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  4. some sorrow has no bottom, it hurts and hurts, and no amount of crying can make it more bearable. 

    this is not one of those sorrows. this one hit the bottom. this one has a bottom. this one gets forgotten. 

     


  5. these are not hard times

     

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  7. When I was eighteen, I visited my boyfriend in Aguascalientes. I took a plane from Chicago to Guadalajara. I stayed with him and his family in their apartment next to the downtown cathedral. They didn’t own a microwave because microwaves were banned in Russia and Armenia in the seventies and even though they had migrated to Mexico his mother was afraid of them.

    During the trip, I soon realized that he was not the kind of person I wanted to be with even though we had dated for almost two years. He was the first chair violinist in Mexico’s national youth orchestra and I was a third-stand violist. I’d moved to the United States and started university and we did not end up maturing at the same rate. He was still mama’s boy, complaining about everything and he was lazy. He attended the local university and failed out almost half of his classes.

    He would talk to me about the kids that we would have. I would take his last name and instead of a questionable looking girl with a Mexican surname, I would be a questionable looking girl with an Armenian one. I broke up with him after he forgot about even saying happy Valentine’s Day on Valentine’s Day. I don’t feel any resentment towards him. Eight months later, he called me. He told me that I looked so good, that now I had everything that I had wanted. I hung up on him.

     

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  11. There are green-eyed Mexicans. The rich blond Mexicans. The Mexicans with the faces of Arab sheiks. The Jewish Mexicans. The big-footed-as-a-German Mexicans. The leftover-French Mexicans. The chaparrito compact Mexicans. The Tarahumara tall-as-desert-saguaro Mexicans. The Mediterranean Mexicans. The Mexicans with Tunisian eyebrows. The negrito Mexicans of the double coasts. The Chinese Mexicans. The curly-haired, freckled-faced, red-headed Mexicans. The jaguar-lipped Mexicans. The wide-as-a-Tula-tree Zapotec Mexicans. The Lebanese Mexicans. Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about when you say I don’t look Mexican. I am Mexican.
    — Sandra Cisneros, Caramelo  (via xicanapreciosa)

    (Source: caitlinbridget, via fuckyeahmexico)

     


  12. amore non ti credo più 

     

  13. Redirecting tourists in Italy

     

  14. Centro de La Paz, 2014

     

  15. Mega, 2014