncle thoroughly annoying my older sister, c) pretending I was old enough to drink with unalchoholic pina coladas, d) meeting a little dude whom looked so much like my father we kept making “long-lost son” jokes, and e) getting a stern talking to by a French lady whom was also staying at our hotel, presumably over how “Madmuaselle” wouldn’t apply to a woman of her age, and how I shouldn’t have been uttering French if I couldn’t speak it!

Badges I still need to earn:

Visit New York
Visit Paris
Visit London
Successfully horseback ride
Hang-glide
Successfully blog
Successfully vlog, at least once in my life
Meet some of my “internet heroes”.
Collage
Finish at least SOME collage and get a job as an animator for a company somewhere in the world
wind up working for Disney or Pixar
Sketch our animals at the zoo
Sketch out people in a natural habitat

*Gotta love the complete contradiction and utter disregard to mental disorders: A schizoid is, in common terms, a loner: they don't have many friends, seemingly have a lack of emotions, and tend to prefer solitary activity. . . . the more ya know! ;)

With love,
Nikola Strange.

A continuation.

With the sudden influx of death in my life, true to my generation’s nickname, I can’t help but reflect on myself. As an individual.

How selfish.

Does it matter much [if I’m selfish right now]? I don’t know. I like to think it does.

My view on the topic at hand is not a common one in my family. In fact, it might just be mine alone—I don’t mourn the deaths of others. In fact I’m happy their sufferings are over, if they were suffering to begin with. I’m happy they lived their lives, and they had their happy moments and sad moments. So long as their lives were, for the most part, pleasant, I’m happy they’ve lived at all. And I’m happy they’re now resting. Or in a heaven. Or reborn. Or simply gone. Whatever suits their taste while alive.

I don’t know how my family would take that.

I pity the living instead. That’s the real reason why I cry in funerals.

How strange, maybe.

Mulling over these beliefs brought back memories: memories of childhood—a bookworm, refusing to put down novels twice her size, itching to get out of the kiddie’s section in the library. A loaner, whom spent time talking to imaginary, opposing sides of herself. An outgoing kid who loved to show off victories—something as small as being a “super student”—like trophies on a shelf. A kid that hated being told what to do if it wasn’t a teacher instructing her. A kid that liked work, most odd of all, I think.

I remember a teacher once asked what we had to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. While most kids said they were thankful for their toys, their rooms, their parents playing with them, I remember thinking those were stupid things to be thankful for. I raised my hand and proudly said I was thankful my parents worked for me. I was interrupted by a kid I don’t remember (lies. I still know his name) shouting “You’re mean! That’s like your parents being slaves!” I never got a chance to mention I was thankful I was fed and clothed before receiving toys (which I did receive whenever my parents could afford them, mind you).

Was that a strange thing to say? I’m not sure. I wonder what that says about me.

I don’t think I was that off. I still liked childish things, and I still love them now! I was never allowed to like Belle from Beauty and the Beast because my older sister claimed her as her favorite. Being the darkest of the three sisters, I was always stuck being Jasmine, whom I couldn’t relate to. I tried instead to be like Cinderella: she was a hard worker, and I liked that toil more than I liked her ending with Prince Charming (his name is Henry, by the way).

I remember I tried to learn to wash clothes or scrub the floors on my hands and feet, or dust the house. Mother never let me.

I also remember trying to lighten my skin with flour, and contemplating if the material would sink into my skin if I dipped my hands in egg first.

Esmeralda’s my favorite now.

Mother once said I was so sure I was a princess as a kid, I would tell her about running off to England to meet my relatives and be friends with Anastasia (bonus points if you can tell me what my favorite childhood movie was*). I remember that. I remember thinking I was a lot of things, because a gap existed on both ends of my family, grandfathers on both ends. I’d spend ages trying to imagine myself as a wizard or princess or superhero because of those gaps. I look onto those memories fondly.

God I love stories.

Mother found it strange I preferred my imagination to people most of the time. She insists to my older sister her baby boy is perfectly fine, since he’s largely the same as me. “Every child is different—you three are as different as could be. He’s just fine.”

Love you, mama.

Daddy always tried to soften the blow, though. I wasn’t your average kid, and my family has the bad habit of saying “not normal” over “not average”. He’d always tell me that wasn’t the case with me, “You’re different”.

Normal is just a state of mind, and “different” doesn’t mean bad.

Thank you daddy. I wouldn’t have come up with that without your chats.

In fact, there are times where the strange things are truly the most beautiful.

                Yet I feel that in certain situations, like a death in the family, whether it be good or bad is irrelevant.

With Love,
Nikola Strange.

*it was Jurrasic Park.