The Dark Rose's Traces

Zipolite Revisited: Piercing the Veil of Puerto Paradox, Part II. After a decade away from that side of the Oaxacan coast, I made an epic return to Zipolite this year. It's funny now that I think about it, but going back in time, I remember my life in 2016 felt as heavy as it does at this moment. I have been an ESL teacher for over 15 years, and it hasn’t been an easy ride. For the last 20 years, people have undermined the teaching profession. They mistakenly believe that all of us are simply exchange students who have been abroad for a year, come back home speaking some English, and are suddenly more capable and ready to teach. This is a grave mistake and an awful modern misconception that undermines my career and the careers of others. Why is the essential skill of teaching so often undervalued? The job of a teacher is multifaceted; it not only involves standing in front of a classroom to teach, maintain order, discipline students, and impart knowledge. A teacher's job doesn...

For years, running was a battle with my own biology. I wasn't blessed with wide ankles, nor was I gifted with the neutral step most runners in my region luckily inherited. Consequently, from the very beginning of my running career, finding the right footwear felt like an uphill struggle. Initially, staying under 10k meant I could often dodge injuries in traditional trainers. But then came trail running – a whole new beast. Navigating hills and forcing my stride more intensely quickly turned joyful runs into excruciating pain for my feet. While those finishes were incredibly rewarding, they consistently left me with all kinds of niggles. These ranged from minor blisters and black toenails, manageable enough to keep me going, to debilitating ingrown toenails and plantar fasciitis that kept me grievously immobilized for months. My first marathon ultimately became a turning point. It was glaringly clear I needed to move beyond traditional trainers towards a more specialized long-distan...

Often, people ask me about typical Mexican food, and I look at them, stunned, before answering: "It’s far more complicated than you think, and probably something you’ve never seen nor tasted before." I’ve spent a lot of time abroad, which usually meant being treated to 'authentic' Mexican dinners by well-intentioned friends. They’d always look for my seal of approval, and while the food was often tasty, it was rarely home. They thought they were giving me a taste of what I missed; the truth was, I was homesick for flavors and textures that just don't translate across borders. What comes to mind when you hear the word 'tortilla'? Maybe a quick wrap, a mission-style burrito, or a late-night Taco Bell run? While those have their place, I have a bit of a confession: they aren't the real deal. Once you’ve experienced an authentic, hand-pressed tortilla, those 'stand-ins' just don’t hit the same. Trust me, your taste buds are about to be upgraded. Me...

My mind often wanders to my dogs, and today, one particular memory insists to be shared.  Motka, my first adopted stray, was found on a bitterly cold winter night in Košice, Slovakia. Viktor, the apartment's owner, knowing I loved dogs, would sometimes bring his massive German Shepherd and Ridgeback mix, Bari, to stay in the flat for a night or even a couple of days on the weekend. Spending time with him was a joy, and I no longer felt lonely at night. I was reassured knowing that if anyone ever tried to break in, Bari would take care of it. I loved our hikes; he was incredibly strong and fit. A part of me wished he were mine, but life had other plans, and that is how my story with adopted strays began. Viktor was involved with a dog shelter in Košice, the same place Bari came from. One evening, they called him to say they had found a small, feisty dog on the street. She was in danger of freezing, but the shelter was full, and they needed someone to take her in. He looked at me and...