Angela Amparo Rodriguez

It rains every other night, thunderstorms the likes of which I have only ever known in Mexico. The rain falls warm, the wind sings something sweet until it blasts open the windows and doors with a heavenly roar, the thunder crackles like my father’s laugh, the lightning dances in flashes through the sky.

Mexico has been known as a country of suffering and song and has even been romanticized for it. My family’s history is a reflection of the nation from which they stem — our stories are of pain and sacrifice. 

My parents’ hometowns may be over 1,900 miles away, but here in Gonzales, it doesn’t feel so far. The grief lessens and grows quiet — sometimes, it fades.

I am a ripple of all of you — we are sister echoes of a song my mother once sang. Each one is different from the other, a variation in the melody, perhaps, but still part of the same song.

I thought it was the haircut that caused this transformation. But looking back, I think the transformation might have helped me find kindness in my hair.

My grandfather lives still, as wisps and whispers and memories of a laugh long gone. No matter where he is, no matter where he goes, he always, always returns home.

On my first day, I had the stunning realization that I was the culmination of all of my parents’ and siblings' efforts. I felt, with a terrifying clarity, that I had to make something extraordinary of their efforts.