One of the reasons I most enjoy writing about/for young people is because my soul feels very much glued to the seventeen-year-old version of me. It was an exciting and explosive year and I survived it. Except for my bizarre stint as class secretary in 9th grade, I wasn't much of a joiner in high school. I was, however, a proud member of my school newspaper, and more specifically, the column I created. It was my first blog before blogs were a thing because this was back in the 90s, yo. I called it "Because I Said So" and I wrote about whatever was irking or inspiring me at the time. I don't remember much except for this one column I wrote -- I think it was my final one (but maybe I'm making that up since it sounds more precious). It was a mushy piece about leaving my mom behind as I went off to New York in search of a college degree -- the classic tale of the imperfect/ambitious Mexican daughter (see I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter and/or Real Women Have Curves). Anyway, I forgot to tell my mom about the column but one of her co-workers was married to my biology teacher and so he shared it with her and my mom was like, "Why didn't you tell me!?!?!?" Which is a running theme in our relationship. So this space is mostly for my mom. When she asks me if I have any noticias, I'll say nope (because old habits die hard) and then I'll refer her to this page. I love you, Amá.
Pictured: My momma with17-year-old me in my prom "dress" (featuring a top I bought at a brand new store in my local mall called Forever 21).