Selena Quintanilla
GILBERTO R. MAZMAYAN | Special Contributor
GilbertoRogelioRodriguez@gmail.com
I have vivid childhood memories. And like so many Mexican-Americans raised in South Texas during the 1990s, many of those memories are tied to Selena Quintanilla-Pérez.
Selena felt like a member of our families — a friend, a wife, a daughter, a sister. Growing up, role models were hard to come by for Mexican-Americans. But Selena wasn’t just someone who looked like us; she was someone who felt like us, too.
My introduction to Selena y Los Dinos came in 1989, when I was just 5 years old, and I first heard the song “Contigo Quiero Estar” on the radio. A few weeks later, I had a chance to see the band perform live in my hometown of Laredo.
But it wasn’t just the music that captivated me that night; it was Selena herself. Her charismatic personality was larger than life, and her stage presence was magnetic. What I admired most, though, was her authenticity: She was real, humble and genuine. Selena showed me that success didn’t require compromising your core values or changing who you were.
Her music was the soundtrack to my childhood, and to say I was just a fan would be a huge understatement. Selena inspired me to dream big, regardless of the circumstances.
“Always believe that the impossible is possible,” she often said in interviews. And for me, those became words to live by.
Like the Quintanillas, I, too, came from humble beginnings. As an only child raised by my grandmother, I learned early on the sacrifices my mom made, working up to three jobs at a time just to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. Nothing was ever handed to us.
But in many ways, that struggle was a blessing in disguise. It taught me the value of hard work and the importance of never taking anything for granted.
I never had a traditional coming out story. My sexuality, though always private, was evident in the way I walked, talked and carried myself. Unlike children who hide who they are out of fear, there was no way for me to conceal my truth.
I was too young to fully grasp what it meant to be gay. All I knew was that the love I longed for didn’t align with the narrow expectations of the culturally conservative, strictly Catholic border town where I grew up.
But there was Selena, a woman who possessed an entrepreneurial spirit, venturing beyond music into the world of fashion. Watching her carve her own path and take control of her narrative inspired me to continue pursuing my own journey. So, when bullying became a daily occurrence, my sense of self allowed me to stand my ground.
As I grew older, I realized there was more to me than just being gay. I began to explore my sexuality, and, in doing so, I found the freedom to embrace all the layers of who I truly am. I discovered self-acceptance and understanding, shifting my focus toward my creative energies.
Music, art, writing and public speaking opened new doors for me; they became the keys to my survival. They gave me a reason to connect, to escape, to evolve. And in doing so, I felt like I had finally found my place in the world. I realized that it was okay to be different, to not fit in, because it was precisely those differences that set me apart.
Then on March 31, 1995, when she was at the peak of stardom as a Latina artist and on the verge of becoming a pop superstar, Selena was tragically murdered by Yolanda Saldivar.
Selena was just 23 years old.
Back then, there was no social media, so all of Texas sat glued to the TV, waiting for updates as local reporters confirmed that Selena had been pronounced dead earlier
that day, and interview and concert clips played across the screen.
The loss was painful and traumatic, and, for a long time, I couldn’t stop asking myself: Why?
Why her? Why in that way?’ I couldn’t comprehend that she was gone. Trying to stay strong and keep it together became emotionally exhausting, and it took a toll on me. I lost my confidence, my sense of belonging, and my creativity was dimmed.
Adolescence is hard, but growing up without Selena felt even harder. It wasn’t easy then, and it still isn’t easy today. Yet, as significant as Selena was to my childhood, she’s become even more crucial to my adulthood. I still think of her, often. I always pull on Selena when times get tough and for personal inspiration.
Her final album, Dreaming of You, showcased the full extent of her potential and just how far she was poised to go. Were she alive today, there’s no doubt she’d be a mother, an actress, a Super Bowl halftime performer, a judge on a reality TV show — basking in the afterglow of timeless hits.
That, to me, is the real tragedy of her death: She was on the brink of so many new directions. She had that kind of star power.
Three decades.
Selena has now been dead longer than she was alive, and though her time on earth was brief, the passion she still evokes in her fans is undeniable. For those who looked like her, spoke like her, or came from the kind of places she came from, Selena’s impact was immense. And it continues to resonate.
Beyond being an empowering Latinx figure, Selena has also, posthumously, become a gay icon, and it’s just as important to recognize her queer legacy as her Latino legacy. She created a timeless sound with universal appeal, resonating with people across cultures, gender identities, sexual orientations and ethnicities. What she accomplished has transcended boundaries, allowing her to become a voice that speaks beyond limitation.
She remains a role model for all people.
Few artists have transcended genres, decades, languages and borders like Selena. While there were, without a doubt, queer elements in her music and style, it’s her story that continues to be the bridge that unites and deeply resonates with many queer Texans. And just as her music lives on, so does her enduring influence and irreplaceable legacy, constantly revived by each new generation.
Selena once said, “The goal isn’t to live forever, but to create something that will.”
And she did. Para siempre.