I should have been born in a different decade; in a different space, maybe in Macondo when Ursula used to say that the time didn't go as fast. I wanted my life to be full of Magical Realism but sometimes I took the realism too far. Today it has become pragmatism and the only magical part has stayed between my non-existent gods and my dreams. Je ne comprends pas pour quois Yolihuani... il faut m'appeller Necahual si ils veulent me donner un nom.
I saw her before I met Tezcatlipoca, in her always breath-taking splendor, take me with you, I told her and she smiled at me as if I had said something naïve. Vous êtes très petite, mais il paraîtrait comme si vous étiez millénaire. She told me I would regret it; she told me that for a decade I would enjoy it and then, well... then became the present. She was right it was all beautiful, to the point of being addictive, toxic, a constant ecstasy. It was when I saw my wings shrinking, when the colourful papalotls flew in front of me and I couldn't touch them. It was then that I made my deal with Tezcatlipoca feet for light, light for feet... I forgot to ask about the little print referring to the darkness in between.
I built my home here, you were my home while there was light. During the darkness I romanticised what became foreign lands but I kept on calling them home. I did not understand that I was absent during the equinox, until it started snowing in my own equinox, until i felt my feet covered in snow while I was walking in my imagined Tenochtitlan. That was home, but it took me too many years to understand its lack of commitment to established geographic borders, I guess it just reflected who I've become. Sorry, I still don't know how to explain myself. I just find myself in so many random situations, bizarre scenarios in which I often feel that I still am an SDF; I came to understand that I am and that probably I will always be. But let me be clear I don't think I am homeless anymore. Between the reverse culture shocks, the melancholic dreams of what we could have become, the smile-making memories of our past, and my wondering future plans you were gone and I... I died and reborn. I traded my soul in a non-fair trade environment because that's how I grew up; I gave everything for those purple wings... to save them I even gave up my feet. I reinvented myself expecting that you would show up and you would not recognise me.
You showed up, in the way I wanted to see you, the way I expected you for so many years. But for me it meant nothing; I had become a foreigner, a backpacker, a wanderer, a gypsy. We walked around the ruins of our empire we weren't holding hands, just walking with nostalgia with hopes of new paths, peaceful wars. Sitting facing the Fountain of Tlaloc you said that my hair was growing again, you touched it and smiled at me, Ya entendí por qué Yolihuani, you said. Its not what you think, I said, it is because of the rebirth...
A white papalotl flew around my hand and stopped on my finger... white wings to fly back to my imagined Tenochtitlan dreaming about new wings made from colourful Quetzal feathers with no attached nostalgia, with no understanding of set commitment. You saw me and smiled, you took my hand and made me touch the water saying that it would push the demons away. It felt familiar but distant, just like us, just like our featherless home... demonically foreign.
