“Remembering Who We Are”
Sam Houston once said the famous words, “Remember the Alamo.” These words initiated his troops into a passionate state of rage. The men wanted to get even with Santa Anna, a cruel and ruthless dictator, because of the lives lost at the Alamo. I looked around the heart of San Antonio, downtown, and saw the famous structure standing in the middle. People were going about their daily lives embracing the September sun. I was glad to be there. I am blessed to explore who I am and the history of where I come from.
I found the structure amazing and the exhibits very educational. Jose Navarro, Stephen F. Austin, Jim Bowie, Davy Crockett, and Sam Houston were not just character roles on some old movie; they were actual heroes, actual people with a story. Despite Navarro’s feelings towards slavery, he was a very good hearted man with exceptional intentions. I walked the grounds of the Alamo engulfed with feelings of disbelief. Once again I took my son along for the journey. As I pushed the stroller my sons little hands rubbed against the wall of the Alamo. I gently grabbed his hands and sat them on his lap. I asked myself, how many people had touched these walls? It’s the entire essence of being in a historical place that I love.
It’s truly about remembering who we are and remembering the Alamo. It is important to me because this my history, the history of my son, and I want to absorb as much knowledge as possible. I value the Alamo and the people who lost their lives there. Standing on that ground made me realize that so many people have died for the freedoms that we enjoy today, and too much is taken for granted. It makes me strive to be a better person and enjoy the small things life has to offer.
word count-317
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Spiritual Connections
“Spiritual Connections”
The sun glistened brightly through my son’s hair, as we walked towards Mission San Jose. His bright brown eyes and tiny little fingers clung to my silk blouse as we entered the church. I looked briskly for an empty seat, until one was spotted. My intentions were to arrive early to mass, but due to an uncooperative infant, I managed to arrive right before the doors were closed. I kneeled and took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of the mission walls. The humidity engulfed the air, and I became agitated with the weather. As the mass began, a sigh of relief came over me and I began to pray. I was finally attending the popular “Mariachi Mass”, that everyone was raving about. If I wouldn’t have chose this class, I probably would’ve robbed myself of this spiritual and delightful experience. Mission San Jose offered joy, culture, diversity, history, and a plethora of opportunities to explore my heritage.
As the Mariachis started playing, I could see my son’s eyes light up, almost like a little sparkler was ignited inside him. He began clapping and smiling profusely, and in that moment I knew that the trip to San Jose was well worth it. I could see the people around me, but not in a normal sense. I felt as though everyone’s spirit was just jumping right out of their skin. It was intense. I wish that I lived closer to attend that mass more frequently. As I glanced around the room, it was obvious that everyone there wanted to be. No one was sleeping or biting their nails, instead they were smiling and taking in the gospel. It seems like the people there took it very seriously, including myself. The mission felt sacred, and knowing that my ancestors originated here made it mean so much more.
The culture was everywhere in the room. It’s apparent that modernization has taken a minuscule toll on the mission. However, it isn’t enough to take away from the historical aspect. The mariachis are the heart of the mass. They enable all the visitors with live music and diversity from their everyday lifestyle. The music is very symbolic to the Hispanic culture. Music is one of the very few forms of entertainment that the natives had. As San Antonio developed, so did the culture. Even though our ancestors are now dead, they are survived by a variety of attributes that are left behind. Music is one of them. So to be a part of that was an incredible feeling. It is important to know where we come from and who we are, and attending that mass helped me realize the person I am and the person I want my son to be. A person who is in touch with their heritage and culture.
As mass proceeded, my eyes grazed the room itself; the structure. The whole essence of the architectural structure, was a flawless design; forever embedded in my memory. I asked myself, “How did they know how to design such sound and structural buildings, which is now a historical monument.” There is one word that stands out more than any other, impressive. I plan on attending mass there at least once a month, or if time allows, more. It was a fantastic experience and we really enjoyed it.
Word Count: 561
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Who Am I?
“Who Am I?”
My arrival at Mission San Francisco de la Espada was an unexpected one. I knew I was going there, but I had no idea how Mission Espada would make me feel. As I stepped out of the car, the sun beamed its fierce rays at me. The heat engulfed my body completely. I could feel sweat droplets creating on my forehead. I looked down at the dusty soil beneath me, and realized that the actual people who built this mission had stepped foot on this soil. In that moment I was speechless; motionless. My ancestors built this mission. They raised their families here, fought here, cried here, ate here, and lost their lives here. I always assumed that the missions were old churches, historical monuments, people could go visit. After visiting Mission Espada, I was able to understand how every wall of that structure told a story, held significance, and was still functional to today’s society.
Mission San Francisco de la Espada was established, in present day San Antonio, Texas, on March 5, 1731. It had been relocated several times due to enemies, fires, floods, fever, and limited supplies. The tour guide explained to the class how relocation wasn’t literally the building or materials. It was simply people and documents. Spanish Franciscan missionaries gathered indigenous people (Indians), and pursued to convert them to Christianity. They provided them with the skills necessary to function productively in New Spain. A new culture was born.
The mission was not only used to convert the Indians to Christianity, but as protection. It is believed that some people were forced to the missions, and some went there willingly seeking protection. The sturdy, durable walls of Mission Espada still stand today. There were numerous reasons that the Coahuiltecans sought protection, including: intruders, famine, imported diseases, enemy tribes, and they wanted a steady food supply. The mission was built to enable them with the ability to protect the mission easily. There are holes in the mission where the men would stick there ammo, and where canyons may have been.
It was fascinating to see the church. My ancestors went to this church; they prayed here. While Dora Martinez, the tour guide, explained the church and the qualities, I could feel my mind wandering. “What did they pray about? Were they sad about being here? Did they feel like prisoners, only there to survive, but slaves to the Spaniards? What were they grateful for?” There were many questions that I began asking myself. I never knew how much I cared about it, or how I felt about people who have been dead for hundreds of years.
There was so much to see inside the walls of the mission. Inside was the plaza, a place where the majority of the activities went on. The Spaniards enabled the Natives with the skills to be blacksmiths, carpenters, brick makers, farmers, and in result they were self sufficient. They even had an irrigation system, acequia, which is still a necessity to the community living around the mission today. There were many ways in which the natives accommodated themselves to the hardships and lifestyles of the Spaniards.
In result, it was a vivid and fascinating experience. I enjoyed myself far beyond what I had anticipated. I came out of the mission more knowledgeable, and with a better sense of self than when I had entered it. I am discovering who I am, and where I come from; and for that I am truly grateful. It was an incredible experience, and I encourage everyone to visit at least once.
My arrival at Mission San Francisco de la Espada was an unexpected one. I knew I was going there, but I had no idea how Mission Espada would make me feel. As I stepped out of the car, the sun beamed its fierce rays at me. The heat engulfed my body completely. I could feel sweat droplets creating on my forehead. I looked down at the dusty soil beneath me, and realized that the actual people who built this mission had stepped foot on this soil. In that moment I was speechless; motionless. My ancestors built this mission. They raised their families here, fought here, cried here, ate here, and lost their lives here. I always assumed that the missions were old churches, historical monuments, people could go visit. After visiting Mission Espada, I was able to understand how every wall of that structure told a story, held significance, and was still functional to today’s society.
Mission San Francisco de la Espada was established, in present day San Antonio, Texas, on March 5, 1731. It had been relocated several times due to enemies, fires, floods, fever, and limited supplies. The tour guide explained to the class how relocation wasn’t literally the building or materials. It was simply people and documents. Spanish Franciscan missionaries gathered indigenous people (Indians), and pursued to convert them to Christianity. They provided them with the skills necessary to function productively in New Spain. A new culture was born.
The mission was not only used to convert the Indians to Christianity, but as protection. It is believed that some people were forced to the missions, and some went there willingly seeking protection. The sturdy, durable walls of Mission Espada still stand today. There were numerous reasons that the Coahuiltecans sought protection, including: intruders, famine, imported diseases, enemy tribes, and they wanted a steady food supply. The mission was built to enable them with the ability to protect the mission easily. There are holes in the mission where the men would stick there ammo, and where canyons may have been.
It was fascinating to see the church. My ancestors went to this church; they prayed here. While Dora Martinez, the tour guide, explained the church and the qualities, I could feel my mind wandering. “What did they pray about? Were they sad about being here? Did they feel like prisoners, only there to survive, but slaves to the Spaniards? What were they grateful for?” There were many questions that I began asking myself. I never knew how much I cared about it, or how I felt about people who have been dead for hundreds of years.
There was so much to see inside the walls of the mission. Inside was the plaza, a place where the majority of the activities went on. The Spaniards enabled the Natives with the skills to be blacksmiths, carpenters, brick makers, farmers, and in result they were self sufficient. They even had an irrigation system, acequia, which is still a necessity to the community living around the mission today. There were many ways in which the natives accommodated themselves to the hardships and lifestyles of the Spaniards.
In result, it was a vivid and fascinating experience. I enjoyed myself far beyond what I had anticipated. I came out of the mission more knowledgeable, and with a better sense of self than when I had entered it. I am discovering who I am, and where I come from; and for that I am truly grateful. It was an incredible experience, and I encourage everyone to visit at least once.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)