history of mi life

Soy Latina

Do not push me into a box, i promise i wont  fit.

Because my skin shares the story my features narrate
A story tainted with the bruises of oppression, the wounds of conquest
A land so rich it was forced to be poor

A palette of colors mixed and blended
like the sunsets over our mountains
like the creatures of our jungles
like the waters of our oceans

I am a native
I am an african
I am a european
I am an arab
I am the queen and i am the peasant

My bones were built from the sand of continents
My blood runs thick through the rivers of nations
My skin a tapestry of the rise and fall of empires

Do not push me into a box in which i do not fit
For i am the world and the world will never fit into a box

Finding, at the end of the day at the dissecting table, that there was more he wished to examine, he put a lung under his hat and walked out past the guard at the door, all going well as he proceeded through the streets until he felt blood trickling down his face.
—  Henry Bowditch, medical student c.1834, doing terrible things with human organs. From The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris by David McCullough, which any les mis fan who wants to get an american perspective on what life in Paris was like in the early ‘30s should definitely read ASAP. The section about the med students is wild.