FOR THE LATINX RESEARCH CENTER, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY
Family Healing
In the following poems the writers reflect on the relationship between self and family
Por y Para Ustedes
Angelica Garcia
Me paro enfrente de la mujer que me dio vida
La miro a los ojos y la veo con los ojos llenos de lágrimas
Sonríe ma, no esté triste, me voy para sanarte
Para sanar a la mujer que siempre me ha apoyado
La que siempre está para escuchar mis problemas
La que me ha enseñado mis valores como mujer
La que hace lo posible para mantenerme a salvo
Bendígame papá
Con tus manos cortadas y duras de tanto trabajar
El hombre que trabaja día y noche para darnos un techo y comida
El que siempre se esforzaba para ir a mis eventos escolares
Al que se le hacía un nudo en la garganta al ver a su primera hija ganar una beca para el colegio
No se me ponga triste pa, esto es gracias a ti, esto es para ti
I look into the car and see my baby sister fast asleep, my brother yawning because my move-in
disturbed his sleep
My bundles of joy, my two purposes in life
Donde ellos están, yo estuve
Donde yo iré, ellos irán
Qué mi hermano y hermana vean que sí se puede
Qué los Garcia Velazquez si podemos
From Boyle Heights to Berkeley
From the known to the unknown
Del nido yo me voy
Me voy a buscar la medicina
Esta no es medicina para el cuerpo
Es medicina para la mente, para el corazón, para el futuro
No son pastillas, son ideas que voy a poner en acción
Es esperanza, es oportunidad, es valor
Esto es por ellos
Voy a sanar a mis padres indocumentados, a mi hermanita que es mi otra mitad, a mi hermano
que es mi razón
Voy a sanar a Angelica
Image by Angelica Garcia
For My Parents
by Ericka Dominguez
HYPHY to me is reminding me that my culture is what makes me unique.
It gives me the ability to understand and speak out against what I feel is damaging my people
today.
HYPHY is something we strive for
It’s healing generational trauma
So that you don’t pass on that trauma to future generations
When I ask myself what healing is
I remember the bad stories my mom told me about her parents
I remember my mom telling me
“Your grandpa chased me with a machete when he found out I was pregnant”
I remember her using that story to tell me,
“You’re lucky you don’t have parents like him”
I remember my dad not wanting to talk about Mexico
I remember him avoiding talking about his father
I remember having to ask my uncle about my father’s childhood
I remember that to heal I have to understand my parents are a product of how they were raised
I have to remember they only learned one way to raise kids
I have to remember it’s not their fault
HYPHY means that I have to heal myself first,
So that I can help others
It means I have to understand that I didn’t abandon my parents
Even though it feels like I did
I left to pursue a better future for myself,
more importantly for my parents
HYPHY’s learning I didn’t leave them for selfish reasons,
but for reasons more important than myself
I left so my dad can have the hope of finally retiring
I left to give them the financial stability they’ve worked so hard for
Image by Ericka Dominguez
Algún Dia
by Anonymous
Soy hija de inmigrantes
Inmigrantes con trauma
Esa trauma que nos quitó la vida y la calma
Me dijo mi papá “Te llevo a MacDonald’s”
Y nunca regresó porque lo habían deportado
Mi mamá no supo qué hacer con cuatro hijos en la casa
Nos dijo “duérmanse ya, hablamos en la mañana”
Nunca platicamos de mi papá otra vez
Se fue a la chingada también con nuestra fe
Llegando de la escuela me comía una quesadilla
Sin saber que iba a cenar, ni lo que iba comer pa’ el próximo día
En los ocho años que pasaron desde que deportaron a mi papa
Ya no supimos de la familia
Nos dejaron de hablar
Crecimos sin padre sin madre sin cultura
Y la cultura que nos tocó fue el machismo y peor vida
Mi mamá nos dió una casa y comida
Pero le faltó el amor y a veces se ponía agresiva
Casi me golpeó en la cara, y dejó un hoyo en la pared
Pero todos los días trato de decirle “te amo mamá, siempre te voy a querer”
Ya no sé si es cierto ni falso ni correcto
Pero no quiero pensar en eso ahora que estoy en el colegio
Trabajé duro para llegar aquí y escapar la trauma que no me deja de seguir
Ahora voy a terapia y tomo mis pastillas
Pero a veces no duermo porque nunca se me olvida
Le digo a mi hermana si dios quiere, vivimos una mejor vida
Una vida sana con calma sin dolor y heridas
Le hablo por el celular pa’ decirle que le heche ganas
Porque todavía seguimos vivas y con sueños que no se acaban
Ella es mi vida, mi amor, mi querida
Y juntas estaremos feliz algún día
For You, For Me, For Us
By Thais Macias
Hyphy is looking out for each other
Treating your people like a sister or a brother
Babysitting their kids because they can’t afford daycare
Making extra food to give to the neighbors to share
Hyphy is going to church and saying a prayer
To look out for your comunidad because sometimes life can be unfair
Giving people a ride when you see them walking in the rain
Providing them with a shoulder to cry on when they’re in pain
Hyphy is being able to provide your kids with an education
It’s being able to teach them strength and determination
Being able to sleep at night knowing that your kids are okay
Waking up and seeing them smile everyday
Hyphy is breaking the cycle of abuse that your parents put you through
So your kids can learn to trust and not grow to be afraid of you
Accepting your kids no matter who they love or marry
Showing that love to the grandchildren you’ll one day carry
Hyphy is taking the vacation you’ve always thought about
Treating yourself to a meal even if it’s just take-out
Looking in the mirror and seeing how beautiful you are
Becoming the best version of yourself by far
Hyphy is taking time for yourself
But it’s also being there for everyone else
It’s finding a balance between the two
It’s healing your people, and its healing you
Image by Thais Macias
Image by Osvaldo Barba
The Lost Ones
By Osvaldo Barba
Hyphy for me is taking time to resist
It is a time to listen and speak
A place where we should strive to be
It is listening to my abuela’s recipes
It is the healing the retumbos that the tambor provides.
It is dancing with my mom on Saturdays while she’s limpiando at 7 am
Hyphy is the mindset we should live in when we see the unhoused, what we strive for
when someone is getting arrested.
HYPHY is a state of nature that many struggle to achieve because they are stuck in the
past and the future, both of which are not within arms reach.
HYPHY means listening to your body and your mind, a medium, a vessel for the soul.
HYPHY is when I do the things that come naturally to me– when I hold my spine erect,
when I wait for my turn to speak, and only speak after carefully listening, when I
enunciate, when I look adultos in the eye – I am told I must have “been here before.”
HYPHY is that I have grown up too fast.
HYPHY is charming my teachers. They encourage me to write speeches about trauma
that I recite at City Hall, or deliver as a part of a conference panel at local universities.
“If you were older,” they tell me, “we would probably be friends.”
“How do you know?” One college professor asks me after she read a psychologically
graphic speech about gun violence that I wrote when I was 15. I explain I am exposed to
that world in my community everyday, how can I not?
HYPHY is existing somewhere between amicably mysterious and irrevocably dorky. The
popular kids greet me in the walkways, then they invite me to their beer-drenched parties.
HYPHY is my mother telling me she is protecting me. The truth is, after I do all my
homework, she wants me to type up another family friend’s resume or resignation letter.
HYPHY is me being ”the bridge,” a cultural interpreter, a spokesperson, and a trusted ally.
HYPHY is understanding that the children of Immigrants don’t get to be children.
We lose our innocence watching our parents’ backs bend and break. I am an old soul
because when I was young, I watched my mom’s spirit get slaughtered.
HYPHY is loving the way that our skin is brown just like the crops we pick.
HYPHY was my grandparents giving up everything they knew to inherit the Amerikan Dream.
And here they labor, picking crops from shitty old white mens’ fields, scrubbing 5 star
hotel toilets for dimes above minimum wage. They are barred from entering the
country because newscasters and politicians say that “RAPE” and “DRUGS” come from their country.
HYPHY will always be, Mexico: A brown magic country where the rich are hella rich and
the poor are hella poor. A place with orphan beggars and brazen political corruption. A
place where your Amerikan dollar buys you two meals. A place where speaking English
puts you at the top. A place where tortillas hechas a mano and frijoles fritos roam the air.
The air that I, a Mexican Amerikan and corrupt politicians share. The air that La Policia
Federal corrupta and my 64 year-old grandmother share, with hopes of a greater nation
that gave birth to them.
HYPHY, I am their hope. I hold their dreams and expectations.
So yes, I grew up too fast.
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