I am from the smells of freshly made tortillas, the aroma of pillowy dough pressed between calloused fingers and clay skillet; the stink of sweat and sunscreen and stale cigarettes mingling on hot skin.

I am from the sound of honking cars and cursing cab drivers, the swelling shouts of bartering street vendors; from a place where the president pretends not to notice the clusters of panhandling children on every corner.  

I am from the land of forgiving but never forgetting, of forehead kisses and food always signaling surrender and the end of frustration. 

I am from crowded shelves of crisp chapter books and secret sleepovers with sister; from radiant family reunions filled with enough laughter to make you think love really is revolutionary.

I am from women born stubborn and strong, resilient and resolute; from farmers and artists and nurses and teachers and lawyers and homemakers, all tired of being asked to always be tender.