Step 1: Boil the tomatoes.
Step 2: Roast the bell pepper, onion, and garlic on a comal.
I don’t include jalapeños because Pa's stomach is too sensitive (let's be honest, so is mine). I don't have a molcajete to mash everything in but a blender will do. A fresh salsa is what Pa had wanted, so that is what he will get on this day. He was asking, "¿y la salsa?" all of August as an insinuation to somehow receive some. With a pinch of salt and pepper, I add these items and cooled soft veggies to the blender.
Step 3: Blend all the ingredients.
I press the pulse button and process how I got here, making homemade salsa for the very first time…
Life has been slow, simple, and mundane. At times it has been unsettling and stagnant for me, the overachieving second eldest daughter of immigrant parents. My family’s rhythms have been fighting with the Western world’s pace. We are struggling to detach from the capitalist speed and are in constant tension, fluctuating to be more present with our fragile Pa, while being tied to this economy.
U.S. Westerners have no clue. They have no clue of the internal turmoil daughters of immigrant parents go through to keep up with the pace of this economy and what it takes to keep our aging parents well at the same time. Life in U.S. systems tell you to figure it out alone, “to each their own.” The Western world tells you that you are your own responsibility, even when left under resourced, at a disadvantage in a foreign country, and when battling a terminal illness like my family is with Pa.
I am here to say our Latine familias do not confine to a Westerner’s individuality. We are cohesive and although we are made up of individuals-yes, we are still one. We are a nuance, we are brown, both-and, in-between, not to be categorized or boxed in but to take up space in all that we are in the liminality. I am me and I am them, my family and my people and this is a HARD space.
Our daughters of immigrant families in the U.S. take the brunt fighting and translating systems while holding the emotional/physical ties of la familia-remember Luisa from Encanto? I want to affirm that I say our daughters because although our sons carry weight, the socialized pressures of marianismo 1 and patriarchy does not loom its ideologies over our bendito hijos like it does for our daughters. Our daughters are the caretakers and nurturers, the superwomen tasked to do the impossible in a brutal new land that our families are continually learning to navigate through all the painful isms. 2
“I’m the dependable daughter. I’m the daughter tasked with heavy news. Im the independent daughter. I’m the daughter who can always take care of herself. I’m the daughter tasked with translating and interpreting and explaining…I’m also the daughter whose boundaries get violated. I’m the daughter who takes the blows for others. I’m the daughter who when I need help, I’m told I’m weak and should know better do better be faster be smarter.” - Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodríguez
I am constantly learning the hard way, resisting devaluing pressures through my fumbles and failures, through failing to meet unhealthy cultural and Western expectations. I constantly remind myself I can't save everyone, especially at the cost of my identity and dreams. I remind myself that I can’t do it all and how crucial it is to REST and DELIGHT when I can. This is the tension we hold as children of immigrants, “will I be able to keep all of me and will family thrive? Can I be well and still meet the expectations of an hija, student, employee?” Sometimes when the systemic and cultural pressures are too much to bare, I let go and float hoping I will make it to the other side. Other times, I catch a safety net thrown by friends and the lifeline of communal care.
These last six months, I have been sitting with the patience it takes to care and love on Pa through his terminal illness. I have been sitting with the mundane tasks in all the oncology follow ups, appointments, medications, translations, grocery runs and “¿como te sientes Pa?”
As I wait for the salsa to blend, I find myself pausing and reflecting on both past and present. I am still grieving how hard it has been for me and my family, how Pa is sick, how I have felt alone and exhausted at times. "It's fresh" I think to myself, this mixture is fresh in the blender.
Hopefully this salsa will be good for Pa, for his huevos rancheros, and as a topping over his main dishes. Hopefully the wounds of his hija will somehow heal and mitigate over time, adding but another distinct taste and mark to my identity. I call this blend, “La hija who could not do it all and is still here”
Through this blend, I brought Mexico to Dad since we could not bring Dad to Mexico.
Homemade salsas will do.
As shitty as it gets, I want to remember the mundane moments that held me together and in ritual during this gruesome reality.
Homemade salsas will do.
I held hope in the conchas Pa ate when he could not get up from his borderline anorexia this summer. I held hope in his faith, in the God he claims is with him. I held hope in the tiny bursts of energy Pa had between 6 to 7 am during my birthday. I hold hope in me because I carry Pa in my veins and work ethic. I carry Pa in my veins y Mexico lindo y querido.
Homemade salsas will do.
Jezzini, A. T. & Guzmán, C. E., & Grayshield, L. (2008, March). Examining the gender role concept of marianismo and its relation to acculturation in Mexican-American college women. Based on a program presented at the ACA Annual Conference & Exhibition, Honolulu, HI. Retrieved June 27, 2008, from http://counselingoutfitters.com/vistas/vistas08/Jezzini.htm
https://medium.com/@khushinigam/simply-explained-the-6-main-isms-plaguing-our-society-today-db774c73948a
Beautifully written