Description
My name is Alicia Caterina Rivera Hernandez. There are times, like now, when I turn philosophical because I had a drink too much. Times, at which I wonder if this sentence is true. It is the name that has been given to me by my parents, yes. But is it my name? How much of me is still me? Alicia Rivera is a name whispered in the streets with awe, shouted during demonstrations with pride, hissed in the government's barracks with utmost hatred. I have seen my face tattooed across the broad chests of freedom fighters, printed on banners, painted on targets at shooting ranges. My name is included in prayers and songs, in threats and in curses. Is it still my name? Is it still my face? My name is Alicia Caterina Rivera Hernandez. Depending on who you ask I'm a soldier or a murderer, an idol or a terrorist, a hero or a criminal. If you ask me, I might be a bit of all of these. But most of all, I'm tired. And a little drunk. **** A collection of pieces on Alicia Rivera, a stubborn girl with a love for the sea, brought to her knees by a cruel government, emerged as an idol of the resitance.
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