love healing liberation
Mutant //First Generation By Another Name
The breaking of my skin, the blood — none of this was as wild to me as the surprise of it all. Could this really be happening? I feel like I’m in the middle of one of those sci-fi books I love to read so much. Any second now Octavia Butler, Tupac and one of the ghosts from the House of Spirits are going to appear in this bathroom stall with me, grinning, saying some catch phrase like “Te gatchamos!” I had to figure out how to get out of here, covered in blood, with what feel like 2, 6” bones sticking straight out of my back. Yes, I’m in pain, but I’m more annoyed than anything else.
Yo/Me: Estes es el mismo aeropuerto? (Is this the same airport?)
Mi Tia/My Aunt: Si. (Yes.)
Yo/Me El que siempre ha estado aqui? (The one that has always been here?)
Mi Tia/My Aunt : An-ha.
Yo/Me: Entonces cuando mami y papi se fueron de este pais, se fueron de aqui?
Mi Tia/My Aunt : Si. El mismo.