AC blasting on a stagnant summer day, a scratchy couch, and a dramatic telenovela blasting are the ingredients for a good day. Abuela didn’t mind me staying in pajamas during the weekend, and she spoiled me with cookies and warm coffee. A four-year-old shouldn’t have been fed coffee, but my grandma didn’t seem to care, and I was glad she didn’t. The laziest day of my life felt the warmest and my grandma would say “miranos, echadas como vacas,” (look at us, lying like cows) as another telenovela episode played. I miss being lazy like a cow with her.

The last time I played hopscotch changed my life. As unusual as it may sound, the experience was mundane in the moment. The defining moments of my life have not been what some would consider exciting. They are fleeting moments I realized many years later that I would never get back. I didn’t realize that hopscotch changed my personal outlook on who I was and what mattered until my junior year of high school. In a small cement house in Mexico, I was carefree. The mid-July heat was at the point of unbearableness, but my cousin and I were out on the street watching my tia disappear into a tall patch of grass as she looked for rocks embedded with chalk. She emerged from the grass with several little pieces of chalk and handed them to us, and my cousin raced to open the black metal door that would lead to my abuela's house. We passed the buckets growing sweet smelling herbs and flowers that lined the floor near the walls – a makeshift garden in a place with no grass. My cousin and I wet newspaper under the faucet to throw onto the outline we drew with our chalk, and we began to play. The heat didn’t bother us, and at one point I looked up and gazed up at the concrete porch leading into the kitchen and I was at peace. The tias were gambling away pesos in loteria, my grumpy abuelo was watching the news on the old staticky TV, and through the old windows I could see the back of my abuela’s head as she flipped over tortillas with her fragile hands. We were all young and together. Junior year of high school, I felt like I was missing something. I was missing an important part of me. The only thing that ever occupied my mind was school, and I never made myself the priority. I asked myself “what matters to me,” and the first thing I thought about was the last day I played hopscotch all those years ago. It wasn’t just hopscotch, but the feeling of togetherness and warmth I felt surrounded by all those people that cared about me. I am not the loner I thought I was, and I didn’t have to depend only on myself all the time. I needed support, and I understand that everyone, no matter how hardened, needs support. Furthermore, I should extend support to those close to me and to the people in my community that are struggling. Simply being present and letting someone know that you are willing to listen makes a world of difference. Life can be overbearing, but small moments of peace are like seeing rays of sun coming through stormy clouds. I deserve those moments, and everyone deserves those moments. It’s strange to think a game of hopscotch would lead to an increase in self-worth, but the memories of what seemed like better times are a powerful reminder that I am still the same person and I deserve the warmth I felt all those years ago.

Instagram: @mmariana_202 Openness of emotion and introspection make life clearer and more worthwhile. I would have been kept in the dark if it wasn't for the LGBTQ+ people in my life. I was taught that I needed to figure out my identity for myself and live the life that makes me happiest. Knowing that I share this emotion of freedom with others makes me proud to be a member of the community.