Like Mother, Like Daughter

I can’t remember what exactly prompted me to come to Guatemala this summer, but the more I think about it, the less it matters.  The decision was never really my own.  It was fate that led me here… to learn about my ancestry… to understand my mom, and in turn, to understand me.

Growing up part Cuban in my father’s very white, very wealthy, and very proper family wasn’t always the easiest, and although my mother never feared being herself around them, a lot of our Cuban ancestry was nonetheless swept under the rug.  As a result, I began studying French at the age of four, I studied abroad in French and English countries, and I didn’t even want to start studying Spanish in ninth grade.  I thought I related more to my French heritage.  Boy, I was wrong.

A few months ago, my mother made the observation, “you are your grandmother’s daughter.”  In doing so, she was referring to my heart and its need to help anyone and everyone.  She’s right.  Most of the good in my heart is my grandmother… and it should be.  She has been one of the most influential forces throughout my entire life.  I learned how to love by watching her love.

It was just this morning, while my Guatemalan mom was asking if I wanted leftover birthday cake for breakfast, that I realized something rather clever… something I bet my mother didn’t see coming.  While a large part of my heart is my grandmother, a large part of me is my mother.  The way I make noises when I think, my dark hair and eyes, the strength of my loyalty, my newfound ass and boobs, the depth of my passions, the reason I know no stranger, and yes, even my love of leftover birthday cake for breakfast… I got it all from you.

So, Mom, while in Guatemala… I found your attraction to the color turquoise.  It really does make the world a more beautiful place.  I realized why cookies are a breakfast food, and it stems from the question, why not?  I began to understand why learning Spanish is so important to you.  It feels like a piece of your heart is missing without it.  I discovered why it takes you forever to tell a story… you’re Latino and you ALL do it.  I became real thankful for your gift of rhythm and the way I can shake my ass.  I figured out how you see something in nothing.  I think it’s in your blood.  I fell in love with the way you love your father.  I wish I knew him the way you did.  I already knew a pot of black beans could heal the world.  I verified it though.  Lastly, I began to appreciate our sister-like relationship.  Among Latinas, there is no delineation between where a woman stops and where her daughter begins.  It is one of my favorite things about Latino culture and about us.  <3