Hey peeps. Corin in Exile wrote way back in the day that it was hard for her to blog at the time, because she didn’t want every post to be about how much she missed her husband.
That’s the kind of head space that I’ve been living in lately. A true challenge for me as a writer, no doubt.
I’m also in the process of creating a blog about San Francisco. This is my first time living on the West Coast. Quite da slap upside da head for this East Coaster/Global Southie. So stay tuned.
In the meanwhile, I was putting away my soccer jersey for Mexico’s National Soccer Team last night. One of my besties L gifted it to me during the last World Cup. I love it. Snazzy, subtle, and sleek.
That shirt saw a lot of action lately, because Mexico played two friendlies, (exhibition games) here in California. I like to wear my shirt when El Tri (the nickname for the Mexican national team) is playing.
I watched the first game in a taquería in Oakland, with good friends. El Tri was actually playing in the Oakland Coliseum. Everywhere I turned, people were wearing something in support of Mexico, be it green or black shirts, hats, or bandannas. Waving Mexican flags.
Hours after the game was over, I was back in San Francisco, on my way to meet K and her husband. I still saw supporters of El Tri everywhere. I wondered when was the last time the majority of these fans had been back to Mexico. For some of them, due to their undocumented status, it could easily have been decades. For others, as second generation Latin@s born in the US, they perhaps have never set foot on Mexican soil.
I thought about how California used to belong to Mexico.
Watching Mexico’s national soccer team play on land that used to belong to Mexico, while having recently left present-day Mexico myself is quite the mental trip.
Or mental trap, take your pick.
Mexico won in Oakland. They finished with a tie in the following game.
The photo above isn’t the greatest, but it’ll do. Slightly wrinkled and crooked. Like the country that makes me tear up when I see its flag of red, white, and green.
The country where my abuelita serves me a teacup full of warm milk from the world just beyond this one.