When I was young(er) and I lost something, the instant I realized said thing was no longer in my possession I immediately spiraled into an obsessive panic. I felt the urge to FIND the thing and to find it NOW. If, after wildly riffling through all my belongings and scouring my immediate surroundings I did not find the thing, I widened the range of my search. I probed every possible nook and cranny and even occasionally interrogated innocent bystanders to see if they had seen or taken the thing. If still I had no luck and saw that I would be forced to accept the fact that my precious thing was indefinitely gone, I would move into Phase II of the Lost Things Mania: REPLACE THE THING. I would look for the quickest and cheapest way – quick being more important than cheap – to get a new pen or pair of sunglasses or piece of jewelry. You see, what I really wished was to erase from memory the very idea that that thing had ever gotten lost in the first place.
Pero, no me mal interpretes, me encanta todo sobre estos festejos. Me encantan los colores: morados, anaranjados, amarillos, fucsias, negros. Me encantan los disfraces, las comparsas, la creación de altares. Me encanta la solemnidad y la celebración, todo junto en un paradójico paquete. Este es básicamente el único día feriado que celebro durante el año. Pero con el bombo publicitario en los Estados Unidos sobre el Día de los Muertos en los años recientes, Oaxaca se ha vuelto en un tipo de Meca para extranjeros durante estos días. Y este año, pues, tengo una relación bastante distinta con la muerte de la que tenía antes.
In the Name of Rafa 