Papelucho Mi Hermano Hippie -

Mamá almost fainted when she saw him. He had a feather in his hair, sandals made of old tires, and a necklace of dried beans that he swore was “medicinal.” Papá just looked at him over his newspaper and said, “Javier, you smell like a forest after a rainstorm. A strange rainstorm.” Sol Naciente smiled and said, “That’s patchouli, Dad. It aligns the chakras.” I don’t know what chakras are, but I think one of them got aligned onto the couch because now it smells forever.

I never thought I’d say this, but my brother Javier has turned into a walking herb garden. Last week he came home from the university—the one where they let you sit on the floor during class—and announced that from now on, his name is “Sol Naciente.” I told him that sounded like a brand of orange juice. He said I have a materialistic soul. papelucho mi hermano hippie

So now I have a hippie brother. He doesn’t wear shoes, he talks to birds, and he thinks money grows on—well, not trees, because that would be capitalist. But he also shares his cookies and told me that being different is just another way of being brave. I still think “Sol Naciente” is a silly name. But when no one’s looking, I call him that. Just to see him smile. Mamá almost fainted when she saw him

Now I have to go. Luna Marina is trying to teach the dog to meditate, and he’s just sitting there confused. Poor guy. I know how he feels. It aligns the chakras