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Mother’s Day

May 8, 2011

Every Sunday I miss home. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, mostly somewhere in between. In the Pomona house, and later up in the Hills, the fam woke up later than usual, and ran to the kitchen where my mom, usually with the help of pops, made breakfast. A large pot of café, milkshake for the younger siblings, fresh squeezed oj, tea, refried beans and eggs for pops and I, pancakes for everyone else, and home fries for sis. In the house in the Hills, there is a large spacious table, but we all make room around a small circular one next to the kitchen. Its as if we prefer the small, close knit spaces. We eat, we laugh, usually crack some jokes, and our parents either try to convince us to go to church or repeat some philosophy one of their wise older friends told them. Someone from Church, from some grupo they go to, or some old man pops randomly started a conversation with. When Carri is over, she eagerly listens to my mom’s idea about life, happiness, etc, while the rest of us desperately try to change the subject. After about the third cup of café its time to go: to do work, to watch a soccer game, to go play, to do something. Later in the week I’ll listen to NPR as I get dressed and hear some doctor explain the benefits of proper breathing for one’s health. I’ll smile as I recall my mom dramatically showing all of us how to breathe. I’ll tell myself to listen more closely the following Sunday.

Every Sunday morning in NYC, I collect enough quarters, nickels, and dimes to buy a cup of café at Twin Donuts on 157th. Up here, there isn’t a starbucks or Oriens, no fancy coffee, no table with three types of sugars, fat free milk, regular milk, or half/half. Up here, Las Senoras at the counter-usually a Mexican, Dominican or Puerto Rican-assume everyone wants un “café regular.”  Unless you give them special instructions, they’ll prepare your café the “normal” way, with just the right amount of milk and sugar. This Sunday I’ll have my café “to stay.” I’ll sit in table way in the back, next to window, slowly drink my café and listen to los viejitos chat away. Then I’ll run off to Morningside Heights to enjoy one last brunch with Eric.

5 Comments leave one →
  1. Nicolas Guzman or Francisca Guzman permalink
    May 10, 2011 6:45 pm

    Romeo. I really loke this one. I am glad you mention that i help Mom. In reality i think i just pretend. She is the one with all the enthusiasm to do it all.I apreciate that you mention my little help. Yes . you are a geat writer. This is just the begining. I saw a picture that remain me the times when me and you stay in Mexico. I thought that if you did not stay with me, i don’t know how i could live those times. You were my link to the rest of the family and motivate to stay put on the things that i had to. I will alway remenmber those times. Thank you very much. Love.

  2. Nicolas Guzman or Francisca Guzman permalink
    May 12, 2011 3:26 am

    Hola Romeo, es maravillos disfrutar de los frutos que cada uno de Uds de diferente maneras nos dan. Despues de leer tu escrito, me doy cuenta que al final lo que hace memoria es lo rutinario, y es lo que importa. Te quiero, gracias por tu escrito. love always!

  3. Gabriell permalink
    May 13, 2011 9:55 am

    WOW! Puede ser que veas a tu blog como cosa insignificante o al lo quizas no. El punto es que yo… okay I’ve tried to start and finish this comment in spanish but as you can see the spelling and grammer is too complicated to just write a simple comment. No?

    What I was going to say is: I’ve been reading your unconsistant blog in the previous months, the reason why I continue to check in with you is because I really realate and connect with you. Even when you were blogging about your stay at Mexico City, reliving Pomona or just any random NYC shenanigans.

    The point is, how do you continue to be culturally authentic? How can you continue to be true to your heritage?

    It’s hard among these times. I live in Winton, (try to google that), how does a chicana surpass this? I’m looking for hope, I really am, I was previously a Chicano Studies/Family Consumer Double Major, now I’m not. Thanks to the economy I am an Accounting student.

    It’s not so bad except for the fact that I’m 27 no college degree, and about to run out of college money, Dec 2011.

    Please respond. But don’t respond if you’re a smart ass. Trust me there’s still lot’s of me to know and encourage so please don’t offend readers a long the way.

    Te Deso Lo Mejor,


  4. May 13, 2011 8:44 pm

    Hey Gabriella,

    Thank you for reading. Sorry to hear about changing majors-lo bueno is that you can always pick up a book, watch a good documentary, talk to regular folks, and just keep learning outside of school. I hope you are able to find more money for college or finish before Dec 2011. I went to community college for 3 years and then was at ucla for another 3 years. then didnt get into graduate school, so I did an MA and reapplied….For some of us, its a longer road..

    About culture, I think it can be hard, and really depends on where you are. For me itsbeen really interesting being in New York City, a few of my good friends are all born and raised in Mexico City so they have different ideas about Mexicenss/identity, etc. One friend dances son jarocho which is pretty cool…It also funny being in NYC cus they have black beans. Maybe its about appreciating/paying attention to the small things?: like getting a cafe with the right about of milk. Or maybe being far makes you want to learn more or learn new things? Ive learned to make salsa, beans, and “orange’ rice in NYC. Ive been wanting to buy a good Mexican cookbook and learn to make food from other regions. I was imagine i’ll learn to make those chile rellenos with the white sauce and invite people over. I never do though..
    Not sure if any of this is helpful. keep your head up. echage ganes. animo.
    I leave you with two songs I play when im tired/annoyed/etc/but still need to work.

  5. f.guzman permalink
    September 25, 2011 10:40 pm

    i really like: mother’s day, tios, El monte, and la homilio para abuelito.
    la ecritura tiene vida, que viene del sentimiento.
    keep writing from the heart.

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