Month: June 2019

I was keeping up with the news during the Maymester and on occasion called my parents to hear about what was happening with them and to catch up.  I would be lying if I didn’t feel some form of accountability and responsibility to check in on my parents.  For a long time, growing up as the child who could speak English the best meant I had to help my parents with so much: translating insurances, calling people about clinic services, and taking care of siblings when called to do so.  Eventually, all this responsibility transferred onto me acting as a caretaker for my family: at times willingly and sometimes out of necessity.

I couldn’t help but feel guilty about leaving to go abroad, because I felt like I was leaving my family vulnerable.  Using WhatsApp, I felt relieved to hear from my parents whenever I called.  As great as it was to hear from them, after the end of a call, I did worry about what would happen after.

During my study abroad, there was news about potential ICE raids, and I saw on Facebook my friends working to organize and inform undocumented folks about what to do and where to avoid.  Even though Austin was a target for leaked cities ICE was targeting, I felt nervous and anxious about the potential for my parents to be hit with one at their workplace, at the grocery store, the neighborhood, or even at the public services they make use of.  I was so afraid and anxious about my family that I would be lying if I said it didn’t take away from the trip.  This was always in the back of my mind: I was afraid that my family would be disrupted, and my siblings wouldn’t have my parents to look after them while I was away.  When we (my parents and I) talked, we were afraid of what could happen, but my parents wanted to support me, and I wanted to support them as well.  Those calls were important to my parents and even more for me.

My homestay mom would check-in on me occasionally, and I would tell her how I felt.  She listened, and I was so appreciative of her for checking-in.

As I carried these fears, I did find space and time to feel calm and focused on the trip.  My friend’s birthday was coming up and, unfortunately, it happened to be the weekend in which most of our classmates organized a hiking trip on a dormant volcano. By the time her birthday arrived, it was just four of us: her, me, and two other friends from class.  It was still a very intimate moment.  It was a rainy day in Antigua, and the three of us were at a cafe.  We meant to study and be responsible, however it didn’t take hold for long.  We did anything but study, and soon made our way to Casa Herrera, a UT facility that acts as our place for class.

Walking past La Merced Church while en route to the local coffee shop.

Enjoying an iced coffee with friends.

The program coordinator insisted that there be cake for my friend’s birthday, and we were excited to see what was in store for us.  Once we all settled in, we had a small intimate group setting with the program coordinator, the study abroad coordinator, the professor.  We all ate carrot cake, and it was some really good cake.  Normally I’m picky about the icing on a cake, but this one was an exception.  Once everyone had a slice, we talked among ourselves: our days, our weeks, and the news that’s coming out lately.

One of the most interesting discussion points we had was bilingualism.  We talked about how weird language acquisition is, and how hard it is for folks to pick it up as they get older.  Eventually, this discussion lead to bilingual identity in America and the experiences this identity holds.  It was a great conversation, and it honestly made me feel better.  I’m not sure if it was the rain, the cake, or the good company for a friend’s birthday, but I felt less worried and had a moment to think and focus on something else other than my family.

View from the rooftop of Casa Herrera.

My time in Antigua has been enjoyable.  I’m trying to keep up with maintaining good street etiquette, confidently speaking Spanish after initially being anxious about it, and enjoying as many coffee shops as I can!  As I made my way to Casa Herrera with my homestay friends, I was excited to go to Lake Atitlan: (1) to visit Panajachel, and (2) the textile workshop the program coordinator set-up for us.  Guatemala is known for its textiles, and the Lake Atitlan area has a variety of designs, colors and types.  One of my non-academic goals for study abroad was to get a shawl.  I find them to be beautiful, versatile, and perfect for the Texas winter back home.

Early in the morning, my homestay friends and I walked to Casa Herrera to meet with the rest of our class for the trip.  I can’t recall what I ate for breakfast, but I can recall how it wasn’t enough.  Once I had enough sunscreen and plenty of bug repellent, I felt ready for the three-hour ride.

On our ride from Guatemala to Antigua, I slept through all of that, so I had no idea what to expect in terms of sightseeing.  From what I’ve seen in Antigua, the way that clouds run on the rooftops of homes and the puffs of soot and red glare from the distant volcano at night, there was so much to appreciate and take in.  Even with anticipation of what the environment and countryside may look like, I was also curious about the infrastructure of the area, taking note of how space was used on the way to Panajachel.

Throughout the whole trip, I noticed the considerable use of agriculture on the mountains.  There was function and beauty to them.  Maybe it was the recent rainfall, but the green of these crops was beautiful and vibrant.  As great as this was, there is something to be said about what else I’ve seen from the ride to Panajachel.

View of Lake Atitlan from the highway.

In Guatemala, there is a considerable amount of poverty; the kind that manifests with hard working mothers with children setting fruit stands on the sides of highways, the lack of sidewalks for Maya women vendors traveling from their hometowns to the tourist locations, and the need for daughters to go and sell their handmade goods in public spaces.  What I saw is the impact of the legacies of U.S. intervention on Latin America and the rise of global warming, and most noticeably the extent of how gendered this violence and damage is to Maya people.  The noticeable impact of Maya women bearing the brunt of all of this was difficult to watch.

This context is important, and I bring this up because to ignore this adds to the erasure and exploitation these women go through while tourists take for granted Maya culture and heritage.  And so, I try to be aware of how my interaction in these communities, cities, and other forms of spaces impact them.  And this is not to say that I have done everything perfectly, I’m just recognizing the privilege I have as a tourist, a college student, and the access to resources that help fund this study abroad.

Once we arrived and settled in Panajachel, we had to walk to our boat, and take it to San Juan La Laguna to visit the textile workshop.  The city of Panajachel is a beautiful area, with a massive market and road full of vendors selling many kinds of textiles.  To list some that I found to be the most interesting were Maya textile office ties, jean overalls with textiles sewed beautifully on to them, and a lot of Five Nights at Freddie’s crochet figures.

As soon as we got to the boats, the water was beautiful and so alive with movement.  To my chagrin (and I’m assuming to most of my classmates), that movement made the boat ride from Panajachel to San Juan a very choppy ride — one in which I kept getting hit in the face with water. Nevertheless, I was excited for the cotton weaving demonstration.  I knew nothing much about the co-op, but I was looking forward to learning more about the process of organic cotton becoming the textiles Guatemala is known for.

Boats at the Panajachel public dock.

A choppy boat ride across the lake.

Inside our boat while crossing the lake.

After the boat ride and the uphill journey to the co-op, my class and I were greeted with this great variety of textiles, colors, and jewelry.  All of it was beautiful.  Once we were in the demonstration room, the presenter readied her materials: raw cotton, the dye, the tools needed for stringing, stretching, weaving and measuring.  In what was so effortless for her, perfected skills from a young age, was so difficult for some of my friends who participated – save for one person (she had the right trick to it).  The way the presenter spun a spindle with one hand while instinctively pulling from the cotton fluff in the other was mesmerizing to see. This was one step of many in textile making.  Throughout the workshop, we were shown the variety of cotton, the kinds of natural pigments used for the dyes, the history of the co-op and its mission to better serve the women who rely on it for their income, and the use of a backstrap loom.  There was so much information to process, but it was all so fascinating to learn.

After the demonstration, we were invited to browse around and see if we wanted to purchase anything.  There was so much to browse through and see, but I had one objective in mind: buy a shawl!  Once I got to the large scarf section of the co-op, there was so many options and colors to choose from.  Each scarf was different with individual patterns and colors, all a reflection of the vision the scarf maker had when creating them. After fishing for some opinions and thoughts, I settled on a black scarf with gray accents.

It took four weeks to make, and it was dyed with charcoal for black and eucalyptus for gray-hued blue.  The information is on the tag of the scarf, and it’s a reminder of how much time this process takes and explains why it’s priced the way it is.  The women who are part of the co-op and make the goods the co-op sells put in so much effort for the textiles.  Fortunately, the co-op pays them immediately once they bring their project to them (some pay the weavers only once someone buys the scarves).

After the purchase, I felt happy.  I felt happy to have bought this for myself and for my use, while also knowing more about the process for what I purchased.

Enjoying the beautiful surroundings of Lake Atitlan.

My first time traveling abroad, and I’m overwhelmed by so many new experiences.  A year ago, I traveled outside of my home, Austin, TX, for the first time, and I have learned so much from that experience.  Now, I find myself again inexperienced and anxious about traveling outside of the United States. There were so many more barriers to face, and I had so many more fears and worries than I did last year: immigration/customs and its forms, exchanging money, adequately speaking Spanish for my Study Abroad in Antigua, and so on.  Even as I carried these concerns and worries, I had to remind myself time and again that I deserved to go on this trip, and that I had earned my place on this trip and the scholarship that made it so much more accessible to me.

Once I arrived at Guatemala City, I was welcomed by the cool, rainy weather that brought a refreshing change from the brutal Texas heat.  With flannel and beanie to keep me warm, the ride from Guatemala City to Antigua was one full of twists and turns.  My heart raced as we drifted and darted through the streets in such escalating weather, but my driver was confident and calm.  He was so much so, I felt comfortable and drifted to sleep for the rest of the ride there.

Once my cohort and I settled into our respective homestays, I was overwhelmed by the change of flora and fauna, the cobblestone streets, and how timeless the city of Antigua was.  Even in such a different space, there was a familiarity to it that reminded me of the home my parents made in Texas: the maize-centered cuisine, my first language (Spanish) spoken in a public space and at my homestay, the dedication to an altar.

Central Park in Antigua Guatemala.

On my first night at Antigua, rather than explore for the first few hours there, I decided to take a nap.  I was exhausted from waking up so early for my flight and exhausted by the new information I needed to process.  Unfortunately, my decision lead to me sleeping through most of the dinner.  Immediately, I felt guilty and rushed to the dining room to find it mostly empty and my plate cold.   Attempting to sound coherent as possible after a nap with so little sleep, I apologized profusely in jumbled Spanish to my homestay.  Fortunately, she told me, no tenga pena (don’t worry about it), and told me I was fine.

After such an impression, I ate my dinner and enjoyed just how welcoming it was.  It reminded me of home, yet it was distinct enough to show me that it was not.

View of Antigua from the rooftop of my homestay.

I started a conversation with my homestay mom.  It began with me asking for recommendations for bakeries to visit.  From there, the conversation shifted to that of identity and heritage.  My parents are Mexican, raised in San Luis Potosi, and I was born and raised in Austin.  With that context, my sense of identity is a mixture of Mexican heritage, chicanx experience, and American code-switching; it is one of the many ways to be Latinx in America.

My homestay mom and I shared stories about our families: my sister’s adventures when she was very young, my homestay mom’s grandchildren and their tendency to grow up so quickly, my parents’ marriage and my birth, to my homestay mom’s engagement story to her husband.  It was fun and it was such a necessary conversation for me.  In our story sharing, we discussed about what it meant to be Latinx: its politics, its cultural heritage, its community care.

We spoke about what it meant for someone like me to be on this study abroad trip, and what it meant for me as a first-generation college student.  We shared and discussed that this trip, and the experience and knowledge I would learn, wasn’t for my own benefit but for the benefit of my community and family.  We concluded just how family-centered and family-focused we, Latinxs, are, and because of this community-making, we have this resiliency and strength that furthers ourselves as both individuals and community.

And so, my first night in Antigua, I found a greater appreciation for my Latinx identity and heritage, and I saw a glimpse of what Latinx pride can look like in a different country.  From that night, I carried myself with a little more confidence for the rest of the trip, and I drifted asleep with very little doubt about whether I should be here.