Bajo la tierra means underground. Underground sometimes refers to that which is clandestine, just beneath the surface of pop culture and mainstream society. It could be a small community or political movement or artistic expression. Usually underground means just that, below the ground. I am on the verge of burrowing beneath the soil.

Rejection sucks. No matter how much you dance in the mirror, no matter how much your friends and family tell you otherwise, no matter how much better off you are without that person in your life, bed, or mind, rejection is a feast for your insecurities. Paradox has shifted into Frenemy, a new friend whom I still don’t trust as far as I can throw a piano. Frenemy told me not once or twice but four different times that I was merely a sexual temptation, that he is just not that into me, that I am not his type because I lack blonde hair and blue eyes. Rejection makes a perfectly healthy and together Latina, me, wonder if I’m not fat and ugly. I’m taken back to seventh grade and high school. It takes me back to college where despite being a size 6, I remained undesirable. Rejection reduces me to dust.

The good news is God can breathe life into dust. And so I pray that this temporary spell of winter at the beginning of beautiful summer ends soon.