SOMOS Fall 2014

Front Cover Artist - Billy Sanchez ‘16 Attaining New Heights My mom always tells me, “Vuela como los halcones.

Nunca estes satisfecho en la Tierra. Los halcones vuelan alta alturas para ver y cazar.

Si vuelas sin alturas, vas a ver todo lo que te imaginas.” The painting is a representation of the beauty of our land and everything we care about.

The the river is painted in the Mexican flag colors. At the peak of the mountain, the Mexican flag symbolizes each one of us who, in looking to “sobre salir”, reaches new heights. Reaching these heights makes a difference not only in our own lives, but in our family’s, as well. We should all be soaring falcons, seeing to it that our dreams are fulfilled.

SOMOS

Brown University’s Latino Literary Magazine

Table of Contents fall 2014 • 4

8 A Night in Nicaragua Berke Buyukkucak

9 Riso Cassandra Pestana

9 beba bem gelada

Elaine Hsiang 10 Manuel Antonio Sunset

Nola Rich

11 Avozinha - Minha George Sanchez

12 Boyfriends 13 David Barrera 14 Mexicana Hasta la Muerte

Miriam Meza 15 Haiku

Laura Valle-Gutierrez 15 Loneliness

Elena Suglia 16 Mi Madre 17 Maryori Conde 18 Photo Blog Excerpt 19 Orlando Pardo Lazo 20 Interview 21 Orlando Pardo Lazo

fall 2014 • 5

Carrots, Potatoes ... 22 Alex Cerda Warmth 23 Rudy Torres Interview 24 Forrest Gander 25 One Love, One Life 26 Erick Guzman An Assertion Made... 26 Ryan Greene Ausencia 27 Lillian Domínguez Brianna / 1948 Chevy Panel 28 Erick Guzman El Camino No Viajado 29 Quinn Bornstein Ouvidos 30 George Sanchez Sprouting Seeds 31 Shayna Zema Remembering Chile 32 Rudy Torres The Light that Never Goes Out 33 Rudy Torres

SOMOS Fall 2014

Lillian Domínguez ‘16 Editor-in-Chief

Danalynn Domínguez ‘16 Adriana Vargas Smith ‘16 Devika Seeraj ‘16 Public Relations Chair Art Director Finance Officer

Anaisa Quintanilla ‘16 Spanish Editor

Angelica Waner ‘16 Spanish Editor

Gustavo Marquez ‘16 English Editor

Jacob Mukand ‘18 Portuguese Editor

Letter from the Editors

fall 2014 • 7

Dear Reader, This semester, SOMOS experienced a soul-searching of sorts. We aimed to revitalize not only the magazine, but its identity within the Brown community. This is, of course, an ongoing endeavor that we plan to develop with the coming semesters.

We received a record-breaking amount of submissions this Fall and were impressed with the quality of the work. In our attempt to better incorporate the Brown community with SOMOS, we feature Forrest Gander, a writer, translator, and Professor of Literary Arts at Brown, and Orlando Pardo Lazo, this year’s International Writers Project Fellow. In addition to these interviews, you will find an assortment of photography that will take you from Cuba, to Chile, to Costa Rica, to through the streets of California. There are expressive (and some even a tad political) poems and narratives in three languages as well as a translation of Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken”.

Whether this is your first time hearing about us, or if you’ve followed us religiously, it is our pleasure to present to you the Fall 2014 issue of SOMOS Latino Literary Magazine.

Sincerely,

The Editors

A Night in Nicaragua

fall 2014 • 8 I left the café, A bright, ungraspable night The sidewalk I’m on Sings unknown songs and then, And then there is a couple Walking by kissing each other’s faults, Wounds and even words Kiss me, you used to say Kiss me some more A breeze turns me There in the café I left Sitting on my chair, another me A me with a morose sea on his shoulders Maybe a bit more beard on his face A piece of music clenching his soul His hands touching a cold, dewy glass Touch me, you used to say Touch me where I want Nothing else but a blue night Stony street washed by elusive street lamps A woman lights up a cigarette Do you know what was in your voice?

A messy house Over and over again You fix your hair the loneliness tousled Dreams that I’ve never dreamt Children that I’ve never had A brutal melody of mother’s bosom Now I float and descend to your Reckless petals of mercy, like a bee Like a pearl hanging down your neck I’ve never made love, you used to say Love me some more

Berke Buyukkucak

fall 2014 • 9

Riso Nós todos rimos.

Mas nem todos da mesma maneira.

Você “kkkk” e ele “héhéhé” e ela “hahaha” e eu “jijiji” Estamos todos felizes.

Não é necessário rirmos da mesma forma.

Contanto que tentemos ler os sorrisos uns dos outros

Cassandra Pestana

beba bem gelada the sun sets too quickly for a day of rest a feather crosses the road violently a boy runs between pigeons two pairs of wings graze my ears the yacht clube clinks with change a churrasco smells more than a pocket’s worth the house of art paints the old village day after day it calls itself an antique i haven’t forgotten the taste of patience and açaí. the brief timeline of the old woman on the veranda sings: of little lions, of safety of greater purpose in begging - good night.

Elaine Hsiang

fall 2014 • 10

Manuel Antonio Sunset “Pura vida” is a common Costa Rican phrase.

Literally, it means pure life, plenty of life, or real living; it can be used as both a greeting and a farewell. Pura vida is an expression of eternal optimism but most importantly it is a way of life.

Taken in Manuel Antonio, these photographs are characteristic of the pura vida experience. They portray the natural beauty of Costa Rica thanks to its commitment to conservation. Costa Rica has been a leader in conservation policies with over 25 percent of its total landmass comprising of protected lands. Manuel Antonio is home to Costa Rica’s smallest national park, yet it contains tropical forests, mountains, beaches, coves, and coral reefs.

Thanks to Costa Rica’s commitment to protecting its natural resources, we can all appreciate its pura vida culture and strive to live in harmony with nature.

Nola Rich

fall 2014 • 11

Avozinha — Minha Segunda Mãe Desde que eu posso lembrar, a minha avó sempre estava lá para mim.

Antes de entrar na escola, eu ia passar todo o meu dia com ela. Comíamos juntos, assistíamos televisão juntos, fazíamos tudo juntos. Minha avó foi minha primeira amiga. Eu ainda posso lembrar-me da excitação que sentia ao chegar a sua casa. No primeiro dia da pré-escola, eu não conseguia suportar o pensamento de estar sem a minha avozinha. Até hoje, minha mãe me diz o quanto eu gritei e chorei por minha avó nesse dia quando eu tinha cinco anos. Mas eu me ajustei. Minha vida continuava sem ter a minha avó ao meu lado todos os momentos. Mas, ao fim de cada dia, quando a escola acabava, adivinhe quem estava ali me esperando.Saindo da escola, eu sempre via aquele carro verde, corria para ali, e lá estava a minha avó. Parece que ela sempre tinha tantas voltas para dar. Todos os dias ela ia me pegar, e todos os dias havia sempre tantas coisas para serem feitas. Mesmo até hoje, ela parece estar sempre ocupada. Mas, o primeiro na lista de coisas a fazer era sempre ir ao supermercado. Ainda me lembro de ir ao supermercado com ela. E eu ainda vou com ela sempre que estou em casa. Ela ainda fica muito feliz quando vê uma boa oferta.

Ela caminha pelos corredores do supermercado, recordando as ofertas da semana passada e comparando os preços em outros supermercados.

Quando eu era um menino, isso me irritava. Eu sempre a apressava. Mas agora, eu aprecio isso. Com o tempo, as coisas mudam e eu tive que ir embora para a universidade. Agora eu quase nunca estou em casa, e sempre estou ocupado e não falo com minha avozinha tanto quanto eu gostaria. No entanto, me adaptei. Mas aprendi alguma coisa vital. Por pouco que seja o tempo que passo em casa, vou fazer bom uso desse tempo. Vou fazer bom uso do meu tempo com a minha avó. Eu percebo que meu tempo com ela é valioso, e se ir pelos corredores do supermercado à procura de ofertas é o que ela quer fazer, é o que eu vou fazer também.

George Sanchez

fall 2014 • 12

Boyfriends

Whenever I think about my ‘coming out’ story or my ‘time in the closet’, my thoughts immediately backtrack to the first time I can remember my masculinity being examined as if under a microscope.

I am twelve years old and about halfway done with the hormonal hurricane that is seventh grade. The whole family – Mom, Dad, Joey, Bianca, and I – is at the dinner table. Less than three quick minutes into our meal, Mom begins a conversation I will never forget, “You know, I was talking to Tio Gringo yesterday and he said he sees you have a lot of girl friends at school, David.” I smile and nod, but I know where the conversation is heading and I begin to formulate a response. Tio Gringo, my Mom’s youngest brother, is a math teacher at my middle school and I know exactly what he was referring to. I’ve been visiting Melinda and Perla at their lockers before seventh period everyday because they are taking Home Making and always have some new food to share. His classroom is right next to their lockers.

“And then he said he’s never seen you hang out with any boys and asked me if you have any boy friends,” she says this with an expressionless look on her face and continues, “I didn’t know what to tell him because I’ve heard you talk about Olivia and Delilies, but I’ve never heard you talk about any boy friends. So, do you have any boy friends?” My sister starts giggling and my mother hastily adds, “You know what I mean. Do you have any friends that are boys?”

There it is.

The question cuts like a steak knife with extra fine ridges and I feel my muscles tense defensively. It seems like she has rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in her head. It’s a simple question, but its implications are absolutely killing me and I can’t seem to think straight.

In the next second, everyone’s eyes are on me while I fail to produce an answer.

A timid, “Yes” is the only word I can produce. I always knew I made friends more easily with girls than with boys, but I’ve never had to confront the issue or explain why. She then follows up with the question I was hoping would not come up. With the same stolid look on her face, she asks, “Who?”

Again, all eyes are on me. The room shrinks and the silence grows louder and louder.

I can sense my Dad and brother becoming nervous because they know I’m different. As the numbness starts to set in, I slowly list my male friends, “Mike, Jesus...” That’s it.

fall 2014 • 13 “Mike, Jesus...” That’s it. My mind draws a blank. I only have two male friends? I already know that a list of only two would not bode well for me, so I include the next male name I can think of, “Angeeel...” I draw out the last syllable so it’ll appear that I have a longer mental list.

“Okay,” Mom seems almost satisfied and I foolishly begin to think that I am in the clear. But she’s not done. All I want is for her to drop the issue, but she won’t let up. She proceeds, “Then Tio Gringo asked about the chores you do around the house.

He asked if we make you do manly things like mow the lawn or wash the truck.” As she said that word, manly, she deepened her voice, lowered her chin, and clenched her fists.

“What?” Dad’s first word in the entire conversation, “what did you tell him?”

Everyone at the table seems either offended or confused by Tio Gringo’s question. At this point I am simply sitting there, detached from the conversation and from myself.

There’s a delay before Mom answers Dad’s question. With a stern look on her face and a sense of anger in her voice she says, “I told him ‘Don’t tell me how to raise my son’.”

Although slightly disappointed with her answer, I am relieved the attention has shifted away from me and toward my Mom’s parenting. Before I know it, the conversation is over but the tension in the air lingers. I have never finished a meal more quickly than I did that night.

In retrospect, that ‘conversation’ was hardly a conversation as the exchanges were more akin to an interrogation. The ways in which I am different from my Dad and brother are so distressingly apparent that I am always the elephant in the room, the black sheep, the ugly duckling. Despite what I believe to be clearly discernible, this is the first and only moment my family discusses my masculinity and me. Luckily for them, they have the luxury of choosing when they want to talk or think about it.

While my family has this freedom, I’m under constant surveillance of what I say, where I look, and even how I move my arms. In less than a second, those two simple questions painfully rip away all of my protective barriers; much like ripping off a Band-Aid. “Do you have boy friends?”

“Who?” In that moment, I was fully exposed for who I was and the discomfort that ensued led my family to discontinue discussion of the topic, indefinitely.

David Barrera

fall 2014 • 14

Mexicana Hasta La Muerte When I was creating this piece, I was inspired by the lasting impacts Mexican culture has had on me. Although I have been living in New York for most of my life, I was born in Mexico and was raised in the Mexican culture. Everyone should remember where they come from and continue celebrating that origin no matter where they end up! Being Latino is something we all carry to the grave and should be proud of.

Miriam Meza

fall 2014 • 15 I’m lonely today And you were lonely before But today I’m home Laura Valle-Gutierrez

Loneliness my whole life I have wandered through an apple orchard only to watch the apples float away with every step, another fruit pops off its branch and, tantalizing, soars off into the distant, vast sky bobbing about my person like a kite string trailing from my receding footsteps I can see them, but only if I look behind me the wind: all the time too strong against the efforts of men presently, I yank the string against the buffets but those fruits must always be bye-passed my only hope is to catch a seed and watch it as it springs forth, sprightly; to nurture my own apple tree whose apples will not leave me Elena Suglia

fall 2014 • 16

Mi Madre My mother was illegal at the age of 17 Her tongue thick with Pupusas Kolashampan and Barrio San Antonio Stuttered Couldn’t say Capitalism Selfishness Greed Running to a land that Anglos back home promised would give her the money she needed The money all nine of her siblings needed The money her father needed To heal her mother’s Diabetes Menopause Damaged small intestine Was to be able to be gained through shame Through hiding Through being an alien At the age of 17 She got on a bus with my Tía Caro As she waved good-bye To her father’s back To her carnavales To the possibility of never getting a hug from her sick mother Or a kiss on her cheek from her father

At the age of 17 She ironed the clothes of all the inhabitants Of the apartment she lived in With her hands cramped and red She prepared dinner for my Tía Glori and her family At the age of 19 She worked 5 hours away from the apartment 6 days week Babysitting an Anglo toddler Slept in this home Spoke Spanish to a baby who responded in English At night her dreams were colored by La playa Las Tunas Making tortillas en el Molino with her sisters Eating Sal y Tortillas Waking up to the cries of a toddler As she silenced her own She was only 17 in a place that resembled prosperity The one she wished to achieve one day At the age of 21 She was married She still babysat toddlers She had a daughter She was still illegal

fall 2014 • 17

Pero mami, I promise not to forget mi Español And her mother died How to cook comida Salvadoreña And she couldn’t say good-bye Your smile, your hugs, your advice And she couldn’t go to her viewing I promise to buy you the house you dream of And she couldn’t go to her funeral In a barrio with But she had a newborn baby No tagging But she had to work No cat-calling But she had a husband who was an alcoholic No permanent scent of weed She couldn’t grieve I’ll buy you your house painted Her daughter now 18 Pacific Ocean blue outside Now going to college And Maseca-white walls inside Now leaving her side for 3 months at a time A house filled with a scent of tortillas, frijoles, She’s scared pupusas She remembers all she’s endured A house that feels like mi abuela’s hugs and mi All she’s faced abuelo’s kiss on the cheek And she’s scared My mother who was illegal at 17 She won’t be able to tell her daughter her strugLegal at 25 in the eyes of America gles anymore Was only undocumented at 17 and a citizen at Because her daughter will now have her own 25 She won’t have her daughter sleeping with her and But was always human her youngest daughter Ashley A woman like many other undocumented immiShe won’t have her daughter cradle her grants When she cried because of heartbreak Whether Latino, Asian, European, African, or any Insufficient money other Ethnic variation Because she can’t pay her daughter’s tuition Who came not to be an She’s scared because she won’t be able to tell her Alien daughter to go to church Ostracized To drink her vitamins Jailed To sleep Assimilated She’s scared her daughter will find mom in someBut to help all that was left behind one else Now isn’t that living Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?

Maryori Conde

fall 2014 • 18

Orlando Pardo Lazo

fall 2014 • 19

Orlando Pardo Lazo

fall 2014 • 20

An Interview with Cuban Refugee

Orlando Pardo Lazo

Q: You have a strong science education background. How did you end up as a poet and photographer?

I got my degree as a biochemist in 1994 and worked as a molecular biologist for 5 years in Cuba.

I’ve published scientific papers and patents, but I had small conflict of interest. In Cuba, no matter what professional field you choose, if you don’t share the official viewpoint of the government, they will tell you that you are not ‘idóneo’; that you are not qualified to be in that field. But these aren’t professional requirements, they are referring to a ‘lack of loyalty’ to the government.

So, I put more energy into my writing and decided that maybe there I could find a little more tolerance. I love my profession, and when I close my eyes I feel it, but I would not go back because I really love writing and I would like to finish a couple of books. One of which brought me here to Brown.

Q: You were arrested in Cuba as a result of your poetry and other inflammatory work. Why did you continue pursuing this work despite the political and social dangers that would inherently follow?

In late 2008, I had already published four short books. Then I started blogging - same material, still provocative. And there wouldn’t have been a problem, but there was an emerging blogger movement in Cuba. The problem wasn’t the literature; it was because I was a social activist.

I didn’t do it to be courageous. I wanted to continue my work because in a society so boring like Cuba, a writer is like an island within an island. In a socialist system, nobody tries to socialize; they try not to get into trouble. I had nothing to talk or write about and I wasn’t sure exactly what I was doing, but I wanted to write.

fall 2014 • 21

Q: Do you still have family in Cuba? How has your relationship with them been since the censorship of your work, and your move to the U.S? In Havana, I lived with my mother. I’m an only child, so it has been difficult for her. While I was still in Cuba, she couldn’t help me because when [the government] comes for you, they come for you….

She suffered a lot in the last few years and I was feeling that I was affecting her with my activities so I considered quitting, but she has always encouraged me. She wanted to visit me recently, but she was denied the US visa.

A lot of people have been in solidarity with me. In my blogs you’ll find this diasporic notion. Many people have helped me as if they knew me from always. I call that virtual citizen - neighbors connected by a digital bridge.

Q: How has the internet changed Cuban society and the way that the Cuban people interact with the government?

‘Es una pelea de leon contra mono y el mono con las manos amarradas’.

We don’t have internet in Cuba, so you have to go to the black market. It’s dangerous, but it’s the only option. You have to be wise and find alternative spaces…getting help from wherever it may come because [the Cuban government] really wants you to remain silent.

Online, you get a better perspective of Cuba than you would in the actual streets of Cuba. You can find the best of Cuban culture elsewhere. In Cuba, you’ll only have the myth of the original…there is nostalgia for the homeland, but you can’t do anything with that homeland. To be Cuban you have to be in Brown University. To be Cuban, you have to be elsewhere.

For a while, Cuba got a lot of immigrants but now we send immigrants. During the last years, more than 200,000 Cubans migrated by legal terms Why? It’s a symptom. Because something is missing in the spirituality of our country…something, I won’t tell you what, because I don’t know what it is…

fall 2014 • 22 CARROTS, POTATOES, SQUASH, ONION, CHICKEN, CHICKEN BROTH, SALT, AND WATER

Everything was in pastel and our clothes were made of cotton. We were driving inside a round Ford and it was no later than 1959. I was in the backseat with my little sister, my mother was in the front passenger seat, and my father was driving. I don’t remember their faces, but somehow I knew who they all were. Suddenly, I saw myself. There I was, sitting down in the backseat of a 1950s Ford. Dead. Anita. That had been my name, but I looked like Teri. I looked like myself.

Teri told me this story after I had asked if she believed in reincarnation.

She said, “I believed in it more when I was younger.”

In the dream her name was Anita. Once it became a nightmare she became herself, Teri. Teri believed in reincarnation then. I’m not too sure she wants to believe it now. She has reached a point in her life in which she truly doesn’t know what or whom to trust anymore. She grew up Mexican and Catholic and American and Confused.

Although she hears everything, she only listens to what is most convenient for everyone as a whole, and tries to follow what is most traditional. Reverting to tradition is like making yourself chicken soup when you’ve caught a cold. It’s comforting. It’s predictable. It’s chicken soup. Carrots, potatoes, squash, onion, chicken, chicken broth, salt, and water. The recipe is simple, easy to modify, and not strenuous to follow. But do we ever consider what vegetarians or vegans consider comfortable? Was the chicken locally grown or mass-produced in some warehouse in the middle of somewhere that you didn’t expect under inhumane living conditions? Are you still comfortable?

Teri doesn’t like chicken soup. She only likes the chicken soup she used to eat in Mexico in the 1970s. That soup was homegrown. She could taste the sweaty, laborious love put into that bowl and that was what mattered: love. It’s what Teri lives for after all.

Alex Cerda

Warmth

fall 2014 • 23

In Chile, I had the opportunity to live with the indigenous Mapuche people of Curarrehue. In spite of the environmental and land conflicts this community faces, their fire for social justice still burns bright.

The fire is a gathering place for the Mapuche people to be with one another, share stories, and share the warmth and happiness that comes with it. In my culture, fire holds similar meanings. When I was young, my family used to bring out large pots for cooking pozole or menudo, and my entire family would come over to enjoy the delicious meal, the good company, and the great laughs. These were the nights I remembered most as a kid. The fire brought us together, just as it did for the Mapuche.

Rudy Torres

fall 2014 • 24

An Interview with Literary Arts Professor

Forrest Gander

Q: How has spending time in the different places you have lived in shaped who you are today?

It’s one of the main things I write about. I’m really interested in the notion, the relationship, between foreigner and native and what can be shared and what stays distinct and how being in a foreign place makes me vulnerable. The habits I have for relating to people, places, and language are overturned by this place where I am; where I’m seen as the foreigner. That vulnerability makes me more perceptive to differences and ends up expanding the potential for being human.

Q: A big part of what you do involves translation of poetry. What value do you feel translation of literature brings to a magazine such as ours?

A: [It’s] fantastic! Translation opens our imagination to images and rhythmic patterns and themes that we might not otherwise be exposed to. This novel use of language and syntax expands our sensibility for what language can do and it allows us a different access point to emotions and perception. Translation is what keeps us from being self-satisfied and falling into the ruts that any culture, single language, or routine lays down for us.

Q: What are your thoughts on immigration? on English as the ‘main’ language?

A: Recognize that this is a country of immigrants and very few, none of us, started off here. I tend to be post-nationalist in my perspective, acknowledging that the economy of each country is dependent on others’. We’re in it together and we need to figure out together how to make both economics and immigration work.

The insistence of ‘English first’ is revolting to me. Our language is exported in a power relationship with other countries and has become the dominant language. In some ways [translation] is a sneaky way of injecting our dominant language with particles of other languages. By translating and bringing in these differences, we change the English language.

fall 2014 • 25

Q: What piqued your interest in Latino culture (literature)?

A: I was living in California after grad school and was working for a small press that received a National Endowment for the Arts grant to publish five books. A co-editor and I thought we could in Mexico cheaply. Neither [of us] had been out of the country, and as a way of learning Spanish, I began translating. It was exciting because this was the late 70s when small presses were beginning to publish like crazy.

Women who had been excluded by the patriarchal system started their own presses and published other women’s works; exciting new works by younger women poets…and I published an anthology called Mouth to Mouth: Poems by 12 Mexican Women, Q: Would say you’ve had an experience that has ultimately changed the way you view life and thus affected your decision-making?

A: I had 3rd stage melanoma in my 20s. It was a close one. At the time, I had a degree in geology and English. I was the only male in my family, so I felt a strong responsibility to be a bread earner and to have a respectable job. But at that moment, that illness made me reconsider my life and what I really wanted to do. That’s what sort of released me to follow writing even though there was no secure job in the horizon.

fall 2014 • 26

One Love, One Life Erick Guzman This black and white photograph captures the beauty of tattoo art in Chican@ culture. The tattoos show are an homage to the Chicano style of typography in the 1970s.

This portrait is one of my older brother Jose Gonzalez, a Mexican-American.

An Assertion Made Ryan Greene A short assertion made daily at 1500 West La Quinta Road Nogales, AZ 85621 I pledge Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all*

“Arizona is my home. Arizona is also home to the largest border patrol station in the United States. The presence of this outpost, like the asterisk in this poem, forces us to confront nationalism’s capacity to eclipse freedom.”

fall 2014 • 27 Ausencia quiere decir olvido, decir tinieblas, decir jamás.

Las aves pueden volver al nido Pero las almas que se han querido Cuando se alejan, no vuelven más ¿No te lo dice la luz que expira?

Sombra es ausencia, es desolación Si tantos sueños fueron mentira ¿Por qué se queja cuando suspira tan hondamente mi Corazón?

Ausencia

Nuestro destino fue despiadado ¿Quién al destino puede vencer?

La ausencia quiere decir olvido No hay peor infierno que haberse amado para ya nunca volverse a ver Que lejos se hallan tu alma y la mía La ausencia quiere decir capuz Ausencia es noche, noche sombría ¿En qué ofendimos al cielo un día Que nos niega su tibia luz?

Nuestras dos almas, paloma y nido, calor y arrullo, No vuelven más a la ventura del bien perdido La ausencia quiere decir olvido, decir tinieblas, decir jamás…

FIN

Lillian Domínguez

fall 2014 • 28

Brianna As a Mexican-American in Southern California, Brianna is the embodiment of modern Latin@ culture in the US. This photo showcases the merging of both cultures as she displays characteristics of American pride through her clothing and hair bow, yet retains her Mexican characteristic in her facial features. This photo was taken during a Fourth of July celebration in Ontario, CA.

Erick Guzman

1948 Chevy Panel A pre-Chicano movement, the lowrider movement of the 1950s is a cultural symbol for Chican@ identity. The Lowriders of Southern California are functional pieces of artwork, as these beautiful pieces also serve as cars. This specific car is a part of the car club “Ontario Classics,” a family non-profit organization that celebrates Chican@ culture with the Ontario community.

This car is owned by my mother and is decorated for the Ontario annual Fourth of July parade.

El Camino No Viajado

A translation from the English of The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Dos caminos divergían en un bosque amarillo, Y lamentando no poder viajar los dos Y ser un solo viajero, permaneci largo rato Y miré hacia uno hasta donde me alcanzo la vista Hasta donde doblo en la maleza; Pensé en el otro, igual de lindo, Con quizás la eleccion acertada, Porque estaba herboso y requeria uso; Aunque la pasada por allí Los había gastado casi igual, Esa mañana ambos se extendían igualmente En hojas que ningún pisado habia ennegrecido. ¡Ay, dejé el primero para otra día!

Pero, sabiendo que un paso sigue a otro paso, Dudé si deberia regresar.

Contaré esto con un suspiro En un lugar, epocas y epocas de hoy: Dos caminos divergían en un bosque amarillo, y yo -Yo elegí el menos viajado.

Y eso ha hecho toda la diferencia.

Quinn Bornstein

fall 2014 • 29

Ouvidos que ouvem os conselhos de uma mãe

fall 2014 • 30 “Vista um casaco, senão você vai ficar doente!”

Aos seis anos de idade eu sou muito corajoso e tento sair usando apenas uma camisa.

Mas minha mãe é persistente e não tenho outra opção.

“Não se esqueça de fazer suas tarefas.”

Aos dez anos de idade a matemática, e a escola em geral, é irritante.

Mas minha mãe é persistente e não tenho outra opção.

“Não ande com as pessoas erradas.”

Aos quinze anos de idade a imagem é tudo.

Mas minha mãe é persistente e não tenho outra opção.

Entrando na idade adulta, seus conselhos mudam.

Não há mais exigências.

Agora tudo é, “Não se preocupe tanto.”

Eu lhe proclamo, “Ela é o amor da minha vida!”

Ela me diz, “Não se preocupe tanto, um dia você vai encontrar a moça certa.”

Eu proclamo, “Eu bombei no teste, eu nunca vou ser médico!”

Ela me diz, “Não se preocupe tanto, a persistência irá levá-lo mais longe do que a inteligência.”

Estes são os meus ouvidos.

São ouvidos que me ajudam a ouvir os conselhos de minha mãe.

O que vai acontecer quando minha mãe não estiver?

O que vou fazer sem ela?

O que vou fazer sem seus conselhos?

Espero que esse dia nunca chegue.

Mas eu sei, por causa das muitas lições de minha mãe, lições que vou levar comigo para sempre, que eu não deveria preocupar-me tanto.

George Sanchez

Sprouting Seeds

Taken in the outskirts of Ponce, Puerto Rico, this photo represents the contradiction present on the island: rich, fertile soil with nobody to care for it. The government has sponsored programs for people to begin farming, to re-plant their roots, their heritage, and move away from imported goods, yet it is ultimately up to the locals to take the initiative and sprout the seeds of their future.

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Shayna Zena

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Remembering Chile

Santiago is a sprawling city nestled right up against the mountains, which glow over the sweeping parks and wide streets. It has a vibrant street art culture and a million tiny shops and restaurants. You could wander forever and never stop seeing something new.

Rudy Torres

On one of my final days in Chile, I took this photo to remind myself of the new life and home I had built there. Although there was so much I did not explore during my stay, I was able to get a taste of Chile’s vibrant history, culture, music, and fighting spirit. These are the highlights I will always remember.

The Light that Never Goes Out

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Rudy Torres

Catholic faith has always been a big part of my life. My mother took me to church every Sunday when I was child.

It instilled important values in me such as selflessness, forgiveness, respect, and love for my brothers and sisters.

Religion has shaped my whole being and as contributed to the person I am today.

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