A very cool writing exercise found here.
I am from nacho cheese, from Chevrolets and brown, strong hands.
I am from the silky softness of a too-white cloud drifting through a too-blue sky.
I am from the Sunflower reaching and growing towards the sun, the moon shadows that move and dance upon the earth.
I am from Friday night pizza nights and turtle lips, from Garcias and Nunezs and Nanas and Tatas and Tios and Tias and Chulas and Chulos.
I am from the struggles for survival for a better life and bloody noses in strawberry fields on hot, summer days.
From La Llorona and "It'll grow hair on your chest."
I am from a rosary that means nothing more than jewelry to me now, from beautiful stained-glass windows that warm me in their colors but don't cage me in their history, from welcoming hands that embrace the seeker rather than the finder.
I'm from the East Side and Chicano Power, runny, cheesy enchiladas and spicy, red menudo.
From the abuelita who was denied by her family because she chose to love un mestizo, the sweet yearnings of young love that twist and turn their way through an adult world, and scandalous hearts that no longer hide.
I am from locked treasure chests, cobwebby albums, scattered images lost in a sea of unorganized clutter and files and files sitting patiently on a computer chip.