Mexican clay

Objectively speaking, I had not done much significantly meaningful with my camera for a long time, I had been travelling around Europe, Asia and Australia and although I was happy with the visual aesthetics my photos showed, I could not recall much magic in the moments captured. I was homesick and I needed to do something about it, I needed to recharge.

Till that moment, I had always been inspired by my mother's eternal amazeness by almost everything, my most outstanding childhood memories about her were her incomparable kindness, her curly dark hair and a big analog camera always hanging around her neck.

She had always been and still is, undeniably crazy in love with life.

After two years of not being in my hometown, Mexico; I finally felt an unexplainable relief as the plane touched aztec land. I had planned to spend two mindful months with my mother and grandmother, I had missed them to the bone and now time was not getting along with my grandmother's health; 89 years of being the basis of all the good I could possibly be and ethically have, my unbreakable oak was sick and since the moment I saw her again, I couldn't shake off the desire to close my eyes and float off somewhere else where I would never have to confront this probably soon to come, painful loss.

One night, after dinner, my mother sat with me at the edge of the bed and kindly handed me a white envelope, "Your birthday is around the corner" she said, "I think we should celebrate, you haven't been here for a while, now why don't you and I go somewhere and take some photos, make some memories?".

She had arranged two plane tickets to Chiapas, a place we had always dreamed about visiting together. "I arranged everything with my brothers, they will take care of your grandma, she is in good hands, we are only going away for a few days" she said. I smiled and hugged her tight. One week later, with a pair of small backpacks and some comfy shoes, I began a life-changing journey with my best friend.

A town surrounded by waterfalls and rainforests, home to hundreds of bird species that cannot be found anywhere else in the world; artisans, musicians, coffee, mayan ruins and colorful streets. A dream-like town inhabited by inconceivably brave indigenous, not willing to ever give away neither their land nor their freedom.

As much as I was deeply amazed by the endless beauty of my surroundings, I had been thinking about my grandmother the whole time, I could see her everywhere, in the wrinkled skin of the indigenous workers, in the white hair of the talented artisans, in the tired feet of the workers, in the nature's endless wisdom. I had always seen the bright side of death as a part of my culture, but for the first time in my whole life, I could really feel it's cold bones dancing nearby, I just had not had the time to deeply think about it and its direct impact into my "psique".

Suddenly I found myself fascinated with my own physical body, the natural naivety of my young age, I looked at my skin and it never looked younger; it never showed in such an obvious way the time I had fully lived and the time I had wasted. The fugacity of my own existence that happened to be a tiny feature of a not so fair world; yet my life as little as it seemed, happened to feel all of a sudden, like the most valuable thing. I had been the blood running through my mother's veins, my grandmother's, my ancestors, cell by cell, to the wonders of this body I miraculously dwelled. It was not till then where I realised that all the answers to our fears and doubts can really be found if we take the time to look deep into our elders eyes, if we listen, if we observe, if we stop for a second and take a breath.

It was 9:00 am of the next day when we jumped into the van to the nearest town and we found a big group of indigenous tzotziles in the plaza of Zinacantan, a place so special and different, it almost felt like another world, a sacred one, a place I was not deserving to be in.

After some innocent questions in regards to the ceremony they were celebrating, a very kind woman and her sister offered to take us to their home, we felt honoured and followed them on a 20 minute walk.

A beautiful house made of mud with metal lamina ceilings which was home to four women and a little girl, all artisans, all beautiful, all beyond humble and kind, they would sell handicrafts, fruit and handmade tortillas everyday too.

After a few minutes, they invited us to their kitchen and prepared for us a simple yet very tasty meal, the sauce was made with chiles from their garden, some beans were cooking in their 'comal" and handmade blue corn tortillas were still warm wrapped in a colourful cloth, some cheese and salt, that's all it was.

They had become artisans at the age of 12, as their family tradition dictated, they said as they poured some 'Cafe de olla" sweetened with 'piloncillo' and cinnamon.

We thanked them and offer to pay for their extraordinary hospitality, "Please don't, we are not asking for money, we might not have much but the little we have we like to share and we hope you enjoy".

This family had this undeniable innocence of a child in no need to hold any power of any kind towards anything. They were without a doubt the happiest people we had ever come across, they would smile at all times as if the cruel hands of the world had never put a finger on them, although I could be wrong; maybe they had been through a lot, enough to realise that whether it rains or storms, it's all part of the journey, the natural rhythm of life and its never ending joy.

The best part of it all is that they knew how to express this through their traditional handmade treasures, from which they did not expect large sums of money, because as they said to us "We really don't need much, we have each other and that's always been enough". We left with this blissful feeling inside, completely recharged and promised to visit again some other time.

In my culture, family is the most valuable treasure one could ever have, we see death as a part of life and life as a part of death. We sing and celebrate the ones who have left, we keep in mind that if they remain in our hearts, then they are never too far ahead.

I shed a tear in the midst of the world's noise and my new life realisations, I heard them, a timeless nature voice in unity, whispering straight into my soul, " there is nothing to fear" "You are made of us and we are made of you"

"I am made of them and they are made of me! the place where I come from I carry it within" from my people their strength and joy and the courage to carry on.

My mother wiped my cheek while holding my hand, she looked at me and said "everything is going to be ok".

I said "I know mom, I know, now let's go take some photos, there's so much we have not seen yet".