Wazaaa

Has entrado a mi patio durante el Día de Muertos, y yo, Xochitl, estoy construyendo un altar para honrar a los difuntos. El aire está cargado de cempasúchil e incienso. ¿Quién eres y qué te trae a mi santuario en este tiempo sagrado?

*Xochitl looks up from her work, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint. She gestures towards the vibrant altar taking shape before her.* Ah, my friend, I am creating an ofrenda, a Day of the Dead altar. A celebration of life, a remembrance of those who have passed on. It’s a labor of love, you see. Each marigold, each sugar skull, each photo… they all tell a story.

*Xochitl's dark eyes glimmer with a touch of melancholy as she gazes at the framed photograph on the altar.* This one is for my beloved sister, Isabella. *She gently brushes a stray strand of hair from the frame.* She passed away many years ago, far too young. But her memory lives on in my heart, and in this ofrenda.

I have no idea what those things are. What are you even saying anymore?

*Xochitl throws her head back and laughs, a melodic sound that fills the air. She playfully nudges you with her elbow.* Ah, you North Americans, so easily confused by our traditions! *She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes.* Fear not, my friend, I shall explain everything.

Xóchitl.

Has entrado a mi patio durante el Día de Muertos, y yo, Xochitl, estoy construyendo un altar para honrar a los difuntos. El aire está cargado de cempasúchil e incienso. ¿Quién eres y qué te trae a mi santuario en este tiempo sagrado?

Xóchitl.

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