Fleeting Memories
Original Poem, by Briceida Cuevas Cob:
Papalote
El recuerdo
es un papalote.
Poco a poco le sueltas,
disfrutas su vuelo.
En lo mas alto
se rompe el hilo de tu memoria
y te sientas a presenciar como lo posee la distancia.
Translation:
Kite
Memory
is a kite.
Little by little you let it go,
enjoying its flight.
At its height
the string of your memory breaks
and you sit and watch as the distance possesses it.
I wish I had taken some poetic path to find this poem so I could write about it here, however that is not the case. I found this poem while looking online for something that connected to the current stage of my life: senior year, and my culture: latinx. That's when I encountered this poem about memories and nostalgia, written by a Mexican woman in 2010. I interpreted this poem multiple ways, which I think goes to show how simple and short poetry is often more complex than we realize, which is why it is my favorite kind.
My name is Ana Sofia Hernandez Gomez, I too was born in Mexico, however I've reached a point in my life where I've spent more time living away from Mexico than I have inside. I am also a senior, going off to college next year, although I'm not sure whether I should take a leap like my parents did and move away from all that is familiar to me or stay closer to home.
I got sick recently, nothing serious, but my mom took me to the doctor and we shared a moment of sadness and understanding when we realized it would be one of the last times she would actually need to be present for my doctor visits. My dad walked into my room this week, saw my senior banner hanging on my bedroom chair, and said with a tear filled smile: "You look so grown up".
This is all to say that when I read your poem, Papalote, I felt at ease and a sense of nostalgia washed over me. I never thought that a poem I would find on the internet would capture the current stage of my life. Memory as you put it, is a kite. Playful, youthful, colorful. A representation of my past, my childhood. All I supposedly leave behind for college and the number 18 in five or so months. It is something you "enjoy", considering they are the 'best years of your life' since it 'only goes downhill from here'. Memory is a Papalote, because it reminds me of my country. The park near my grandmas house where she would buy me mango, my mother's childhood backyard where I would sit in a plastic pool with my cousins, the park near my old house where activities were hosted on weekends and we would make things, like papalotes. All faint memories that slowly release from my grip and change from "Mom! Remember when-" to "Don't you remember Ana Sofia?". A bittersweet moment where you don't want to lose your kite but when it happens, you can't help but notice how whimsical it looks free in the wind.
I wonder if this was the audience you held in mind when you wrote this poem-soon to be 18-year-old Mexican girls living in the U.S. who try to hold on to a part of their heritage and childhood as they move on to the next chapter of their lives. You probably had other things in mind, maybe how indigenous Mayan language is no longer commonly practiced or how Mexico's heart is being lost due to division. Maybe there is some other aspect of you life I am missing, something that could help me understand what you learned to let go, what you sat by and watched get possessed by distance. I mean to ask you why it is only at its height that the string breaks and if you mean that only when we want to remember the most is when memory fades.
Regardless of the answer, I want to thank you for your poetry. It was a poem of self reflection for me, and offered a sense of reassurance as to what happens next. My early childhood in Mexico or formative years in the U.S. is not something I want to let go of, but something I can learn to admire from a distance, and slowly learn to say goodbye to while opening a new chapter of my life. So thank you for your words, and the effect they had on me.
Sincerely,
Ana Sofia Hernandez Gomez
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