#MurrietaHateCityUSA

(Antigua, Guatemala — December 2000) I glanced up from my plate of rice, beans and perfectly grilled chicken breast. I was nauseous and weak from days of vomiting. Third-world cuisine always leaves me thinner than when I arrive.

In hindsight, I’m not sure if it was the beautiful colors in the woman’s “huipil” or if it was the look of angst on her face that caught my eye. As I gazed out the window of the restaurant I sat in, all I could think about was my own discomfort and what my friends back in the U.S. were doing.

While I contemplated these trivial matters, my father jumped up from his chair. I watched as he grabbed my uneaten plate, bolted out the front door of the restaurant and caught up to the woman I had seen walk by.

Mas…Por los que no se rajan — for those that don’t crack