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November 23, 2020

Blank Pages and Faded Ink

By Samantha Ruelas

Over the summer and this petrifying pandemic, a writer's block and an artist block stood at my door, waiting for me to welcome them in. Of course these blocks were disguised as blank pages in a book and faded ink in my pen. Would I let them in? I don’t know. Did I let them in? I did. But that was because I was fooled by their screams and wants for someone to inspire them and write and draw lines on them. I let them in because I believed that there was still hope in those blocks that maybe with their help, some inspiration would come across. But inspiration never came, and it walked past my house.

So, I stood while these blocks invaded my house. I watched while they took every piece of my mind into shreds. I got stuck and I was lost, not knowing where to settle these pieces of my mind and not knowing whether the blank page would ever be filled again during this time.

But then there was a knocking at my door. Lazily, I stood up, walked past the blocks that held the pieces of my mind captive, and peeked through the peephole. Who was at the door? I don’t know. Would I open the door? I did. And it was inspiration waiting on the other side for me. I opened the door ready to welcome it in, but to my surprise, inspiration took me outside and we wrote a poem together. A poem that not only highlighted the views that we created, but a realization of who I am and what I have become. Inspiration slowly helped me put my pieces together, and today, inspiration is by my side.

During these complicated times, what inspiration and I have been doing includes poetry and music. Writing had become an escape from the real world. Filled with impossible possibilities and unforgettable memories. It became my way of coping with the isolation the pandemic had caused; it became my way of making a change for myself.



​Adentro De Mi​

by Samantha Ruelas

Adentro de mi, There is American blood, Y
Inside of me,
Hay sangre mexicana.

La sangre corre Through my veins, Pero mi aparencia, Is white.

La gente me mira, And point.

Pero lo que ven, Is not who I am.

Me dicen,

That i'm not mexican.

Pero cuando me preguntan, I tell them
“Yo soy Mexicana.”

Being born in this country, No me hace Americana.

I am from this country,
Pero mi sangre viene de Sinaloa.

In my veins, Corre dos raices.

Half of me,
Viene de los Estados Unidos,

And the other half, Viene de México.

What I am,
Y lo que esperas, May not be the same. Y aunque tengo, American blood,

Cuando me preguntan, “Who are you?”

“Yo soy Mexicana.”