Many of my life’s early tribulations were due to unusual circumstances, the stories of the people, places and particular events makeup a thick and colorful fabric.
On the 28th of July 1957, an 8.8 earthquake hit Mexico City, perhaps my conception occurred during the first week of August 1957, just guessing. But the circumstances for the citizens after the seismic event were tragic, close to three thousand families lost their homes, one of the worst disasters recorded, people were still grieving over the death of seven hundred victims. A natural phenomenon of this magnitude surely gives us all a sense of vulnerability. This unspoken turmoil affected my parent’s perception towards their then rosy future both under twenty-five years old.
Traumatized by this event, my parent’s apartment shifted to one side, there were no visible cracks in the building but the doors were stuck, they could not get out! 
The young couple with a baby panicked. It was perhaps that moment they realized that their life could end right there, crushed under the weight of a concrete building unaware this had marked them forever, they escaped unharmed and moved away from the city, in an attempt to adapt to a small town and a simple life.
A few weeks later I was conceived and became the second child, a unwanted pregnancy. No, I was not welcomed at all, moving back to the city to get an abortion, they encountered the moral wrath of my grandmother Emelia, who step up to the plate stating clearly “If you do not want this child I will take it, but I will not allow you to kill it”. Under those circumstances I came into this world. My aunt Ana fifteen at the time and grandmother Emelia came to my rescue, lavishing me true and unconditional love. 
Ironically I could not have had a better environment. The caring arms of the two most generous beloved persons in my life. Some experiences were memorably brief, like my first year of life. But five months later I was reunited with my forsaken parents who deemed that another country would suit them better, California a land of prosperity and modernity, leaping into the unknown, another language, breakaway; leave their humble background behind.
Thus starts the quest to adapt, homes are made of wood covered with more wood, plaster and paint. No walls of bricks and mortar, to crush you when the earth shakes. This is not a city, it’s a suburb we had a large front and back yards to sit or play. My father had a decent job, he was smart and eloquent, my mother started losing her mind, nothing made sense. She was not raised to be a home maker, or to cook. Caring for us kids was about sewing cloths, she didn’t know how to relate to her husband, because her father Jesus was an engineer who rarely was home.
He had to live near the big constructions sites far away, concrete was poured during the night when the temperature was right. Jesus's life was ruff, striving for those national dreams like most rugged men who survived the revolution.
Her mother and bothers were over protective, took care of any issue that baffled her mind. She was not dumb, but was a real spoiled brat, locked in a woman’s body ignorant and infantile. I like most unwanted creatures acquired immunity to rejection. Taking on an instinctive sense of our vast cosmic connection. With innate independence, elusive to others. We are bestowed with understanding and knowing what we require to sustain our existence. So what do misfits here for? If not to forge our own destiny? Run, fight or disappear?
Despite the clash of ideologies in the middle of nineteen sixties, a plethora of unexpected responsibilities were imposed on me, pressing questions led my attention towards nature.
TO BE CONTINUED