The poet I tried to write like is Janel Pineda in another life. I really gained inspiration from her writing and work because I related alot to her poem and her style of poetry. Janel is from Los Angeles and so am I. I was able to relate to being home with a different mindset. The way she was able to describe what she went through in the lens of her family was beautifully pictured. Being Central American in LA is hard because everything is predominantly Mexican culture so being able to relate felt like being seen.
I woke up to the laughter of children and the smell of coffee being ground in the morning. The first thing I hear from my great-grandmother's mouth is “Padre nuestro que estás en el cielo, santificado sea tu Nombre.”
But what was my name in a country that I didn't belong to? I left home for the first time to visit my mother’s home and her family wasn't my family. Blood is what bonds us but what creates a family is the laughter over old stories of people who are no longer with us
"My home isn't a place and it's not a person"
Those stories kept us connected. What connection did I have to Honduras besides my mother that linked me to a country that will never be mine? Me dijieron you sound like your mother, you look like your father, and yet you think like an American.
I am American but my identity stems from Honduras and it always will. The old women on the corner selling baleadas for 40 lempiras, the pulperia being fully stocked with treats that you could only get there, the Mercado where you can see freshly cut meat, and women selling food on every other post are home for me. My home isn't a place and it's not a person - it's the family that was created along the way.