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Because a place can do many things against you, and if it’s your home or if it was your home at one time, you still love it.
“You have to think like a gringa now,” Arturo said. “You have to believe that you’re entitled to happiness.”
We’re the unknown Americans, the ones no one even wants to know, because they’ve been told they’re supposed to be scared of us and because maybe if they did take the time to get to know us, they might realize that we’re not that bad, maybe even that we’re a lot like them. And who would they hate then?
didn’t tell her that I wanted him in the Panteón Municipal, where we could celebrate him on el Día de Muertos. I wanted to bake pan de muerto and prepare calabaza en tacha for him. I wanted to make an ofrenda with the cempasúchil flowers that grew in our yard. I wanted to
put candles on his tomb. I wanted to honor him. I wanted him near me.
One day when we go back to México and people ask me what it was like here, I will tell them those things. I will tell them all the ways I loved this country.
🥺 I fucking love my people so much
