I am a mixture of cultures, my roots and my blood go underneath from the sierra to Spain and Portugal.
I still wonder how to say “I love you” in Quechua but my Taita just remembers a few words in his native language. 

I hear the birds singing and the leaves of my maracuyá beating softly through my window.
I see the sun rising at 5 am, bringing the dreams I want to achieve.
I am a mixture of cultures, my genealogical tree that someday will be complete.
In my life …
I have pretended to please others, always being happy and trying to fit the mold.
I have felt empty, as lost as a ship in a storm sailing without direction.
I have touched the sky, but mostly the ground.

I have cried with the loud voices inside and outside my head, telling me that everything was going to end. 
But I am not who I used to be anymore, I have been set free, I have a new identity.
I understand that my past had a purpose. That I don't need to compare myself. I am sufficient in Him. 
I say: I don't need to worry about what others think about me, I know in whom my true identity lies. 
I dream that I will reach the stars, leave my shelter and work to help others. 
I try not to lose focus, to still remember who kept me out of the darkness and sadness.
I hope to fly without wings, around the mountains of Ancash and Celendín. 
I am a mixture of cultures, a common human with a new opportunity, that like a sunflower, turns its back on the darkness to face the sun.