Pride and hope

We were pressed in tight together in the warm wind and light sporadic rain, rows of sweaty people with no personal space, the occasional brush of skin or the feel of breath as we reached our hands high, grooving to the music and hollering or whistling as the rainbow colored floats passed in the parade, [...]

My blood is the history of wars

I remember the moment so distinctly in which my parents break the news to me that I am not Mexican. We are standing in the kitchen, it's after school, and both of my parents are present. I'm maybe eight years old, and in school we've been talking about genealogies and heritages. Something I have written [...]