What is the American benevolent colonial "white love" to us? Is our love of others also white, or mestizo, hybrid? And the love we receive, who is its target? We, young girls growing up in public, incarcerated in the privilege of whiteness when we'd rather disappear.
Never invisible, never alone. The privilege of blancitude, the rage of angels, celebrity bodies, colonial white. For public space, the public face. Sometimes we're not Manila Girls. We're just missionary kids and I'm not hybrid, but a monstrous postcolonial implant.
Children of America’s Blue Seal Coca Cola power. Kids playing white-skin-brown-mask, you see it in the line up of class photos, a pale face peering out among brown faces, black hair. First you see her, then you don't. And then there are particular bodies, sex, and missionary girl angst. Does it count, this angst as a postcolonial tax?