Author Archives: Paulina Padilla

La Mordida

Nationality: Mexican American
Age: 21
Occupation: Student
Residence: San Francisco
Language: Spanish and English

Text: “In my family, when it’s your birthday, everyone sings the ‘Happy Birthday’ song and then starts shouting, ‘¡Mordida! ¡Mordida!,’ which means bite. That’s when you are supposed to take the first bite of cake, but you are not allowed to use your hands. And as you are leaning in to take the bite, someone, usually my dad, shoves your face into the cake. Sure, it’s messy and your makeup gets ruined, but you’ve grown up with it, so you expect it. You can’t get mad at it; it’s tradition.”

Context: My informant told me this about this life cycle ritual, which is something her family does at every birthday celebration, no matter the age of the person. Even if you are turning 1 year or 90 years old. She first experienced it when she turned 1, and she can’t remember, but there is photo evidence of it. She recalls her first memory of it being around five years old, and her older brother did it to her. She emphasized that while it can be a surprise, it’s not seen as mean or rude. Instead, it’s a sign of affection. She associates this tradition with joy, family bonding, and humor. 

She learned this tradition from her parents and grandparents, who grew up practicing it in Mexico. Getting your face smashed into the cake is a larger constellation of birthday customs that include singing “Las Mañanitas” and having a piñata.

Interpretation: La Mordida is a playful, semi-ritualized disruption of a special moment. While it may appear aggressive to outsiders, the act of smashing someone’s face into a birthday cake works as an affectionate hazing, signaling inclusion into the family and community. It shows us the values of humor, resilience, and shared experience that are important in Mexican and Mexican American family structures. 

The word “mordida” literally means “bite,” but in this context, it’s a rite of passage. Taking a bite that isn’t graceful but instead messy is both funny and intimate. It shows there is a deep cultural heritage to younger generations through memories. They don’t watch the tradition; they experience it; they feel it on their faces.

Día de los Muertos

Nationality: Mexican American
Occupation: Teacher
Residence: Nevada
Language: Spanish and English

Text: “Every year for Día de los Muertos, my family sets up an ofrenda in the living room. We put up photos of all our loved ones who have passed away, even including our pets. Alongside, we also include marigolds, sugar skulls, pan de muerto, water, and their favorite foods. Pan de muerto is always a must to add to an ofrenda, it’s a sweet bread with bone-shaped decorations on top. For my grandfather, we always put out a can of Coke, a pack of cigarettes, and juicy fruit gum. My mother also believes in leaving a cup of water for every passed loved one since the journey to get back to Earth is a long one, and they are probably thirsty.” 

Context: My informant is Mexican-American and grew up in Los Angeles. Since she can remember, she has always participated in Día de los Muertos, and now, since she is older, she helps organize the family’s annual ofrenda. Her mother is from Oaxaca and takes the tradition very seriously. The ritual is a mix of sad and beautiful, but gives her a sense of connection to family members she never got to meet or ones she misses. The ofrenda is the emotional center of the celebration, but pan de muerto is the food associated with the holiday. 

Interpretation: The ofrenda ritual for Día de los Muertos represents a profound fusion of indigenous Mesoamerican beliefs as well as Catholic practices. The ofrenda acts as both a physical and spiritual portal, in order to welcome the dead, but also to unite the community through shared memory and tradition. This tradition emphasizes the circle of life and how death is not the end but a recurring part of life that invites return, celebration, and remembrance. Eating pan de muerto together turns the experience from commemoration to communion, where the past is not mourned.

Las Posadas

Nationality: Mexican American
Age: 23
Occupation: Supervisor
Residence: Los Angeles
Language: English and Spanish

Text: “Every December, my family would take a trip to Jalisco, Mexico, from where we are from. For nine nights starting from the 16th to the 24th, we do Las Posadas. It starts with a procession, where kids and adults carry candles, sing songs, and walk from house to house, asking for shelter just like Mary and Joseph did. At each house, they will deny us entry until we get to the last house, and we all gather to pray, sing more songs, and eat food like tamales and pan dulce. The last night is the biggest; there’s a piñata usually shaped like a star and a lot of fireworks and kids running around playing games.” 

Context: My informant told me about this ritual that she does every year. As a kid, she started participating, dressing up as an angel, but now she helps her mom organize the singing and food. Las Posadas are elaborate with actors for Mary and Joseph and scripted songs. 

Interpretation: Las Posadas is a ritual that transforms sacred narrative into a performance. This ritual is rooted in Catholic tradition but shaped by local Mexican customs; it reenacts Mary and Joseph’s search for lodging as a form of communal empathy. The nine nights reflect both religious devotion and a buildup of community. The use of candles, song, food, and movement through space blends sensory experience with spiritual meaning, making the tradition memorable and multi-generational. The piñata is in the shape of a star, ties religious symbolism, and is indigenous. 

Cutting Hair with the Moon

Nationality: British
Age: 26
Occupation: Pharmacist
Residence: Liverpool
Language: English

Text: “My nan has always told me you should cut your hair during the waxing moon, when it’s growing bigger, so your hair would grow thicker and faster. But never cut it during a waning moon, or it’d grow back slow and thin. Same thing with nails. My nan wouldn’t get her nails done or anything; she would just wait to trim them herself and always looked up at the moon first.”

Context: My informant is from England and told me that her grandmother grew up in a farming village that often relied on the moon to guide the planting and personal care. Her nan treated it like common sense, and a hairdresser in the town also told her this once. 

Interpretation: This is an example of sympathetic magic. Cutting hair during a waxing moon (that looks like it’s growing) symbolically encourages growth; meanwhile, cutting during a waning moon (that looks like it’s shrinking) is seen as limiting or weakening. It reflects an ancient human instinct to see natural cycles like the moon as connected to our bodies and health. This also reflected a transmission of knowledge, passed from grandmother to granddaughter, rooted in domestic spaces and body care. 

Empacho

Nationality: Mexican
Age: 38
Occupation: Mechanic
Residence: Los Angeles
Language: Spanish and English

Text: “When I was little, if I had a stomachache or was constipated, my grandma would say I had empacho. She would rub my stomach with oil while massaging my stomach and back. Then she would give me a té de manzanilla boiled with the pit of an avocado. I wasn’t allowed to eat cold food after that, only warm soups. No doctors were involved, just her hands and prayers.”

Context: The informant explained that he and his cousins were often diagnosed with empacho by their grandmother when they had constipation, bloating, or stomach cramps. He explained that empacho is believed to be caused by eating too much, eating improperly, or food “sticking” in the stomach. His grandmother learned the treatment from a neighborhood curandera (a folk healer) in Michoacán. He doesn’t fully believe in the diagnosis now, but he did say the treatment did make him feel better. It was comforting. 

Interpretation: Empacho is considered to be a folk illness in Mexican medicine. The idea that food can cause an internal imbalance that requires hands-on shows how healing illustrates how illness is perceived not just as biological but also energetic. The act of rubbing or even pulling the stomach is a way of drawing out the illness. Using warmth (like tea or massage) is a way to counteract the “coldness” in the body. This ritual becomes not only a form of medical intervention but a cultural one, preserving heritage and asserting identity.