I have decided to start writing a book.

I finally believe this was the story I was always meant to write about. My mother told me so many times about my grandma's odyssey from her little village in Spain to the rambunctious and big Mexico City. Growing up, I was surrounded by these heroic stories. My grandmother's, my father's, my mother's and my aunts and many many more. I believed for a very long time that every human on Earth led a life like that. Some heroes, some villains, and some, well many, victims. Victims who were never allowed to be victims. Not surprisingly, mostly women.

My own frivolous odyssey in comparison will be to write this book. First -- aw geez, already laying out the story like an opening argument to debate why I deserve to write this book, or why its idea has any merit. Anyhow, first I want to start using this work as an exercise for my own self concept over the next couple of months. In December of this year, I want my grandmother to share how she wants her story told. During this visit I want to describe what her small flat in the heart of Mexico City, my birthplace. Between her stories, I'll include snippets of my other family members, all unique and dysfunctional in their own ways. Once I return to my castle by the corn, I will analyze her stories and my own. When summer comes, my dad and I will walk the Camino de Santiago for my first pilgrimage, seeking forgiveness and healing. Hopefully fulfilling this selfish & self imposed quest to find out who I really am.

Before chronicling my grandmother's life, I want to describe what I, 24 year old hummingbird, thinks of it from what I already know.

My grandmother was born in a town on the farthest west point of Northern Spain, in the immediate aftermath of the Spanish Civil War. Her town, Corcubion, is a small fishing port that lies on the edge of Europe, on the outskirts of the world of Columbus. She was born out of wedlock, and to be frank, in a small town that uses water wells and whose education system stops after 1st grade, the town had venomous roots of gossip. Because of these features of fate, she was deemed an outcast. But do not pity her, she hates it and she was never ashamed. She was still a bright, funny & outgoing girl in the face of judgement, prejudice, and famine.

One day, after only eating chocolate from the aide and bread during mass, she watched her brother die. He died of enjoying too much rain. She left her family anyway and sailed just like Columbus. West. This time she was only conquering assumptions of all those that knew her and would come to know her.

Carmen is her name.