Today I am deep in the feelings of my youth, my yesteryears. The pasteles being made in the house. A huge process that involved the family tree all in a generation line.

The elders seasoning the meat and making the masa for those beautifully wrapped ethnic rich meals. the folding of the papers by the teen that made sure they were folded as tight as their belief in family. Then the last part was left to the youngsters of the family tree. they tied those carefully measured strings to keep all that culture in. It was at this table that they were able to learn their family history. They heard stories of the life and struggles of their elders that took them to live the life that is now a privilege to them.

I am in thought of the salsa I heard. This huge playlist played on LP’s. These legends that sang of hardship and love, how through it all you heard the authenticity of their voice telling you that what they were singing was out of true experience. These songs were so ingrained that even at a young age though you may not have understood a word, just hearing it transported you to the house where it all began.

I am deep in thought and missing the sound of the blender making the coquito. the knocking of the door and there was a constant flow of people passing by friends and family wanting to just get hugs and laugh a bit. you knew tht the next day half of them would be sleeping on the couch or on the floor but it was family. there was a hufe sense of safety and love.

yes I am deep in thought of the tradiciones of my family.


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