If you read the poets of the 19th century in Latin America, you would see that Havana or Mexico City or Buenos Aires are incredibly modern and global cities that they were not. And eventually they became real, and they became real because people read these books and tried to live in a better world.
When you review the Central American wars or other Latin American wars, you find that there were dictators and there were insurgents.
How can you not be affected by disappointments relating to work you love so much?
Contemplating Christmas when you are isolated and far from home brings its own unique pain.
Happiness: an agreeable sensation arising from contemplating the misery of another.
Am I Latin? Am I American? What the hell am I? I love my culture and I'm very proud of my culture.
I realized how Latina I was, and then also, at the same time, how not Latina enough I was, because I'm born and raised in Los Angeles. I speak Spanish, but I don't speak perfect Spanish, not like a native speaker.
When my mother was born on 14 April, he named her after a Latin American holiday, the Day of Americas, that nobody knew about. My due date also happened to be 14 April.
I struggled with being a Latino growing up in Los Angeles. I felt very American. I still do. I went to 35 bar mitzvahs before I went to a single quinceanera. I could talk all day about my culture and what it means to me.
I've got a room full of gold and platinum records, a lot of them are Canadian, and I've got a very soft spot for that country.
