You learn who you are in Mexico by knowing who you are not. “Where are you from?” the cab driver asks as you slide into the backseat of the pine-fresh taxi. Faux leather seats gleam in the brightness of the midday sun. He turns down the volume of the talk radio program he was listening …
I went to Mexico City to search for Frida Kahlo.
Frida is everywhere in Mexico. The famed Mexican painter and feminist icon’s image is on the 500 peso, t-shirts, journals, handbags, and the compact mirror I carry in my purse. Knitted unibrow and braided black hair framed with flowers, Frida’s face graces street art and murals worldwide.
We heard the drums before we saw them. A steady, staccato beat beckoned us to walk farther across the bridge during the opening ceremony of the Akumal Arts Festival and Residency. Ta-ta. Um-ta-ta. Um-ta-tat-ta-ta. Um-ta-tum. Cresting the hill, we followed the beat until five Maya in traditional dress blocked our path into town. Their smooth, …
I came to Mexico to die. I was broken and in 2016 I broke up with America. I felt strangely orphaned in my 40s after the recent deaths of my parents. The well of romantic prospects dried up and I wasn’t willing to swipe right to find a new partner. I built a successful, political …
I began writing on Substack last June when my life felt at an all-time low. My first subscribers were mostly people I knew in real life and online. Some of my first subscribers have supported my work for the past 20 years or more, while others are recent friends. “The Water Spirits Will Carry Us,” …