Wednesday, April 7, 2010

I think one of the worst things here is when people talk to me in English.
I never understood why that man with the truck with the Mexican flag sticker yelled at me when I kindly asked him, 
"Puede mover su camión por favor?" 
Me too. And Spanish, what's your point?
Now I understand the point.
I understand how demeaning it came across.
Beneath it all it screams, 
"You are not one of us, and I can tell, and I will show this by using your language, since clearly you cannot use mine."
You are not one of us.
I was impaced by that event in the Olvera St. parking lot my freshman year of college, and now I know why it stuck with me. You are not one of us.
I will never be one of you.
But where will I be one of me?


  1. The answer to your question: dancing in the hearts of those of us who love you, smiling with arms outstretched, sharing your light with others are you take in everything around you, receiving smiles and claps from the One who beautifully and wonderfully made you. Oh, and you will also be one of you at home. We love you so.

  2. You're one of us, my dear sister. By us I mean our family. By us I mean our brothers and sisters in Christ.