I didn't write this play alone. It was born from and shaped by the voices of many: those of the generous people who allowed me to interview them, some of whom knew me for years and others to whom I was new, but who nevertheless entrusted me with their stories; the voices of my own migrant parents and our family's journeys from Chile and Costa Rica and back and forth again, and those of my relatives forced into exile, whose freedom of movement was taken away; the voices of my collaborators sharing their own immigrant stories; and those whose voices I didn't get to know personally, but whose histories and ingenuity, cries and songs fill the city, its spaces, the air we take in, and whom we encounter every day, even if we don't realize it – or close our eyes and ears to it.

So when you listen to this play, you are also hearing the "real" Mariposa, and also the cousins Rédin, Sergio and Jhonatan, and the young Bronxite Manuela, and the unstoppable Pilar Perez, who can now share her full name and who dedicates her life to working with students and teachers and, together, creating new inventions and ways of seeing (and trying to fix) the world. And Adriana V., a dear friend and artist who had to reinvent herself here, and Teresa who helps others escape from abuse. And you’re also hearing voices born from my imagination – and of course, those of all of the actors and artists who shared their time and hearts to help this piece find itself along the way, including the NYC fandangueros who invited me (and all of us) into their community with such warmth.

To emigrate is a radical act of imagination. You leave your home, most everything and everyone you know and love, the person you were – in order to move down an uncertain (and often dangerous) path, towards a place you've never been. You must picture yourself in this imagined place, living an imagined existence. How will you move through that world? How will people treat you? How will you re-create yourself – or can you? It's an act of transformation that requires a caterpillar's surrender and sense of purpose and vision that transcends immediate, earth-bound circumstances, and the fragility and persistence of a butterfly who keeps flying through hardship and hostility. And it needs coyotes – from the Nahuatl word "coyotl" – who help or hinder you on that path. Figures who embody duality, like the Aztec deity Huehuecoyotl, can cause mischief and harm, but are also storytellers who can seduce other gods and slyly circumvent obstacles, finding and opening new paths, not just on land but in our souls.

Thank you for coming with us on this journey.

- Andrea Thome

Special Thanks:

I'm grateful to interviewees Pilar Perez, Mariposa, Manuela, Rédin, Sergio, Jhonatan, Adriana, and Sinuhé Padilla for their generosity, to my colleagues at the Theatre & Performance department at SUNY Purchase for their support, and to SPACE on Ryder Farm and Blue Mountain Center for giving me space to develop this piece. Deepest thanks to Eddie Martinez for supporting me on this journey.