I am not white,
but lightly caramel,
I am not brown,
but lightly washed out,
I was born into a world of confusion,
If you are not white,
you are not right,
If you are not brown,
you are drowned out,
I scream out to my cultura,
Elotes y chile’,
I want mi lengua tan linda!
Lost in translation,
We are the forgotten,
“They’ve” ruined our cultura,
Ideals y lengua.
They want us out,
Yet we are the glue
of the lost!
Fight are “WE”,
Warriors of Mexicas,
Indias y Mestizos.
We are the Brown,
The light eyes of “them”,
Take us back to our
Keep us strong,
Strong are WE.
Strong is he,
Strong is she,
STRONG ARE WE!
Dedicated to my Grandma (Helen Atencio (Moralez) who is closer to Native blood than I. A native of Colorado. She was a true warrior. A fighter. But also a true example of a women who lost her culture. She was born to parents who spoke Spanish, but in the early 1900s, she was not allowed to speak it as she would have been scorned. Her family was already living in Colorado when it was Mexico. During the Mexican American War, her father was very light skinned and they were able to stay in their homeland after Mexico lost to the Americans. I remember her telling me this story when I asked her why “we didn’t speak Spanish”. Her father couldn’t speak Spanish, so he wouldn’t be kicked out, hence my Grandmother never knew the language. My mother obviously was not taught the language and then comes me, not being taught the language or culture.
It’s truly a sad story that is still happening today.
A Mexican American Christmas is……..
Tamales for days, days of making tamales, never getting tired of Masa, which is a dough made from corn flour. Tamales come twice a year, Christmas is one.
It is pan dulce con cafe. Sugar, more sugar and more sugar with a hint of caffeine. Conchas. My favorite-empenadas. Pan is bread, Dulce is sugar. What a sweat treat to eat on a chilly-holiday night.
It is champarado, hot and sweet warming our cold tums. It is our chocolate fix with sugar and tamales. It is kid coffee. I heart champarado.
It is hot soups. Sopita. Sopa. Warm soups for days. Cocido. Menudo. Posole. Caldo de Res. Yum for days.
It is family. Brothers, Sisters, Uncles, Tio’s,Aunts, Tia’s, Nina’s, Nino’s, Grandparents, Great Grandparents, Cousins, Cousins kids. It is a mirage of a huge tribe.
It is Jesus, the son of God. It is saying thank you for being born. It is the Virgin Mary or Our Lady of Guadalupe for giving us our savior.
It is midnight mass. Catholic lives. Christianity. It is all about being thankful. It is thanking our Angels and Saints.
It is Christmas Trees. Trees with homemade ornaments. Momento ornaments. Pictures. New Mexico ornaments. Mexican décor.
It is wine. Liquor. Laughs. Drinking. Beers. Cerveza. Vino. It is waking up with a hangover. Or not. Orale.
It is mainly speaking English with a few self taught Spanish word. It is not truly being Mexican yet not whole American. It is mainly being off the grid.
It is moca skin, Latina/o blood, spicy attitudes, loud voices, shy personas. Curves. Tall, Short, Dark and Handsome, Beautiful.
A Mexican American Christmas is all I know. I would never change it for anything in the world! I could never live without mi tamales y champarado. I survive on café con pandulce.
I am a mixture of mi familias blood with Azteca, Mexican, and Spaniard. I am the coffee that has more milk than coffee. I am the girl who white people assume I speak Spanish and Mexicans who hate me because I’m not fluent in Spanish.
Thank you to my ancestors who have kept our traditions alive. I live for them every December. Thank you for never leaving Mexico when it became America. Thank you for not allowing the Spaniards to tear our culture down ❤
November is a time of falling leaves and changing colors. It is a time of shorter days and longer nights.
November is also a time in Celtic tradition when all womyn were honored (Mother’s, Maidens and Crones) for the blood of life. The color red is honored for the blood of womyn.
The Egyptians called November the Month of Isis. She had dismembered her husband Osiris and collected all of his body parts between November 1st-November 3rd. This story is connected with the dismembering of the warmth to to return to darkness.
The Anglo-Saxons called November “Blood Month”, this was a time when they would sacrifice all the livestock that would not be able to make it through winter.
Many different cultures see this month as a time of surrender as we return to the dark days of winter.
Today embrace the chilly nights as your demons fall off of your skin. Embrace the windy days as they can change your inner ways.
Today feel the beginning of change in all inner and outer ways.
From your truly,
Cami *Star 2015
I am one,
One with you,
One with them,
You are my heart,
You are the breath I breath….
You lived in a world of equality,
All were respected,
All were loved,
All were beings with our
Today, in my world
We live in dysfunction,
Most are not respected,
Most don’t even love themselves,
Most beings do not realize the
Beauty of our Mother Earth,
As you left one by one,
You left your last breath,
A breath that holds the secrets
To our cultura,
Your breath has given me life,
You are the beauty of
my thumping heart,
Thumping of life,
My ancestral liquids pumping throughout every inch of my soul.
You have given me the strength that held all together,
Tears of frustration have turned into tears of compassion,
The hands that pressed the maza are now the hands that mold
my own world,
You had strength to keep
your family strong knitted,
You had so much love, kindness, compassion that it spewed
over onto our land,
You were beautiful Aztecas,
With a sense of self that has
been lost amongst this new world,
You had a natural beauty that did not need false body parts to be beautiful,
You have given us a part of your
beauty, it is just so washed out that it is challenging for some to see….
I am one,
One with you,
One with them,
You are my heart, my soul, my essence,
You are the breath I breath….
Your breath left upon our cultural world flows within my world,
Your native knowledge has flourished within my growth,
I can see through your eyes,
I can see the bigger picture,
A picture that you once held onto,
A world you had hoped would be bestowed amongst us…..
They broke us down to the
point where we don’t even know
where we have come from,
We are not White,
Yet are in fact brown,
We are not Mexican,
Yet are in fact so,
We are “American” born,
Yet what is that?
Mexica is what we are!
Mixed with our Native roots
with a dash of Spaniard blood,
They came and reached deep into our cultura, took a piece and burried it
Under our land,
Yet your breath has kissed
us upon our Mexica souls,
We shall fight for what was once ours,
Our roots that hold truth to our souls,
Your breath has spoken,
I stand tall with all of you,
I command with the
compassionate heart you
have given me,
I stand with the wisdom that
we are all warriors,
Our strong womyn and men of our cultura are warriors,
Our children are warriors,
We are all warriors of our own