Posts tagged Mexican
Posts tagged Mexican
A house is not a home unless well supplied with tortillas. Facts.
I miss Mexico so much it feels like my skin is on fire. But not my brownish outer shell like a coconut that can be whacked into submission until it gives it juices. It’s a burn underneath that membrane. It is in my nerves, in my blood and in my tissues. It cannot be reached no matter the clawing and tearing. It only eats away extraneous bits like the straw hair of el coco. It cannot be touched — only felt — let alone put out. I could turn my body red and raw, but it won’t give me the golden moon over the verdant mountains. It won’t give me the fireflies kissing the rooftops or the fluttering creatures in the sweet grass. Even if I found a way to my bones, I won’t find pan dulce straight from the oven and warm smiles and fruit stands. I’ll still wake up morning after morning sans the smell of grilling meat, spices and tortillas. I won’t stir with the cockcrow or the gas vendor. El Popo will still smoke on the horizon visible from my tia’s door. But no matter how I strain my eyes, I’ll find concrete and my electricity bill and traffic. I’ve got an inferno inside me that cannot die. It can only be soothed. But it’s been far too long since I tended the fire and prodded at the logs for embers. Mexico — lindo y querido — I can’t go on much longer. I’m afraid I’ll spontaneously combust.
Jorge Negrete is smooth as fuck tho.
Tepoztlan, Morelos. Mexico. August 2011.
I’ve always dreamed of traveling the world. While I hope to live a long life full of travel and exploration and knowledge, there’s a part of me that wants to make sure that Mexico is the country I make sure to discover as throughly as possible. I feel a connection to Mexico so intensely that I feel an empty space within me when I’m away. I feel like the identities of PoC are ripped away by the education system in the U.S. at a frighteningly young age. I feel betrayed that I only got to piece together Mexico’s history and political context until college. So now I feel that I must unearth every truth, secret and mystery Mexico has to offer. I want to feel the proverbial dirt under my fingernails as I reconstruct my identity and place in the world. I need to stay in Mexico for extended periods and absorb everything that became such a beautiful and crucial part to who I am and my self worth. The diaspora is so raw in me. Some days I’m so confused and displaced, but I know it’ll quench my soul and ease my spirit to search the wonders of the country top to bottom. The rest of the world can wait. I’ve got to take some time to deeply and seriously get to know mi Mexico.
Raise your hand if your Mexican mom/dad/parents nipped your Elvis fandom in the bud.
I’m just imagining my abue and abuelito laughing and shaking their heads at these gringo pendjos painting their faces like sugar skulls.
Listen, whites: I’ve been keeping a secret. If you sport Dia makeup, you are summoning strange spirits you are not associated with. You should be scared. DO NOT DO IT.
Te quiero, mi Esperanza. I know you’re looking at these gring@s and muttering your trademark phrase “Que pendejos.” Ay, cuanto te quiero, mis abuelitos.
Wow, entire populations of indigenous peoples were exterminated with the arrival of the Spanish and motherfuckers STILL think one of the greatest crimes against humanity is not being able to paint their faces like sugar skulls.