Mexico City: Pochoteca Perspectives

I want to share a short piece I wrote up back in 2012, during my second stay in Mexico City, for the community paper Brooklyn and Boyle. I was born in Los Angeles but made my way to Mexico City through two different study abroad programs via UC Santa Cruz.

I studied in la UNAM (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México) in 2011 and I also conducted a field research project on the youth student movement #YoSoy132 in 2012.

It has absolutely been a love affair in every sense of the cliché: the deep connection and transmission of new knowledges and awareness, the learning and un-learning, the joy, the thrill, and the heartbreak.

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And to the happiness and (mostly) playful ridicule of my communities, I will perpetually write, sing, and dance odes to el Dfectuoso:

Where does a child of the Boyle Heights experience – Chicana-but-not-really, more Mexican than ‘American’, better-not-call-me Pocha – daughter of Mexican migrants fit into the cultural and social scheme of things in Mexico City?

What I have learned through living a total of nine months in el Dfectuoso is that I don’t fit into any one category and etiqueta because, really, no one does, not in Mexico City or in Boyle Heights.

Growing up in a community with a large Mexican migrant population and listening to my parent’s stories of their childhood in Durango, I grew up surrounded with this sense of uprootedness, displacement and yearning. I yearned to return to Mexico. I wasn’t born within its geographical border but I had always felt Mexico’s presence ever since I could remember. Listening to Los Tigres del Norte at backyard family parties, the bi-monthly conversations with family in Durango, looking into the mirror and seeing a reflection of frizzy curly hair and dark brown skin – I knew that the realities I felt and confronted everyday were informed by this strange and mysterious entity that was simultaneously very present and far away.

When I researched study abroad programs as an undergrad at UC Santa Cruz I knew I wanted to study abroad in Latin America. As a Latin American and Latina/o studies and Politics major I wanted to learn and study completely immersed within a Spanish-speaking cultural and social space. In this search for authenticity, I decided to study in Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Mexico (UNAM) to learn about Mexico in Mexico from Mexicans.

When I arrived to Mexico City, my senses were bombarded with noise, smell, and pollution. The sights and smells were dizzying and overpowering. In an effort to adjust myself mentally and corporally, during the first weeks I would travel in a pack of fellow exchange students attempting to normalize what surrounded me. I was warned by friends who had experienced life in El Dfectuoso to never speak English in public, especially not in open-air mercados like Tepito (to do such a thing was an invitation to be swindled by proprietors in any puesto) to always be alert when riding el Metro and to keep watch of wallets, cell phones and backpacks – the list of tips, warnings and advice was endless.

During these first months I remember yearning acceptance, to walk down the halls of UNAM’S Facultad de Filosofía y Letras and be seen as a student, a Mexican student. For the most part, because of my appearance I blended into the crowd splendidly, but as soon as I opened my mouth to order tacos, to give the taxi driver directions or to participate in a class discussion I knew que me echaba de cabeza, I would suddenly reveal my true self: a non-chilanga, an extranjera, a pocha. My strange way of speaking would solicit questions and inquiry: “¿De donde eres? ¿Del norte de México? Ah, eres de California..¡Chicana geruhl!”

I recall experiencing profound confusion and sadness. I wanted acceptance but I wanted to be who I was fully, speak Spanglish when it came naturally, to be myself while being conscious of the social borders and spaces people navigated daily. Living in Mexico for six months I learned that people navigate and struggle with social, cultural, racial and economic codes and barriers like people do in the U.S.. Racism and classism is very present in the national subconscious and is seen plastered throughout the city in advertisements, nightlife social dynamics, street side encounters, and public transportation systems.

Eventually I began to understand that Mexicans, just like anyone other community, aren’t homogenous. I came to understand more and more through daily encounters and conversations with friends and classmates that the romanticized charro and adelita do not exist, but that there are millions of unique, interesting, and complex souls that make up and inhabit the urban sprawl known as Mexico City.

It was then that I understood that when I came to live in chilangolandia, my presence added pochoteca flavor – providing my perspective into class discussions on migration and neoliberalism, sharing my experiences and struggles and slowly building those bridges between communities severed by national borders and cultural misunderstandings.

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Despegando, to begin..

I want to to string together my thoughts and elaborate them like beautifully vibrant papel picado.  There are so many thoughts and emotions and anxieties that slumber in my body that plead to be acknowledged and articulated. They demand to be strung together, given a space longer than a few sentences in a Facebook status.  I think this will be a good exercise for the mind and spirit, a release of my creative energy as a gift to my self. I’ve been told that I am a great writer, and in the very few efforts to articulate and share my perspective, I have received encouragement to keep going, to continue writing, to pursue the articulation of my own creative spirit.  And it feels good to ensue this pursuit, this articulation of my creative self, this becoming of my words thoughts and desire to bring together within and share.

In an intellectual and abstract exercise of communicating and fending for myself in the world of academia, I exercise my mind until exhaustion and anxiety.  When I run, I exercise my body to silence and appease my overworked mind.  When I nurture my yoga practice I synchronize my body and mind, emanating the tranquility and balance nestled within me throughout my body and spirit.  In an existence in which I make use of so many of my energies, I have found that there is a void, an inquietud, a desire to discover more ways to articulate and bring together all of my powers of creation and articulation.  Writing, creatively and harmoniously, is a pursuit in the direction of fulfillment and appeasement of the creative demands that slumber within me.  This year, I have sought out creative endeavours like learning how to play the guitar and learning French, and the creation of a blog because I see these as synonymous with the desire for creative output and happiness.  Pursuing all of these is fulfillment, is satisfaction, is process! I not only relish in process and in experience but I am transformed by it.  I feel grateful to be able to pursue these projects, to have them parallel and compliment other pursuits and projects in my life, because they echo a yearning to come into harmony with my greater self:  an intellectual, a dancer, a creator, a debater, a daughter, a friend, a sister, a lover, a community member, an observer, a participant, a mind, a spirit, a body.

What shall I write about?  Everything I’ve been wanting to write about for a very long time.  Where will I begin?  I will let my creative writing juices inspire the content and form of this blog.  However, I foresee posts on my on-going Mexico City adventures, having to reminisce back to 2011 until the present and beyond, perspectives on culture and politics within, beyond and just outside of the borderlands, and the music, people, art, and cultures I love.

Despegamos…¡muchos besos!