My Mother’s Daughter

My beautiful and talented girlfriend Cindy Sosa has written a thought-provoking piece on the hybridization of Cuban and American cultures.

The reality of what would become my life was forged on October 2nd, 1970. That date marks the day my grandfather brought his wife, along with my mother and his 3 other daughters to the United States from Cuba. Like so many before him, my grandfather was after opportunity and a better quality of life. His pursuit for betterment resulted in a successful business which laid the foundation for our family in a new country.

Fast forward to present day: With the first generation of American-born children in my family flourishing, I can’t help but notice the giant caña de azcúar in the room, namely the hybridization of both cultures. The kids of my generation are bilingual speakers, but not really. We dominate English while Spanglishing our way through conversations with parents and grandparents. On Thanksgiving, an American holiday through and through, our families prepare a traditional turkey and a lechón to give thanks-a-plenty. In this way, we walk a fine line between the traditional teachings of our parents and our current reality.

But there is a danger inherent in this hybrid world of the Cuban Americanism. As it’s true of any hybrid, some parts of the original get lost. With each successive generation of our American-born descendants, a piece of our original heritage is lost. Will Spanglish eventually evolve into Spenglish?

This is why it’s so important for us to keep the traditions of our culture alive. This country was built by hardworking immigrants who chased their dreams while preserving their culture. They knew that no matter where they were from or how long they’d be here, the only way forward was to maintain their heritage. So if our grandparents could transplant their entire culture in the US, there’s no reason why we can’t just nurture that culture.

But how do we go about supporting and encouraging the uniqueness of where we come from? There’s no simple answer. Everyone’s journey to the past is different.

In my case, the musical genius of Beny Moré, food dishes like arroz con frijoles negros, and my mother’s dime-a-dozen Cubiche sayings have always kept me grounded. Spending most of my younger years searching for “normalcy” in the quirks of Cuban-ness, only now have I fully accepted the honor of being part of my loud, typical Cuban family (see clip of ¿Que Pasa USA?). It took me 24 years to embrace the Cuban clichés of promesas and superstitions, of chancleta-dodging, of made-up and undecipherable words, and so much more. In truth, I’m indebted by life, love, and identity to the culture of my past.

So it’s up to us to be the keepers of our cultural specialness. No one should bare the burden of criando unos arrepentidos because eso sí no pasaba en Cuba.