yellow body which gives me energy and life;

it is the candy of my soul that I enjoy everyday in the morning.

The darkness of the world impulse me to cry but

the the ray of the suns erases my tears and

brings some color to life.

The blank spaces are filled with this eminent body.

No more shadows, no more darkness, everything is illuminated,

the sun is my strength, my vitamin of the morning, I can see

my happiness be reflected by the sun as a mirror…….

That moment lasted for just 15 minutes. The old man with such energy kept talking to my dad, as his words started to come out of his lips, I started to feel anger, an unstoppable anger. “Mi hijo muri a los 22 a`n os por mi culpa“-he said. Culpa and regret was what I sensed when I looked his eyes. ”Le mande dos mil dolares a mi hijo en cuba para que se comprara su carrito, y su carrito le causo la muerte, otro camion lo arrollo y quedo en pedasos” I started to picture that image in my mind, then I started to build in my mind the reaction of the old man. He felt guilty of his son’s death, he blamed himself for loss of his son. I got mad at destiny, I began to yell and to fight with it. I started to protest against destiny, I questioned her why she took away the life of young man and destroy the life of an old man, why she broke his heart. She did not answer, she did what she always does, she walked away from me without saying a single word.

The little girl came out to the door of her house; she was running and screaming at the top of her lungs for her aunt. Her untied shoes almost made her trip; she was wearing a little green dress. It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon and the little girl was only eight years old. She arrived to the front door exhausted but with enough energy to keep screaming out for her aunt.

There they were, aunt and niece, both looking at each other.

The little girl’s grandmother could hear the pleadings of her grandchild; she could hear her grandchild asking and begging her aunt to please stay with her, begging her to not leave. Her aunt with, damp eyes, with tears streaming down her face was unable to say ‘yes,’ yet she gained strength and cheered up her niece, who was crying. She approached her and gave her a kiss on the forehead and told her she loved her.

The aunt turned around and got on the red taxi that was waiting for her. The little girl paralyzed with grief, did not know why her aunt was going away from her. Her grandmother hugged her and took her inside the house. The girl did not understand what had just happened; she did not understand why her aunt was no longer at her side. She saw her favorite doll and started to play with it. In a few minutes, she was smiling again, forgetful of that moment, that farewell to her aunt.

That little girl was me. I have remembered that moment for many years. My aunt, Elizabeth, did not go away because she wanted to: she was studying to be a midwife and, in Peru, it is mandatory to do community service in the poorer cities of the country for two years before receiving the official doctorate degree.

When I was eight I could not understand why my aunt had left me: I wanted her to stay with me, but she could not. I grew up with that memory in mind and one day I asked her if she remembered the story I just told. Nonchalantly she smiled and said ‘yes,’ and she continued on to explain the situation that she had gone through.

It was at that moment that I comprehended the situation and stopped to think about it. I remembered that I only saw my aunt twice a year so I asked her again how she felt being away from her family? Did her heart hurt from this? As soon as I finished asking her those questions, I saw the expression of her face change for the briefest of moments. She said that it was difficult but that there was no another option. In life, you have to give something up in order to gain what you want. With that in mind, I wondered if I could ever be able to do that. It appears impossible to do that; only the emotionally strong could survive that type of sacrifice.

That conversation replayed in my head; every time it was much stronger, more frequent. I started to look for similar situations in my family circle; the circle became broader and began to grab at my parents, my parent’s friends, my older cousins and the society in which I lived in.

It was recently that I discovered this little motor that leads everyone to react in this same way. To that small motor, I gave the name of “The Desire of Accomplishment.” That desire not only occupied a space inside of my aunt, but also inside of each member of my family. Even I had this desire which began to flourish in me and grow as the days passed by. I not only analyzed the experience of my aunt but I started to analyze the people closest to me. My parents and I got closer when I found out this feeling was growing deep inside of me.

Because I did not have my aunt near me, I started searching for that feeling in the people who were close to me: my parents. I began to analyze the decisions that they have taken throughout their life. The most comparable decision that I could relate to the experience of aunt (which created this whirlwind of thoughts in my mind) was their decision to immigrate to the United States. This decision completely changed their lives as well as the lives of their daughters. From there, I started to work on the most important and difficult analysis I had ever faced.

I do not know why this desire is so important to me. Maybe there is a small amount of people who think about the same subject. Or, perhaps, I am the only one. But, when I realized that my aunt was not the only one who had been influenced by this motor, it began to call more attention to and it finally captivated me completely and ensnared me with its chains; it transformed me to an addicted prisoner of itself when I discovered that at my young age I was already being influenced by it. I got involved and was unwillingly dragged into this vicious cycle of searching reasons why I was being influenced; whether this influence was a good or bad thing; if I could escape from it when I wanted.

I wanted to discover more about these feelings: I wanted to become an expert in the subject and not just one another victim. I do not know where to start to analyze myself. I could not find the moment where this desire had influenced me the most in my life. So I started by the most significant and greatest moment in my life, the moment that not only changed my life but the lives of my family: our immigration to the United States.

I wanted to begin from this moment because it was not until then when I became more responsible and independent from my family. Being alone in my house with just the company of my sister, I was forced to grow and mature quickly; I stopped being the little girl who was always protected by all her family, the family which was always cared for her. I started to analyze myself and in my analysis I realized a new situation, as well as my feelings and those of parents, the ones responsible for this decision.

When we came to this country we left most of our family behind in our homeland. It was hard at first and I could not comprehend why my parents wanted to start a life without their family around. I saw “The Desire of Accomplishment” conquering them and encouraging them to go from one job to another to another where the salary was higher. The more money they had in their pockets the happier they were. But, when it was a birthday, wedding or baptism of someone close to the family, the money was not enough to restore their joy; they knew they would never recover and live that moment. What they were willing to lose to give me a better future made me feel proud of them but, at the same time, I felt culpable for being the biggest reason for those decisions. I felt guilty but, simultaneously, I felt that I was another motor in the life of my parents. Realizing this, a new surge of guilt to decrease but it was not strong enough to make it disappear.

After seeing the sacrifices of my parents, I started to look for my own sacrifices inside of me. Not being with my family and not being able to enjoy the birthdays, fights and the birth of the new members of the family sowed a feeling of gloominess in my heart. I could not avoid that feeling but I realized that it was not a voluntary sacrifice. My parents brought me to the United States when I was a teenager and I could not question the decision of my parents. They took the decision for me so I could not count that as a voluntary nor a true personal sacrifice. I was looking for something I had caused, something I had begun. I started to look to other ways, ways in which I had the “reins of the horse”, which turned out to be my life as a student.

I started to recall the days I have to stay up until dawn to finish a project. I started to bring to my mind the parties I missed and the dinners which I could not attend because I had to study. When I had an exam I would usually stay up late studying. I do not like having a ‘B’ in my courses when I know I can get an ‘A.’ Here is where the motor plays a vital role to keep driving me forward: it is in this aspect of my life is where the motor can be easily seen and found. I know it is normal to sacrifice free time when it comes down to studying and preparing for exams. That’s understandable. What I am furious about is that I missed the birthday dinner of my best friend. That was when I started to question myself about the motor: was it my ally or my enemy? After that, I became more cautious and commenced to try to not be dragged down by that desire again.

Since that moment I began to see the motor from another perspective. I began to see it as an encouraging friend but, at the same time, as the enemy who may lead me to my own destruction. If I let the motor of life control my life completely I will be a human being manipulated by desire, a marionette of a desire. If that were to happen I would have failed as person. If at this stage of my life I miss the most important and significant events for me, then what can I expect from my future? Will I stop caring about others and walk over them without helping them? No! I will not let that ever happen, that is not me. I will let “The Desire of Accomplishment” influence me only on the more positive aspects. It is thank to this little motor that I am where I am now, I will let it influence me but the big difference is that I will cease it when it is about to control my life. I am unwilling to lose the most important things in my life in order to gain the satisfaction of being someone, someone who may end up alone and regretting decisions in her life.

However, the motor of this machine is needed to progress; it is what the world needs to move forward, to keep evolving. We can not see these motors as a plague that must be pushed away from us. I will not push it away from me, I will only limit this desire and keep it locked down with a key, a key that only I can I find. If I keep living my life careful of my feelings, I will have a successful life and without regrets. I want to enjoy my life; I do not want to be controlled by “The Desire of Accomplishment.” I know I will have to keep giving things up in my future but I will think twice before doing so. I will refuse and fight to not to lose what is significant for me. I do not want to put at risk what I consider and feel that is important in my life, and then realize in the end, at my miserable end, that everything I gave up to achieve my goals was not worthy. I want to be able to feel accomplished because I was successful academically and as a person.

I have undertaken a journey, a journey that I have no idea how long it will last; a journey that only I, and nobody else, can take. My journey began at the beginning of this semester, and even though this semester is about to come to an end, my journey is not. I have not found the answer that my heart wants to find, I have not found the answer that I want to have. I just hope that some day I can find it. My journey’s destiny is the MariaVillage. Nobody lives in this town. The only dwellers in this land are the feelings floating around, opinions that have not been spoken; sorrows, joys, cries, laughs and customs waiting to be found. All of that forms the identity of Maria, my identity. The purpose of my trip is to find myself again, to find the Maria who lived within me for a long time but with the passing of the years has been disappearing, has faded away.

I took the decision to embark on this trip after I faced a harsh, cruel, unexpected reality, a reality from which I tried to flee several times. Since I was a young lady I have always asked myself who I was and what was the purpose of my life. I have focused more on finding the answer to the second question, which was haunting my mind without fatigue, but I finally comprehended that to find the answer to that question I needed to find the answer to the first question: who am I? I have asked myself that question over and over again until it finally hit me that this question may not have an answer, even if I keep asking myself the same question daily, constantly. Who am I? I have been avoiding this conflict as much I could. I did not want to see why I did not know who I am, but it was absurd, useless, corrosive. My identity is my shadow. The question behind my identity is my executioner, an executioner that will not let me go until I have found the answer, an answer which can satisfy my heart, soul and consciousness.

The journey began after I read “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” by Gloria Anzaldua. Seeing that she has an identity, and identity she was proud of, I asked myself: “Oh, well Maria, who are you? Where is your identity?” I thought for a few minutes and there was no answer to be seen; the answer was not coming to my mind. I tried to bluff myself – I told myself “you know who you are, you know it is not necessary to start interrogating yourself with those questions, just let it go, let it go.” Let it go? I could not. My consciousness and my soul would not let that happen, so I asked and asked myself a thousand times who I was, and the result was the same: there was no answer. Where had my identity gone? I felt envy of Anzaldua. I wondered if she had gone through the same process I was going through or if she has always being so sure of her identity. The envy started to consume me, the envy grew, the jealousy was not going away. I did not like to feel envy; that was not me, it was not me! I was completely sure that the rotted envy was not part of my reality. Since that moment I undertook the trip of my life. The endless journey began, or that is what I thought.

I was afraid of getting on the train alone. I did not want to go by those unfamiliar roads with hidden surprises by myself, a path that perhaps could be painful but it is my identity and only I can find it. I packed what was necessary for the trip: my strength, which will not let me collapse and get off the train at halfway; and my feelings and memories of the past, which is the food that will feed my soul and the light that will illuminate the path of this lady with a shadow but without identity. I got in the train shaking; the train was empty, the seats were soft, and the wood could be smelled meters away. As the door was closing, I heard all the noise of the world which surrounded me left behind. I saw my concerns, my fears, my friends, my parents, everything was left behind that door and only silence and meditation were becoming my inseparable colleagues of the trip. As soon as I sat on the train I felt the journey would not be in vain, that the response I would acquire at the end of the trip would be part of my life, and without my identity I could not live my life, I could not enjoy it or find the purpose of my life. I do not want to leave this world without knowing me. I refuse to live that way.

The train began to move and the road became indistinguishable. I could not see anything across the windows. I was disconnected from the world outside the train. The overflowing luggage filled with emotion was lying on the floor. I was looking at it and the luggage was moving uncontrollably. It was calling to me desperately and there I was, sitting with doubt, with a bit of fear at seeing this jumping luggage. Cautiously, I opened the luggage and the memories and feelings flew away from me. Now, only me and the loneliness remained, but the feelings and memories did not disappear – they turned into the landscape of the travel. I passed the memories of my childhood,: laughter, games, pets, the innocence that overflowed within me on this stage of my life. That stage of the journey of seeing, analyzing and reliving the feelings of my past took me days. After one memory, I saw another unknown memory coming. That is how I realized that it was not a simple journey that would last one day or a week. After realizing that I doubted, I hesitated whether I should continue with the trip or not. I doubted and asked myself if I had the time to continue this journey. Then, I stopped and realized that everything was an excuse to keep running away from the question. Time, what a poor, lame and craven excuse. I was not playing with my time, I was putting at risk my identity as a person, as a living being who has feelings and an essence that makes me different from others and unique, the lost essence which I wanted to find.

As I was seeing my memories of my childhood pass before me I realized that my identity was within me, but I did not look for it. I did not even think about the meaning or the importance of identity. I guess most of the children do not think about that at that age. I spent days and days, until I arrived to the phase of my youth. During this phase I saw how I gradually started to lose my identity because of the influence of my friends, but it was here, in this country, where I lost it completely and without realizing it. The influence of my friends, new cultures, and new environment blinded me. I did not fight to keep my identity. I am guilty of the loss of my identity. At the beginning I was being influenced by my friends without knowing it, but later I knew I was being influenced by them and I did not do anything about it. I turned around and pushed my reality away from me. I saw the memories of my early youth, and the first clue to tell me that I was losing my identity completely was when I started to talk Honduran phrases, every time more frequently. I saw how I was becoming a member of someone else’s culture. I sat back and thought, then I realized that it was good to adapt to new cultures, which I did, but my terrible mistake was not adapting, it was becoming part of those cultures in such a way that I was losing my identity. In this period of my trip I divided the journey into three phases. The first one was my childhood, where I did not worry about my identity; the second phase was my early adolescence, where the influence of my friends led me to lose my identity gradually; and the third one, my later adolescence, in which I am trying to find my identity.

I wonder if I am the only one who has gone through this. I wonder if I am the only one who failed to cling on to her roots and fight to not be carried away from them. Maybe we all have passed through the same circumstance. The question is if they all will take the same train I took. Some of them may have woken at dawn and took the journey before me, probably people that as soon as they saw they were being influenced they reacted faster than me. Maybe others took the train at noon just like me. I have taken the train at noon, at half of my life, where an insignificant amount of resentment exists within me because I have not woken up early, because I refused to react. There will be others who will take their journey in the afternoon, those who have run from their reality for fear of not finding their identity, who are unaware that something is missing in their lives, but who will eventually climb on the train where there is still hope of finding themselves and be glad to not have waited for the night, where everything is darkness and hope fades away every second. Finding yourself is the essence of life; knowing yourself is the meaning of life, and if you do not know yourself you will not be able to know others; if you do not know yourself, the answers to your questions will be so far away that it will seem impossible to reach them.
After completing the second phase of my trip, where I lost my identity completely, I am entering to the third phase, where I am trying to recover my identity. I believe that the key to regain my identity is to start from the beginning and cling on to my culture, my feelings, my opinions, and my values with an unbreakable strength. I am still at the third stage and it is my impression that it will take more time than the others. This angers me and depresses me, not for a silly excuse of time, but because it means I lost my identity completely and it will take time to recover it again. How could I have been so blinded? How could I let this happen? How could I be so coward and weak to let my identity go? How?

Ya no puedo llorar sobre la leche derramada. I have a road to travel and I will keep traveling until I reach my destiny. I think I am close, but I cannot be sure of that. As I get closer, there is a doubt growing fast inside me. I know I will find my identity, I will recover it, I am sure, but this doubt is haunting and killing me inside. Maybe I have reached half of my life and I am about to find my missing identity, but I still have many years to live, I still have experiences to enjoy, I have a lot to live and here is where the doubt becomes gigantic. Will I be able to maintain my identity unscathed through the forthcoming years? That doubt no longer scares me. I will not stumble with the same rock again. From now on, the new customs, new experiences, the new circumstances will get used to me and my identity, and not my identity to them. I will not let others take away from me my identity again. It is my essence and when I recover it I will be satisfied and be able to live a life with shadow and identity, an identity which would be my friend and not a stranger.
I am still at the stage of regaining my identity. It will take more time, but it does not matter to me. I am already on the train and I will not get off, even if it is raining or snowing. I will not let my identity disappear again. I refuse to feel that emptiness inside of me. It is not pleasant to know that you do not know who you are. When I arrive to MariaVillage, the memories of my luggage will join with the feelings and opinions floating around the town waiting to be found, and the empty hole will be filled and I will know who I am.