Me. A reflection of the wind, blowing smooth or swift, ravaging or caressing, sweeping and slapping. Twisting to the words that warmed the music. Rolling as the tide, skipping as the stone.

I am the daughter of the Mexican Revolution. It followed my arrival, but I did not truly exist until it appeared. It was only then that my soul was liberated and my wings could stretch.

I remember Mrs. Sachs-begging me for the "secret." But it truly was a secret, not mine to know, or to tell-yet. So I looked to her, I smiled and I said "You'll be alright." The words sounding wrong, the message: I am helpless, please have hope.

Science-she was my first love, my eldest child and my most favored friend.

Opportunity lived within her and breathed her possibilities.

It was a lesson too early learned: trust is not a gift simply presented to the well placed. Rather it is an understanding creat­ed by knowledge and nurtured by faith.

I faintly remember her, holding me up, as to convince him that I existed. But I know now that it was not my existence that was in question.

In pursuit of my art I consumed all of the culture that I could. When doing this-I wore the clothes of the day-those most typically worn by men. Such a measure was to gain advantages known only to those who wore these garments, those who were men.

From my early memories, I recall the affection-the connection that music inspired from my surface to my center. As a voice with a deep and inspiring message, it spoke to me in cascades and crescendos.

In between worlds, that is where I landed. I attempted to soar the sky in search of understanding, and when I returned home its flavor was somehow different, my mouth now salty from the journey.

In its most pure form history is a great ali to women.

Within it lies evidence of her contributions. The ability, the ingenuity, the risk, encoun­tered and confronted by so many.