september: chiles rellenos

Per usual, this is another letter for you.

Did you wonder if I loved you today? If so, the answer is yes, I do.

Sometimes I feel like I’m writing to 24-year-old you, not 48-year-old you. I imagine you much more handsome back then, without as much charm as you have now. You’re a tricky one, un mañoso.

Pero me encantan tus mañas.

Here I am writing again because I can’t stop thinking of you. I hope we live together soon. If we could get a dog, I’d like an Australian shepherd or a medium-sized mutt.

The other night I cooked for you. I think I surpassed your expectations, or passed some sort of secret test of yours. You will mostly cook, and I will cook twice a week, alternating Monday, Friday, and Sundays. I won’t confess it directly to you, but I have the intention of trying out new recipes so I can perfect at least 3 dishes for you. You are my old man. “The way to a mans heart is through his stomach”… (and before that his anus, maybe?)

I made Chile rellenos for you, you liked them and you I saved the recipe for the future, I will write it and keep it for you.

you ate 3! 1 poblano, and 2 jalapeños. recipe:

Chiles Prep

4 Poblano (pref for special occasions,) or 6 Jalapeños

roast the peppers until blacked, cover with lid if roasting in a pan or enclose in a bag

leave in bag/closed until your relleno is finished. should be cooled by then

peel black skin, use spoon or hands. be careful to not touch the seeds! can be very spicy/burn

cut open, devein. Once cleaned fill in with relleno, toss in flour until coated. dip and cover in turrón, add to hot frying pan

relleno

1 tomato, diced

1/2 white onion,diced

1 clove of garlic, minced

1 Chile serrano, diced

vegan “ground beef”

pinch of salt

sprinkle of pepper

flour

2 tablespoons of fresh cilantro, chopped (or you can use 1 tablespoon of fresh mint, if you want to amaze yourself)

place pan over medium heat, add a tsp of oil (avocado oil was used), once oil toss in vegan beef.

once the nonmeat is in small pieces, add chopped onion and minced garlic. Wait until browned, add tomato and Serrano. add salt and pepper. Stir occasionally, make sure ingredients are well mixed together.

turrón

3 egg whites

1 yolk

jugo Magi (this is a secret I learned from an aunt)

Beat egg whites until foamy. Best test, hold the recipient you are using upside down, if it slides, keep beating.

Once fluffed, add egg yolk, 2 splashes of jugo magi, stir in until well blended.

sauce

1 roma tomato, the redder the better

1 Chile serrano

1 clove of garlic

boil, then blend. add to hot skillet, stir, add salt and pepper to taste,

optional, touch of oregano

add warm sauce over hot Chile. serve with red rice rec.

I love that both of us know how to cook. Good memories with you are replacing the bad ones. Maybe things can be fixed. I hope so, I love you.

“Like Water for Chocolate” by Laura Esquivel is one of my favorites, for corny, obvious reasons. I hope you enjoy it.

love that book, its so cute. beautiful, romantic, makes your heartache, perfect for me.


I’d like to learn chiles en nogada, my favorite Mexican delicacy. Mole is also on the list.

enchantment

“Sortilegio” por Antonio Bandu

Enchanting woman,

Black magic in your stare,

You must have a spell you use to bewitch,

Your ribbon lips must have red magic,

the moment I kiss them they awake my heart.

An enchanting love,

that dies as soon as it starts.

In my life,

you have been the greatest mystery to love.

When I least suspected,

the spell was broken,

and the castle that was formed, collapsed.

a little story

I said I would write a story,

Not sure if it would be a happy or sad one but I promised I would.

Its late at night and I am drinking again. Not sure if its to escape reality or to destress while reading and dissecting articles of our impending economical doom.

I keep thinking of piggies, so perhaps its appropriate I create a short story and metaphor.

So there was once a piggy. Short, round, a baby. Offspring of prize-winning swine – fine is not an adjective to describe this domesticated animal.

This piggy grew, and my, what a beast he became! Huge, robust. A meaty contender. A fearsome and awesome hog. The farmer fed him what he could, but the pig always wanted more. He had to have his own pen, unshared, because with his size he easily would kill any other piggies that tried to munch on the slaw allotted.

The farmer thought him to be magnificent enough to take to a county fair, perhaps win a prize.

So the farmer had his 2 children usher the beast into a portable trailer. Unfortunately, the farmer underestimated the power of the hog and this animal then trampled and killed his 2 children.

The hog did not go to the fair. It did not win any prizes.

Its consumption did not bring him a life of breeding for him, or comfort. Instead, the farmer decided to kill the beast and use the carnage to feed the town, no charge.

This 1,000 pound pig who would not cease to eat, who would not share, shared the same fate as all the rest of the pigs. Death, consumption. Perhaps there was more joy and celebration in the death of the other pigs before him, but this huge pig was not missed nor celebrated.

And thats what I think of the elite.

You can monopolize, consume, take advantage of the hand that feeds you.

But you will die the same death as us, and you will not be missed. Your half-assed philanthropy will not save you, and no one will shed a tear. Your children are part of the elite, so their emotions and feelings are worthless in the grand scheme of things.

I truly don’t think there is anything wholesome or good that can come from your allotted money.

My suggestion to you is to give it away for free.

Ask for nothing in return.

Give, to strangers, to beautiful young girls, to non-profits, to organizations abroad, to individuals who don’t necessarily share their story.

You don’t need all that money.

You are more than fine with half of it.

Give it to brown people, to black people, to communities that know how to speak and understand the Earth and Universe in ways that you’ve only read about.

Send to me, a Goddess,

Send,

give it away.

I made you rich.

‘who Understands This Love” – Galy Galiano

“She, she says that she loves me

She then later says that she hates me,

She wakes up happy

And the next day she’s upset.

Complacent, indifferent,

Who understands this love?

She, she is very beautiful its true.

She, she is a mystery

I love her with all her defects,

For me, everything is perfect when we are in bed

Who understands this love?

Who understands this love

With everything and for everything,

she is like this

But with everything and for everything,

I love her.

I like seeing her enraged, oh at me

When she turns her back to me, and walks

She makes me lose my mind;

As her dress clings,

She dominates me.

I can’t spend a day without seeing her

I am happy by her side,

She changes everything,

She becomes owner of everything,

With her love.

Who understands this love?

I like seeing her angry; I later make her laugh and she kisses me.

With her caresses she drives me wild,

And with her slights that affect me,

I let her be!

I only want her to live with me,

for this love to be forever.

Because she is my life and my death,

that is what makes her so different.

Who understands this love?

Who understands?”


One of my favorite salsa songs, I think Latino men can be submissive when in love, if not all men.

I think true love makes us all submit, even just a little. For a fleeting moment.

amour, ma vie

What more can I do, at this point I can either wait and see your true passion or leave and never turn back.

I deserve more than what you are currently giving.

Call me greedy. Call me ravenous. But I am not in the wrong.

I wish you hadn’t plucked me.

Why keep me if you’re just going to let me wither,

was I not prettier while growing, expanding

I do not want to be flora that will be replaced after the freshness is gone

Toss me to the wind, let me be.

Or keep me,

press me,

Preserve me in the heart of your favorite book,

Place me between the pages of your most wonderful memory,

Treasure me.


Me recuerdas demasiado de mi mas fatal amor.

Un amor que deseo revivir jamás.

Me encuentro preguntado a mi misma, por que te amo así; por que la verdad un anglo-sajón no merece una pasión así.

Siendo franca, tu mereces una aburrida blanca igual que tu. Atole de agua. Bolillo seco. Arroz aguado que nadie quiere.

Deberías agradecer la vida todas las mañanas y noches por haberme conocido. Yo, todo una mujer. Divina feminidad. Una Diosa.

Yo te amo con sinceridad.

Y si algún dia me arrepiento de haberte amado tanto, que así sea, que por lo menos este amor me ha inspirado a escribir versos y mejorar mi labia cada día.

Y si algún dia tu llegas a leer y entender todas estas dedicaciones de amor, no me dará vergüenza.

Que las letras que te he dedicado han sido y serán las mas finas.

Ojala que aprendas mi lengua, la que tanto te encanta sentir pasar sobre tu piel. Para que sepas que soy una gran poeta y escritora en dos mundos.

piedras: melancholia

When I reflect upon my life, I always try to see it from the perspective of an outside force.

Because truly, no one else’s perspective matters. I no longer question “why” I went through or go through things. I just accept my challenges and blessings as they present themselves.

Also really grateful I haven’t been married/had the need to and that I have no kids.


I’ve learned to wash my clothes on rocks since as early as I can remember, probably 10 years old I started to really get the knack of it and at 17, I was pretty skilled.

At 17, I had already made friends with other indigenous and mestizo girls my age from my grandparent’s village. My cousin, them, and I would go as a group together down to the riverbank, hauling either a sack or cart-full of laundry as we walked down the unpaved roads.

We’d be laughing, joking about, well, teenage girl things. Our favorite time to go was about an hour or two before dusk. We knew they’d be almost no “Ama de casas” during the early evenings, meaning we could be free to talk about what we please without fear of being eavesdropped.

I didn’t care about others hearing my conversations, but then again I didn’t live there year-round and being a USC gave me a pass on many things that would be considered offensive if done by others.

The Sun never seems to want to go away when you’re near the equator, I’m glad there are parts on Earth that relatively unscathed by European bull shit.

Our favorite parts of the banks are were the water was the calmest and not so deep. Out of our group of 3-5 girls, only another girl and myself could swim. Both her and I were able to dive into the deeps of the river and find the best rocks to throw and scrub our dirty clothes on.

I recall diving and finding the perfect slab, a bit porous, but not overly so, just enough to be abrasive. I’d grab the slab with both my hands, wiggling it around, and prying it up from the sandy bottom without disturbing the water or bottom too much. Its hard for me to imagine that I actually could go longer than 2 minutes under water while making an extraneous effort to lift a 20 pound slab of rock stuck in clay and sand. It was no deeper than 10-12 feet underwater, but my cousin and the other girls were afraid of the current.

I’d usually help my cousin and dive one for her as well, but sometimes she was a bitch and it was sweet revenge to see her wash her clothes on a not so perfect rock or a boulder.

The best slab should be about 2-3 feet long and wide.

We’d place them against the roots of a tree if the river was overgrown or against a boulder, ensuring ourselves it was sturdy before continuing with our task. Optimal condition is when the river is a little overflowing, enough that the water is at or just above our knees.

  1. Hardest articles should be washed first, as to not tire yourself too quickly. Things such as jeans or towels. (if you were lucky though, your parents owned a small plug in washer for towels and blankets)
  2. You submerge the article of clothing completely, or you had a little bowl to use to scoop up water from the river to pour over the clothes.
  3. All about arm strength, baby. You sprinkle laundry detergent over your clothes and use every muscle in your arm to froth the article back and forth, flipping it over after your done with one side.
  4. Once it is all frothy and suddy, you can either submerge it in the water or use the bowl again.
  5. You twist and squeeze the article until it is barely dripping any water and you throw it into a clean large bucket, sack, or cart.

Maybe some will argue that this is polluting, but I’ll counter argue that polluting is when governments allow transnational corporations to use these same rivers to dump their waste.

If I ever went in the mornings, it was with my grandmother. It was like, a communal event to wash your clothes in the river in the mornings. Almost every woman in town would be there, if she wasn’t there already yesterday. Some would be done with their laundry for the day, sitting at the high banks breast feeding their baby or catching up with a friend or sister. Some women, mostly the older ones, would go shirtless or completely sans-bra. It was a safe place, free of judgement. No men. The only males there, if any, were under 5 years of age.

Matriarchal.

I never experienced anything as similar to that, and I don’t think I ever will again.

I can thank transnational corporations (again), narcos, and politics for that.

Hate men, mostly white, rich men. You ruin everything. I enjoy ruining your cookie-cut life.

06/04 – “Xica da silva”

Vanilla life has been kicking my ass the past 10 days, and I have a 6 day vanilla work day coming up u_u but it does end with 3-day weekend. Most likely will take a technology detox on Catalina Island.


Surprise, surprise. I got back with my ex.

We spent the last weekend fucking, and when we weren’t messing around we were out in nature, cooking, or watching movies. I’ll add that -I- fucked him first the night before I let his silly cock slip inside me again ❤

We talked the day after Father’s Day and put everything on the table. I don’t ask for much, but expect a lot. If that makes sense. I didn’t compromise (I’m not at fault lol), but he did.

Its upsetting to realize that I am profusely in love with this middle-age, capitalist white man. I used to be anti-white in my teens till probably 20; very Chicanx, a self-proclaimed socialist and vocal about issues in the brown community until my abusive ex broke me lol. I wouldn’t even engage with white bois unless it was to humiliate them.

I think in part why I am so enamored by him is because by learning about him, I learn somewhat more about white American culture. As a rule of thumb, I am indifferent towards all new white Americans that I meet. I think the brown narrative default is to hate them, but personally, they don’t deserve that much passion from my part.

I don’t even hate Trump supporters. I just have no respect for them.

I do hate the Eurocentric values that were forced upon us, and the patriarchy. The darker her skin, the more value I place on Her views and desires.

Race doesn’t even exist, its all social constructs created by men and the Catholic Church.

The whites wipe out races, animals, and ecosystems… how do you not deserve to be punished lol. White women have furthered racist rhetoric throughout history, so when it comes to the topic of feminism I don’t really care what they have to say unless they are speaking on behalf of Brown and Black womxn to reach a larger audience.

I do love my boyfriend though, because he is always willing to learn. He has said very insensitive things, but only because no one told him he was wrong and luckily he now has me to make him a better human being 🙂


Currently, I’m contemplating whether to add a minor or double major to my degree. I’m taking summer classes, working, and still have to study for the LSAT! I probably won’t be able to take the LSAT until 2022 it seems like at this rate. I wonder what its like to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth sometimes.

— H

walt whitman

Este es mi diario, de los amores de mi vida y mis mas íntimos deseos.

Aspiro poder escribir versos hermosos y impactante, para compartirlos y enseñar que bonito se siente amar y adorar.

Yo no quise venir a este mundo, no fue mi decision.

Pero al fin al cabo estoy aquí.

Creci en tierras calientes, entre el Sur de California y la Península de Yucatan. He visto al hombre mas humilde, y al hombre con mas poder y dinero que tiempo.

La vida me ha quitado todo, y me ha dado todo.

En mi corazón, se que voy en camino al éxito.

Quisiera compartir mi jornada con ustedes, para que vean como crezco y obtengo mis metas. Aveces siento que tengo el favor del universo, porque ya me ha enseñado lo mas feo de la vida. Ahora me falta ver lo mas hermoso.

El poeta Americano, Walt Whitman, escribió el libro “Leaves of Grass” durante el transcurso de su vida. Muchos veneran a este libro como su autobiografía.

Gracias Walt, porque usted me ha inspirado y usted me da ánimos en escribir casi todos los días.

Yo se que su libro era una obra viviente, siempre mejorando hasta que usted estaba satisfecho; o el día de su muerte.

En mi mente, hay miles de imágenes y memorias que reservo.

Unas buenas, que me traen alegría o placer; otras que me dan miedo y rabia.

Mi vida no es como los de los demás. Y por eso lo relato. Necesito recordarme que yo sufri y gane mi estancia, sino me hare una malagradecida. Y eso repugno.

amor

Señor,

Licenciado,

Amor.

Que soy yo mas que una tonta niña,

profundamente enamorada de Usted.

Escribiendote versos en mi cuaderno, suspirando,

pensando,

en Usted.

Si usted fuera mi maestro, lo viera cada día después de clase

me sentaria sobre tus piernes,

meneandome,

solamente para verlo sonrojar

y gozare al sentir su pasión duro

debajo de mi.

“Sir”

capitalista

hombre blanco

la causa de la desgracia de civilizaciones en su cenit.

Señor mañoso,

que tomo ventaja de mi juventud y curiosidad.

Para despojarme de cada petalo de mi flor.

ay, pero amor

a la misma vez dándo mi cuerpo de beber

de su saliva dulce,

y del tan leve salado de su sudor.

como caen sus gotas sobre mi cara,

sobre mi cuerpo liso,

bañandome,

empapandome,

haciendo mi cuerpo relucir contra la luz de luna.

Sentiendote adentro de mi,

llenándome,

completándome;

cierro mis ojos, sonrio,

y te rezo

agradecida con usted por sedar mi sed.

Como si fueses Tlaloc y yo,

un campo lleno de flores, deseando brotar.

ay, pero Señor

no me llenas

te necesito cada alba,

cada noche

cada caloroso atardecer.

Ay, maestro

mi cuerpo joven se acostumbraron a sus manos sabias,

suaves, grandes, y pesadas.

escribes sobre mi

mas secretos de noches de locura y pasión.

Ay Señor,

enseñame amor de antaño.

Como se siente Señor,

de cautivar y ilusionar,

el corazón de esta niña mujer.

Tlaloc,

Mi Dios,

estoy muriendo de sed.


Señor marinero,

cai en tus redes sin darme cuenta.

Y al alzarme a tu barco,

viste a esta sirena encuerada y asustada.

Señor marinero,

te ruego que me dejes ir.

No me mires con esos ojos serenos y maduros,

que veo en su profundidad la lujeria que quema dentro

de ti.

Me tienes en tus redes,

sin pensar en mi.

sol

Me animas cada mañana que me saludas

Gracias por despertarme en las mañanas con tu caloroso abrazo,

Besandome la cara con tus rayos.

Gracias

Por mi tez morena,

Por alumbrar mi vida.

Quisiera adornarme con tus rayos, para poder resplandecer y compartir tus besos con mi alrededor

Usted que da vida a todo en este mundo,

entiendo por que lo veneran como Dios

rich white people can you stop taking shits in impoverished countries? because we are going to lose the remaining patrimonies humanity has.

my only solace is that the earth will not mourn you.

when will you reach your fill?