I woke up so excited I couldn't contain myself. I loved Independence Day. The fun of being with your family, eating the best food and lighting fireworks, that's when it hit me “I should make my own fireworks.” I first had to help my mom cook the food and set up the house for the family like tidying my room and cleaning the dining table to place the food. All my tias, uncles, grandparents and cousins were coming.

Independence Day was one of my favorite holidays besides Christmas because my mom makes the best tamales. Once my work was done I was finally able to get to my experiment. As I was mixing the chemicals something was going wrong. Usually once I mixed everything it turned white but instead everything was turning blue and it was rising. I looked at my notes and went through each step and that was the last thing I remember. “He’s waking up.” His pulse is back.” “Sir what's your name.”

Part of me wanted to respond but I couldn't. My head was pounding, my arm felt like it would fall off and my heart was going 300 miles per hour. This feeling wasn’t natural and that's the last thing I remember before… “Mr.Orozco..Mr.Orozco.” The ceiling was white, the lights were blinding and the pillows were like rocks. I was tired but I tried sitting up but a tall lady with a blue scrub came over and told me to be still, to relax and that I was in great care. Then it clicked bright lights, ladys in blue scrubs, ROCK HARD pillows. I WAS IN A HOSPITAL. Something had to have gone wrong with the fireworks. I spent up to a week in the hospital healing. Doctors told me I am very lucky to be alive and I might not be able to be an agronomist anymore because I damaged my left wrist.

Now that I can’t continue my parents wishes this means I can continue my art. My father wasn’t too happy to hear the news but he couldn’t do much and he was just happy that I was ok. I felt excited. I felt ready to get out of this hospital to conquer the world (looks at wrist) well maybe not right now.

When I was a young child, I would use soap and ink, from my fathers coloring factory, to draw pictures. At the time, I thought, as the colors mixed together, the picture would become a real image. And something that would somehow come to life. I loved it. I began taking drawing classes so that I would be able to learn more techniques and designs to create art. There were many ideas as I was experimenting with new colors. Those colors being dark shaded colors, combinations with gold, and the mixtures of every secondary color.

Afterschool, I would pass by a gallery that displayed many famous murals, painted by famous artists. I visited the gallery once and the smell was luxurious. It felt like I was in a mansion with the smell of pretty flowers. I approached a painting that caught my eye which displayed skulls and skeletons by an artist named José Guadalupe Posada. The portrait was so enormous that I could smell the acrylic paint of the mural from thousands of feet away. I noticed how a lot of painters described their own feelings in their artwork. This made me want to express more about myself in my drawings. After the passing of my father, I decided that I would be fully committed to become a professional artist. I had to do this because it was my dream and I wanted to make my father proud. I saw how successful some of the famous artists were so I wanted to replicate that and do the things that other people have done to become famous.

One day, when I was 17 years old, I visited a laboratory to study different chemicals and ways to make fireworks. I wanted to make these so I could sell them for an upcoming event, Mexican Independence Day in 1904. Not only that, I wanted to surprise my mother and my brothers and sisters with a loud explosion. An explosion indeed. I was wrapping up all of the chemicals that I had used into a container where I would later use to pour onto the firework. Then a few seconds after I poured everything in the jar, I heard the chemicals erupt as if it were boiling water. I tried to stop it but it was too late. Bubbles started to form around the jar and suddenly an explosion blew up and blew me away. I heard a sound, similar to a flashbang, which crushed my eardrums. For a few seconds, I wasn't moving a bit nor was I checking to see the damage I had done to the lab. I laid on the floor just realizing what I had just done. “What am I going to do? How am I going to clean all this up?” I thought to myself. I knew I was going to be punished by the principal of our school so I knew I was done for. I checked to see if anything was destroyed or see if anything was flammable and about to explode. Then the most horrific thing I saw was my left hand getting injured. The whole part of my hand was almost separated from my arm and I was disgusted. I could almost see my bone pop out. I cried for help, begged for someone to come by to see me. But then I realized that no one could help me out because it was the holiday and hospitals weren’t taking customers that day. So I had to keep the arm cut for a few days. And as I was waiting for those few days, Gangrene, a condition where the flow of blood gets cut off along with the tissue, started to set in the cut on my arm. It felt like something was eating my whole hand alive.

The doctors would later have to amputate my hand and wrist to save my life, and that's what the doctor’s did for me once the holiday ended. After a few months, I felt better but losing a hand was devastating. My skill of painting art with both my hands was no longer possible but I knew how to use my right hand better so my dream was still alive.

After a few years, I became more flexible without my left hand, even though sometimes I feel like it’s attached, in reality it isn’t. This never really affected me though because I still thrived to become a famous artist. I was still able to perfect my craft and fulfill my artworks to the whole world. I had an interest in politics with Mexico, so I began making sketches and drawings about Mexican politics. I loved how most murals I painted had something meaningful behind the painting. My goal for every painting was to have a significant meaning about the artwork. And to also impact the audience so that they would have a better understanding of the image that is presented in front of them. I tell people that paintings are not just some colors thrown on a canvas, it starts with the idea and full meaning behind the image, that’s what makes a painting so beautiful. The deeper meaning behind the actual piece of art.