MA-ease

I remember the first time I heard the myth of Bachue, thinking that like many other stories learned in school it would be diluted in a memory overflowing with formulas and lost data. To my surprise it was sitting there, possibly because I liked the idea of being able to think that we did not come from the rib of men or that it is not necessary to be a woman to embody femininity. We are people made of corn, cultivated in the warmth of the womb of a territory that is alive, that keeps our memories and our scars. We come from the water that became a woman, a mother and a serpent, infusing its DNA in all the beings that populated the earth. We share the same DNA with the corn, with the lagoons and with the frailejones of the mountains. This is how in each bite of the corn arepa that I eat when I arrive at my grandmother's house, I savor the feeling of being at home, not only in my house but in the sacred home that my ancestors cultivated and that gave birth to me.