ZARIAI hated the smell of tear gas, it crawled up my throat, settled on my tongue, and mixed with sweat, smoke, and screams. That day, it was everywhere, clinging to the protest like a parasite.The sun blazed overhead as I stood beside my mother. Her voice was loud and clear into the microphone. The crowd pulsed with energy, banners flew, chants rose, and fists punched the air. But it was her... my mom, who commanded it all…Isela Mendez, a warrior in a sunflower-yellow blouse, a political icon, a revolution in heels.“Let them hear us!” she shouted. “Let them know we won't be silenced!”And the people cheered, a thousand voices echoing her fire."Mira a tu madre," a woman beside me said with awe. "She’s a legend.""I know," I whispered, beaming. I weaved through the crowd, handing out flyers, heart pounding with pride and adrenaline. My mother was unstoppable, and I wanted to be like her.“Zaria!” she called out, waving when she caught sight of me. “Stay close.”“I will!” I called b
Last Updated : 2025-07-03 Read more