Recuerdos de una Niña Solitaria, 2023
Recuerdos de una Niña Solitaria is a reflection of what my personal life experience has been as the youngest of four children in a big Puerto Rican family with a different father who happens to be white. I see this book as a testimonio, exploring the multifaceted emotions that come from the diasporas within different generations of a family. It is often that I feel othered and separated from my family because a lot has changed since I was born. My grandparents moved back to Puerto Rico when I was nine years old. My grandmother was the one who took care of me while my mother worked. When my grandparents moved, the definition of family changed. No more visiting family members, no more days at the park with my cousins– my idea of family had changed forever. As I gathered photos of my family taken before I was born, I saw a completely different family. Different dynamics, new and old faces. My original plan for this project was to create a testimonio about my family’s history. However, as new feelings and thoughts emerged, I shifted gears. I decided instead of trying to explain memories that I wasn’t a part of, I wanted to share my memories of those memories. My experience as a white Latina growing up in a Puerto Rican household, distanced from my extended family.
front cover
page 1 and 2
page 3 and 4
page 5 and 6
page 7 and 8
page 9 and 10
page 11 and 12
page 13 and 14
back cover
Blancita
Siempre he sido la niña dorada
Con mis diferencias y todo
El color de mi piel no importa nada
Mamá siempre me dice que mi piel es un regalo de Dios
I do not believe in God
But I do believe in my grandmother
Y la amo con todo mi alma
Porque el alma nunca se muere
Mother Tongue
Mi español ha mejorado
I learned both languages simultaneously
The spanish has come and gone
Trying to remember the right dialects
I say l’s instead of r’s
Palcha instead of parcha
Polque instead of porque
I take pride in my accent de la calle
Other
I was born red as a tomato
Turned rosita como mi mami siempre dice
I’m the youngest of four
Un pai diferente también
It never mattered before
It’s not like we called each other half siblings
No one would ever dare mutter those words
At least not in front of us
Christening
“Nunca te bautizaron”
It’s true, I’ve never been blessed by holy water
I’ve never been mesmerized by golden catholic cathedrals
My white ‘whatever witness’ father forbade it
“Tienes que bautizarte”
It’s not like I believe I’m going to hell
But sometimes I do wish I was baptized
To be adorned with a frilly white dress
Sangre
Familia es lo mas importante
Until it isn’t
Until it drives you crazy
Until it hurts you
Tu sangre corre por sus venas
But only the venas de nuestra familia inmediata
I hardly recognize the rest
To only be seen at funerals where the blood runs thin
‘í’
I add an accent to the ‘i’ in my middle name
It gives me courage in my frail skin
I like to think it validates my existence
It shouts to the world that I’m not just another guerrita
Me llaman la americana
Pero no quiero creer en eso
Te lo juro que soy boricua
Didn’t the ‘í’ give it away?
Historia
Nunca conocí a mamá wela y papá welo
Me dicen que eran fuerte
Con dieciséis hijos que criar
Mamá era la hija mayor
Nuestra historia es difícil
Most of it is older than me
Y mi historia?
Dicen que podría haberlo tenido peor
Canvas, cotton, iron on transfer paper, photographs from family albums, and thread.
11”x11”