Air isn't empty.
A letter to my adult daughter
Someone gifted me a photo album with a page for each of the first 13 months of my baby’s life. I decided to fill it with letters to her adult self instead of photos. Dispatches from her babyhood about her, me, and the world.
Here’s this month’s letter:
Dear Yali Lou,
You are changing so fast. You’re much more toddler-like than most 14-month olds. You bring me my shoes and say, “amnos!” (vámonos!) when you want to go outside. You point to spiky plants and flames and say OW! You say “oiga!” to get peoples attention and WOW when we turn on the lights. You say mama, papa, nana, flower, wowoww (dog), gato, pajaja (pajaro), guayaba, platano, mango, mano, baño, gracias, all done, more, caca, pañal, agua, the colors, and no (you love no).
You identify vick’s plant, pink pepper trees, eucalyptus, lavendar, and rosemary, pointing at them and then pointing at your nose and sniffing because you know they are smelling plants.
You love flirting. I take you to crowded cafes and set you loose to get a break. You go table to table charming people. You get bored if they give you attention too fast and once they love you, you move on. This kind of behavior in myself I always assumed was the result of some deep wound but apparently it’s just a personality. Everyone plotzs over your big toothy smile and crinkled little nose. People comment on how happy you are—your “sangre ligera.” I tell them, “yes, we call her Best Mood Baby” and feel so fucking proud. Basically, as long as you’re free, you’re happy. Definitely my child.
I feel myself changing these days, too. Sitting with things I’ve been running from forever. I cried for 5 weeks straight. During that time, I also bought stocks and life insurance and got 7 cavities filled. I’m doing everything I can to put the infrastructure in place to give you a stable life, which means becoming a more emotionally stable person and also getting my affairs in order. Honestly, I can’t wait to wean you so I can do drugs again. But you know… occasionally. My priorities are different now.
ICE is in Chicago kidnapping parents as they try to pick up their kids from daycare. I have a strong feeling we’re months away from protesters disappearing to El Salvador. It seems almost everything is headed in the wrong direction. I woke up this morning thinking about how to explain to you that the world we live in is ending.
I’d dreamt that I was telling you how the air is not empty. The air is not empty, so all things on Earth are touching. No natural vacuum here like in space. The whole earth is solid molecules, continuous molecules transporting energy and being rearranged by it. Not really discrete entities. “So?” You asked me in the dream. And I told you, “it means if you’re mean to someone else, you’re mean to yourself.”
Today, we visited the old woman who stands on her balcony across the street blasting opera. She must be at least 90. Not a single tooth, but apparently lucid. I talked to her while you wobbled around her apartment fondling her glass tsatchkes, making me nervous. Her apartment is full of the kind of kitsch — giant marionettes, religious relics, china dolls — that would have made my 16-year-old self’s head explode.
She told me how she worked in President Salinas’ office but hated him. How she went through three pregnancies and three births only to have all three babies die after only a few days. She told me their names. I hugged you knowing I would break if you did. She saw the fear course through me and put a hand on my shoulder.
She told me her husband was a trabajador social who fought for the rights of the poor and loved Mexico City. He wrote a book of poems about the city with the dedication line: “To Mexico City, the city that was and the city that will be.” She said, “everything changes.”
I’m working for very smart people right now, people that work to protect the planet. They said something yesterday that I loved: “It’s not solvable. We’re here to contend with the circumstances. You can still try stuff, and it’s worth doing.”
The old woman’s name is Lulu. She gave you a stuffed animal green dinosaur wearing a tiny party hat. We’re taking her to the symphony Sunday.
It’s worth doing, Yali Lou. There’s so much to be moved by still, so much beauty. For me these days, it’s you.
Love,
Mama