Mi Sangre Me Llama

A queer path back to what was never truly lost

I almost launched this blog a year ago.

Back then, I thought I knew what I wanted to say. I had come out. I had survived. I had stories. I thought naming myself was enough—that writing through grief and queerness would somehow liberate me.

But something in me hesitated. The words felt too clean. The narrative too safe. The altar I was building, both online and in my home, was beautiful—but I couldn’t see that I was still placing it on foundations built by colonizers.

I was still asking permission to speak.

Unlearning the Language of Survival

I’ve spent most of my life trying to survive a world that told me to cut myself into pieces. Be less brown. Be less feminine. Be less loud. Be more acceptable. Even in healing, I tried to be palatable.

This blog was going to be about starting over. But I didn’t know yet what I really needed was to return.

• To my blood.
• To my dead.
• To the stories that colonization buried—but never destroyed.

What This Blog Is Now

Mi Sangre Me Llama is no longer the neat collection of coming-out essays I once planned.

It’s a living altar. A record of decolonization. A devotional offering to the ancestors and spirits who whisper in dreams, flicker in candles, and hum in the blood.

Here, I’ll write about:

• Queerness as ceremony
• Santa Muerte, tarot, and the spiritual work of remembrance
• Decolonizing how I love, grieve, pray, and speak
• Ancestral rituals, cultural memory, and reclaiming language

This blog is a path—not a platform. It’s not about perfection. It’s about return.

To You, Reader

If you’ve ever felt the pull of something older than your name…

If your healing journey keeps bringing you back to your roots…

If you’re brown, queer, grieving, and trying to remember who you were before the world told you who to be—

You’re not alone.

Welcome home.