short essay

Platos Fuertes de Tia Lena

Tuve la linda oportunidad de pasar un fin de semana con mi familia en Memphis, Tennessee en los fines de enero 2018. De tantos Tios y Tias que tengo, son pocas las memorias de infancia que tengo con ellos. Cómo muchos de nosotros salvadoreños que somos de familias grandes, la triste realidad es que el tiempo y la distancia desafortunadamente hacen las familias más pequeñas. Mi Tia Lena ha sido la Tia con quien tengo muchísimas memorias de esa época feliz de niñez. Ella es la hermana mayor de mi papá y llegaron al mismo tiempo a este país. Crecieron sus hijos juntos y rodeados con mucho amor.

Los caminos de las vida nos tocaron diferente rumbos, pero a pesar de la millas de distancia en geografía, siempre seguimos unidos. El amor entre familia corre profundamente en la legacía de estos hermanitos. 

Mi Tia Lena ha sido una fuente de inspiración, fé y amor para mi desarrollo. Tuve la hermosa oportunidad de pláticar con ella, aprender su sabiduría y comer un cachimbo de chicharrones y tortillas hechas a mano. Ademas de ser tan sabia, mi Tia es un maravilla en la cocina. Ella le pone tanto cariño en cada cucharada que sirve. La comida tiene un sabroso toque a la experiencia, como de un chile que no se puede comprar. Cuando estábamos en la cocina, me quedaba admirada a su facilidez con el aceite caliente, con su agilidad en cómo palmeaba las tortillas para hechar al comal. Me ponía a pensar de cuantas tortillas había hecho en su vida, de todos los buches que se han llenado con sus tortillas. Nuestras pláticas empezaban en la cocina. La cocina siempre ha representado un espacio sagrado en el hogar, adonde las mujeres pueden compartir y aprender de una a otra en un ambiente sano y salvo. 

Unas de las pasadas que cuenta mi papá es cuando pasaron tiempos duros en Honduras, antes de la guerra de 1969 cuando muchos Salvadoreños vivían y trabajaban en Honduras. Mi Tia Lena, apenas de la edad de 13 años, ya podía hacer un almuerzo para su hermanos con sólo 10 centavos. Lena compraba 2 centavos de chacaras (unos guineos/plátanos gordos). Después con los 8 centavos de sobra, compraba asientos (los pedacitos de chicharrones de puerco, bien fritos que sobran en el aceite) y huaraches (un tipo de pan dulce) para comer con un cafecito. Ella también era buena para pescar chacalines en la quebrada, para que su hermanitos no comieran la tortilla sola. 

Mi Tia Lena demuestra su amor y cariño atravez de su comida. Cada tortilla hecha a mano, cada quesadilla horneada, lleva la tradiciones de su madre, su abuela y todas las mujeres valientes de nuestra familia. Me sentí chiflada con tanta sabrosura en mi visita con Tia que decidí dedicar éste ensayo a la maravilla que es ella, de lo que representa su comida y las fuerzas que ella demuestra en su ser.

Cuando sea grande, quiero ser como mi Tia Lena. 

Toda La Sabrosura

Mami Made

Mami Made is the sewing craft line I run with my Mom. Mami has sewn all her life. She learned  this necessary life skill while growing up in the rural countryside of El Salvador.  Her mother taught her to stitch as well as the insightful tactic of looking at fragmented pieces then making something out of it.  I write in further detail about Mami's handmade magic in My Mother's Hands.

The idea behind Mami Made was that Mami has always made beautiful practical things for me. After a night of listening to the purr of her sewing machine, my light bulb blinked on:  why not share her craft with the world? She thrives in the process of creating something from thread and fabric. My sister is an Art Therapist so the process of making art to heal runs in the family. Mami glows when she gives that item to its new owner. Mami Made is a way to nurture my Mother's creative spirit and share her craft.  

Below is a visual appreciation of the love that Mami stitches in each of her craft. Whether she's making my prom dress, a princess dress for her granddaughter, a vintage style cocktail dress to fit all my curves, Mami pours her humble love in every inch.

Thanks again to Remezcla for showcasing Mami Made

Unlearning My Sex Shame & Other Kinks

“Si vienes con una pata más larga que la otra, mejor ni vengas / if you come home knocked up, don’t even bother coming home,” my mother’s reaction when she found out that I held hands with Coco, my high school boyfriend. He was quiet, white and the first boy to actually ask me out. Naturally, my tomboy dweeb self was over the Coco moon. The one time I actually let him walk me to the public school bus, my Mom picked me up by surprise and caught me Coco-handed. She held her anger the whole drive home back to our immigrant, working-class barrio. The sex-shame volcano exploded once we got home.

Nada de Naranjas

Unlearning is 

a real team effort

a work in progress

She obviously thought the worst: that I’m going to get pregnant, that I’ll drop out of school, that I’ll ruin my whole life if I am in the back of Coco’s Volvo, fogging up the windows. That all their hard work would be trashed if I were to get knocked up. I get it. Statistically, I know I was the candidate for teenage pregnancy: poor, first-generation, working class, brown, Catholic in a red state. Also, being first-generation, I have to learn everything the hard way, trial-by-fire. Clearly, sex was one lesson I couldn’t learn hands on. I could understand the anger but I also was accused of something I didn’t do, much less even knew the mechanics of it.

In reality, I was book-loving dork who read the dictionary and newspaper for fun. I was super shy and only had a handful of friends. I wore wide legged jeans and baggy shirts to hide my lumpy growing body. I made my own jewelry and begged my tired parents to take me to the library every weekend. Pro-Hoe Yeiry wouldn’t even make an appearance until after college!

From that tirade, my mother instilled the fear of pregnancy without explaining sex to me. I was left with so many questions.

  • Is my virginity the only significant part of my identity?
  • Why does my hymen determine the integrity and honor of my family?
  • Does wanting to learn and explore my body make me a Puta?
  • Why is being a puta or santa my only options to exist in the world?

There was no Google God to pray to about this issue. All I had was a Catholicism rigidness and a very literal encyclopedia that had medical illustrations under the term “anatomy”. I’m a 16 year old living in Texas, with an abstinence-only education that barely even mentioned a maxi pad. I’m a stranger in my lumpy soft body. I don’t even know the texture of my hair. I have no idea where a tampon goes. But only married women are allowed to wear tampons, right? All I know is that I’m totally alone in this and I’m “supposed” to know things that no one had explained to me.

I internalized and hardened with the sex-loathing lava that exploded all over me. How was I to get pregnant if I didn’t even know what pieces went together? How was I to make sense of things when extreme hypotheticals were thrown at me? It was not a conversation. I had no choice but to obey some archaic belief where my hymen ties the family together. Let’s not break any of it.

Coco broke up with me over the phone during Christmas. He didn’t give a specific reason and just said it was best if we didn’t see each other. I agreed only because I was so confused that he didn’t like me anymore. I never shared with him the shit I got because he was white and he wouldn’t understand. Plus, there is only so much emotional intimacy a 16 year old can hold.

It took 15 years after that explosion to finally make peace with my body.

It took 15 years after that explosion to finally make peace with my body. There was not one road but a series of steps and tumbles that led to my sexual education. I learned more about myself through every relationship and one-night-stands. I healed from the emotional abuse I endured in my 20’s. I learned the cavernous chambers of sexual identity and pleasure. Finally, hands-on learning I can understand!

Unlearning is a real team effort. My older sister’s sex-positive attitude was a light at the end of the cervix. Years of therapy has given me the voice to speak up. A community of feminist peers with their support and communal learning, provided the space to learn and exchange. I have a great gyno who answers all the questions I have. I read books, pamphlets, brochures. I even got the courage to grab fistfuls of free NYC condoms. Anything to further my knowledge. I experimented and learned and laughed, all while shedding my internalized sex-shame one clothing layer at a time.

Unlearning is a work in progress. I still get shy about the topic with my Mom, although now she’s trying to be more open about it since I’m obviously an adult. I’m learning more about my body over time and how to listen to it. How to respond to it and to know what feels good or not. Owning my pleasure meant listening to my body. To be patient with my body. To be accepting of the wisdom it’s telling me; not to reject it because of some other external factor (i.e.: this partner won’t like me if I say this or this is what I’m “supposed” to do).

I am also assertive and vocal of continuous consent, very important for all parties involved. I no longer carry the extra weight of worrying what others will think or say just because I am living my truth. I own every inch of my body and it’s a daily affirmation I make to keep this peace. This body is not for a future spouse, or for childrearing or a trophy for someone’s stupid honor: it’s all my own, no one else’s. Managing my anxiety has also provided me the mental clarity to be present. To enjoy the moment and frankly, to breathe. I am able to be present in the moment, be aware of myself and to accept peace in myself.

No one tells you this about sex: it’s okay to take your time. In this hypersexed/youth-obsessed culture, sex can be weird. Sex can be complicated. The most important part about this sexual education is you: your comfort, your consent, your pleasure, your health, your safety. I don’t have the answers but I’m still learning to not feel any shame or guilt for any piece of me. Solo cuidate / take care of yourself in the process (condoms, birth control, abstinence, whatever works for you). Light up all the candles to the Google Gods and do research to learn.

Sexual education does not mean a direct pregnancy/life-sentence.

It’s a fucking conversation.