SOmOS LAtino LitERARy mAgAzine
SPRInG 2015
SOmOS LAtino LitERARy mAgAzine
SPRInG 2015
________________________________ REPRESEnTing LATInOS And LAtino Culture through POEtRy, non Fiction, And visuAl ART ________________________________
SOmOS SpRING 2015
LETTER FROm THE EDITORS ______________________________________________ Established in 1990, SOMOS strives to create a space for students to share their experiences and interactions with the Latino culture. As editors, we have the privilege of witnessing student creativity and passion from the submissions we receive. We hope that the magazine provides a voice for these students and for the Latino culture and community. Many of the written pieces, whether in Spanish, English, or Portuguese, share the theme of change and inner conflict. Monica Perez’s Pai El Filo overwhelms us with feelings of nostalgia and regret via the short, but emotionally dense dialogue presented between father and son. Similarly, Austin Miller’s poem captures the state of innocence and happiness, yet the complexities of past, present, and future pervade throughout. The dominant use of photography in the artwork featured here exemplifies the first person point of view. Because of this, we are able to better understand the world of the artist and the experiences they have had across cultures. We are honored to present you the Spring 2015 Issue of SOMOS.
SOmOS STAFF ______________________________________________
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EDITOR In CHIEF
WEBSITE & SOCIAL mEDIA DIRECTOR
LILLIAN DOMINGUEZ ‘16
VICTORIA CHAVEZ ‘18
LAyOut & ART DIRECTOR
PORTuGuESE EDITOR
RICHARD FLORES ‘16
JAKOB MUKAND ‘18
PuBLIC RELATIOnS CHAIR
SPAnISH EDITOR
DEVIKA SEERAJ ‘16
ANAISA QUINTANILLA ‘16
FInAnce OFficeR
EnGLISH EDITOR
ADRIANA VARGAS SMITH ‘16
GUSTAVO MARQUEZ ‘16
SOmOS SpRING 2015
TABLE of COntEnTS __________________________________________________________________________________ ART & PHOTOGRAPHy ________________________ 4
PRODUCT
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HELEN OF TROY
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MULTIPLICATION TABLE 2
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DISCONNECT
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REFLECTING ON LA CASA DE BERNARDA ALBA
SARINA MITCHEL SARINA MITCHEL SARINA MITCHEL DAVID BARRERA
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TRAJINERAS EN XOXIMILCO CANCUN VICTORIA CHAVEZ
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THE ANGEL OF INDEPENDENCE JESUS ORDUNA
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WINGS OF THE CITY
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UNTITLED
JESUS ORDUNA JESUS ORDUNA
SARINA MITCHEL
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UNTITLED
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A BRIDGE BETWEEN WORLDS
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STOP AND SEE
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UNTITLED
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LA SALIDA DEL SOL
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COMON’OJ
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LA MADRUGAL
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ALMOLONGA
BRIAN YANG RUDY TORRES RUDY TORRES RUDY TORRES RYAN GREENE RYAN GREENE RYAN GREENE RYAN GREENE
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BASILICA DE ESQUIPULAS
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TORRE DEL REFORMADOR
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BANOS SANTA TERESITA
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IGUANA
PROSE & POETRy __________________ 7
O HOMEM DO BIGOTE PRETO
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CARAMBOLA
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PAI E FILHO
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SKETCHES IN THE SAND
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TEQUILA
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MEETING THE FAMILY: A MONOLOGUE
GEORGE SANCHEZ
MAYA FAULSTICH-HON MONICA PEREZ THOMAS QUINONEZ-RIEGOS LILLIAN DOMINGUEZ
MONICA ROTH
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ADELANTE CABRITA AUSTIN MILLER
VICTORIA CHAVEZ VICTORIA CHAVEZ VICTORIA CHAVEZ VICTORIA CHAVEZ
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PRODuCT ____________________ by SARInA mITCHEL DIGITAL
This is a “product” of Multiplication Table 2, taken from sketch stage to become a finished portrait. The color scheme of this portrait is based on a painting by the contemporary fine artist Vincent Valdez.
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HELEn OF TROy ____________________ by SARInA mITCHEL DIGITAL
A digital photo-collage, inspired by the poem “Helen of Troy does Countertop Dancing,” by Margaret Atwood.
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muLTIPLICATIOn TABLE 2 _____________________________ by SARInA mITCHEL DIGITAL Read my grid as you would a multiplication table. I created a series of four color grids where I took black and white paintings of friends and family and "multiplied" them with my master copies of famous artworks. This started out as an experiment to better understand how to use color, but as I continued this project, it became clear that color was meaningless without also considering style and context.
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O HOmEm DO BIGODE pRETO
______________________________________ by George SAnCHEz
A primeira coisa que alguém vê quando entra na minha casa é o retrato do homem do bigode preto. A foto fica em seu quadro debaixo de uma lâmpada. Ao longo dos últimos quarenta anos, essa foto se tem mantido nesse quadro de madeira. Eu me lembro de vê-lo quando criança, mas nunca perguntei quem era. Cada pessoa na minha família tem a foto na entrada de sua casa. Na casa de minha tia, a foto fica ao lado de uma pequena estatueta de São Lázaro. Na casa de minha avó, a foto fica ao lado de um buquê de flores. É assim que sempre tem sido. A foto tem estado e sempre vai estar lá vigiando e protegendo-nos. Pelo menos é assim que minha mãe me explicou a foto quando eu perguntei sobre ela pela primeira vez aos dez anos de idade. Ela então me disse que meu avô não é meu avô de sangue. Ela me disse que meu verdadeiro avô é o homem na foto. É o homem do bigode preto. Isso me chocou com bastante força. Pela primeira vez na minha vida, senti como se alguém me tivesse mentido. Mas eu me acostumei à notícia. Eu não comecei a agir de forma diferente perto do homem que ajudou a me criar. Nem parei de lhe chamar meu avozinho. Ele é, e sempre será, o meu avô. Mais importante, eu aprendi que o sangue não determina família. Nada mudou exceto que agora comecei a conhecer o homem na foto. Primeiro, soube que o nome dele era Emerito Torres. Segundo, eu soube que ele era um açougueiro que era extremamente contra o regime de Fidel Castro. Terceiro, e mais importante, eu soube que ele era amado. Ele não só era amado por sua família, mas pelo povo da cidade natal de minha família em Cuba. Devido ao regime, as famílias foram sujeitas a um sistema de rações de comida. Em particular, as famílias não eram autorizadas a levar para casa mais do que certa quantidade de carne. Mas ele não se importava. Ele encontrou maneiras de dar comida a quem precisasse. Ele encontrou maneiras de contornar o sistema e sustentar para sua família durante um tempo muito duro na ilha. Em seguida, apenas onze meses após o nascimento de minha mãe, ele decidiu tentar deixar a ilha. Seu plano era sair e depois voltar para sua esposa e filhas. O plano era sair num barco com dois de seus irmãos. Mas eles foram capturados um pouco menos de dez milhas da costa de Cuba. Depois de serem capturados, todos eles foram colocados na prisão. Eles eram prisioneiros políticos encarcerados apenas porque queriam deixar o país. Ser um preso político em Cuba significava péssimas condições de vida. Ele passou cinco anos na prisão, até sua morte. Minha avó me descreveu a incrível quantidade de pessoas que foi ao seu funeral. A cidade teve que fechar as ruas ao redor do cemitério por causa da multidão. Mais de vinte anos depois, minha avó voltou a Cuba em 1995 e ela me disse que pelo menos cinquenta pessoas visitaram-na para mostrar respeito por meu avô. Este era o homem do bigode preto. Um homem que era valente e forte e inflexível. Um homem que era amado.
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DISCOnnECT ___________________ by DAvID BARRERA PHOTOGRAPHy
This photo was taken at the Los Angeles Museum of the Holocaust. Sunlight from the glass wall behind me caused my silhouette's reflection to appear on the exhibit.
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REFLECTInG On LA CASA DE BERnARDA ALBA __________________________________________________ by yAzuKA AkASAkA OIL on CAnvAS
This was originally painted for my IB Spanish IV class when we studied the play La Casa de Bernarda Alba, which was written by Frederico GarcĂa Lorca. Through this painting, I hoped to highlight some of the key symbols and themes in the piece.
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THE ROAD TO COmPASSION ______________________________ by BRIAn yAnG PHOTOGRAPHy
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CARAmBOLA __________________________ by mAyA FAuLSTICH-HOn
carambola. the name itself a dance, CARRRAMBĂ“LA! thirty degree days and juice dripping like faucets, sassy juice doing tangos on our tongues. carambola. never quite understood why nature(al selection) would have a penchant for rotational symmetry. and anyway, for whom? star-shaped flesh because we find it beautiful or beautiful because of star-shaped flesh? carambola. who even needs the sun when you can have a hand-held star the size of your mouth, shape of your lips, veins and ranges are sunrise yellow are orange, (but anyway, for whom?)
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A BRIDGE BETwEEn wORLDS _______________________________ by RuDy TORRES PHOTOGRAPHy I took this photo while exploring the East Providence neighborhood over Spring Break. I remained on campus while my peers went on glamorous vacations. Traveling costs money, and money is something I cannot easily give away. I am a low-income, first-generation student at an Ivy League institution. Although it is a struggle, it is a blessing, too. Students like me can be the bridges between two worlds. We can be the links between the disadvantaged and the privileged. We are the ties that bring these stark realities together and bring hope into the world. I am East LA. I am Ivy League.
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STOP AnD SEE ________________ by RuDy TORRES PHOTOGRAPHy
It was the final day of a road trip with my father. We had driven for 12 hours at this point, and we were incredibly exhausted. Just before calling it a night, the light of the moon caught our eyes and drew us to the beach nearby. The view shown in the photo was where we spent the next 20 minutes, talking about the drive, our day, and the future. Riding in a car with my dad feels like eternal bliss. Stopping and taking in one's surroundings is just as exhilarating. It's important to put life on hold from time to time. There is beauty all around us if you stop and see.
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unTITLED ________________ by RuDy TORRES PHOTOGRAPHy
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PAI e FILHO ___________________ by mONICA PEREz
“Hey Papai, nós podemos ir para Disney?” “Meu amorzinho. Estou muito ocupado no momento. Talvez no próximo ano, está bem? “ Marco observava o entusiasmo desvanecer do rosto de Adrian antes que ele se fosse embora. Ele suspirou e continuou trabalhando. Sempre haveria tempo depois. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------“Oi Adrian, a gente deve tomar as férias juntos na próxima semana! Só nós. “ “Desculpa pai, não há tempo. Eu tenho entrevistas. “ “Nós poderíamos ir para a Disney.” “Pai, eu odeio Disney.” Marco amassa os bilhetes na mão.
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SkETCHES In THE SAnD _______________________________ by THOmAS QuInONEz-RIEGOS
I think back to the first morning, pulling open the shutters of the hotel room in Managua and seeing a window-frame full to bursting of lush life and vibrant colors. After the long, dreary winter of the Northeast, this scene looked more like a poster of paradise than real life. Later that first day at Sergio Ramirez’ mountain estate, someone noted that it smelled pleasantly of cilantro. Smiling, he bent down and plucked up a small green leaf growing in the cracks of the bricks in the driveway. “Try this,” he said. Incredulously we did as he bid and sure enough; fresh cilantro. His estate is located in Masetepe, his hometown in the mountains outside the capitol of Managua. Although he has many responsibilities in the capitol, he has made sure to stay well-connected to his roots. Walking around the town we were greeted by each person we passed. It was almost like walking around with a celebrity. The only difference is that celebrities don’t return each greeting by name. Sergio did. As we drove away from Masetepe at the end of the afternoon I noticed an enormous tree with massive, thick branches. Of course. It was then I began to understand Nicaragua and its people. Roots are strong here. // A sudden whooping breaks my reverie and brings me back to the beach where Tomás and Thom gallop past me with Tomás muttering something about connecting to his gaucho ancestors. Classic Argentine. Off to the side Teresa’s horse seems to be more interested in snacking on some shrubs than following her fruitless attempts to get him moving, much to her dismay. Marina trots by briskly managing to say that her horse just doesn’t know how to slow down before she darts past. I fall in line with Rebecca, whose horse is apparently pregnant, and Mariela whose horse simply refuses to gallop. “I guess he’s lazy,” she says. “Just like me.” After a few minutes I decided to break from the slow trot and urge my mount barreling forward. As I struggle to stay on the saddle I hear the waves crashing beside me, feel the warmth of the ocean air rush past me and see two eagles circling gracefully as I look up.
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So this is what it means to live. I slow my horse down from its breakneck pace. Readjusting myself in the saddle I look over at the tree line and the anciano’s words ring in my mind; “Today people cut and cut without planting. Never forget to plant.” Just a day earlier I had been sitting under his tamarindo tree planted behind a small cinderblock home with a corrugated tin roof on the outskirts of León, where we had spent five remarkable days reporting for our stories. The anciano is the father of a woman I had interviewed. When she invited me to her home I did not expect to meet her parents much less learn that her father is on the council of elders in the Subtiava community. When he discovered that my grandfather hails from the Maya community of Yucatán, his face lit up and he began to speak excitedly about his knowledge of indigenous Mexican communities and the kinship he feels toward them and, consequently, toward me. “Would you like me to tell you the history of my people?” he asked eagerly. When I replied that of course I would he immediately picked up two plastic chairs and led me into the back yard where a mighty tamarindo tree loomed overhead. He set the chairs down, picked a bowl of freshly dropped tamarindo and began to peel them one at a time as I sat down beside him. After a few moments of peeling in silence and looking off into the distance, he began his tale. Although his history lesson was fascinating, I was struck less by what he spoke than how he spoke. Accustomed to the rapid, aggressive conversations I so often have with overachieving and overextended Brown students who have exactly 30 minutes of free time to “get coffee” before going back to their “work,” I was at first thrown off by the pace at which the anciano spoke. He words seemed to flow out of him less like an efficient type writer and more like a soft breeze that ebbs and flows with an effortless ease. In this way he spoke to me of his people, their conquest, their repression and their sustained resistance. He spoke of hundreds of years of history that he and the other council members are fighting to keep from being swept away and forgotten like a sketch drawn in the sand that is swept away slowly with each wave that washes over it. // Looking out at the last rays of sunlight dancing atop the ocean, I feel, in a very small way, as the ancianco. Nicaragua, its culture, its life and its people have indeed made impressions on me; have carved lessons into me like sketches in the sand. I only hope that they will not wash away with time. I do not want to forget.
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LA SALIDA DEL SOL // QuETzALTEnAnGO, GuATEmALA ____________________________________________________________ by RyAn GREEnE PHOTOGRAPHy
Taken from the top of Volcán Santa María just as the sun crested the peaks to the east. Santa María is an active volcano in the Sierra Madre range in the department of Quetzaltenango.
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COmOn’OJ // COmOn’OJ, SAnTA CATARInA IxTAHuACAn, SOLOá, GuATEmALA _____________________________________________________________________________________ by RyAn GREEnE PHOTOGRAPHy
Comon'oj is a small community in the mountains between Xela and Lago de Atitlán. Two of the major crops in this area are coffee and corn.
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LA mADRuGAL // JAIBALITO, LAGO DE ATTITán, SOLá, GuATEmALA ________________________________________________________________________ by RyAn GREEnE PHOTOGRAPHy
Volcán San Pedro (right) and Volcán Tolimán (left) as seen from Jaibalito -- a small town on the border of Lago de Atitlán accessible only by foot or boat.
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ALmOLOnGA // ALmOLOnGA, QuETzALTEnAnGO, GuATEmALA _____________________________________________________________________ by RyAn GREEnE PHOTOGRAPHy
Almolonga is an agricultural hub in the western highlands of Guatemala, located between Xela and Zunil. With an abundance of thermal springs, this area is known as one of the most fertile in all of Guatemala. The name Almolonga comes from Nahualtl and means "el lugar donde brota el agua."
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TEQuiLA _________________________ by LILLIAn DOmINGuEz
Teh-kee-lah, Nunca me había fijado en mi modo de pronunciar. Spicy Haci es como describes mi acento. Nunca me había sentido interesante por poder pronunciar la doble erre. Say ‘tequila’ again. ¿Debería sentir disgusto? ¿Es una traición a mi orgullo y mi cultura complacerte? ¿Cuando dejé de ser beaner y wetback, Y comencé a ser una forma de cumplir con el requisito universitario de diversity? Aun no lo se; Dímelo tú, América, tirano de lenguajes, Tú que has dictado como y cuando soy digna de tu respecto. Mientras tanto, tráiganme otro tequila. . .
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BASíLICA DE ESQuIPuLAS, ESQuIPuLAS, GuATEmALA _________________________________________________________ by vICTORIA CHAvEz PHOTOGRAPHy Known as El Cristo Negro or The Black Christ, El Señor de Esquipulas is a crucial part of Christian faith and devotion in Guatemala. This church was made in His honor and it is known for its architecture as well as for the hundreds of pilgrimages it receives yearly. Inside, you'll find beautiful art made from the offerings and gifts people have left behind.
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TORRE DEL REFORmADOR, zOnA 4, GuATEmALA, GuATEmALA ____________________________________________________________________ by vICTORIA CHAvEz PHOTOGRAPHy
Made in 1935 to honor the centennial of Justo Rufino Barrios, the structure is a replica of the Eiffel Tower and is completely made of steel.
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BAñOS SANTA TERESITA, AmATITLán, GuATEmALA _________________________________________________________ by vICTORIA CHAvEz PHOTOGRAPHy Located in beautiful and historical Amatitlán, Baños Santa Teresita is a family friendly hotel and spa thermal. Its architecture resembles that of ancient Mayan cities.
IGuAnA, méxICO ______________________ by vICTORIA CHAvEz PHOTOGRAPHy
This lovely iguana is trying to get its tan on.
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TRAJInERAS En xOxImILCO CanCún, méxICO ____________________________________________________ by vICTORIA CHAvEz PHOTOGRAPHy
Trajineras, once used to transport flowers, fruits, and vegetables grown in floating gardens, have now become a tourist attraction in Cancún. Each trajinera represents a different state and is decorated with motifs from its respective state. Tourists board the trajineras and enjoy traditional Mexican foods as they travel down beautiful canals and dance and listen to music and folktales.
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mEETInG THE FAmILy: A mOnOLOGuE ____________________________________________________ by mOnICA ROTH
Just say it: Hola, como estas? “Um. Hi.”
Me gusta su casa. Gracias por…shit. ¿Su hospitalidad? Does that work? “It’s nice to meet you!”
You were in Spanish 4. Have you retained nothing, woman?
Oh. I should have been able to pick out at least two of those words.
“Thanks for letting me stay!”
“My flight was good! I’m just tired.”
…oh no. That sentence was way too long. No entiendo. ¿Mas lentamente, por favor? Wait, or is it ‘mas despacio’?
Estoy cansada. ¿Avion? That’s plane, right?
*Looks at boyfriend for translation*
You could have done that one.
“Do you have water?”
“Hi, Gabby! I’ve heard all about you.”
I’ll just talk to the kids. They’ll speak English to me. Oh, water! “Gracias.”
You sound like a Gringa. Shut your mouth. This is going to be a struggle. . .
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ADELAnTE CABRITA _____________________________ by AuSTIn mILLER
Soy cabrita, pero no cualquiera. Como puedes ver, tengo la cola divina. Eso es porque nací en el torbellino de varias emociones contradictorias. Soy una cabrita linda adornada con florecitas saltando por el aire, aunque no puedo parar de mirar hacia atrás. Soy así. Feliz y emocionada por el porvenir pero a la vez agradezco mi pasado. Hay que seguir. Es la naturaleza de nuestra existencia. ¡En este momento, estoy volando porque estoy tan feliz! Soy vecino de los colores del cielo, de la noche, y de la luna también. Al volar, siempre hay una amenaza de caerse. Todo es hermoso y todo es terrible. Soy una expresión manifestada de la angustia ante la felicidad que experimentó un gatito un día horriblemente lindo. Pero ese momento ya pasó y ahora el gatito está listo, más que listo, de vivir en el presente, sin aullar por el pasado ni preocuparse por el futuro. Puede caerse y le da igual. Por eso, ya no me necesita, pero seguramente, dado lo lindo que soy, hay alguien que me pueda querer en este mundo tan fantásticamente cruel.
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The AnGEL OF InDEPEnDEnCE ___________________________________ by JESuS ORDunA PHOTOGRAPHy This golden statue is one of Mexico City’s signatures. It was built to commemorate the centennial of the beginning of Mexico's War of Independence and nowadays is probably the most popular gathering center for all sorts of events: from political meetings to sports celebrations to protests and manifestations.
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WInGS OF THE CITy _______________________ by JESuS ORDunA PHOTOGRAPHy For the bicentennial commemoration of Mexico’s War of Independence, a local artist made a set of wings to give everyone a chance to be The Angel of Independence and I couldn’t resist.
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unTiTLED ___________________ by JESuS ORDunA PHOTOGRAPHy
This is the Mexican flag waving on top of the “tall knight”, a watchtower located on the east side of the Chapultepec Castle.
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SOmOS LAtino LitERARy mAgAzine