For as long as I can remember I haven’t fit in anywhere. I still don’t, really, and I probably never will. Part of this is due to the fact that I’m a girl interested in things guys tend to be interested in, rather than things most girls are into. Part of it’s that I’m quiet, and though I’m no longer a mute for all intents and purposes, like I was as a teenager, I’m still pretty awkward around people over the age of 12 (unfortunately most people seem to interpret these characteristics as aloofness/bitchiness). Part of it’s also just fate – my parents. My dad, a once illegal Mexican immigrant who came to this country at 16 with only a sixth grade education, somehow married my mom, a middle-class WASP suburbanite who graduated from Northwestern University. Such a union was bound to create interesting, if not mixed-up, children. Though I can’t speak for my siblings, I know I’m more mixed up than I am interesting. I’m not Mexican enough for the Mexicans or white enough for the whites. The fact that I speak Spanish fluently matters just as little as the fact that I can speak English – it’s strange, really. Throw in my “radical” beliefs like clean living, vegetarianism, atheism, etc., add an early marriage and you get the social pariah that is me.
I was fortunate enough to stumble upon the Chicago punk scene when I was 16. The discovery was purely by accident – I liked a boy who was into the scene and I’d heard some of the music on my high school radio station and I liked it. So, I started going to shows at the Fireside Bowl, partially to see this boy and partially to listen to the music—it was a win/win for me. This was circa 1997 when bands like Blink 182 were popular and stores like Hot Topic began emerging at malls across America. But I didn’t wear the “right” clothes or have the “right” look. I didn’t know the “right” people and, like I said before, I was practically mute – so I got a lot of dirty looks. I won’t say it didn’t bug me, it did, but it was something I was used to – being the odd one out, so I kept going back partially out of defiance, partially because of the aforementioned boy, but mostly because I fell in love with the music and the whole D.I.Y. ethic.
For a long time I thought a lot of things were impossible, because all I’d ever been exposed to was the mainstream. I was raised by strict, practical parents who wanted me to have practical aspirations, so I never really thought outside the box much, but punk rock changed that. As I went to more and more shows I discovered kids like me had created their own record labels and zines. They were in bands that actually had put CD’s or records out and they toured—something I thought was only possible for bands on major labels. They did things on their terms and had fun doing them.
When I graduated from high school I left Chicago, hoping for a fresh start in a new town. I went to college as far as my parents would allow me to go and ended up in Rock Island, IL (a mere 2.5 hours away). There I discovered a much smaller scene. I had high hopes for this scene. I thought a smaller scene would be more welcoming. I wasn’t entirely wrong, but I was disappointed. At the time I didn’t realize it would take more than just a move for me to find a community. That to find a community I had to speak up. I was also disappointed, because though a few guys from the scene talked to me, the girls still kept their distance for the same reason they’d kept their distance in Chicago (clothes, appearance, friends, etc.). Once I realized I had to talk to make friends, I tried going up to some of them only to get dirty looks and snarky comments, whispers and giggles.
This is something that’s always upset me about girls within the scene—the judgment, the “I’m better than you” attitude. An attitude that gets us nowhere, because it doesn’t allow for any dialogue or collaboration, which are necessary for a community By excluding each other we exclude girls as a whole from the hardcore community. I always wanted to have what the boys had – they talked about stuff and did stuff – it may not have always been the most intelligent stuff, but they had a community in which they could be themselves and grow. Though a lot of the guys I met while I was out there made me feel welcome despite my shyness, I never really felt I was a part of what they had.
I did make a couple of really good friends while I was out there, though. People who are like family to me today, who’ve been nothing but supportive, who’ve been infinitely patient with me. It’s because of these people that I’ve been able to do this zine, as well as many other things. They’ve exposed me to new ideas and supported me through life changes and I’d like to think I’ve done the same for them.
I came back to Chicago a couple of years ago after an unsuccessful stint in Iowa. I realized that this is my home, it’s where I belong. I’ve realized that no matter where I find myself I will always be “odd” and that so long as I realize this and embrace who I am, I’ll be ok. The people in my life are great and if I reach out to strangers every once in a while, I just might meet some more great people. I’ve been to a couple of sXe hardcore shows at a smaller venue in Chicago this past year after avoiding the general scene altogether for a couple of years. I’ve liked what I’ve seen: a small, tightly-knit community willing to talk about things, a community that seems to be slightly more accepting than the one I remember from my youth. I wish I’d had such a community as a teen, but I’m happy to participate in it now (even if I still don’t say much 
).
Punk/hardcore opened up a lot of doors for me. It didn’t make me less awkward or strange or mixed up, but it did help me learn to embrace who I am and what I stand for. It taught me that I can do pretty much anything I put my mind to. The music and the people exposed me to countless new ideas, constantly broadening my worldview and because of that I will always be grateful. I may not have found the community I was looking for, but I did find my family and a way of life I can be proud of.
-LQ
