I have always regarded comedy as a coping mechanism for those who face economic challenges or are besieged by trying circumstances. Echoing the words of Kevin Hart, "Laugh at my pain," I draw parallels to my own upbringing, which wasn't immune to such hardships. As a younger individual, I wasn't particularly drawn to comedy due to my inherent shyness and timid nature. Nevertheless, humor was a constant presence in my life, and I quickly grasped the transformative power of laughter.
My grandmother stood out as a beacon of humor and wit. She possessed an uncanny ability to infuse levity into沉重的话题 such as poverty and even death. Initially, I found her approach to be insensitive, but I soon realized that it was merely a coping mechanism, a way to soften the blow of life's challenges. Growing up, I was exposed to a range of experiences - poverty, violence, drugs, adultery, and misogyny. For many, laughter was a vital tool for navigating these complexities.
It was during my school days when I truly discovered my comedic voice. Comedy became my shield, protecting me from bullies and mean-spirited individuals. Instead of engaging in confrontations or volatile exchanges, I chose to be funny. My grandmother and mother were influential figures in shaping my comedy and humor. They were naturally charming and humorous individuals.
My mother, a feisty woman, often engaged in lively debates with other women in our building or neighborhood, always emerging victorious due to her sharp wit and often hilarious comebacks. My grandmother, on the other hand, was renowned for her quick and witty remarks. It's amusing to hear people claim that women aren't funny, or occasionally hear Latino men profess their dislike for female comedians, yet when they share stories, they invariably talk about how hilarious their grandmothers or mothers are. Latinas, indeed, are the comedians of the family. Many of us possess a natural sense of humor - it's ingrained in our DNA.
From my earliest memories, I found myself drawn to the art of stand-up comedy. My uncle's fondness for Richard Pryor was my initial introduction to the world of humor, sparking a deep appreciation for the comic craft. The wit and charm of Johnny Carson and the antics of "I Love Lucy" captivated me, while watching El Chavo and La Chilindrina with my grandmother added a unique cultural layer to my comedic palette. In Miami, the show "Qué Pasa USA" was a revelation, portraying a Cuban family in a hilarious and relatable light, with the grandmother character stealing the show with her infectious humor.
My journey with comedy began as a spectator, but it wasn't until later in life that I realized my desire to pursue it as a career. Acting and modeling were my initial forays into the entertainment industry, but stand-up comedy eventually found me. It was a casual brunch celebration with friends that led me to my first stand-up performance. Roasting my friend that day, I discovered a natural ability to make people laugh, and it was an experience that left me wanting more.
Performing at open mics became a regular occurrence, and I quickly realized the healing power of comedy. It wasn't just about making people laugh; it was about using humor to address difficult topics and find catharsis in the process. My jokes often delved into my past, unpacking my modeling career, struggles with anorexia, and the traumas of my childhood. These were personal stories that resonated with audiences, helping them see themselves in my experiences.
As I delved deeper into writing material about my childhood, the healing process became even more profound. People would approach me after my sets, thanking me for giving them a reflection of themselves. My childhood memories and experiences started to shape my comedy, and it became a form of therapy for me. Eventually, this led me to write my memoir, "Legitimate Kid," which explored my journey and the importance of our stories, regardless of whether white America deems them significant.
Making jokes about my family, my neighborhood, and the challenges I faced growing up allowed others to find common ground with my stories. It was a powerful reminder that I wasn't alone and that there were others who shared similar experiences. This relatability contributed to my own healing process, as I began to feel proud of my origins and work through my past traumas.
As a Latina, I was raised with the understanding that family matters are private. Initially, I hesitated to share stories about my family on stage. However, with the approval of my loved ones, I found the courage to incorporate their stories into my comedy. I always ensure that they are comfortable with my jokes and especially careful when it comes to my mom and daughter, given the sexism and misogyny that persists in our communities.
Looking back on my journey, I realize that making jokes about my upbringing has allowed me to see the beauty in my past. It wasn't all dark and negative; there were moments of joy and laughter too. Despite criticism from some white comics that our comedy wasn't "elevated," I never allowed myself to be boxed into a corner. I refused to emulate their style just to be deemed valuable. Instead, I chose to embrace my roots and share my unique perspective with the world.
Comedy has the remarkable ability to bring people together, regardless of their differences. It creates a common ground where we can find humor and understanding in each other's stories. Whether it's laughing at George Lopez's tales of his grandmother or finding solace in the universality of humor, comedy has a connective tissue that binds us all. It is a powerful reminder that, despite our differences, we are all capable of finding joy and laughter in life's absurdities. — As told to Johanna Ferreira
