By Maria M. Wilson-Sepulveda
I hear the voice of the little girl from a long time ago,
Who was happy, scared, sad and sometimes alone. Pobre niña
The voice of a new language. ¿ Dónde se fue mi language y mi voz?
The voice of living in a new country. ¿ Mi patria dónde se fue?
Insecurity overwhelmed my voice.
I hear the voice of my mother.
Her tone, her tears, her anger.
The voice of a single mother trying to make it, survive and bring us forward.
Cierro mis ojos, as tears fill my eyes and my soul. Mami quiero entender tu voz.
I hear the peaceful voice of my father.
Peaceful as he didn’t have to fight to survive the struggle of raising us.
I don’t hold it against you Papi, pero te perdiste mucho.
I hear the voice of my paternal grandmother. Her voice always filled with a smile.
Mama Abuela!
Versus the voice of my maternal grandmother that I cannot recall as she died too young.
Bendición Abuela.
I hear the voice of a young girl making her way.
I hear the voice of a teenager and her first kiss. Recuerdo ese primer beso.
The voice of a young adult, misguided, and pointed in many directions.
The voices of everyone telling me what to do, as they wanted to live their life through me.
The many voices telling me to do the right thing, be the example for my sisters to follow.
Hiding my voice as I needed to be what everyone else wanted me to be. Perdí mi voz.
The voice of regret, abuse, as I listened to the misguided inner voice. Dejé de escuchar mi voz.
The voice of a new love, new life, new beginning, new goals and challenges.
Escucho la voz de mi nuevo y último amor.
The voice of my tears, mourning the loss of my parents.
Las voces de mi padres se fueron tan joven.
The voices of my baby girls and their first cries. Of them growing, meeting challenges, accomplishments and the voice of their future. La voz de un mejor futuro.
The voice of an older, many battles survived, lessons learned wiser version of me.
Whose voice will not be contained, will be expressed. Whether or not you want to listen to it.
Mi voz no le da ni frío, ni calor.
I write from the voices; this is my voice. Escribo de las voces. Esta es mi voz.
