Borders are what define us at our core, a raw statement that is evident throughout Gloria Anzaldua’s work. Naturally one would immediately think of the actual borders that enclose the United States when they hear the word Borderlands which is not a terrible assumption. For example, the Mexico/United States border is one of the most famous stretches of land in North America. Everyone is aware of the struggles that strain the region; the constant worries of cartel violence, or illegal immigrants defying the law for a better life inside the United States. However, the Borderlands that Anzaldua refers to is far beyond the realms of physical borders.

Borderlands is not a reference to Mexico or America. The word itself describes the struggles that Anzaldua and her race as a whole go through as they desperately try to declare themselves as a group of people. As a young girl Anzaldua bounced from one culture to another, but deep in her subconscious she knew who she was at her core. Although she grew up in the United States for much of her younger life the traditions and “bastard” language she and her cultural group practice remain strong. Seemingly cast out by the traditional norms of Spanish culture Anzaldua provides an accurate account of growing up in a minority group that is inside of another minority group. Through the use of forwarding and personal experiences Anzaldua depicts her struggles to grasp her Borderlands in life.

Naturally I can not express the same emotions that Anzaldua felt during her time of oppression and confusion. I am not of Hispanic descent, nor am I a feminist. However, life many young adults I went through a time in my life that was both confusing and scary. A time in my life when I questioned everything and followed for everyone wanted me to follow. The time in an adolescent’s life that I am depicting is my pre-teenage years, as well as my early teenage experiences that have ultimately defined me as a human being. There were times in my life where I felt hopeless, I wasn’t contributing to anything at all. Like a salmon in a river I was going with the flow of life, letting each and every trend take the best of me and spit me back out a different person. The age of imagination and dreaming was virtually a thing of the past by the time I reached my adult years.

As a child growing up I always had the impression that I can and would be anything that my earnest heart desired. I dreamed of one day becoming an astronaut, or on another day I was a swashbuckling secret agent saving the damsel in distress (and the world). These job goals seemed so realistic for a young Drayton growing up, my parents never once told me otherwise that I couldn’t be anything. I had always had a supportive background so the sky was truly the limit and what I hoped to accomplish in life. In the backyard I would run around playing cops and robbers with Turner twins, my next door neighbor’s children and also my best friends for a spell. My imagination would wonder to far off worlds, exploring each and every one of them thoroughly before moving onto the next one. From the ages of 5 through my early teen years my mind would wander constantly. However, at some point in my timeline the passion of dreaming and imagining the far off worlds of my future career were dimmed to a point of virtually not existing. Instead of wanting to become the next Bond I began to dream of creating the world’s next major news headlines. Than as I began college I lost almost all of my dreams and aspirations. Not knowing what I want anymore has caused me to stop dreaming of what my possible job will be someday.

While my saying that I have no more dreams in life may sound harsh I think that it is a feeling that almost everyone has felt in an instance in life. It can seem as though a wall of doubt is building up, growing taller and taller as the spark of ingenuity and dreaming starts to fade gray. For me it felt as though I had no goal in life. Waking up each morning I wouldn’t, and still won’t at times, have any idea what to do with myself. However, through moving to Boston and changing my norms of culture and understanding I have slowly started to see the spark arise once again. Every day I am seeing new faces and places that are causing a stir in my entire being. These new features in my life all have a story with them and I am now finding myself wanting to explore them and understand them like never before. When I am not in class or on campus I am constantly wanting to get lost in this city and take up what it is offering to me. Everyone is on a mission, the constant brushing off shoulders while managing my way through Boston’s transportation has become commonplace. I am always seeing other people, their fashion sense, or what music they are listening to. Taking ideas and suggestions has always been a vice of mine, but losing my identity through it was something that I still face today.

I did not know the difference between Nike or Adidas until I reached my middle school years. I understood of course that they were both prominent shoe brands but when it came to dissecting and comparing the two I was as lost as a kayaker without a paddle. Nervous about not keeping up with the times (I remind you that this is middle school) I began to take the advice that was forced upon me by my fellow classmates. I was told that wearing cargo pants was stupid and only the nerds would wear the pocketed pants that I had worn for years. Soon enough I had dropped the idea that cargo’s were cool or that they were smart. Sure, I would love stuffing toys in the assortment of pockets when I was younger, but I was getting ready to twelve and it was time to grow up. Soon I was feeding of the advice and trends of my classmates and the cultures around me. One trend that I was completely opposed to, but ended up falling into the peer pressure, was the Birkenstock shoe phase that all southern Caucasian kids went through. For those that don’t know what shoe I am talking about I hope you never wear them. They are by far the most uncomfortable and unflattering shoe I have seen in my short number of years of existing. They were downright awful, but because the girl that I had developed a crush on wore them I had my dad drive me to the mall one Saturday morning and bought myself a pair.

It was these moments in my developing years where I started to find myself culturally. Yes, I took substantial inspiration from my acquaintances around me, but I was also creating what I thought was fashionable and what wasn’t. The problem with my situation was that I was all internal. I never voiced my opinion on what I thought about something. It wasn’t until I reached my final year in high school, where I began to find myself being comfortable in my own skin. I was never able to wear something that I wanted to wear. It seemed as if the lifestyle that I was always gearing towards was blocked by the invisible force of the murmurs and opinions of my classmates and friends. I was blocked from expressing myself and my taste. However, few people have seen me for who I am, without any of the protective shells that society forces us to ingrain in our being. This select group of people are my ex-girlfriends (roll the romantic comedy opening).

Google describes Love as an intense feeling of deep affection. Like many young teenagers I was a victim of the love bug once of twice. As someone who proudly wears their heart on their shoulder I feel strongly towards the word love itself. Many times throughout my life I have felt the emotions that come along with the intense feelings of deep affections. In fact, I doubt that the word intense can actually sum up exactly how Love affects us as imperfect human beings. The feeling of butterflies when you see that person that takes your breathe away as soon as you glance at them, this feeling never really goes away. The joy that never fails to put a smile on my face, even today, when that person smiles, or laughs at something you said. The feeling of fear, hoping that said person will never fade away from you, or leave you. However this next feeling is one that many of us have all too often felt. As the relationship begins to falter and fighting ensues the feeling that the world is going to fall on top of you begins to engulf your entire being. It is in these relationships that I have grown as a human being. However, the struggles to grasp the concept of Love have caused much confusion in who I am as a person. In past experiences in life I have majorly and also dramatically changed who I was at my core to impress someone that I liked, maybe eventually loved. I thought and I still do think from time to time that love can be molded into whatever my desire might be. If I like a girl whose favorite things are vastly different than my likings, I will find myself gearing towards those that she would like.

It is these basic progressions in life that have defined me so thoroughly to my core. The idea of love has always intrigued me. So much in fact it seems like at times it causes more pain than passion. The peer pressure of others in my life caused a huge drift in who I actually am and who people want me to be. The image of perfection in our society is so bleak that it will never be attained, yet I still shoot for it even today. It isn’t so much that I still fall for the mockery and ideals of what others want me to be. It is a stigma in my brain that is ever ingrained. I might and most likely will never reach perfection, but I will never let the barriers that hold me back break me. The borders that both Anzaldua and I face are vastly different. In a way I feel guilty for even calling my borders hard. Comparing to her struggles in life to mine is making my problems look as though they are a cake walk. Maybe looking back on them now they are a bit over dramatized, but they are the situations that make me stronger as a man and as a human being.