There’s something electric about the unbridled reverie and passion Mexican people have when they’re celebrating that’s absolutely contagious. As I watched people cruise around my predominantly latino neighborhood in their decked out cars, I couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement. So much so I made my extremely patient boyfriend pull over at a corner where they were selling flags.

They had huge flags for $10. I was tempted. For a moment I wanted to be one of those girls hanging out the window of my boyfriend’s pickup truck waving my giant flag and yelling at the top of my lungs, “¡Viva Mexico!” But I demurred. I’d never been that girl. I’d never been one for flag waving and rabble rousing. My Mexican pride is something I celebrate on a daily basis in small ways, just by being myself. I asked if they had a nice, small, reasonably-sized flag. You know something for dainty pride. And also, because I was thinking of the logistics of storing my flag, where does everyone keep their giant flags when they’re not cruising around on the days leading up to the 16th?

But they were all out.

Of course they were. It was 9 PM on the 15th of September, peak cruising and celebrating time. She did however have a bandana, and at $1, it was a damn bargain. I wrapped it around my head like a Mexican Tupac and went on my way.

Maybe next year, I’ll be one of those girls, wild with excitement screaming and waving my giant flag as I hang out the passenger side, of my best friend’s ride… but until with my bandana on, and my Selena blasting, I’ll leave you with one last, “Viva Mexico, cabrones!”