This is beautiful, Maria, and all too familiar. My Grandfather even worked in that same cheese factory! Answering the question “where are you from?” has always been tricky…I have thick dark hair and light skin, I grew up speaking Plautedietsch and English with a little Spanish sprinkled in too, worked the fields as a child, and blasted Los caminantes whenever we drove somewhere with dad. Meals could be anything from a traditional mashed potato with a side of meat and salad, to barbacoa, chile rallenos, or borscht. Those last two lines really hit home. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am the first generation to have the luxury of remembering. And God damn it all, if I don’t do an exceptional job.” 🤌
Hi Alex 🩷 thank you so much for saying that. I relate to the strange combination of food. Borscht and perogies from our European ancestors one night, and then carnitas or enchiladas from Mexico another night. It’s so lovely to hear that you understand 🫶🏻
Maria—me encantó this piece (some Spanglish for you because I also often feel “ni de aquí ni de allá”). I’m Dominican and my skin is white (ish, I like to say it’s olive because my ancestors are Lebanese) and I always get those looks or comments too: “Pero you don’t look Dominican.”
I’m glad you’re doing the hard work of digging up your roots. It’s such an intrinsic part of who we are. And thanks for bringing us along!
Your essays are such a strong mix of lyrical and plain speaking with dots of humor and so much vibrancy (I hope I'm using that word correctly; I'm getting the afternoon sleepies). I really like these lines:
"So where is home? Ahh…. the elusive concept, a slippery one. Sometimes I think it’s a white bird, sitting on my windowsill. Whenever I’m sure I’ve spotted it, it’s already become a ghost."
This is beautiful, Maria, and all too familiar. My Grandfather even worked in that same cheese factory! Answering the question “where are you from?” has always been tricky…I have thick dark hair and light skin, I grew up speaking Plautedietsch and English with a little Spanish sprinkled in too, worked the fields as a child, and blasted Los caminantes whenever we drove somewhere with dad. Meals could be anything from a traditional mashed potato with a side of meat and salad, to barbacoa, chile rallenos, or borscht. Those last two lines really hit home. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am the first generation to have the luxury of remembering. And God damn it all, if I don’t do an exceptional job.” 🤌
Hi Alex 🩷 thank you so much for saying that. I relate to the strange combination of food. Borscht and perogies from our European ancestors one night, and then carnitas or enchiladas from Mexico another night. It’s so lovely to hear that you understand 🫶🏻
Gorgeous, gorgeous writing -- thank you for sharing your story.
Thank you for reading Amy 🩷
Maria—me encantó this piece (some Spanglish for you because I also often feel “ni de aquí ni de allá”). I’m Dominican and my skin is white (ish, I like to say it’s olive because my ancestors are Lebanese) and I always get those looks or comments too: “Pero you don’t look Dominican.”
I’m glad you’re doing the hard work of digging up your roots. It’s such an intrinsic part of who we are. And thanks for bringing us along!
Hi Rosa! Thank you so much for popping by and sharing your story 🩷 I’m really happy it resonated.
Your gift to make the last piece of the puzzle land is always magnificent.
Your essays are such a strong mix of lyrical and plain speaking with dots of humor and so much vibrancy (I hope I'm using that word correctly; I'm getting the afternoon sleepies). I really like these lines:
"So where is home? Ahh…. the elusive concept, a slippery one. Sometimes I think it’s a white bird, sitting on my windowsill. Whenever I’m sure I’ve spotted it, it’s already become a ghost."