I don't know. My laptop was stolen this summer. Then I had to move, find homes for the cats and Perez my dog. Can't take them where I live now. The Willie Velasquez project is wearing me down. I know that it will help million of students but I can't seem to get my community, especially the activist women, to understand what I'm doing and how much help my team needs. It's such a beautiful story of a boy's calling, and how he changes the world. Yet I can't get my fellow activists to see what I've embarked on -- for all of us. If we'd had some funding the interactive would be out by now and I could start working on the Lydia Mendoza book like I want. Instead I'm so tired, want a vacation, haven't been to a doctor in 15 years and I guess I'm gonna go all crippled with a pauper's funeral. Why doesn't my community value our work more? We deserve so many stories, this is the freedom we are searching for. So much I want to say. About the power to tell our story. I don't back down. But it is so hard.
The boy made of lightningJust finished reading Nurrudin Farah novel, Secrets. He uses Italian, his Somalian, French, Spanish. Why is this ok and I couldn't and get respect for Willie Velasquez's Tex-mex language? Last night I heard the beautiful poetry of a great poet who lives here -- she wrote about Costa Rica, Peru, the Dominican Republic. But the Westside doesn't count. So we don't count in her poems.
The boy made of lightningJust finished reading Nurrudin Farah novel, Secrets. He uses Italian, his Somalian, French, Spanish. Why is this ok and I couldn't and get respect for Willie Velasquez's Tex-mex language? Last night I heard the beautiful poetry of a great poet who lives here -- she wrote about Costa Rica, Peru, the Dominican Republic. But the Westside doesn't count. So we don't count in her poems.
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