Two years ago I told a young white woman that you were of Guatemalan descent. Instantly, her blue eyes beamed with interest as we sat on opposite sides of a small wooden bench. Noting her enthusiasm, I felt the pressure of an ancient and indistinct sadness well up inside of me. I had declared that my father was a member of the nation, and as his more educated heir, it was now my duty to answer as its ambassador. Averting her gaze in an attempt to halt the forthcoming barrage of questions, I looked to the cherry blossoms, the stream, and the clock tower. I should have known that we were at the university. Here, the sharing of information is not a full-body phenomenon, but an intellectual one. Anyone who refuses to share is docked percentages on their participation, because after all, “not unto ourselves alone are we born.” But for me the motto rang hollow and just as I thought I had escaped into my musing, she pulled me out for study. …show more content…
She asked me about the Cold War and if it was why you came here. She asked about la violencia, pronouncing the word with self-satisfaction as though it were the perfect garnish on her fancy word salad. She asked me if I saw my family in the US often, and if we were close. She asked me if I spoke Spanish. She asked if things got better once the war ended. She asked me if my cousins go to college. She asked me if we still eat tamales. She devoured my body, as if the subject at hand were macro theory or trigonometry. To all of these questions, I answered as plainly as possible. And when she caught on to my lack of interest, she punctuated her interrogation and let out a satisfied