The object that carries my family’s story is a collection of huacos that my grandfather, Jose Angel Minano García, passed down to me. He was an archaeologist, a lawyer, and a man whose heart belonged to Peru’s ancient past. When he spoke about history, his voice changed. It became softer, almost sacred. He did not see artifacts as objects. He saw them as voices.

The huacos sit quietly, shaped like faces, animals, and symbols from civilizations that lived thousands of years ago. Their clay is cool and textured, the color of earth after rain. When I hold one, I feel as if I am touching time itself. The curves are imperfect, yet powerful like the Andes mountains that watched over their creation. 

My grandfather preserved these pieces not for display, but for remembrance. He believed history was alive, breathing through us. When he placed the huacos in my hands, his eyes held something deeper than pride. It was trust. He was not just giving me pottery; he was passing down identity, memory, and responsibility. 

After he passed away, the huacos felt heavier. Not in weight, but in meaning. They became a bridge between generations from ancient Peru to my grandfather, to me, and now to my children. They remind me that we come from strength, intelligence, and culture that deserves to be honored. 

Sometimes, when I look at them in silence, I feel him there. The huacos are no longer just artifacts. They are love shaped by earth, carrying our story forward.

– CM

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant