Every morning I wake up to a loud noise clattering in the creepy crawler infested walls of my apartment. I never bother to figure out what causes this rude awakening. Instead I call for my spirit to return back to my body from its journey to the real world. I make my way to my cocina where a non-functioning stove sits, taking up space. I open the ice box, pull out half way frozen nopales, the ice covered cilantro and tepache (one that i make)- barely enough left to blend this combination of ancestral life into a natural insulin. I can sense the weight of someone's eyes on me. I turn around and in her green leather rocking chair is my abuelita Luz "Yeya." She's smiling at me. She came to visit me from Mictlan; the place that harbors our ancestors from the slow deaths of diabetes and other colonial dis-eases.