All Stories

A warm beacon of light touches the surface of my skin. The hair follicles from my arms levitate as a cool wave of morning breeze flushes over my body. Chirping birds, a clucking rooster, and blooming poppies filled the surround sound of which I lay in.

It is March 13, on a Sunday morning and a yell of eureka almost immediately cracks the air. My once peaceful state is far from reach as my mother bursts into my room. She is carrying her red portable speaker on her right and a broom on her left. I could never get over her funky apron. The bright colors of pink and blue are washed over an awful neon yellow. With a peacock right smack in the middle. She doesn’t mind her funny apron. To her it is what she has always cleaned in and a comfort throw on piece.

“Mija, Sunday Chores, Get Up!” she says. She fumbles out her iPod and fidgets with the screen. A few seconds later Camila’s music fills my ears and she begins to sing the lyrics to Mientes as if she was once again a 17 year old suffering from a broken heart.

I leave my warm comfy bed and pick up the broom she left. As I enter the kitchen a whiff of bleach fills my nostrils and leaves a longing pungent odor. I disregard the smell for which the constant fragrance of what a Sunday morning is supposed to smell like, is my everyday life. Mom always leaves the kitchen when the smell gets too strong. I always just cough or feel a little light headed.

Sunday Cleaning is what grounds my mom and I. It served as our bonding time ever since dad left and life got hard. We sing lyrical rhymes together, dance, and make complete fools of ourselves as if we were performing in front of a raging crowd at a dance fest. It is in the fun times that we turn a blind eye to what is happening to us. I see it, I smell it, and I feel it. There is a constant stigma of cleaning being an essential hygienical need but we never hear about how to properly do it the healthy way.

I lay the broom on the side of the kitchen island and walk over to my mom who stepped out to our back porch to catch a breath of fresh air. Macaroni, our goldendoodle mix, slobbers kisses all over my moms face.

“It's the asthma, don’t worry about it. See… Macaroni isn’t worried.”

I sit besides her and pet Macaroni.

“Good Morning Sir!!” I say. He slobbers kisses all over me too.

“Your asthma is manageable but not when you make it difficult to breathe.”

I tell her about all the repercussions I have noticed that have had an effect on her ever since dad left and how she began to excessively launder our home when she felt unstable. It was a stress reliever and a Sunday routine with her daughter. The previous night I had surfed the web and found an overkilling amount of information on the effects conventional cleaning products can have. Maybe it was my angsty teen self that found it to be thrilling news because I wouldn’t be burdened once again with the task of cleaning. But I knew the value it had on my mother for it signified our livelihood and comfort. I knew we had to make a change in what we use, how we do it, and what we can do to take preventative measures.

The next morning comes and once again I am abruptly awakened. My mom hands me a warm piece of a croissant and puts on her fluffy jacket.

“Lets go to the store and help me pick out some products,” she says.

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yep”

“Do you have your inhaler?”

“Got it”

“Did you put on loti-”

“Mami!” I exclaimed while putting my hand on hers. “Yes I have everything. I will be fine. Don’t worry.”

She sighs and nods her head. I kiss her on the cheek and step out of the car. The first day of school is always nerve wracking no matter how many times you do it. In the past 3 years, I have moved 5 times due to my father’s line of work. My father works in the fields and my mother works as a house cleaner wherever she can. We are always migrating from place to place depending on how much work there is. As hardworking as they are, they are also a handful and worry about my health all the time. Migrating is tough on the body so as a kid, I was always sick. Because of this I was always surrounded by a strong “hospital” smell. Mi’ama would clean day after day almost all day until there were no spots left. For some reason I felt even worse after she cleaned. Perhaps it was because I felt guilty she had to work so much and would come home only to do the same thing. I shake my head and walk to my first class of the day. After an awkward introduction, I take my seat and the teacher continues her lecture. I look around and see people taking notes.

“Does anyone know what a carcinogen is?” I glance up and meet the teacher's eyes. Uh oh. I quickly answer, “it is a substance that basically causes cancer”

“Correct! What about an endocrine disruptor?” I tilt my head in thought, “I am not sure”

“That’s okay” She continues to talk about them and it’s basically a hormone disruptor? The lesson was on harsh chemicals on the surface and she said something about environmental health… pollution? The day was long and boring. My face felt tired from all the polite “smiling” I did. I couldn’t wait to go home. Two bus rides later, I walk up the long set of stairs and make my way into our small apartment. I immediately feel the strong stench of clorox fill my nostrils. I clear my throat and carefully take a step on the shiny floor. I smile as I see my mom washing dishes and singing at the top of her voice.

“How come you aren’t at work?” I say as I wrap my hands around her.

“I didn’t feel too well today. I think the house is old and needs a good cleaning.”

“Ah si?And how do you feel?” I look at my mom and notice her red eyes, nose, and cheeks. “Desde cuando te sientes así?” I learned that she always feels horrible but other times are more manageable than others. A wave of sympathy and rage came over me. How can this be normal?

Ever since I was a little girl my mother would tell me stories of her upbringings; how she grew up, where she grew up and how she got here. My mother was always the hardest worker I’ve known. She grew up in a small town in Zacatecas, Mexico. As young as the age of six, my mother would wake up at six in the morning to walk two hours to the nearest city to buy flour and other groceries for her siblings. After coming home, she would make her family her special homemade tortillas before going off to school. When she got older, she moved to the United States at the age of 16 in order to work and send money to her family back in Mexico. Her family consisted of her mom, dad, 8 sisters and brothers, and nephew. Ever since I could remember, my family and I would take a trip to Mexico two times a year, one in the summer and one for Christmas. I consider Mexico as my second home. I know that little town like the back of my hand. While vacationing to Mexico for months on end, I became accustomed to doing chores around my grandma’s house. I would occasionally sweep and mop the kitchen, and take turns washing the dishes with my sister. In Mexican culture, cleaning is the most essential part of a woman’s daily life. However when we aren’t visiting, my cousins go to school, my Tia’s run errands, and the men usually work at the ranch all day, so the chores were always left for my grandma. When we are not in Mexico, my mom makes sure to call my grandma at least once a day.

Recently, after her phone call, she tells me that my grandma isn’t feeling well. She tells me that she’s having trouble breathing and had to be put on a respirator. I became really worried, but then I came to a realization. When I would visit, I notice that there aren’t many cleaning products to choose from; the only multipurpose cleaning product being Fabuloso. I realized that this can definitely be a reason for the recent health problems my grandmother has encountered. This made me concerned for the health of my other family members as well, especially my grandpa. The harmful chemicals in Fabuloso are affecting my grandma’s breathing and immune system. I realized my family in Mexico do not have the privilege to protect themselves because of their lack of resources. When I brought this concern to my mother she immediately told her sister about it. Now, in order to protect their health, my tia’s and tio’s drive approximately an hour and six minutes to the nearest city of Aguascalientes where there are more stores with more cleaning products to choose from, including green products.

I am glad that I had a hold of this information before my family’s health got any worse. I hope to be able to spread this information out to low income and less privileged families that may need it in order to spread awareness to what conventional products can do.

Brenda, mother of 4 and hard-working role-model. She works a regular 9-5 hour job. This life is hard for her. Having to get home and cook and clean. She is held tightly toward a stereotypical view of a Mexican mother. To not disrupt the peace, she hangs on to her family’s views of her. Getting home to the view of a not clean home is her nightmare. Brenda believes that without bleach, her home isn’t clean, it isn’t disinfected. She cleans her home with an abundance of chemicals and shortly after her children come home. Brenda is glad that her children aren’t exposed to these harmful germs and diseases from the outside world. Though what Brenda doesn’t realize is that she might just be harming her children more than helping them. What she doesn’t know is that these chemicals in the cleaning products can harm and potentially cause cancer in the long run. What she hasn’t been taught is how to safely use these chemicals and what equally disinfects her home that isn’t bleach. What her environment doesn’t hold available is the green cleaning products, they're not accessible to her. All this built up is just chaos. Her children are home, inhaling the chemicals that they have been inhaling for all their lives. With little Juanito constantly getting sick and the doctors still don’t know why. With Brenda herself having health problems despite eating healthy and having healthy habits. Many don’t know what they are exposing themselves to and enough is enough.