Her nose knew this smell. The people. The men. Men. Men took the trees. Men made them hot and orange. Men would touch the trees to make them glow in the night. The trees began a new life that filled ... [+]
Nepantla is the borderland, the in-between.
But much more than a place,
Nepantla is a state of being.
Contradictory and ambiguous,
Where white and black are grey,
Nepantla is a state of doing.
So I am Nepantling, as I have been.
They've told me I need to improve the race,
They've told me I am dark-skinned,
Prieta.
Who told me? When did they tell me?
The "American dream" I have pursued,
And for what motive?
I'm Nepantling, as I have been.
Representando my culture,
Orgullosamente representing.
But, who do I represent?
Dual citizenship and dual identity,
Contradictions.
Who am I? What am I?
My friends say, you're a gringa now!
But I didn't want to be.
I have been Nepantling,
Walking in someone else's shoes.
Of somebody who they told me I must be.
A güerita, a gringuita, an immigrant with papers.
An American citizen at last,
At last? But I was born in America.
America is my land.
It was ours before they took it from us.
I have been Nepantling,
Looking for the authenticity I thought I possessed,
Tolerating the contradictions I find.
Embracing the American dream,
Of being who I am without having to wonder.