Geography of the heart
In the last post, I discussed the idea of going back to go forward.
In therapy for the past four or so years since I wrote that, I have gone back. Not in a *NSYNC-WAS-GREAT nostalgia kind of way, which I still admit that I just indulged in about an hour ago (Ariana. Coachella. OMG.), but in a slightly more productive kind of way. I still don't trust that revisiting my parent's separation or middle school bullying will help me in the now for some reason, although I did like untangling some of the thoughts and feelings I still carry with me.
Also, since I've written that, I've started researching my family tree. I've already made incredible discoveries, like how many generations of Yumans* my family has (five) and how their residency dates back to pre-statehood. The first Yuma resident in my family, one of my great-great-great-great-great grandmothers, lived to be 112! I feel slightly less afraid of an early mortality. I also have discovered the origin of my English ancestry through my maternal grandmother's family which makes me feel way less ashamed of my high school Anglophilia. I can now tell you confidently, with supporting evidence, that most of my family comes from Sonora and Sinaloa. I want to make more discoveries. Part of me feels like this is a narcissistic and self-indulgent activity but it's the most fun I've had in a while. I actually feel like a missing part of me is starting to come together. By gathering the birthplaces and residencies of my ancestors, both dead and living, I feel compelled to go.
I want to go to Mexicali and Hermosillo and Monterrey.
I want to go to McAllen, Texas and see it and try to help, in some small way, the children locked away who could have been me had my dad's grandparents not made the journey across the border already years ago.
I want to go to Yuma to see where my mom's mom and her mom and her mom and her mom grew up and where her mom settled. I love how there's a perfect matrilineal connection to this place. My feminist heart swells just thinking about it.
And when I come back, I'll drive past the Whittier Boulevard house in East Los Angeles that my grandpa lived in when he became a citizen, the one that's now worth almost a million dollars, and drive eastward on this same boulevard and get my ass home.
*Is that the right demonym? I hope so.
In therapy for the past four or so years since I wrote that, I have gone back. Not in a *NSYNC-WAS-GREAT nostalgia kind of way, which I still admit that I just indulged in about an hour ago (Ariana. Coachella. OMG.), but in a slightly more productive kind of way. I still don't trust that revisiting my parent's separation or middle school bullying will help me in the now for some reason, although I did like untangling some of the thoughts and feelings I still carry with me.
Also, since I've written that, I've started researching my family tree. I've already made incredible discoveries, like how many generations of Yumans* my family has (five) and how their residency dates back to pre-statehood. The first Yuma resident in my family, one of my great-great-great-great-great grandmothers, lived to be 112! I feel slightly less afraid of an early mortality. I also have discovered the origin of my English ancestry through my maternal grandmother's family which makes me feel way less ashamed of my high school Anglophilia. I can now tell you confidently, with supporting evidence, that most of my family comes from Sonora and Sinaloa. I want to make more discoveries. Part of me feels like this is a narcissistic and self-indulgent activity but it's the most fun I've had in a while. I actually feel like a missing part of me is starting to come together. By gathering the birthplaces and residencies of my ancestors, both dead and living, I feel compelled to go.
I want to go to Mexicali and Hermosillo and Monterrey.
I want to go to McAllen, Texas and see it and try to help, in some small way, the children locked away who could have been me had my dad's grandparents not made the journey across the border already years ago.
I want to go to Yuma to see where my mom's mom and her mom and her mom and her mom grew up and where her mom settled. I love how there's a perfect matrilineal connection to this place. My feminist heart swells just thinking about it.
And when I come back, I'll drive past the Whittier Boulevard house in East Los Angeles that my grandpa lived in when he became a citizen, the one that's now worth almost a million dollars, and drive eastward on this same boulevard and get my ass home.
*Is that the right demonym? I hope so.
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