n ó i s e r p x n i t a L TING A R B CELE
ISSUE 1 • FALL 2017
ART X N LATI
EST. DEC 2017
LATINXPRESIÓN
TABLE OF CONTENTS Publicity Chairs' Letter...Page 3 Meet the Staff...Pages 4, 5 Moroleón by María Cortez López...Page 6 Elgin by María Cortez López...Page 7 10 Señales de Alarma by Eva Blumenfeld...Pages 8, 9 Martita, My Abuelita Ilegal by Dan Sicorsky...Pages 10, 11 Ones and Twos by David León...Pages 12, 13 Quitarse Los Miedos by Dan Sicorsky...Pages 14, 15 Lotería by Carol Pazos...Page 16 Aún Te Quiero by Thomas Niera González...Page 17 A Story for Lisa and Mr. M by Ted Flaherty...Pages 18, 19 Dancing Into Myself by Sienna Ruiz...Page 20 Latinx Style by Sienna Ruiz...Pages 21-27
PUBLICITY CHAIRS' LETTER CAROL PAZOS & KRISTEN WALKER Hi there! Thanks for taking the time to log on and read our very first issue of Latinexpresión. We are very excited to showcase the wide range of talents found in this magazine. This magazine was created with the intent to give our incredibly diverse community yet another platform to have their voice heard. So sit back, relax and enjoy!
Much love, Carol & Kristen PAGE 3 | LATINEXPRESIÓN
MEET THE STAFF
LOS AMIGOS DE LA REVISTA
CAROL PAZOS: I am a sophomore from Chicago. While I still have not figured out my major, one thing’s for sure: I am incredibly passionate about the Latino culture and ALAS.
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KRISTEN WALKER: I am a Junior studying Anthropology & PreMedicine from Aliso Viejo, CA. This is my first year on ALAS Exec, and I am so excited to be apart of ALAS's first digital magazine!
BRADY NOÈ DELGADILLO: I am a sophomore from Sun Valley, Idaho majoring in Latin American Studies. I enjoy keeping up with news in the finance world and reading non-fiction. I decided to join Latinxpreción because I believe strongly in the importance of developing a publication that represents the Latino experience at WashU. MARÍA CORTÈZ LÓPEZ: I am a sophomore from the east side of Elgin, IL who is studying Spanish and Latin American Studies. I like: vanilla iced coffee, tacos de lengua, advocating for the latinx community, and mariachi music. I dislike: seafood, deadlines, intolerance, and driving.
MISAEL DE LA ROSA: I am a Chicano studying Comparative Literature and Spanish. If I am not reading, I am probably sleeping or hanging out with friends. If you all see me walking around I am more than likely listening to Molotov or Calle 13.
SIENNA RUIZ: I'm a sophomore from Oakland, CA majoring in Global Health and minoring in English Literature and Spanish. I love literature, dogs, and Belle & Sebastian. I am passionate about arts magazines in all forms, and I'm so excited for the opportunity to showcase Latinx art and culture!
TED FLAHERTY: I am studying Physics and Astrophysics in the hopes of becoming the Mexican Science Man™. I am studying Music Theory to justify my playlist. If I am not reading, writing, wrestling, or practicing something, I am definitely procrastinating. PAGE 5 | LATINEXPRESIÓN
MOROLEÓN
ZEPÓL ZÉTROC AÍRAM
R A E R S E T E N D O E R U F P Á A O L N L N U A R R E A D O G P Y O Í O H U Q ESLE P A R A D A E D Y O S O Y PAGE 6 | LATINEXPRESIÓN
ELGIN
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O N I M A C L E S O R E D N M E A I E U R G I D S S Y O L O S O EST D O T E D PAGE 7| LATINEXPRESIÓN
10 SEÑALES DE ALARMA Fundación Honra is an organization that works to prevent domestic violence in dating relationships with unique focus on young people in Latin America. This list provides the 10 signals of alarm in relationships that could potentially become abusive. The use of emojis attempts to grab the attention of young viewers who are likely familiar with these digital symbols. The work was made by Eva Blumenfeld who during her semester abroad in Chile, worked with Fundacion Honra to create a digital archive of prevention media
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Martita, my abuelita ilegal A POEM BY DAN SICORSKY Foolish questions tend to come out From young little ones' spouts. Most are permissible, forgivable; But not this one. Not, "Marta, vos sos ilegal?" I was the little one, This 6-year-old, 1.5-er who knew not how to speak, For he was all but fit to live in los Estados Unis. His mother and sister and father all unready as he, But none as ilegal as Martita, you see? So when I asked her that day If she was illegal like the theft of the day, The rugged montañas peruanas on her face, Looked down at my smooth skin and said, "Sí, chico, mis papeles no existen aquí!"
Broom in one hand and pan in the other, Martita was an ama de casa, a nanny like no other. Call her what you may, it truly don't matter. Martita was only one thing to me, And abuelita, that is, one like a mother. Postiza, pretend abuelita, yes. For her real nietos and hijas and long-lost marido Were back in Perú, where little boys never, ever came out to call Martita, my Martita, A word, ilegal, that runs you through. Martita survived 13 years of recluse, Mostly because of her Biblia — I knew. She'd sit in a corner, and say, "Que Dios te bendiga, mi hijo," To me, the one who'd been such a brujo. PAGE 10 | LATINEXPRESIÓN
I felt badly, it's true, For asking my grandmother postiza If she was illegal — like a taboo. But her 78 years, strong and shrewd, Never said anything but, "Perdóname tú." Perdóname — forgive me — por qué? Wasn't it I who launched the tirade? I continued the crime of treating humans like moves in a game? Illegal, Ilegal, Ilegalllll, It sounded to me like someone needed a slap. But Martita? Martita would never. That thought wouldn't cross her mind ever. She saw this little boy really knew no better. And, Martita thought, her papeles weren't any better. Besides, little boy knew, papeles or not, Martita was staying. And stay she did, for trece años enteros. Ilegal for four thousand days she lasted. One day, though, I'm sure she was aghasted. The pesos rained down on her familia, But Martita, the cloud, más no podía. Undocumented as can be, Martita Was the reason the little boy grew as he did. He made the mistake a few times, ok, But he never again confused dreamers for criminals No one was illegal, not on this planeta, for heaven's sake. Illegal is no name for abuelitas. But Martita was too kind a chica, So the little boy's question, "Sos ilegal?" Swept by as she stiffened. Never, I know now, had she ever been so sickened. Martita was a worker, a fighter, a luchadora, And she deserved everything but a life lived hora by hora.
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Ones and Twos WAKE UP, SHOWER, BRUSH YOUR TEETH THROW SOME CLOTHES ON PUT ON CAP, COVER YOUR RED, BLOODSHOT EYES PRACTICE YOUR FAKE SMILE AND LAUGH GO TO SLEEP
by David Leon WAKE UP, SHOWER, TEETH, PUT SOME MUSIC ON DOOD TAKE 10 MINUTES TO CHOOSE AN OUTFIT TRY TO LOOK GOOD, TRY TO IMPRESS SMILE WHEN YOU SMELL THE AIR GO TO SLEEP
I HAVE A GRADED INTERVIEW TOMORROW BUT INSTEAD I SIT ON MY BED THINKING ABOUT A GIRL I’M GOING TO MAKE HISTORY AT WASHU BUT I KEEP WONDERING IF IT WILL BE ENOUGH HISTORY? FIRST-GENERATION LATINO BUT NOW WHAT IF I FAIL?
SMART, CAPABLE, BRILLIANT BUT I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING. WHY ARE WE BORN TO BE THESE FUNCTIONING LIVING HUMANS? TALK TO ME TWO DAYS IN A ROW IT WON’T BE THE SAME PERSON
1. I’M MAJORING IN FINANCE AND MARKETING ON THE PRE LAW TRACK 2. I’M MAJORING IN COMPUTER SCIENCE AND ECONOMICS 1. I LOVE ALAS 2. I’M GOING TO QUIT ALAS 1. I AM INTELLIGENT, CAPABLE, AND SMART 2. I CAN’T DO THE ACCOUNTING HOMEWORK
1. I LOVE YOU 2. I DON’T LOVE YOU 1. I SLEPT SO NICELY LAST NIGHT 2. I STILL HAVEN’T SLEPT 1. I’M GOING TO MAKE IT SO BIG IN LIFE 2. I WANT TO DIE 1. THERE’S NO ONE BETTER THAN ME 2. EVERYONE’S BETTER THAN ME
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1. YEAH, OF COURSE I’M HAPPY 2. MAYBE ONE DAY I’LL BE HAPPY 1. I AM STRONG 2. I CRIED ALL NIGHT 1. EVERYBODY LOVES ME 2. YOU’RE NOT LOVABLE 1. BE SOCIAL, BE VIBRANT 2. DON’T LEAVE YOUR ROOM
TO MY PEOPLE DEPRESSION, BIPOLAR DISORDER, AND ANXIETY ARE A FIGMENT OF OUR IMAGINATION YOU’RE TOLD TO STUDY AND FOCUS ON SCHOOL, NOT YOUR EMOTIONS DEPRESSION, BIPOLAR DISORDER, ANXIETY LOOK UP THEIR DEFINITIONS BUT REALLY THEY’RE INDESCRIBABLE WORDS
BIPOLAR DISORDER: BEING KNOWN AS SOCIAL AND VIBRANT BY ONE AND SAD, QUIET, AND SHY BY OTHERS BEING WITH THE PERSON THAT MAKES YOU THE HAPPIEST, YET STILL BEING SAD GOING FROM LAUGHS TO FROWNS FASTER THAN THE SNAP OF YOUR FINGERS
1. SMILE 2. CRY 1. SHOW THE WORLD YOUR BEAUTIFUL PERSONALITY 2. MOPE AROUND AND BE SAD 1. THE PAST IS IN THE PAST 2. WHAT IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN? 1. HELLO 2. GOODBYE
DEPRESSION: THAT SHUDDERING FEELING YOU GET WHEN YOU’RE IN LOVE, GETTING RIPPED OUT OF YOUR HEART DOING THE THING THAT YOU LOVE, AND NOT LOVING IT HAVING THE WORLD CONSTANTLY TELL YOU YOU’RE SMART, YET NOT HAVING THE CONFIDENCE OR SELF-ESTEEM TO THINK SO TOO
ANXIETY: CONSTANT WORRY THAT EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING IN YOUR LIFE WILL DISAPPEAR THE STRESS AN EXAM GIVES YOU WHEN THERE’S NO EXAM PANIC, CONSTANT PANIC FOR THE SMALLEST OF REASONS
Wake up, shower, brush your teeth Throw some clothes on Put on cap, cover your red, bloodshot eyes Practice your fake smile and laugh Go to sleep
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QUITARSE LOS MIEDOS
Together they stood, one on top of the other— The stool and the boy, above it he'd utter With a voice that sung At the top of his 3-year-old lungs, A song that went something like this:
BY DAN SICORSKY
Se ́ que las ventanas se pueden abrir. Cambiar el aire depende de ti. Te ayudara, vale la pena una vez ma ́s . It was his job, his parents had told him: Learn this song, pass the time along Until we return from our luna de miel. The newlywed couple, one 24 years older than the other.
They returned to the casa, and there stood their Dancito. Singing Color Esperanza with all his vozita. On top of that stool, he looked like a midget. He knew all the words and sounded committed. Not sure what they meant, he said the words with his Argentino accent: Saber que se puede, querer que se pueda. Quitarse los miedos, sacarlos afuera. Los miedos. The fears. How could he know what those were in those years? He'd soon find out, when the family chose to transport Their lives, their bodies, and all their rapports To a country just across the seas. PAGE 14 | LATINEXPRESIÓN
Dancito was scared. Would he be prepared? He made every effort. (The first day of school, he packed all his letters.) He'd cry and cry, beg to go home— Mami, volvamos a casa, he'd say No mi amor, we're here to stay. And stay they did. For año s and año s. Things would get better, they said—it seemed an engaño . But they were right, life got better. Things really were greater than ever. Los miedos were gone, for ever and ever. Sometimes, he remembers his stool, How he stood on top of it, thought he was cool. He remembers this line, How it seemed like a sign. PAGE 3 | LATINEXPRESIÓN
Pintarse la cara color esperanza, it went. It's crazy, all it came to represent: Paint your face with the colors of hope. Maybe that's how through the miedos and fears He was able to hope.
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lotería
CAROL PAZOS LOTERÍA OF MY DIFFERENT IDENTITIES
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A STORY FOR LISA AND MR. M Ted Flaherty The sun peaked through the bus windshield, bathing the seats in a warm, golden glow. It was a strange day, yet uneventful so far. In the morning, there had been no one of note to tell stories of to his coworkers. But the sun was setting, and that led to a whole host of characters coming out from the depths of this place. Like the time a dog rode the bus all by itself. He was all set to go, two dollars tucked in his collar. He was the most polite rider the bus driver ever had. Or when his bus became an impromptu ambulance for a woman expecting a child. That was certainly stressful, and the bus driver was glad he was just a bus driver. Too much pressure on ambulance drivers. In 1985, there had been some sort of storm. Almost shattered his windshield. Or maybe it was ‘88. But his bus was sturdy; it held up against nature. He knew this route better than anyone. Left on Crescent. Right on Maple. He wondered what people thought of him and his job. After all, he was just a bus driver. No illustrious degree, no expensive car, no fancy house. But he wasn’t complaining. Todo en moderación, his parents would always say. They came from Colombia and had built a little world for themselves here. They adhered to their sayings like flies on flypaper.
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Take the next step. The bus driver didn’t mind his job. He got to see and do a lot more than people realized. Because his route was so long, he got to see all the best parts of the city. The graffiti corner, filled with incredible street art, some of the best he’d ever seen. Trumpeter’s Alley, where they always put on concerts for the holidays. Even the city lights and sunsets, which came every night but still were mesmerizing. And though he was just a bus driver, but he would do small things too, for those who needed it on his bus. He mostly just talked to people. Occasionally, these talks would be long, as long as his route, or as long as they needed to be. Sometimes they just needed to talk. Sometimes they just needed someone to listen. Sometimes they needed someone to mediate. The bus driver did what he could to help. People said he was a hero for what he did during the storm. Driving families, old folks, those who couldn’t afford a car or those who simply couldn’t drive. Hours and hours of dangerous maneuvers just before the surge came in. He was happy to help. But he didn’t think he was a hero. He was just the bus driver.
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f l e mys Dancing Into
How I navigated culture, dance, and my perspective of self
I don’t know when it started. If there were one moment when I suddenly lost the words to talk to my friends or look in the mirror, then it all would’ve been so much clearer to my fourth grade mind. But no, this suffocating feeling came in waves and the fact that I could not stand myself was never so intense as when it was in front of the floor to ceiling mirror of the dance studio. Folklorico is a very singular dance and it had been something I loved the rhythm of the steps, the smell of the old studio, the melody of songs with words that I could not understand had always been soothing. I used to be proud of the way I learned how to move my skirt and do complex steps - it was something no one else at my school did and something that brought me closer to my family. But that year, when I was 10 and lonely and so painfully confused, then I could not handle it. There was a deep discomfort with myself that I could not shake.
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Every dance practice became a mental battle, the culmination of the insecurities I had suppressed throughout the week. To my young mind, there was nothing so dramatic as being forced to confront myself in front of that mirror. To me practice represented everything about myself that I despised and did not know how to fix - here, I had neither the Spanish nor the English to talk to my friends, I saw everyday that I was not as thin as other girls, I was forced to embody a version of hyper-femininity, that all types of dance impose on women, but in that moment I saw as in direct conflict with the way I wanted to exist. I wanted to cut my hair off and wear baggy clothing and run so far that I didn’t feel angry anymore, but no, here I was in a stuffy studio being told to smile, to hold my head up, to wear skirts and makeup that felt so wrong on my body.
Coming into college, I had accepted that I would never do folklórico again. If I never went back to dance when the studio was 5 minutes away from my house, how could I pick it up again in Missouri? But at the end of my first semester, when I saw that there was an opportunity to dance again, I had to take it even though I was terrified that once I put on those shoes again the intensity of that old self-hatred would come back and knock me off my feet.
Eventually I quit and walked away from the activity that had once given me so much joy. In the moment this was the right decision, but years later I had always regretted it. If I had the power to vocalize and deal with my feelings when I was 10, how good could I have become? If I had stayed, could I have learned how to connect with my culture instead of throwing it all away?
by Sienna Ruiz
But the music came on, and it turned out dance was waiting for me. Folklorico forgave me for leaving so long ago; it wasn’t that I had a secret talent and became so much more skilled in the moment but that the muscle memory was there and that was enough. I was no longer the insecure girl, weighed down by shame, afraid of her own reflection.
Latinx Style We documented how Latinx students expressed themselves, and their culture, hrough their style
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Thomas Neira "I feel like I pick my outfits depending on the colors that best represent my mood. The only exception to that is when I go allblack because that is classic."
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Sienna Ruiz "I would describe my style as where 12 year old boy from the 80's meets grandmother I'm not really too sure what that means but I like to try to give off that vibe."
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Zach Otero "“If I could describe my style in one word it would be comfy. Fall is always a plus because I finally get to wear sweaters, bomber jackets, hoodies, etc. I like to think I dress somewhat bohemian/urban, but then again you can definitely tell I’m a small town midwestern boy from the array of checkered flannels in my closet.”
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Nydia Monroy I;d think my style is very warm and thrifty. I like buying items of clothing that I know no one else owns and are unique, plus shopping second-hand is just an all around win. I also like looking for pieces that remind me of my culture, or sporting the few items I do have that are more traditionally Mexican along with my favorite pair of gold hoops."
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David Leรณn No description needed.
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BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR
CARNAVAL 2018
AUDITIONS WILL BE TAKING PLACE EARLY NEXT SEMESTER Carnaval will be on March 30th and 31st