Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo

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.

It was always my struggle to show that the right to human dignity should not be bargained with and agreed upon. It simply is. Like trees, like hurricanes, like disease, like flowers. One's right to dignity simply IS.

Compassion and responsibility are not snacks for empty collegiate souls. They SIT and TALK and SIT and TALK and TALk and TALK and Talk and talk.

They fatten themselves on the juicy meat of a topic they will forget when the new one arrives.

I, a Cachuchas member, was proud that my discussions were proven valid-not by my dripping tongue but rather by my anguished abilities. Working for what I knew was right.

When I could only look up at my universe, or roll through my reality, I was saying and doing what I knew to be right. Right for my country, therefore, right for me.

Diego, the lost soul, connected to me by a virtual bridge and a lost history, had more power than any other. With one exception, my Mexico.

I loved her and saw in her all that should be celebrated and all that should be corrected with my world.

I knew, in spite of all I ever lost, what splendor life could be. It was not a promise but a possibility. And we each had a right to it.

I did not know despair as a legacy, I knew it as a goblin. It set after me often and found me easily. It poisoned my blood and my bones.

Still, I know gratitude. For I was fed, and I was loved and I was respected. For what I did and where I slept, I was well thought of.

Yet I was always aware of the conditional state of my dignity-of all dignity.

So it was my calling, to speak and to paint and to live my message: it is good that we earn privileges, acquire respect and win rewards, but dignity is a fundamental necessity-needed to make being human bearable. We must separate dignity from admiration and allow it for all.

It is right.