I Can Wonder About How Much Of You Is In Me

On this Mexican Independence Day, the day that Mexico yanked off her Iberian umbilical cord in favor of toughing it out in the orphanage of the Americas, I reflect on the pride I take in my chameleon-like Mexicannery.

Please, tell the revolutionaries I’m not one of them.

As a lady of Mexican ancestry, I possess a buttload of European blood (my nalgas are an ironing board), corny Amerindian blood (our gods and goddesses were amaizeing), and a big toe whose dark corn twerks. It’s African.

From h to t, I embody la raza cósmica, the cosmic race, which Mexican philosopher José Vasconcelos predicted when he wrote “that the various races of the earth” will “intermix at a gradually increasing pace…eventually [giving] rise to a new human type, composed of selections from each of the races already in existence.”

José, that’s me! I am your cosmic comadre! I’m your chimeric kook!

To save money, I trick-or-treated as mi raza.

In Vasconcelos’ universe, there are no flesh-colored crayons, no nude pantyhose, no oppressive band-aids. In Vasconcelos’ new world, the entire color spectrum is renamed flesh. The entire color spectrum is renamed eyes. Some Mexicans have brown. Some Mexicans have blue. Some Mexicans have red, especially on tequila Tuesdays.

Ensalada cósmica.

To prove my cosmic chameleon nature, I will parade some different manifestations of her down this page to prove that I can be everything, nothing, and you all at once.

I can be a bitchy ass white girl.

I can be your abuelita.

I can sprinkle fairy dust.

I can miss Chris Brown.

I can work hard for the money.

I can be trusted as your elected official.

I can wonder about how much of you is in me.

I can show you.

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