Part Ⅰ: La Casa

There’s something about Mexico, nighttime feels darker than it does in the United States. The streets of Xico are completely still and empty, except for the stray dogs that wander in packs or a sketchy person or two looming in the shadows. Maybe it’s superstition, but I wouldn’t dare walk the streets alone. The walls of the living room in my grandparents’ house are painted a bright shade of azure, a shade of blue so bright it looks almost overly saturated. At night, as the room is brightly lit by a fluorescent light on the ceiling, a slight hue of green bounces off the walls. It removes all the warmth from the colors around us, making everything slightly green. Despite how bright the light is, the rest of the house looks so dark. The corners where the lights are turned resemble the black void of space, so black you can’t see a thing. There’s an eerie stillness to the house, so quiet you can hear the dogs on the back patio breathing.

— an excerpt from my essay "Cuando Pase el Dolor"

Chapulines

Grasshoppers are one of the many insects used in food in Mexico. Growing up, my family would always bring back a fresh bag of dried grasshoppers, or chapulines for our family.

There were so many ways you could eat them, but our family’s preferred way was in tacos. We would fry them with a little bit of oil, sprinkle a generous pinch of salt, set them in a warm corn tortilla, and lather a spicy salsa de molcajete before rolling it up and enjoying. 

I actually hated eating them, but my dad would make the tacos look like it was the best thing he’s ever eaten. Sometimes, he would even have them in a bowl and snack on them as if they were a botana you could get on an airplane.  His face would always light up if he saw them on the dinner table, giving me a glimpse of his nostalgia. 

We’ve never actually talked about it, but I think eating our traditional foods takes him back to his pueblo and his family, everything he knew before he left it all behind.

— Tiffany Marquez-Escobar

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