When I lived in Mexico I went to the graveyard on Day of the Dead. Families sat on gravestones with pictures and flowers. Laughing, talking, being together. There was a line from the entrance down the street.
And then there was another part of the graveyard, with a guard. Much more affluent. And empty.
I joked with my boyfriend, “That’s the expat area.” And out of curiosity, I went in.
I was right. People from the USA lay beneath dirt and big headstones, completely uncelebrated.
I changed that day.
I shed a cultural striving to be relevant.
And understood my value.
My only real worth is in how I love.