Yo Soy la Luz

You are Magic

Mi Vida

And don’t you ever

Forget that

You are Light

You are Luz

You are Wild

In Fumes

You are Thunder

And Grace

And Mother’s

Name

You are Everything

And you are

Nothing

My first night in Oaxaca, I downed a few Mezcal shots with my Airbnb host and her family, celebrating her brother’s birthday in a fiesta with generations of their family. I introduced myself- an American extranjera with Mexican and Filipinx blood who was called to the homeland for my espíritu. I tried to keep up with the conversation, food, and drinks with the tios, primas, and abuelas- my aching and longing heart felt honored and lucky to be welcomed by a home and a family.

A tío, who works with plant medicines, inquired where I had gotten a protection necklace and the conversation steered to the mystic. “Eres magia”, he told me. My body tingled, my mind jumped. It felt like I needed to hear that confirmation. “Yes”, I responded, “that’s why I’m here, I’m a Bruja.” Tio began describing the spiritual realm surrounding me, sensing that I have an ancient soul and 3 spirit guides. He explained there is Dark magic and Light magic, and asked why I wanted to go into the Underworld.

“I’ve had some very strange experiences in the past few months with magic,” the family listened intently as I began to recount my story in broken Spanish. “For a long time, I tried to be normal, I tried to fit in. I locked up my magic inside me and it grew angry, vengeful, oscuro. Finally, the magic broke out and took control. I feel like I need to release the darkness, and turn it into light. But I’ve been confused about what to do.”

Tío told me that I had to fight the darkness and reminded me that the path of finding a magical and spiritual teacher and learning to use my powers require a lot of work and time. He informed me that I am neither good nor bad, but I just am. You have to say, “Yo soy la luz.” I am the light.

— — — -

I told my friends I was going to México to heal my broken brain, heart, and soul. Like most mixed race children of immigrants and children of children of immigrants born in the United States, I exist in the in-betweens. My body, blood, soul, and mind feel torn, constantly calling to home, finding home in moments alone with the wind and the land. But the call for me to explore my own blood has been louder, more thunderous. A few months full of displacement from physical homes led me aching to be in México once again. I had dreams of meeting with healers who would tell me what medicine to ingest and how to properly direct my magic. I imagined myself screaming out all my madness, returning to peace. I promised to finally finish my coursework- write papers about my heritage and culture, create stories of my Inner Children, Papá Chihuahua and Desmina Nina Chihua. I thought I might film a documentary to share the experience.

The morning after the conversation with the Tío, I felt positive I was exactly where I needed to be, that a spiritual guide might help me make strides forward on my journey. But in the days and weeks following the conversation, I found myself lost again. What was I supposed to do with that information? The traditional healers and brujas are hard to find, deep in the pueblos. Was it ridiculous, misguided, and appropriative of me to think I could just barge into México and expect to find all the answers?

I did almost none of what I set out to do. To be honest, I found myself anxious and depressed many days in Oaxaca city, blaming myself for believing that running away would solve my mental health problems. Blaming myself for not going on breathtaking adventures to the forest, doing shrooms from the land of María Sabina, or climbing up mountains. I spent hours on social media in the mornings and nights, attempting to fill the void of consuming loneliness. I withdrew from Graduate school and drowned in anxiety about what I would do when I returned to the United States, less convinced by the artistic dreams and delusions of the previous months. I found myself in the same pit of self loathing, doubt, and insecurity that has haunted me since puberty.

“What is the lesson?” I scribbled into my notebook as I considered how I would write about this trip. “That I’m a brat who goes to another country to find themselves? That joy and celebration of community and culture make home? Theb why do I keep doing things alone? It is that I continue to hate myself? Will I always be alone? Was it the colonizer or colonized in me that wanted to come here? Am I just as bad as the colonizer? Am I self-centered and egotistical and individualistic? Why am I even bothering writing this anyway, why do I care so much about my own story?”

My spirals tend to lead back to shame, blame, and unbelonging. The truth is, I am often overcome with feelings of self-loathing and doubt. I love myself too, deeply, but not quite fully. “It’s okay if you hate yourself sometimes, the construction wasn’t built to welcome you.” I am not admitting to this darkness and telling this story to get pity- I am admitting to it because it’s my Truth. I’ve found power in the acceptance and validation of the darkness, in acknowledging the constant and real journey of love and self-love. I’ve remembered that unlearning and deconstructing the deep-seated internal hate is my lesson, a lesson I can’t predict, plan, or force. And it is a lesson that is tied to all my stories, travels, reflections, and experiences.

I found myself breaking up negative thoughts with the reminder “Yo soy la luz,” I’d tell myself as I walked down the calle. I realized that the one conversation with Tío was confirmation of a massive question of my mind, about my own power and magic. That’s all I really needed to hear at this point in my journey, my journey of breathing in the moments that feel so magical and full of love for as long as I can, until one moment the magic lasts forever. And in Oaxaca, México, I was surrounded by love and magic.

— — — — —

The moments when I felt incredible love and power reverberate, when I got out of the anxiety of my mind, were those which I wondered and wandered. In Oaxaca city, I planted my feet into the Earth. I walked and walked and walked. I walked through calles of gorgeous artwork, showing powerful symbols of warrior hummingbirds and women in colorful gowns. I walked to beautiful parks where I played, danced, and sang. I shaved my head and walked around the city for a couple days, pretending to be the air spirit Avatar Aang. I walked through pueblos on the outskirts to the mountainside where I found a cross and a gorgeous view of the city, and took pictures of myself leaping in the air. I walked through the ruins at Monte Alban and marveled at the wisdom of the civilizations that came before. I walked through markets, searching for a fan and a snack. I walked into art gallery after art gallery, my eyes drinking in geometry, colors, and stories. I found refuge in churches and Cathedrals to pray and rest my eyes and legs.

All the time I spent on the balcony in the Airbnb looking into the mountains wasn’t all lost to anxiety and my phone. I journaled about my fears, my loneliness, and my hope. I started recording my dreams. I became friends with the trees in the yard, el gato y el perro, and the abuela who always greeted me. I created and practiced a dance routine for an upcoming performance in San Francisco, acting out the elements in a story of death and rebirth.

The last couple of days in Oaxaca city were an exciting lead up to the annual Guelaguetza festival, a yearly celebration of the incredible and unique culture of Oaxaca and the regions within the state. The streets were filled with parade goers- women in colorful traditional gowns, musical bands gifting music to the air, Guelaguetza elders dawning costumes of a pointy hat and barba, and people towering above on stilts. I had a wonderfully fun time dancing in the street with a mini parade and climbing a windowsill to peer over the crowds and watch the main parade of delegations. I decided to put myself out there and ended up at an off the beaten path party with other young people, watching an old Mexican vampire movie and rocking out to a grungy band.

It turned out my adopted Filipina Auntie was in town, and I spent the last night in Oaxaca with family. We watched the Fireworks shoot into the sky and expand in bright lights and whistle tones. Oaxacans danced below in garb in all colors of the rainbow, spinning skirts and bulbs with “Oaxaca Orgulloso” written in bold print. “Viva Oaxaca!!” people cheer in packed calles as the trumpets play, “Viva México!” “Viva la Guelaguetza!” While I do not claim to be from Oaxaca or have Oaxacan blood, I felt honored to witness the joy and pride of Oaxaca culture, heritage, and indigeneity. I was proud to celebrate Oaxaca as a Mexican-American. The power of family and community filled me with gratitude and love- the care of my auntie, the familia who welcomed me in their home, and the families dancing in the streets embodying their culture.

Oaxaca and Oaxacans, thank you for blessing me with the beauty and magic of your art and culture. Thank you for welcoming and grounding me in your land and earth when I needed a home, when I was searching for home inside of myself. Thank you for feeding me. Thank you for showing me the incredible power of pride, culture, and community. Thank you for holding me when I needed to be held, when I needed to grapple with my demons after deep trauma. Thank you for reminding me that the first instinct in life is love, and for showing me how to love myself by loving the world.

— — —

The wind brought me to the water, to the sparkling beaches of Puerto Escondido. I did what I do best. I played. I explored an abandoned water park full of slides and rides. I dug my feet into the sand at the edge of the cove, letting the waves and tide wash over me and sink my feet further into the ground. The waves moved my body in a consistent rhythm- reminding me to stay attuned with the flow of the ocean. Together we danced in unison.

At another beach with more thunderous and rocky waves, I swam further into the ocean. There was no cove protecting me, keeping the waves gentle. I swam with them as they barreled forward. And then they barreled over me- taking my body under the water and further into the ocean. My head emerged- I had a few seconds to spare before another wave crashed into me.

I was reminded of a visualization, of a sensation that visits me in my dark, depressed moments- the moments when grief, loathing, and numbness fill me. I sometimes imagine myself drowning, being choked by the dark grandness of the ocean. I suffocate, drown, lose my voice, die, and then gasp for air, alive again. It’s a constant cycle of life and death. As I swam to safety, my feet returning to the sandy earth, I felt grateful to life. I felt grateful to Mother Ocean and Mother Earth and her incredible power to give me breathe and take it away.

Thunder clouds began rolling in one day as I left Playa Coral. Lighting stroke the ocean, thunder cackling and roaring in the seconds following the strike. I peered over the beach from the top of a hotel, my barely dry skin dampened by pouring rain. I danced and laughed. Life, and death, felt magnanimous.

“Take me to the Underworld!” I cried to the heavens. “I surrender!” Yo soy the luz. The powerful bolt of lighting channeling dark and light power through a field of black rolling clouds sang.

Grounded

Grounding

Flying

Fly

Drown

In water

Then survive

Burning

Fleeing

And deceiving

Fire

Earth

Mama

Breathes

In Coral

Oceans

Tide

❤ Nina