The Heart’s Void

From 2013 to 2015, I found myself deeply entrenched in the flesh, striving for success as I transitioned from high school to college, believing that accolades and grades would fill the void in my heart. I chased after achievements, thinking they would bring me fulfillment, yet everything felt like grasping for the wind, leaving me emptier than before. Surrounded by teachers and professors who often used Machiavellian tactics, psychological manipulation, and power plays, I witnessed firsthand how their pursuit of popularity overshadowed genuine education and mentorship. Their actions—scapegoating, slander, and intellectual dishonesty—only added to the toxic environment, highlighting a shared emptiness that we all felt but rarely acknowledged. It became clear to me that both students and educators were caught in a cycle of striving for validation in the flesh, neglecting the deeper spiritual needs of our hearts. In my search for meaning, I realized that true fulfillment could only come from being filled with the Holy Spirit, who alone can satisfy the unescapable void within us. This revelation transformed my perspective, leading me to seek a relationship with God that transcends worldly success, and I began to understand that our true worth is found in Him, not in our achievements.

The Guitar That Chose Me: A Story of Family, Music, and Destiny

As I started college, my flamenca guitar from Puerto Rico was my constant companion, it’s dark, percussive sound a piece of home that followed me to campus. But my musical journey took an unexpected turn during my sophomore and junior years, between 2015-2017. I found myself repeatedly drawn to a specific guitar at Morey’s Music Store Inc., a Wolfgang Teller. Without any conscious knowledge of a connection, I eventually bought it. It was only later that I uncovered a surprising family history, discovering my deep roots to the Lombardy, Lombard, and Chicago through the Wolfgang Pilgrim family, making my choice of the Wolfgang Teller feel like an echo of history I hadn’t known I had.

More Than a Coincidence: Finding My Roots Through an Archangel's Name

Back in my Cerritos College days, the practice rooms were my sanctuary. Hours melted away as I dedicated myself to the classical guitar before turning to the pages of my Bible. One evening, stepping out for a slice of pizza, I received an unexpected comment from the server: “You look like Gabriel the Archangel.” That simple statement struck a deep chord within me, igniting a powerful sense that God’s Spirit was present in my life. It was a feeling that stayed with me, and years later, the realization that I share familial connection with the historic San Gabriel Archangel Mission in California only amplified the significance of that seemingly chance encounter.  

The Unseen Chicano: My Path to an Authentic Self

Growing up, I felt a deep sense of internal conflict, a feeling that something was fundamentally missing. I was living a life that wasn't truly my own. I didn't realize it then, but I was instinctively autistic masking, a survival mechanism to fit into a world that felt alien. I was also drawn to a contemporary goth aesthetic rooted in my prehispanic ancestry from Pueblo’s Blancos—a way of expressing a part of my identity I wasn't ready to fully embrace. This internal struggle, combined with my unrecognized autistic nature and the potential influence of my ancestry from Cerro de la Masacra and Mission Soledad, led me into a profound depression. As a child, I was inexplicably drawn to Batman, an obsession that I couldn't explain. My earliest memories are tied to Thompson Park in Bellflower, a place I spent countless hours in kindergarten. It wasn't until I was an adult, in college, that I began to understand the deeper reasons for this fascination. I discovered that I am related to the people of Santo Domingo de Guzman, Chiapas de Corzo in Zinacantan, Mexico, and Huehuetenango Concepcion, Guatemala, whose ancient mascot is the bat god Camazotz. I also learned that my connection to Thompson Park was more profound than I ever imagined, as it was historically tied to the Saint Thomas Indian Mission or La Mission Puerto de Purísima Concepción in California's Winterhaven. These familial and historical ties helped me realize that my obsession, and my general gravitation towards a black clothing aesthetic, wasn't just a random preference—it was an instinctive way of connecting with my roots, a silent acknowledgement of a heritage I was just beginning to uncover. Huehuetenango Concepcion in Zinacantan, Mexico, whose mascot is a bat, like Batman, the strict, almost military, code of conduct I used in the bands I formed in Bellflower during 2010 was a reflection of this heritage and my autistic nature, which made me prefer working in solitude, a fact I was also unaware of. This period led to a deep depression, but the one thing that brought me joy was the music and working with a crowd that shared my aesthetic and music taste. Despite receiving accommodations for a learning disability throughout my schooling, I was never properly diagnosed with high-functioning autism. It wasn't until 2019 that I finally received my official diagnosis, allowing me to understand that my desire to work in solitude and my past struggles were tied to my identity as a Chicano. I finally understood how my roots, like the solitary nature of the Mission Soledad or Rancho San Vicente signifying the Masked Rider or Ghost Rider, were a part of who I am which is has a contrasting parallel between both characters Zorro and Batman. This realization finally helped me find my way out of the darkness and into a life where I could be my authentic self.

Beyond Coincidence: Finding My Graduation Year in Moche History

The Huaca de la Luna is a monumental adobe structure on the northern coast of Peru, serving as a key ceremonial center for the Moche civilization between the 1st and 8th centuries CE. This civilization predates the later Inca Empire, and while the Quechua language is a hallmark of the Inca, the Moche left their own distinct cultural legacy. The Huaca is renowned for its vibrant, multi-layered murals, most notably the prominent depiction of Aiapaec, the principal Moche deity. Aiapaec is a mountain god who is often depicted not as a single animal, but as a composite being embodying the ferocity and power of the spider, bat, eagle, and jaguar. In Moche belief, Aiapaec was a fearsome figure known as "the decapitator," a god of sacrifice and retribution who maintained the cosmic order. The artistry and religious themes within the Huaca de la Luna are a testament to the complex beliefs of this ancient culture, whose profound influence is a foundational part of South America's indigenous history, a legacy that, for some, personally resonates with the broader culture that extends to regions like Santiago del Estero Quichua in Buenos Aires, Argentina and parts of Colombia today.

I came to find a deeper connection to this ancient history through a coin necklace. The coin, which features the Huaca de la Luna and its iconic Aiapaec imagery, was released to the public in August 2014 as the 17th coin in a series of 26 from Peru. This specific year holds personal significance for me, as it was the year of my graduation from Bellflower High School. This confluence of events feels like more than a coincidence, especially when considering the themes of decapitation. Aiapaec, the god often depicted as a Moche priest or warrior beheading a captive, brings to mind the story of the prophet Elijah from the Old Testament, who famously decapitated 450 prophets of Baal. Although there may not be a direct cultural connection between these two vastly different historical figures, the shared motif of decapitation as a display of power or divine justice offers a fascinating parallel across different civilizations and belief systems.