By: Lilia López The cold is on its way out of San Cristóbal, but not without dragging its feet a bit. This is my first winter in the mountains of Chiapas so it’s taking some getting used to. Despite being born and raised in sunny California, I learned a little about the art of snow shoveling during my four of Chicago winters while I was in college. Nevertheless, what I’ve found I miss most here is that comforting, (and often times suffocating) blast of warm air that hits your face as you step into your local coffee shop, restaurant, or most any other establishment in the U.S. I usually find myself starting to complain as I step out into the brisk morning air which is sometimes accompanied by mist or rain. When I’ve walked a few blocks, just about the time my hands dig into my insulated jacket pocket searching for that trusty tissue, I enter the city's plaza, full of indigenous women and children street vendors donning the same flimsy acrylic shawls and plastic sandals they wear year-round. As I shiver my way across the plaza, I’m reminded that the woman and child I saw the othe night, sleeping on the cobblestone sidewalks of the city center with only a plastic tarp between them and the extremes, are likely among these same vendors. I don’t miss the heat so much anymore. More importantly, I feel especially fortunate to be learning about the concept of “privilege.” What it means to be a citizen of a “developed” nation in a country where much of the population lives in, or teeters on the edge of extreme poverty is a critical component of working towards a more just and equitable future for us all. “An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity. Martin Luther King, Jr.

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