Where I'm From

By: Karen Ramirez

I am from an overprotective mother shouting “ten cuidado!” every five minutes.

Where the dads come home with greasy hands from the intestines of a car.

I am from where the dinner menu is steak con chismole or fried mojarras con limon

and, sitting at the dinner table where primary colors are all the rage for home decor.

I am from scraggly weeds breaking through the crumbling concrete,

where strong brown vines wrap buildings and suffocate the abandoned ones.

I am from walls crammed with vibrant visuals and leaky creaky classroom roofs never to be repaired.

I am from quote-unquote “not enough funds” and “we need to raise those scores.”

I am from studying lines like,

“Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else cared.”

But also studying writers like Robert Frost, Shakespeare and that dude with the white beard.

What was his name again?

I am from hot fried bunuelos,

crispy on the outside and cheesy spongy sin on the inside.

I am from steamy refried beans mixed with cool tangy sour cream.

Where drinking home-made cold, creamy, sweet and spicy horchata is something I can do EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.

I am also from birthday parties until 5 in the morning,

where the couples are dancing sensually to salsa and vallenatos,

and putting up with beer belly hugs from my hairy inebriated uncles.

Oh yea, don’t forget to break the piñata.

I am from hearing the deep bass and the echoing beat,

coming from a shiny transformer rumbling down the street.

I am defined as being a “latina” but also being a “gringa” at the same damn time.

I am from a place where everyone speaks three languages:

English, Spanish and struggle.