Desde el Corazón (From the Heart)

For as long as I can remember, I have felt like a brown child in a sea of brown children. Our small world in East Los Angeles was alive with familiar beings we called Tía and Abuelita, Hermano, Hermana, mama and papa. My family’s roots stretch across California and Mexico for many generations. My father’s grandparents were Basque and migrant Mexican farmers; my mother’s family lived between California and Mexico.

Being American was something we learned early, but deep within us lived the memory of our history—the color, the flavor, the magic of Mexico. Papel picado and the ofrenda always called to me. Rooted in the celebration of Día de los Muertos, Papel picado is more than decoration—it is a banner of life itself. Each cut in paper is like a breath, fragile and fleeting, fluttering with spirit. On the altar, these ephemeral flags stir with the air, reminding us that our ancestors are near, their presence felt in every shift of light and shadow.

The ofrenda is both memory and medicine. We offer Pan de Muerto to nourish our visitors, salt to purify, and water to quench their thirst from the long journey. Marigolds radiate their golden fragrance, believed to ease sorrow even as they guide the way home. Candlelight steadies the heart, its glow a balm for grief. Together, these offerings create not only a pathway for those who return, but a circle of wellness for those of us who remain—reminders that love is restorative, and that remembrance is itself a kind of healing.

I know that time here is linear, while there it is not, yet it still feels like an eternity until I can see my father, daughter, or brother again. On this night, though—this one night—I know they will come. My father often visits me in moments of trouble, but on this night beneath the Papel picado, we rejoice in being together again.

There is magic in Papel Picado: the vision of a story imagined, then cut into being with steady hands. No two are ever the same. They are fragile, resplendent, and alive with remembrance. We chose this image because so much in life feels fleeting, gone too soon. 

And yet, in evoking the heart’s memory—the simmer of Café de Olla, the tang of Pepino y Limón from a street vendor, the sweetness of Tres leches cake—we root  ourselves in what is nourishing and whole. These earthly delights remind us that love persists, that home is never truly lost, and that even in absence, there can be presence.