The Savior

"The Savior" Reactions

Guevara, Yeiry - Savior Happy

Reader Reviews

Collection of reader responses to the zine titled "The Savior".

In the summer of 2017, I published my first zine titled "The Savior" and quietly released it to the world. I am now very proud to announce that "The Savior" has shipped to over 100 copies in 6 countries. Here is a collection of Twitter reactions from the wonderful readers who shared their experience with it. Thank you for all the support, especially #CentralAmericanTwitter. To learn about the zine's origin story and my creative work, listen to my interview with Sobremesa Podcast

Visit to Perquín

Museo De La Revolucion

Photo Gallery of the Museum of the Revolution

On my recent visit to El Salvador, I took a day trip to Perquín, Morazán on Saturday, July 1, 2017 to visit the Museo de la Revolución.

Perquín is located in the northeast section of the country. It was a town that suffered heavy casualties during the war and almost disappeared from the earth entirely. Knowing conceptually about the war did not prepare me to live into the space where the heavy fighting occurred.

Our tour guide was a former child soldier whose candid anecdotes brought life to each item in the museum collection.

There were so many pictures of young people. In fact, a number of the photographed individuals are alive to this day. They are teachers, members of legislation, government agents, politicians, lawyers, doctors, survivors. However, the war claimed over 75,000 lives in this tiny country, created a generation on the run and a diaspora of Salvadorans removed  from their ancestral land. 

Another striking series of images were the protest posters created during the war. The designers varied but the impact was profound. 

This was my history that was never included in the Texas textbooks growing up. It was until I was in college I read a paragraph about El Salvador in a book. This trip provided a glimpse into the massacres that changed the course of history, my history.  Although the country is celebrating 25 years since the peace accords were signed, wounds this deep are felt on a seismic level. 

Lastly, just a series of images and a video from the Museum. There was a choir practicing during the filming of  video that made for a serendipitous soundtrack.

Paths of Life // Caminos de la Vida


 

Tomamos los primero pasos juntos pero la ley de la vida los dio diferente caminos para seguir. Alguna veces nuestro caminos cruzaban y mucha de la vez torcían. Pero antes de irte, no te olvides de despedirte de mí. 

 

We took our first steps together but life gave us two different paths to take. Sometimes our paths crossed but most of the time they twisted. But before you go, don’t forget to say goodbye to me.

 

Cemeteries // Cementerios

Los cementerios me traen una gran paz. No hay chingadera de ruido. No se hablan pendejadas. Solo hay un silencio respetoso que tomó años de formar. Lees de gente que nunca conocistes cuyo sol se había atardecido antes de hoy. Pisando entre los difuntos despierta un alto sentido de conocimento con cada paso que tomas; te recuerda de adónde estas, de lo qué eres en este momento. Viva.    Cemeteries bring me a great sense of peace. There’s no bullshit noise. There’s no shitty small talk. There’s only a respectful silence that tooks years to create. You read about people you never met whose sun had set some time before today. Walking through the deceased awakens the hyperconsciousness with each step taken; reminds you of where you are, of what you are in this moment. Alive.

Los cementerios me traen una gran paz. No hay chingadera de ruido. No se hablan pendejadas. Solo hay un silencio respetoso que tomó años de formar. Lees de gente que nunca conocistes cuyo sol se había atardecido antes de hoy. Pisando entre los difuntos despierta un alto sentido de conocimento con cada paso que tomas; te recuerda de adónde estas, de lo qué eres en este momento. Viva. 


Cemeteries bring me a great sense of peace. There’s no bullshit noise. There’s no shitty small talk. There’s only a respectful silence that tooks years to create. You read about people you never met whose sun had set some time before today. Walking through the deceased awakens the hyperconsciousness with each step taken; reminds you of where you are, of what you are in this moment. Alive.

Tia's Heart // El Corazón de mi Tia

De las miles de veces que fue roto el corazón de mi Tia, incluyendo la operación de marcapasos que tuvo, no se si hay una que se compara con la perdida de sus padres y hermano. No existe otro rollo en este mundo tal como los quien te dieron luz, quien te ensenaron de temprana edad lo correcto en esta vida y la sabiduría de lo cotidiano. Ella los tiene tan presente en esta vida que ni la muerte se  puede interponerse a cada oración dedicada a ellos.    Of the thousand times my Aunt’s heart has been ripped open, including her pacemaker surgery, I don’t know if any of those instances compare with the loss of her parents and brother. The role of the people who brought you into this life, taught you right from wrong at an early age and imparted the wisdom of daily life does not exist in any other capacity. She has them so present in this life that not even Death itself can to intervene between each prayer dedicated to them.

De las miles de veces que fue roto el corazón de mi Tia, incluyendo la operación de marcapasos que tuvo, no se si hay una que se compara con la perdida de sus padres y hermano. No existe otro rollo en este mundo tal como los quien te dieron luz, quien te ensenaron de temprana edad lo correcto en esta vida y la sabiduría de lo cotidiano. Ella los tiene tan presente en esta vida que ni la muerte se  puede interponerse a cada oración dedicada a ellos.


Of the thousand times my Aunt’s heart has been ripped open, including her pacemaker surgery, I don’t know if any of those instances compare with the loss of her parents and brother. The role of the people who brought you into this life, taught you right from wrong at an early age and imparted the wisdom of daily life does not exist in any other capacity. She has them so present in this life that not even Death itself can to intervene between each prayer dedicated to them.

Rafa

Empezó a fumar a los 13 años. Por esa edad, ya vivía mas en la calle que en la casa. Por igual partes de pura necesidad y ganas de vagar. Hizó su vida rebuscándose en lo que podía. Cambió la vida de cienes de personas sin tener un título. La verdad es que nadie se olvida de él, ni el tiempo.    He started smoking when he was 13 years old. By that age, he lived more on the streets than at home. By equal parts of necessity and wanderlust. He made his life rummaging in what he could. He transformed hundreds of lives without even so having a degree. The truth is that no one has forgotten about him, not even time itself.

Empezó a fumar a los 13 años. Por esa edad, ya vivía mas en la calle que en la casa. Por igual partes de pura necesidad y ganas de vagar. Hizó su vida rebuscándose en lo que podía. Cambió la vida de cienes de personas sin tener un título. La verdad es que nadie se olvida de él, ni el tiempo.


He started smoking when he was 13 years old. By that age, he lived more on the streets than at home. By equal parts of necessity and wanderlust. He made his life rummaging in what he could. He transformed hundreds of lives without even so having a degree. The truth is that no one has forgotten about him, not even time itself.

Grandmother // Abuela

La mente de mi abuelita se le hizo humo después del fallecimiento de mi abuelo, su pareja de 67 años y su único amor. Ella  se cazó a los 16 años. Él era mayor 6 años. Engendraron siete hijos y 2 nacido muertos. La pareja vivieron y murieron en la misma casa. Él era del color de frijol. Ella era del color de arroz. Juntos, hacían el perfecto casamiento. Por alguna veces era medio cocido. Mayor parte del tiempo, sustentaba el hogar.   My grandmother’s mind turned to smoke after the passing of my grandfather, her partner of 67 years and her one true love. She married at 16 years of age. He was 6 years older. Together they produced seven children and two stillborns. The couple lived and died in the same house. He was the color of a pinto bean. She was the color of rice. Together they created the perfect  casamiento . Sometimes it was overcooked. Most of the time, it nourished the household.

La mente de mi abuelita se le hizo humo después del fallecimiento de mi abuelo, su pareja de 67 años y su único amor. Ella se cazó a los 16 años. Él era mayor 6 años. Engendraron siete hijos y 2 nacido muertos. La pareja vivieron y murieron en la misma casa. Él era del color de frijol. Ella era del color de arroz. Juntos, hacían el perfecto casamiento. Por alguna veces era medio cocido. Mayor parte del tiempo, sustentaba el hogar.


My grandmother’s mind turned to smoke after the passing of my grandfather, her partner of 67 years and her one true love. She married at 16 years of age. He was 6 years older. Together they produced seven children and two stillborns. The couple lived and died in the same house. He was the color of a pinto bean. She was the color of rice. Together they created the perfect casamiento. Sometimes it was overcooked. Most of the time, it nourished the household.

Photos and Memories // Fotos y Recuerdos

Cada hogar en este pulgarcito de este país tiene una pared cómo ésta. Fotos de los hijos grandes, nietos lejanos, padres fallecidos, títulos de bachillerato y retratos formales estremece la paredes como una muralla de familia. “Estas son la gente que hemos querido. Estos son nuestra familia,” declaran los cuadros juntos.   



  Every home in this pulgarcito of a country has a wall like this one. Pictures of grown children, distant  grandchildren, deceased parents, high school degrees, and formal portraits scatter the plaster as a family mural. “These are the people we have loved. This is our family,” the frames proclaim in unison.

Cada hogar en este pulgarcito de este país tiene una pared cómo ésta. Fotos de los hijos grandes, nietos lejanos, padres fallecidos, títulos de bachillerato y retratos formales estremece la paredes como una muralla de familia. “Estas son la gente que hemos querido. Estos son nuestra familia,” declaran los cuadros juntos.


Every home in this pulgarcito of a country has a wall like this one. Pictures of grown children, distant grandchildren, deceased parents, high school degrees, and formal portraits scatter the plaster as a family mural. “These are the people we have loved. This is our family,” the frames proclaim in unison.

Through You // Dentro de Ti

Entraron y salieron muchos por esta puerta rodeada de adobe y tierra. Muchos regresaron. Algunos se fueron de ésta vida por siempre. Pero aquí sigue la casa, de tierra y hueso, con el único dueño siendo la memoria.    Many walked in and out of these doors, surrounded by adobe and dirt. Many returned. Few left this life forever. But the house remains, of dirt and bone, with the only owner being the memory.

Entraron y salieron muchos por esta puerta rodeada de adobe y tierra. Muchos regresaron. Algunos se fueron de ésta vida por siempre. Pero aquí sigue la casa, de tierra y hueso, con el único dueño siendo la memoria.


Many walked in and out of these doors, surrounded by adobe and dirt. Many returned. Few left this life forever. But the house remains, of dirt and bone, with the only owner being the memory.

Buried in El Polvo // Enterrado en El Polvo

“Debajo del ese árbol, está enterrado el ombligo de tu madre,” me cuenta mi Tío José. El tejido que le dio vida a la persona que me dio vida está protegido por este palo. A saber que otros tesoros están enterrados en esta tierra.    “Under that tree, your mother’s umbilical cord is buried,” my Tío José tells me. The organ tissues that gave life to the person who gave me life is protected by this tree. Who knows what other treasures are buried in this land.

“Debajo del ese árbol, está enterrado el ombligo de tu madre,” me cuenta mi Tío José. El tejido que le dio vida a la persona que me dio vida está protegido por este palo. A saber que otros tesoros están enterrados en esta tierra. 


“Under that tree, your mother’s umbilical cord is buried,” my Tío José tells me. The organ tissues that gave life to the person who gave me life is protected by this tree. Who knows what other treasures are buried in this land.

House Romano // Casa Romano

Está es la casa de mi abuela materna. Aquí es adonde la matriarca de mi familia dio luz a las leyendas de mi familia. Ésta casa vio sobre 14 nacimientos en vivos, algunos nacido muerto, y niños adoptados sin fin. Todos comieron, durmieron y realizaron sus destinos desde estos pisos de tierra.    This is my maternal grandmother’s house. This is where the matriarch of my family birthed the legends of my family. This house saw over 14 live births, few stillborns and countless of adopted children. Everyone ate, slept and fulfilled their chosen destiny from these dirt floors.

Está es la casa de mi abuela materna. Aquí es adonde la matriarca de mi familia dio luz a las leyendas de mi familia. Ésta casa vio sobre 14 nacimientos en vivos, algunos nacido muerto, y niños adoptados sin fin. Todos comieron, durmieron y realizaron sus destinos desde estos pisos de tierra. 


This is my maternal grandmother’s house. This is where the matriarch of my family birthed the legends of my family. This house saw over 14 live births, few stillborns and countless of adopted children. Everyone ate, slept and fulfilled their chosen destiny from these dirt floors.