I can remember as if it was yesterday that I ran through the streets of the small Ejido, the place I called home for many years, eleven to be exact. My first memories birthed in this small village, I can still smell the wet hills after the rain, the home of the bakery man as I walked by on my way to school. I can still hear the heavy accent in my teacher’s voice as she attempted to teach us how to say “Buenos Dias” in English. She had big dreams, indeed. Most importantly, I can still feel the passion of my community running through me. Continue reading →