I resisted briefly, very briefly, and by your hand started to explore this dimension, a world within the world, populated solely on misfits.

There was singing every night, dancing and a bit of drinking, lights and smoking colors all inside your cave.

I felt welcome, naturally, forgot all about what I was looking for when you distracted me.

“who are you?” You asked “Im the queen” I lied and you founded it funny.

Great adventures we encountered, fed fairies to day time monsters so they would fight our ghosts, as they died again I remembered the path were we founded us, a hiden street that should’ve being an ally.

A right turn of happy thoughts and wishes, a break over the clouds, your hand holding mine tightly, for you feared you would fly away.

And I loved to be your Wendy, I did, with all my heart, but suddenly it meant you will forever be a Peter Pan.

For me Día de los muertos has a double meaning, my grandma passed on November 2nd 2017, ironically, I have never prepared an alter for her.

She was a woman of the church, even the local bishop appointed himself to conduct her memorial and gave a personal speech about her, refering to her at all times as a “good friend of the church” and “an exceptional daughter of God”.

And it is true that my grandmother was pious and benevolent and charitable and all the things us catholics are taught to be “good”.

If I have to put on words how much I admired my grandma I can say she was my personal Jesus. She would hate to read this cause it is sinful to use Christ’s name in vain, but hear me out grandma, your story, just as Jesus, inspired me (and many) to be better people. Even tho we took the bible in different ways or disregard it completely.

My parents decided to not raise us in religious believes, mainly because my mom’s family are Jehova witnesses and my father’s are catholic. I was baptized only at my grandma’s strong request cause being in their early 20s holding an unplanned child, my parents didn’t had the confidence to step against her. They did vowed, after that, to not talk to us about religion if we weren’t asking, nor to force us to go to church and they kept that vow.

They kept it so good that they themselves don’t go to church, unless grandma was visiting and they weren’t able to come up with a good excuse, now days they go out of social compromise since weddings, quinceañeras and most celebrations in México are required for a pre show of gratefulness at mass.

Grandma will promote many good things: to be grateful of your fortune and share it with others in less luck, to be supportive with your family and friends specially when their going thru bad times, to give back to those who help you and overall to give love without expecting something back.

Her own story shaped her to be that strong person who was walking around her town bringing others out of their misery, but she always put all her good will in the name of God, even tho, many would argue, including my father, it was God’s unjust will to leave her a widow with 9 children at a time when women by themselves were considered less than dust in the streets.

I deeply respected that about her, it wasn’t about fake modesty, it was about acknowledging that all what happened to her was out of her control and when facing struggle she had two options, give in or move forward. It was about understanding that not everyone was equipped enough like she was to go through hard times. It was about accepting reality and making the best with what she had, because she had a family to care for and nothing was going to stop her from doing that.

I saw her working hard and still taking the time to prepare us dinner, when we visited at her house, she will refused, by all means, to stop working, because she needed to be in a financial comfort that allowed her to care for others outside her circles.

She will give away free meals on her restaurant, give money and collect clothes for charity institutions, she will open her house to strangers who where homeless and, against my father’s and siblings advice, she will take under her wing any woman she founded in trouble.

I would ask her how did she do all that, where did she find the courage and the strength to do all of those things and she will always answer it was God’s will.

This is how, at 7, I started to read the bible for the first time.

Genesis made perfect sense to me, I was a bit confuse about Leviticus but I kept going, Petter’s epistle got me angry and Apocalipsis didn’t seem too far fetch.

But I needed counsel, grandma was away in her town while I was living with my parents in the city, so I started attending Sunday’s mass and after a couple of weeks I enrolled myself in catechism too.

There, I learned, my next step as a Catholic was first communion followed by confirmation, these two where absolute requirements if I wanted to be married one day or if I decided to take the vows. They were necessary too if I wanted to get ointment in my death bed to be able to access a decent after life.

Thus I applyed myself on this trip of institutional enlightenment, hoping to become at least half of the good human my grandma was.

I would participate as much as I could in children’s Sunday mass, I would read the passages in front of everyone (something most of the kids didn’t wanted to do) I would drag my neighborhood pears to mass and some of them to catechism too. I would teach the payers to those who where struggling to learn and I would be in the church as much as I could.

I talked a lot with my teachers but I was never allowed to talk to our appointed priest, I thought I needed to be even more enrolled in church activities to be granted a word with him.

Next time we visited grandma I was seating in the first row with her, she was so proud that I took the initiative to have my first communion that she arranged with my parents for getting to do the whole thing in her town, which incidentally is also my birth town.

I have to admit, those were simplier and happier days.

It was a celebration of a life time, the family put together a series of events that needed to be done in the same week and it was the last time the 9 siblings with the correspond spouses, children and some grand children, were all together. I never saw her happier.

I hit my teenage during my formation for confirmation, perhaps the natural revolt of hormones mixed with very good teachers in science subjects and history made me question everything I was told at church, perhaps, deep down I never fully believed them, who knows, the thing is I was asking a lot of questions in catechism no one was able to answer straight.

It started to turn me off, but grandma was very supportive and proud, her approval meant a lot to me, so I kept going.

At school I met a kid who’s family on his mother side were jewish and talking about my own disenchantment with institutional faith he taught me about his own beliefs and doubts. Then my cousin started to hung out with some Christian kids and I started to learn about that too, finally I picked up the courage to talk with my mom about her family’s religion and soon I realized they all were essentially the same:

1. Do not question God.
2. Be nice to everyone *meaning of nice may vary, exceptions may apply*
3. Do not have sex out of matrimony.
4. Be a productive member of your comunity.
5. Admit when you’ve done wrong and repair.
6. Strive to be God’s favorite.

So, why do they all need to name their God a different name? Why do they all need to pray different? Why do they find themselves trying to underestimate and subjugate the others almost all the time? And the only answer I could find, that fit every conflict leading them to it was politics. Human, vain and mundane politics.

After my confirmation I stopped going to church, but I never stoped praying, I do not go on my knees at night to repeat mantras anymore and I certainly do not confess my sins to a deity in hopes to receive forgiveness nor my worries expecting miracles, but I do take my time to remind myself how grateful I am for many things, then I give myself space to repent and heal and I try to conduct myself in a way that gives me space and energy to give to others, love, help, whatever that is in my power to make someone else’s life brighter or easier.

Thus, I got on a quest of learning more and more about other religions and in the way I’ve learn a whole lot about history, anthropology, philosophy and, well… politics, even a bit of PR.

I realized religions and faith are 2 separate things that some people teach as 1 because there is a great benefit for them from it. That all religious institutions carry their own dirt and do little to nothing to clean their messes and the whole big argument of who is the real God has being under our feet, in front of our noses, next to us, all the time. (Nature)

I understood my faith is a buster to my will and that is imperative to do the work to make things happened.

But most importantly, I learned we all believe we are the result of some cosmical magic project that is destined to go terribly wrong… and this collective self deprecation needs to stop.

We need to be more honest about the good and evil within ourselves and we need to acknowledge in our hands rely the power to exploit one or the other.

We need to start questioning our gods, who are they and where are they and most of all, who THEY serve, cause in that answer we might realize who do WE actually serve.

I like to believe there is a bunch of people like me who are living proof of how breaking with institutional religions does not mean to break with your spirituality, and the whole space on the internet is not enough to account for all of those who are and were a vivid example of how following a religious institution to the core does not guarantee the top notch quality of humans all of those institutions preach they strive to produce…

And I am certain that my grandma would have a lot to scold me for if she was still alive and able to read this, but I would still tell her this realizations do not happen to many because they do not have someone like her to show them what a true spiritual person looks like.

For Im convinced, regardless the timing, the church, the culture and the circumstances, she would’ve conduct her life like she did, given the choice, exactly the same.

More congruence less politics, more love less churches, lets make it happen.

Escuchar los lamentos de hermanas mudas, porque nadie les ha enseñado a hablar. Admirar el sol sin encandilarse y disfrutar baños de luna en el crepúsculo.

Montar a caballo pretendiendo que es un cohete dejando el cabello al viento volando regocijante. Tornarse de colores en el amor y transparente con el miedo.

Hablar con los animales simulando que no entiendes y cuidar como tesoros sus secretos.

Tocar la mejilla de tu madre y transmutar su historia en besos, abrazar a tu padre con fervor y contarle sobre hechizos que no entiende.

Alabar la tierra, el agua, y sentir la destrucción con impotencia, llevar murmullos de consciencia a rincones de oídos rotos.

Luchar con una sonrisa pintada de Syrah y Chardonnay baratos, flotar cuando todos creen que estás quieta y hablar todos los idiomas en tus sueños.

Reconocer entre humanos, demonios, bestias, ángeles y sanadores porque despertaste alguna vez a más de uno.

Ir de la mano con la muerte, con la certeza de que cada segundo eres más suya que tuya, mirarle los ojos infinitos y escribirle poemas al universo.

Ser bruja y ser mujer no es diferente, los huesos y la carne son iguales, solo aceptas el regalo del instinto cuando emerges a este plano de manjares.

We will pretend there was an imminent end of the world and us, my friends and I, were the only force against it.

We would carry swords, arrows and magical forces on our shoulders, we would not stop in the face of danger and, most of all, we will protect the most vulnerable, the less fortunate, the ones in need.

We would clime trees and run our bikes around the neighborhood, pretending to be a patrol. We would help each other and leave no man behind.

Whatever happened to that fantasy.

Today, the best we can do is nothing, our brave hearts are in lock down, our breaths are spend in basic work out routines, the world needs nothing from us but our patience.

Accept, they say, stand by and accept for your capabilities aren’t required. Observe, they say, as the example is set and you must learn it.

Stand by, stay put, this is not a game and you, you chose not to be a hero.

It takes one deep look into their eyes followed by a slow smile drawn in their eyebrows to recognize themselves in the other.

Skipping ones breath as they move closer, drums in your chest, ants in my hands; is all too intense.

Dark creatures find each other almost as much as a cat kills a prey, and every time it happens the world crumbles.

2 years ago I took my time to research on violence against women in Mexico, the data I founded was heartbreaking, disgusting and overall infuriating.

At the time we were in the middle of national election campaign. None of the 4 candidates pronounced themselves against female violence during the debates, 3 of them talked about the matter only when asked, plus, not one of the parties had a female candidate, even tho the feminist movements were already doing a lot of noise. Even tho 50% of the voters are female.

Still most of my feminist friends voted for Lopez Obrador, who was suppose to be “the oposition” and who was suppose to have the most radical ideas to change the country. Not one of his campaign proposals included female rights and when pointed out he was the only one to avoided the subject.

When asked about abortion, feminicides, home violence and other subjects sensible for us women he will always change the rhetoric of the interview and avoid any real answer.

For me it was not a surprise, I voted for him 6 years before and had analyze him since, his current sponsors are part of the extreme right and big characters of the neo liberal movement.

For most of my friends, given their sexist education, there were more important subjects to be touch, like the war against narcos. For my feminist friends, his right hand Sanchez Cordero (first female appointed for Secretaria de Gobernación AKA vice president) and his wife (even tho she has no power whatsoever) were the key for everything us, females, needed to change.

AMLO’s campaign was designed to not talk about feminist matters but instead made women believe his wife (who was pictured as the Mexican feminist archetype) and Sanchez Cordero were the leading head for all female rights; and they, as women, as one of us, were going to work harder than anyone else for justice to be finally served against sexism.

During campaign no one wanted to hear this: if our first lady was so much more qualified than her own husband, if Sanchez was so much more radical than the favorite at their party, and if Morena’s party was so lefty, how come they didn’t wanted to bet for any of these ladies instead of Lopez?

I was shocked when my radical fem friends were caught on the “hope” over Sanchez, even more when they treated the first lady subject as if she, being the wife, was going to influence Lopez decisions… no one saw the sexists notes there…

Fast forward to today.

7 year old is founded death at a trash can, signs of rape visible, her mother and family reported her abduction and possible kidnapper to the correspond authorities, a law suit against the alleged killer was filed a couple of months back, but local authorities did what any other Mexican authority does in these kind of cases. They filled up and left the “poor innocent man” free.

75% of the cases about female violence filled in this country stay like that, filled. Specially if an abduction or murder is not part of the case. This is how Erika’s murderer has travelled all over the country spotless.

Erika used to worked at Azulik Hotel in Tulum, her coworker, Guillermo Lopez Montiel, who had no criminal record filed in Quintana Roo got hired in the same operative line as her… not that Azulik checks deeply before hiring… invented himself a story about being “suddenly” homeless and got her to offer him the room her previous roommate just left, what a coincidence! Right? Killed her, chopped her boddy (until this day her head hasn’t being recovered) threw her rests in the jungle and disappeared, allegedly to Guadalajara.

For some reason, her investigation took months before appointing the actual killer, giving him enough time to scape, for some other reason he is not being issued as a national threat.

A week ago Ingrid was killed and skinned, yes you read that right, s-k-i-n-n-e-d by her abusive boyfriend Erick Robledo who had record for abusing his former partner and kids plus a well earned reputation for being “explosive” in his hometown.

His identity was protected by all media for days, until now many of the papers and tv channels refer to him as “The alledge killer” instead of using his name and they make sure of censored his pictures; while the images and videos of the disposal and autopsy of Ingrid were distributed almost as soon as they were taken.

Systematically in this country violence against women is overlooked, used merely as click bite, and when radical feminist decided to take and vandalized different historical points in Mexico city they were suppressed by federal forces almost immediately, called by the mainstream media “criminals” and “feminazis”.

These feminist groups took the same spots AMLO and his followers took and vandalized back in 2012 for months, when he demanded a re count of the votes…

Chilean anthem “un violador en tu camino” has sounded almost in each corner of the country; thousands of kids who’s mothers where killed by their fathers/ uncles/ family friends, are currently clueless about their future; a mother suffers the death of her daughter every 10 apartments only in Mexico state and Ciudad Juarez; family members of these death women keep disappearing as soon as they get close to the truth. Civilian movements receive death threats and are ridiculed by the media and the entire society every.single.day

All while our “left, radical” president is concerned about the raffle of the presidential plane…

They say feminists are destroying the country, I say we will no longer allow them to destroy us.

I was not a damiselle in distress, I did not needed to be rescued, I was not waiting for a miracle nor anything, it was just me and me was enough.

He stepped in the biggest mess I believe he ever saw and slowly started bruming here and there, dusting, picking up and cooking, no questions asked.

He wanted nothing from me, he loved me and that was all, took my hand, kissed it, put himself on one knee and devoted his entire existence to make me smile, for my smile was his favorite thing.

Years passed by and I still can not figure out why all of this went down, I repeated the story on my head, over and over again, step by step, wondering if all would’ve happened the same, had I chose a different turn.

But lately I wake up, like I’ve done one thousand times next to him and answers are no longer needed.

Los rastros insolentes me dejan un recado nostálgico de besos vivos que me queman en la espalda, pero poco a poco los voy sintiendo menos.

A pesar de tu lengua de fuego las costras se vuelven cicatrices y pronto se pierden en la piel, marcas para recordar a los recuerdos, murmullos de un pasado que no supe cómo fue.

La sensación de dejarte atrás me hace buscarte, aunque no lo sepas te llevo en la maleta, junto al bañador.

Tu risita burlona, antes impresa en mi memoria, es a penas un murmullo, no quiero olvidar tu voz y te abrazo en sueños muy fuerte, pero incluso en rem eres solo sombras.

Le pongo parches a la historia, de colores y texturas que no van, para que todos sepan que saben nada de los dos.

De pronto, me asalta la realidad, llegué hasta acá huyendo de ti.

Y al tener la consciencia de que eres el ceno del que quiero aprender y ser una con esta tierra, comprendo que tú eres lo suficientemente sabia para dejarme entrar cuando el momento es preciso.

Madre, tocaré a tu puerta y tu decidirás si estás lista para abrirme.

Si no lo estás no te preocupes, no te culpes, no te azotes, yo volveré más tarde.

El tiempo es una condición que limita a quienes se encuentran en un plano etéreo, yo floto libre, soy un murmullo de estrellas y te voy a esperar.

Te elijo y me he puesto en tus manos porque sé que tu sabes lo que necesito, simplemente porque eres lo suficientemente valiente para admitir lo que necesitas tu.

Habrá quien diga que fuiste egoísta, que fuiste mala, que te equivocaste, pero tu y yo sabemos la verdad, con eso basta.

Madre, hoy toco a tu puerta, hoy te elijo y porque te respeto te elegiré siempre.

Solo tú tienes las respuestas a mis preguntas, por eso te he elegido y si quieres que espere, para poder responderme mejor, para poder enseñarme mejor, para poder amarme mejor, agradezco y alabo tu prudencia.

Quiero ser el fruto de tu alegría, no permitas que digan que soy un castigo.

Madre, te he esperado desde que decidí que quiero experimentar este plano, tranquila, al elegirte también elijo que quiero esperar un poco más.

I am not an anthropologist nor a psicologist neither a historian, and no, I didn’t look for statistics that would’ve proof me right or wrong whilst writing this piece.

This is merely a description of my relationship with racism. I hope someone will relate.

I was born in a very small town near Sayulita, in Nayarit state, one of the smallest in terms of population and developement.

I grew up in Guadalajara tho, but I have always considered myself more Nayarita than Tapatia, proudly I must say.

Nayarit have a rich background, the Wixrarica culture is deep on all of us Nayaritas.

Nayarit gave to the world Amado Nervo (poet/journalist) and Luis Miramontes (inventor of the anticonceptive pill, you´re very welcome) among other personalities and things that are mainly appreciated within the Mexican territory.

Being in the middle of Jalisco and Sinaloa, Nayarit gets a lot of domestic turism and is an important conection between the north and the center of the country. Still our people is overlooked and I convince myself, as time passed by, it is because our skin color.

In Nayarit we are brown, we don´t have African roots like our brothers on Veracruz, but we are still a little bit more toasted than the average northerner.

Mainly because we have a large number of indigenous people, the Cora culture (a variant of the Wixraricas), the Huicholes (also variant of Wixraricas), and in recent years Tepehuans and Nahuatls who have migrate to our state from Guerrero, where life for them is almost unverable.

Nayarit hasn’t have that government touristic promotion that other areas had in recent years, neither it is a spot for industrial investments, its agriculture is almost gone and its fishing isn’t as prominent as it was 4 decades ago.

Nayaritas are slowly running out of working opportunities and most of them are migrating to Jalisco and Mexico City.

My family migrate to Guadalajara in the mid 90s and we weren’t wealthy, we had a roof over our heads but the 90s where tough, the economic recession was felt from the top of the dome of Mexican society to the people at the bottom of it, some of which ended up jobless and homeless.

My dad is an engeneer, at the time of the recession a promising one, when I think about it his bosses where all withish while all the people under him where, well… browner than him.

Now he runs his department, it took him years, sweat and tears, to get that position while all the other directors are white young Mexicans, sons or friends of the sons of the investors in the company.

It make me feel proud to know my father is at the same level as these privilege juniors, cause I like to believe no junior with conexions can take his place (he is the best in the area, other companies regularly pay him for consultations) and his efforts are recognized, but that sentiment is lately followed by uncertainty, maybe his job isn’t that sure after all, any of these days one of those white privileged boys could take his place.

And I’m just not sure a white woman who’s father have my father’s position feels the same way.

In another hand, my mother used to clean houses when I was a kid, it was the only choice she had to bring home some pesos, I tried to helped her as much as I could with my brother and sister when she was going to a lot of job interviews, but never she landed a “sweet job”, even though she went to Business school, as I learned later in life, being a brown married with children woman isn´t the best presentation card.

I can’t even imagine the struggle of single mothers.

Both my parents taught me hard work, school and perceverance would bring me places, but as I look around it didn´t really turned that way for most of my generational brothers and sisters.

Of course my parents have never complaint of any of this, for them this is all normal. If I ever try to bring the subject to the table they’d say this is all BS my generation has constructed to excuse themselves for under achieving.

Honestly, 7 years ago, I would’ve say the same.

In Mexico we romanticize poverty, we call “humble” to the poor, as if, for having less resources than the majority they are automatically holly. Not worthy of opportunities, but holly.

I certainly didn’t thought about all of the times I was discriminated against until I saw others being discriminated.

I moved to Riviera Maya 8 years ago, right after graduating, and suddenly I was on the other side of the coin.

Mexico is a wide and vast country, something many foreigns don’t know is that our skin catalog is as extensive as the US.

That being said you have to understand we Mexicans come in all sizes, shapes and colors, hens my need of understanding how come Mexicans are in fact racists.

Mexicans from the Yucatan Peninsula are different from the ones in Nayarit, we are both browner than the average northerners, but as you get closer to the south people gets averagely shorter and their indigenous features are more noticeable.

Just that changes how HR departments in all establishments sees you.

I thought I was going to blend in just fine with my southern brothers and sisters but it wasn’t like that at all.

They saw me as a threat and I was! I have so much more chances to get any job than them… and I would love to brag it is because I have a Marketing degree and I speak 3 languages, but those things, at a racist country, don’t really matter.

People who have great experience at the service and hosting industry are widely overlooked when promotions, well paid jobs and other opportunities are listed.

Education standards are the lowest in the country and the government haven’t thought on giving decent care to foreign languages as part of the public system, even tho this is a touristic area.

Up until 8 years ago it was normal for me to see women and children wearing traditional Cora/Wixrarica attire in Nayarit and Guadalajara, while here Mayan people is considered extinguish, even tho a big part of the population still talks the language and follows the ancient ways.

I’d like to say in Nayarit and Jalisco you’ll see more indigenous attires because we have accepted them as they are, but the truth is you’ll see them begging in the streets and its being decades of harassment from the authorities towards them, mainly in Guadalajara.

I’d also like to say that you don’t see as much Mayan attire in Riviera Maya because as a society we have make them thrive and blend with the modern culture, truth is, they are kept to be exploited within hotels, parks, etc and treated merely as a circus.

I remember myself as a happy kid who was never too worried about how was I looking like, but as I grew older and had adolescent arguments with inmature teenagers as myself about dumb things like Avril Lavigne, words like “prieta” (brown) or “india” (indigenous) started to be trhown at me in a pejorative way.

I realized the “popular” girls back at school where all whitish and at some point it was “so in” to die your hair blond, get blond tips or blond highlights. I remember my cousins using this cream, that is advertized until today all over Mexico, “Ponds Dermo Aclarant” every night before going to bed.

My mom herself went through all kinds of treatments, creams and natural remedies to “light” her skin.

My dehodorant have the word “Aclarant”, and everywhere I look, from government ads to telenovelas, whitish people dominates the Mexican world.

While growing up I saw on foreing movies African Americans and Asian people being the side kick, the guy who got killed to save everyone else or to be the bad guys, while in Mexican productions I saw very little of indigenous people, mostly portraying the help.

Suddenly that breakup with my so called “3rd generation of Spanish in Mexico” ex boyfriend (he wouldn’t called himself Mexican) resonante in my mind, he said we wouldn’t last because he was looking for someone more “gracefully colored” and he just didn’t wanted “those genes”.

I finally understood why that blondie dude who was so less prepared than me got that job in that marketing agency.

And lately I have being thinking a lot about that time they stopped me to be searched in the airport right after that whole white Mexican family before me wasn’t. Even the hippie looking blue eyed dude after wasn’t searched that day!

It also explains why at Expat gated communities I have to always present my ID and explain my motives of visitation, while my Canadian boyfriend can walk in like the President, needless to say all the security people in these places are Mexicans.

They have called me Malinche, an indigenous woman who was sold to Hernán Cortés and used as translator during his conquest, it now means traitor. Because of my boyfriend who is a foreigner, but how am I suppose to date within my own culture when either I’m too brown or not brown enough?

Living in one of the most popular ancient archeological sites of my country it just doesn’t make sense how corporations, investors, government and society in general treats natives in this area. I mean, we are all making money thanks to all the indigenous heritage that is concentrated in Yucatan’s Peninsula.

It hit me and it hit me hard. But it doesn’t end there.

There is a whole side of “conscious tourism” that sickens me, hundreds of white privileged people come looking to get high at the expense of ancient traditions, then they go back to their big houses, drive their nice cars and drink their fancy coffees to tweet about enlightenment, posting their pics with indigenous kids who are not fed nor cloth decently and will stay that way.

They love to buy clothes with indigenous looking style out of a big designer house, or a foreign retail company at the very least, is “so cool”, but purchasing it from actual indigenous people at an actual indigenous community at retail price, no way.

Racism in Mexico is so deep that lately we have being gracious enough to ask our government to “close our borthers” because our less fortunate central american neighbors, who happen to have very indigenous features, are pinned as criminals and free loaders.

Funny how we pretend to be offended about Trump.

From Monterrey to Cancún you’ll hear people labeling other people based on their skin color and physical appearance, and I am sorry Mr Cuarón, but if your intention was to create the first female indigenous heroin, you were the first one of thinking of her as the help.

So much needs to be done to end this social structure which put our roots down and cheers for the mythical western capitalist culture that I don’t even know where to begin.

The systematic efforts for erasing our indigenous culture start inside schools where history books issued by the Mexican Public Education System (SEP) are 50 pages long and nobody takes them teachers seriously.

Last presidencial election period we had the chance to nominate an indigenous, courageous, strong, educated and rebel woman, but we chose to mock her and discredit her in all possible ways instead.

Our current president uses indigenous people as shows while our current cabinet is way more worried about passing projects that hurt indigenous communities whilst pretending doing all of it for them.

And like I said, we have romanticized these cultural standards so much, most of us actually believe destroying the areas where they live is for their best interests.

This problem is so big that I don’t see ourselves solving it any time soon.

And I am well aware there are so many people doing more than just complaining like I currently am.

But I am still looking my way through becoming a proud indigenous looking like Mexican woman and the world around me isn’t making it easy.

Still I had to be descriptive about all those things that separates my country and I hate I had to write this in english in hopes to get more audience.

I do have accointances who owned their pejoratives, an ex schoolmate who was called “la negra” and until this day she keeps that surname on all her social media channels, or that guy who I worked with, other co workers called him “Tizoc” (an indigenous movie character from the Mexican golden age) and he is now the director of marketing at that company, I’ve heard he now asks all new people to call him just that.

Although this “owning your truth” thing does not seem to be ending the pejorative connotations.

And while small collective deeds can have a bigger impact with time, there have to be more that can be done for us the regular human beings who have to pay bills and can’t afford to go full revolutionary.

In my favorite utopian fantasy we all come together one day, quit our jobs all at the same time, take down the government with our bared middle class hands and start from scratch this experiment called society to right all our wrongs.

It is urgent to reconnect with our roots, all of us everywhere in the world, and it is also urgent to quit the double standards that protect our ideological bubbles.

It is urgent for us to admit that humans are more than white or brown people and start giving the space for those who need to bring bread to their tables to evolve their cultures in this massive vortex of technology and “progress”.

But most of all it is urgent for all of us to start being more empathetic, talk to each other to actually listen and use our positions to help others thrive.

I hope to break up with racism soon, I feel like a battered woman who’s unable to leave her abuser, and not for lack of trying.