Sueño de las Sirenas by Juan R. Fuentes

Molly Bolt's First Kiss

"We threw our arms around each other and kissed". 

My stomach felt funny.

"Does your stomach feel strange?"

"Kinda." (pg. 49)

 

One's first kiss is one to remember and reading about Molly's first kiss to Leota was something special. It was the first time that Molly came to realize that she was attracted to women. Author Rita Mae Brown choice of adding Molly's first kiss is able to make the reader relate to Molly's first kiss. 

The innocence of one's first kiss is often one that is always remembered with great fondness. 

THAT feeling, in which your stomach is turning inside out and you feel queazy but you don't know why. 

THAT feeling that makes you smile so much that you don't know how to stop (or if you want to).

THAT feeling of a million butterflies fluttering throughout your stomach. 

THAT feeling when you know that it is something special that you will forever remember. 

Yes, it is THAT feeling that makes one relate to Molly and remember one's first kiss of butterflies in the stomach. Oh the fondness of one's firsts in life. 

I’m queer, so what? I’m more than that.

I can admit

                                    That

I’m more than this.

Mission in life:

Remember now…

All is good when

I

                                                Take

            A breath

“be here now, now be here”

Not denying where I am, or who I come from.

Increasing lenses manifesting
through new visions.

facultad, pasas por mi.

palabra cierta cuando vuela mi pluma.

Refleccion de luna llena,

vivo mi vida por tus pasos

Milli. Coyolxauhqui. Mother of the Tides.

Madre

de mís sentimientos.

declaring moments aloud

My cycles are your cycles.

Shadow Beast,
Let me release

as you wane.  

Where Are You From?

Throughout the past week we have discussed borders, both metaphysical and physical and what they mean within our communities. Through these discussions, I felt the inclination of writing about my own borders and the relevance they hold on my intersecting identities. I write about self-transformation in the form of healing, something that Gloria Anzaldua writes about through understanding Mestiza Consciousness. As a womyn of color from immigrant parents, I write about what those identities mixed in with the wrath of patriarchy and Machismo look like in my own growth and upbringing. As well as recognizing that I am both privileged and disadvantaged in my life. With this, I share my thoughts and feelings while learning not only about Chicana Lesbian Literature, but also about myself and everything I encompass.

Where are you from?

I am from my mothers womb

connected to her soul

built and constructed inside her body

with a mixture of love for and abuse from

my father

I am from my mothers womb

created and fostered in the strawberry fields

and the sweet aroma of agriculture

molded with the hard working hands of my parents

I am stuck between two lands that do not want me

‘ni de aqui, ni de alla’

Pocha, gringa, Americana

indigena

I am from my mothers flesh and blood

'con miles heridas abiertas'

I continue to shed blood for the rape of my people

longing for a connection with my indigenous gente 

I am from my mothers skin

shedding the pain her mother passed down to her

I shed the machismo that left her bruised

I am healing

from the pain my mothers lived

and has survived.

I am surviving

for her, my home.

-Eunice C. Gonzalez-Sierra

TeamGilda Consider why this cover is not the one circulating in Powell...

TeamGildaStories

In class on Thursday following our discussion on Gloria Anzadua’s Borderlands: La Frontera the New Metiza,  El Profe encouraged us to look at borders we cross as individuals. The border lands that I have experienced have helped shaped the woman that I am today.  I have lived between borderlands similar to Anzaldua, Moraga, and characters that live within the Chicana Lesbian Literature that we have been ananlyzing in class.   I have lived between the intersections of borders since the day I was created.  My father is of Mexican Descent and my mother carries blood from as far as Italy.  Not only do I cross racial borders, I cross class borders being that I work as a Professional Certified Nanny.  

This position allows me to cross class borders that I otherwise would have no business being in, literally.  Working as a Nanny brought me to California, crossing state borders.  I challenge the borders that society has lead to believe that I should  fufill such as marrying and having children.  Considering this class raises sexuality, I cross borders as I am dating a black man.  As an undergrad, I represent the first in my family to cross into higher education.  It is not until I stop to think about borders, that I realize we live in a world that constantly sets up borders.  It has been through my experience, that most often these borders are oppressing and are set up to give power to white, hetero males. Similar to Anzaldua,  I experience my journey towards a Mestiza Conciousness through various life stages, and it is through these hard times that give me the courage, the voice, and the skills to move through the journey.

There is always
a lot of

 thoughts

going on 

in       the   

                                                                                           mind

 when I write them down

 I get to focus 

on

them

My own borders

Gloria Anzaldúa writes much about borders, physical and social, and how some of us cross these borders on a daily basis. Reading Borderlands/La Frontera I started to wonder about my borders. The types of “borders” I cross on a day to day basis are more social than physical. The social borders I encounter focus primarily on me being a woman of color. My gender and race are aspects of my social location that cause social borders to arise in my daily life. As a student, I notice these borders in the education system, specifically at a University. At home, I am loved and respected as a woman of color, a Chicana. However, the moment I step onto campus I am crossing from a place of comfort to a place of stereotypical expectations. This is a place where I am forced to prove myself as an intellectual woman, an American citizen, and a person worthy of respect. These social borders define my struggles as a woman of color but they do not define me. Identifying these social borders is the first step I need to take to be able to overcome them.

What types of borders do you cross?

-Katherine Batanero

Oye, qué pasó con Lupe?

After our class discussion last week on different portrayals of La Virgen de Guadalupe I wanted to share with everyone other images of Lupe I've encountered on the Internet.

I believe that even though some of there representations of Lupe can be problematic, it goes to show the major influence and impact that La Virgen has within la comunidad mexicana, and even going outside those cultural boundaries. Does anyone have comments towards any of these portrayals?

Hello Group!

Lesbiana y Madre

So far, I’ve really enjoyed the autobiographical novel, The Two Mujeres!   It’s like a novela, that as a young Queer Chicana myself I wish I would’ve had the opportunity to watch, instead of the typical mexican novelas. What’s best about reading my first novel about two lesbians in love, is that I’m also reading it with my partner! I know, out of topic, but it’s actually really exciting.  

Anyway, something that is very present in the novel and that I’ve thought about is that of being a mother and a lesbian. Valeria is a 40 years old woman with two sons, who are 18 and 19.  On one hand, she has served the heteronormative and patriarchal norms in place by men for women; she married a man and she gave birth twice. At the same time she is una Malinche because she divorced and falls in love with another woman.  But her “mother responsibilities” as she constantly refers to get on her way of completely liberating herself.  It is sad, that she has not lived life as who she is up until she meets Genovesa. This brings me to my other point, it seems like Valeria feels some sort of guilt that Genovesa will not be whole and happy if she fails to become a mother. Here she shares her guilt, “Suddenly the thought hit me that being with me meant she was missing the opportunity to be a mother. And she had the tenderness and the strength to be a wonderful mother” (Calderon 68). The fact that Valeria feels that Genovesa should be a mother reveals her internalized oppression as a lesbian; Valeria as a woman can’t fulfill Genovesa (reproduction purposes). But Genovesa is only 25, who knows maybe she doesn’t even want to be a mother. Valeria should focus on living their love to the fullest.

Any thoughts about being a Lesbian and a Mother?

Gress

ahh love stories!

I’m really glad I chose The Two Mujeres for my midterm book review. I’m really enjoying every part of it, mostly because I can relate to the text and the characters in many ways.  It is the first lesbian love story I have ever read, I am still asking myself how come I have not come across these kind of stories before! The first part of the novel touches on important issues that are familiar to me and to everyone within the LGBTQ community. Internalized homophobia, the fear of coming out, patriarchy and the constrains our society puts on love . Another important aspect of the novel is the effect of social class on the relationship between Valeria and Genovesa.

“I’ve been waiting for her my whole life I thought. But she was a woman, and that was not easy to reconcile” says Valeria, “ it’s not the most common thing in the world” says Genovesa. These two sentences say so much about the fears and doubts Valeria and Genovesa are experiencing. I have felt like this myself, it’s that little scary voice inside that forces you to conform with the society’s idea of love, that tells you “No, your love for that woman is wrong and is devilish”. It’s actually a painful process to be able to  finally love yourself, and free yourself from guilt, fear and sometimes your own family.  I was able to see this process throughout the story, Valeria and Genovesa at first hides and resists their feelings, but then finally give in to each other’s love. I enjoyed specially when they start showing their love in public spaces, like when they hold each other’s hand for the first time. I love holding my girlfriend’s hand without any shame, it’s so liberating!

It was interesting to me the role men have in this story. For example, the way Alejandro thinks he is entitled to know every detail about Valeria’s life. Valeria’s responses are unexpected, she is already far ahead most woman of her time. I think that in this encounters the author is speaking to all women, telling us to really stand our ground and dare to say what we feel.

Money and class status is also important in the story, as Ricardo Arjona says “como se sufre en ambos lados de las clases sociales” this story story fit the quote! So far in class we have read stories from women in the working class, it’s interesting to me to see what happens to the lesbians on the rich side and see how much we all have in common. However, I think money does  give them certain privileges in the story, for example, they have a nice place to have their adventures, they get to travel a lot and people respect them, although maybe this same status makes it even harder for them to come out!

I hope I like part two as much as I’ve liked part 1, and I hope it has a happy ending. By the way it’s hard to organize my thoughts and write them! I will be back with more!

On Empathy and Intuition: Challenging Masculinist (read Patriarchal) Thinking in the Academy.

Recently, I have obsessively been trying to solve the "empathizing" conundrum. Now, I must admit that the reason for why I am so ardently attempting to wrap my head around this issue, is because I was about to loose it. I was about to loose my corazón in my rat-race towards "academic thinking." Objective thought, reason, logic, good judgment, unbiased thinking, empirical epistemology, la razón! Disregard the fact that I am attempting to achieve a doctoral degree because of a subjective and very personal matter: to empower my people, mi gente fronteriza, latina, mexicana y chicana; Jota. Y como mis padres lo hicieron (y continúan haciendolo): to inherit the future generations a better present. To help pave their ways into success and growth, and to help them help others make a brighter tomorrow. 
But as I said previously, in my attempt to achieve the Cartesian logic of cogito ergo sum, I was in my journey towards personal failure, that is, complete disconnection with my emotions, intuition and sensibility. 
Previous to the end of the former quarter, I was emotionally intervened by my doctoral peers, most of them wanted to get the feelings out of me. My robotic engagement los asustaba. Shoo Shooo decia mi vibra. Too much sense, not much sensibility. And that was fine, right? Because, that is, after all how we have been schooled to think: like a man. Like a white, privileged, heterosexual (or at least, tapandole el ojo al macho), college educated, middleclassed, Protestan Christian, married, with two and a half kids, a golden retriever (the picket fence, etc.) and a complete disregard for others' ways of living and knowing (except when studying the infamous OTHER of anthropological queries, of course). And so if I followed the manual correctly, I was doing everything right. Except, I was unhappy, angry, and unempathetic. I had built a brick, sweat, tears, blood, skin, and cement wall that would disconnect my sensibility from my sense. Apathetic... disengaging... not there... toc toc, ¿Hay alguien ahí?". But frustrated. Perhaps all the years of meticulous indoctrination got to my system, there was a system overload, and my program failed. 
But after all that darkness.. all that obscurity in a lonely corner, I began to slowly and progressively come out of my emotional shell. Yet, I wanted to first understand, why I had stopped being self-empathetic. And a new journey began: towards empathy. 
With Empathy as my target, and "sensical" sensibility lens, I observed the world, read a variety of text, and listened to sounds and messages. And then, I stumbled upon with la güera's words. In Loving in the War Years' chapter, "La Güera," Cherríe Moraga's shares her experience trying to create empathy with a white, male, gay friend on women's subjectivity, and poses:" You are not a woman. Be a woman for a day. Imagine being a woman" (45). To which the white, male, gay friend responded to having feeling raped. For him, feeling like a woman, being a woman, was embodying la chingada. To which Moraga adds, "what grew from that discussion was the realization that in order for him to create an authentic alliance with me, he must deal with the primary source of his own oppression. He must, first, emotionally come to terms with what it feels like to be a victim" (45). And Eureka!!! I found my first clue to creating empathy: sympathize with the internalized oppression of the other (as both are mirrors of oppressions, although sometimes, we are reflecting ourselves through tinted windows). 
Within that week, I had the opportunity to sit in a discussion with one of the leading facilitators of the Nashville Sit-Ins of the Civil Rights Movement, Rev. James Lawson, and throughout his narrative, I rescued and puzzled together Lawson's teachings on nonviolence, and the grand role that empathy had in the political movement's (")success("). Later, in our Chicana Lesbian Literature seminar we began to debate about "women's ways of knowing" versus male knowledge; reasons versus feelings; head versus heart; sense versus sensibility; instinct versus intuition. And I left the room and hours with that question stuck to my head. 
Today, along a large group of UCLA graduate students, we had the opportunity to chat with two of the main black activists of the Nashville Sit-Ins, Lawson and Rev. Barnard Lafayette. Both shared the story of how they met, when, where and why: they were both in for the same cause, to overcome Jim Crow racism through the practice of love. And I ask Rev. Lafayette, on how was he able to create empathy with the oppressor. He responds, "Whenever that White Police Office would kick me on the face with his boots, I would search in my soul for the last ounce of love. I would think where he came from, what was his upbringing like, what white privilege meant to him. I put myself in his shoes. But always, looking at him in the eye. And little by little, he stopped beating me." I was awed by his answer, as not only he had shared a new political activist strategy (for males) through the use of sensible tactics; but he had given me a clue in my empathy quest: to allow it initially to grow from within oneself. He finalized the conversation by saying that what had led him through a painful, brutal and violent life of constant internal and external warfare was intuition. 

INTUICIÓN, I translated. 

But there is silence in the room. Out of the almost thirty people, nobody had a reaction to such a revolutionary loving approach to a contemporary event (in an era of increased corporatized militarization). Some of us (that is, the students of color), those who had suffered oppression and knew what being kicked in the face by the boot of dirt, sun, spit, blood, rock; punched by a fist was like, felt empathy for their experiences and were grateful for their time. For what they had taught us. For flying 5 hours weekly with a decaying body of eighty y contando. I scan around the room and instead of finding faces lit up by appreciation and gratitude, I see arrogance, petulance and boredom. As Lafayette continues to elaborate on "knowing from intuition," my fellow academic colleagues are to a near point of physical repulsion. Their bodies cannot handle what they have oppressed for so long. La olla exprés va a explotar. But before it explodes, they will try to feed on their mental judgements, congratulate for their lack of sensibility and much sense. Bravo!! Bravo!! You made it!! You have reached total disconnection (from others, but most hazardously, yourself)! And let me reiterate myself, I know so, because I did (do?) so. The academics-in-training mimicking the WASP Ivory Tower ethics, refute with their bodies and mala vibra the experiences that others have to share about the usefulness of love. The pragmatics of love. 
I sit quietly after seminar and ponder, how can we do things differently? how can we all try to be happy? how can we be ourselves? how can we get to be our real serves? 
So far, my limited answer is: listen. To yourself, to what other's have to say, or not say. To our pasados. To our very pasados that we sometimes ignore, but are lying underneath the cells of our bones. To the pasados we are yet to discover, like historiographers. 
One way to approach a new methodology of producing teorias y conocimiento, is following our facultad. Dejándonos guiar por las enseñanzas que solo pocos se atreven a compartir o a (re)descrubrir. Pero esos pocos, como profetas incomprendidos, nos asustan porque nos ofrecen un manual para conocer a nuestra Shadow-Beast. Because we fear the pains that the Beast will inflict upon us. Because we fear vulnerability. We fear the loss of our control. Yet, we can only be in full control until we have put all the parts of ourselves into la vida. To re-member who we are.              

   

La Profe's Interview on Reporte Indigo in Mexico City

I was interviewed for the newspaper Reporte Indigo in DF. A really good write up and opportunity to promote the Mexican edition of Desert Blood published by Ediciones B. http://www.reporteindigo.com/reporte/mexico/aun-hay-sangre-en-el-desierto?fb_ref=.UXK-QISvzI0.send&fb_source=email

TeamGilda

I have internalized oppression I am discovering, and the fact  ist I have internalized forms of oppression in ways that I have no conscious of.   I have not even come to understand.  In other words, I have internalized oppression in so many ways that I have yet to discover the ways that I have internalized oppression.  With age, experience, and education I am now seeing, discovering the ways in which that I have internalized oppression gaining a new consciousness of oppression in regards to myself in terms of my race, gender, sexuality, able body, and various other attributes.  For example, I now have a sense of awareness on the fact that my father has experienced racism and thus how it has affected me, and shaped the woman that I am today.  A great example of this is how I do not speak Spanish fluently.  

I have internalized English as dominate thus “better” language and for  thirty years of my life ignoring the language of my people, my blood, and my spirit.  The fact that I grew up in the safe city of Portland, OR gave me advantages that comes with being white.  I grew into Amanda.  Failing to ignore Engracia.  The name given to me at birth, in honor of my grandmother who breaths the air o fMexico as I do sitting in Los Angeles.  Social location links me to the rest of the families that live further north of  border.  I have oppressed others by not even accepting my own culture.   Not knowing the history has denied the langua that gives power to these experiences in words that can be directly translated.

Living the life as a domestic worker is yet another way that I oppress by assimulating to the roles ascribed to Latinas in the US.  As my life continues down the path of higher education, I am excited to see how my life experiences have influenced me in more surprising ways!  Embrace the journey!

-Engracia Ayala

TeamTwoMujeres

When looking at the cover of the book you see two windows, two doors, and one balcony. I think of Valeria and Genovesa. The two shut doors represent the internalized oppression of both women and how they have to have a relationship behind closed doors but with a window of hope and opportunity for them to continue with their relationship regardless of the obstacles of their lives and roles as women. And with a balcony that connects them and is symbolic of their love and their relationship. I can see how both Genovesa and Valeria have been playing the roles that society embeds in women. Valeria has two sons who own her basically and whom she fears which demonstrates the patriarchal world we live in. If she was owner of herself then she would not let her sons walk in and out of her house and be rude to her friends. Also, before Valeria met Genovesa she was considering marrying Alejandro although she doesn't love the guy! Plus he is super rude and I can already tell he's this machista or this man that thinks he owns her when they're not even married yet!

 Genovesa just got divorced from Raul. However, you can see the male ownership or patriarchy in her life because he is still hanging out with her! Why would she hang out with him if she already divorced him?! And why would she live with Raul and have her lover Roberta in the same place while going through her divorce? (She hasn't specifically said that Roberta is her lover but I think she is because she dodges the question when Valeria asks her).


Throughout all these chapters I have just been thinking about the many women that are oppressed and the many women that maybe haven't come out of the closet yet and are stuck with husbands who don't make them happy...with people they are not in love with.

Thoughts on "Boi Hair"

Last week we had the great fortune of having Professor Alma Lopez guest lecture our class. Professor Lopez showed us her short digital video about the realities of queer women of color and the issues they face with their short "boi" hair. This short documentary was not only entertaining but also educational. Being in the queer community, I know a little about butch hair issues from my friends, but the documentary really gave me a whole new perspective on boi hair while also allowing me to relate to the women in the video. The women expressed a sense of freedom with having short hair, I can relate to this. I occasionally braid the left side of my head as a way of expressing myself. Despite the style not being "traditionally" feminine, just as the women in the video spoke about, I feel myself resisting societal norms when I braid my hair. Some people may think how can a haircut or style bring such strong emotions or effect a person's life. Well all I can say is, what we do to the outside, allows us to express what we feel on the inside. Disregarding what others want for you, and living true to yourself, even by just a simple haircut, is truly empowering and liberating.

-Katherine Batanero

Calle 13 is a Puerto Rican band that happens to be one of my favorite bands.
Just wanted to share a beautiful music video by them, Latinoamérica.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkFJE8ZdeG8

Here are the lyrics in both Spanish/Portuguese and English:


Soy, soy lo que dejaron, Soy las sobras de lo que te robaron,

Un pueblo escondido en la cima, Mi piel es de cuero por eso aguata cualquier clima,
Soy una fábrica de humo, Mano de obra campesina para tu consumo,
En el medio del verano, El amor en los tiempos del cólera,
Mi hermano!

Soy el que nace y el día que muere, Con los mejores atardeceres,
Soy el desarrollo en carne viva, Un discurso sin saliva,
Las caras más bonitas que he conocido, Soy la fotografía de un desaparecido,
La sangre dentro de tus venas, Soy un pedazo de tierra que vale la pena,
Una canasta con frijoles.

Soy Maradona contra Inglaterra Anotándole dos goles.
Soy lo que sostiene mi bandera, La espina dorsal de mi planeta, en mi cordillera.
Soy lo que me enseño mi padre, El que no quiere a su patria no quiere a su madre.
Soy América Latina un pueblo sin piernas pero que camina.

Tú no puedes comprar al viento,
Tú no puedes comprar al sol
Tú no puedes comprar la lluvia,
Tú no puedes comprar al calor.
Tú no puedes comprar las nubes,
Tú no puedes comprar mi alegría,
Tú no puedes comprar mis dolores.

Tengo los lagos, tengo los ríos, Tengo mis dientes pa cuando me sonrío,
La nieve que maquilla mis montañas, Tengo el sol que me seca y la lluvia que me baña,
Un desierto embriagado con pellotes, Un trago de pulque para cantar con los coyotes,
Todo lo que necesito!

Tengo a mis pulmones respirando azul clarito,
La altura que sofoca, Soy las muelas de mi boca mascando coca,
El otoño con sus hojas desmayadas, Los versos escritos bajo las noches estrelladas,
Una viña repleta de uvas, Un cañaveral bajo el sol en cuba,
Soy el mar Caribe que vigila las casitas, Haciendo rituales de agua bendita,
El viento que peina mi cabello, Soy todos los santos que cuelgan de mi cuello,
El jugo de mi lucha no es artificial porque el abono de mi tierra es natural.
Vamos caminando, vamos dibujando el camino!

Trabajo bruto pero con orgullo, Aquí se comparte lo mío es tuyo,
Este pueblo no se ahoga con marullos, Y si se derrumba yo lo reconstruyo,
Tampoco pestañeo cuando te miro, Para que te recuerdes de mi apellido,
La operación cóndor invadiendo mi nido, Perdono pero nunca olvido, oye!

Vamos caminado, aquí se respira lucha.
Vamos caminando, yo canto porque se escucha.
Vamos caminando, aquí estamos de pie.
Que viva Latinoamérica.
No puedes comprar mi vida!

I am
I am what that they left
I'm all about what that was stolen.
A village hidden on the peak,
My skin is from leather that's why it stands any weather.
I'm a factory of smoke,
A peasant working hand for your consumption
Cold Front in the middle of summer,
Love in the Time of Cholera, my brother.
The sun that is born and the day that dies,
with the best evenings.
I am developing raw,
a political speech without saliva.
The most beautiful faces I've met,
I'm the photograph of a missing person.
I'm the blood in your veins,
I'm a piece of land that is worth it.
I'm a basket with beans,
I'm Maradona against England scoring 2 goals.
I'm what that holds my flag,
the backbone of the planet is my Andes.
I'm what that my father taught me,
Who doesn't love his fatherland don't love his mother.
I'm Latin America,
People without legs but can walk

You can't buy the wind.
You can't buy the sun.
You can't buy the rain.
You can't buy the heat.
You can't buy the clouds.
You can't buy the colors.
You can't buy my happiness.
You can't buy my pains.

I have the lakes, I have the rivers.
I have my teethes for when I smile.
The snow that puts make up on my mountains.
I have the sol that dries me and the rain that wash me
*A desert intoxicated with beautiful drinks of pulque
To sing with the coyotes is all that I need.
I have my lungs breathing clear blue.
The height that suffocates.
I'm the teethes that chew the Coca.
*The autumn with its dropping leaves
The lines written under the starry night.
A wineyard filled with grapes.
A sugar cane plantation under the Cuban sun.
I'm the Caribbean Sea watching over the houses,
Doing rituals of holy water.
The wind that combs my hair.
I'm all the saints that hangs from my neck.
The juice of my struggle is not artificial,
Because the fertilizer of my land is natural.

You can't buy the wind.
You can't buy the sun.
You can't buy the rain.
You can't buy the heat.
You can't buy the clouds.
You can't buy the colors.
You can't buy my happiness.
You can't buy my pains.
(from purtuguese)
You can't buy the wind.
You can't buy the sun.
You can't buy the rain.
You can't buy the heat.
You can't buy the clouds.
You can't buy the colors.
You can't buy my happiness.
You can't buy my sadness.

You can't buy the sun.
You can't buy the rain.
(we are drawing the way, we are walking)
You can't buy my life.
MY LAND IS NOT FOR SALE.

Working hard but with pride,
Here we share, what's mine is yours.
These people can't be drawn with big waves.
And if it collapsed I'll rebuilt it.
*neither blink when I see you.
So that you'll remember my surname.
Operation Condor is invading my nest.
I forgive but I'll never forget!

(we are walking)
The struggle breathes here.
(we are walking)
I sing because it sounds.

Here we are standing.
Long live Latin America.

You can't buy my life.