“Sally at the Window” By David M. Taylor
Legacy By Tessie Martinez Herrasti Her memory was fading in me, and yet I missed her at every moment. I felt robbed of time, of her presence. This is maybe why I escaped, why Mexico felt so haunting, so difficult to set foot in. Has it been twelve years already? I can’t seem to remember, I have been gone from my country for so long in the pursuit of happiness, freedom, and opportunity. Today I was finally back. What a turbulent journey to return to this surreal kingdom, with its old smell of chocolate and pepitas covering my nostrils, impregnating my senses with memories long buried. I feel an epic and melancholic atmosphere of nostalgia surrounding me. The feelings of my gente, my place. For a long time, I was a European version of myself. I believed that I didn’t deserve my Aztec blood because of my white skin. I assumed I wasn’t Mexican enough to speak Tlaloc’s name or to invoke the Coatlicue. My world was that of ancient narratives, I kept convincing myself that I was unworthy of my ancestors, unworthy of my own belonging. Today is a warm day, sunny and beautiful, the perfect weather, not too cold, not too hot. I am ready to see my brothers again and hold them so tight to prove to them that I never left. Instead, I bought a ticket to Quetzálan, the misty town with the paved stone paths and the bridge of niebla where I once loved someone with passion.
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