It's a beautiful day in my neighborhood

I’ve always loved my neighborhood; its streets and alleys, the nosy neighbor, the makeshift restaurant out of the woman’s kitchen down the street; even the corner church where people try to save me every time I walk by, “the world is going to end! Salvation can only be found in Jesus.” I’ve always defended it against almost everyone who claims it’s dangerous. I moved into it because I knew these here, these are my people and I was so tired of being the only brown face in a sea of white. I wanted so much to forget my race. To live where I didn’t have to be confronted with it every time I stepped out; I needed this place.
But today I wanted to hold her hand, to walk down the street to get some coffee and hold her hand. All I could think, with her fingers interlaced in mine, was what if we crossed the wrong person. What if my father is driving down the street, what if one of those men looking at us in that way she doesn’t notice, what if he sees me and remembers me next time I’m walking home alone at night. I held her hand and I held my breath.
The thing is that being Mexican and being gay is bad, you are weak and stupid and the scum on the bottom of people’s feet. But there is a gay community in México, gay bars, and gay rights. To be lesbian… is the worst kind of betrayal imaginable. A betrayal of your family, your home, your community, your country, and your people- pretty much Eve, Mary Magdalene, Pandora, la Malinche and every evil lesbian character in movies that must be punished for her betrayal all wrapped up in one.
I could move out. I could find some other place where I could be happy and queer and even *gasp* kiss my girlfriend in public, but I’d feel as though I’d be giving up on a part of myself, betraying my people in some way, submerging myself in this American culture, turning into one of “them.”
Here then are my choices. Leave my people or live with people who will never accept me.
If I could just find the Mexican-american, queer, woman, poetry, writer, sometimes politically active neighborhood, I’d be in heaven- or find something less depressing to complain about.