The Reason for Being Who I Am

Hay que ponerle caramelo al Eleguá pa’ que se esté contento. The invisibility of her words has been bouncing in my head and all I capture are futile words, full of air, carrying no weight, confining no essence. I remember the trembling of my hands, the sophistication in her voice, her big round eyes full of brown. She was passionate about the little solid statue, the little “Niño” (how she used to call it), que le abría los caminos y traía prosperidad. This is the story of my mother, a story that later came to be mine. She adored this creature. This piece of rock, with down sloped caracoled eyes that stared at our lives; a rock that could only stare at us with nothing to say, nothing at all, because it was just a religious symbol, the orisha that my mom would protect more than anything in the world, it was part of her, her obligation, her faith. The icon was real (at least for her). It still is. It was the center of the room, where every Saturday afternoon she would light up candles, set up her mystic corner, and pray. Pray until the orisha listened, pray and pray until it recognized her words. This was her excuse for spending so much time with her ritual: “esperemos que se despierte mijita” as she used to say. Food, and liquor, and water and shelter were given to the Eleguá on a regular basis, with only a purpose: it had to light up our lives, open our paths, liberate us from malice and hatred and many other good things that my mom would usually make up with the purpose of making herself believe that all of these were true, even though the Eleguá would only sit quietly and watch her mind run for itself. My mom really wanted all of these things. She was going through a lot of pain. At this point in our lives, sometimes she wouldn’t have enough resources to cook us dinner, sometimes we didn’t have water, or electricity, or any other basic things that were necessary. My mom wanted freedom, even if she didn’t know it. I wanted it too. She was forced to rely on this orisha, and on many other orishas only because she needed a sense of hope and understanding, because she thought that she could not do it by herself. Like my mom, many other people who I grew up with were attached to something else that was not their own spirit in order to progress in any way. This spiritual reliance is the cause to many of the beliefs that I was tough as a child and that were naturally incorporated into my behavior and into my life in general.
And here is when the story of my birth became an anecdote that neither my mom nor grandma could avoid telling visitors and everyone else whenever the chance emerged. “A esa niña la salvó La Virgencita de La Caridad”. They couldn’t give reasons or explain in any other way the fact that I was saved, cured from illness, resuscitated from death. This usually happens when medical and scientific explanations aren’t enough, when faith becomes too strong and penetrates into your spirit, soul and will. “Sagrado Corazón”, the hospital where I was born was the throne to religious conviction, to rays of faith, and moans of praying. This was the place where dehydrated, I stayed for a month, interned in the hospital with no hope of living, embraced by the arms of a deadly disease, Amebiasis, a parasitic infection that was introduced to my body because a mistake made by the nurse assisting me .She collocated one of the aerosol tubes incorrectly, she put the wrong medicine in it, causing this disease. My lungs full of liquid; my tiny, newborn corpse carried neither strength nor spirit. This is how this medical place, the hospital, became to be the place where my grandma constructed her religious display. It was also, according to my grandma, the place where I was born twice. My grandma loved me too much to let me die, but even more she loved her faith, her pure spirituality, and her mysticism. As soon as she had the chance, she brought all of her statues and icons which of course included La Virgen de la Caridad, which later became my second mother, and to whom, according to my grandma, I owe my salvation. Tears run through the already wrinkled face. My grandma was so focused on her ideals and so integrated into her religion that there couldn’t possibly be any other reasons for my well being. “Te salvé mi princesita”. That’s what I am to my grandma “una princesita”, and this makes me the happiest human being on earth. And to this I owe my life, I say. To her wanting good for me, to doing everything that she could so that I could be well. At this point, I separated love and affection, from everything else that made my salvation possible. And I did this because I believe that it was her unconditional love that saved me, aside from any medical or spiritual curing that went on during my illness. This was the division of what I call religion and faith: the separation of corruption, dishonesty, and fraud with holiness, mysticism, and pure faith. At this point I realized what I was getting into. I realized that I was saved because I had made my decision, that crucial decision that I had be intrigued by for so long. What should I choose? What have I been brought up to and what was born with my character? And this is the difference between a fraudulent soul, and a liberated one. I am free, free because of these teachings that were incorporated into my way of thinking, this tradition and wisdom that is carried out in my country and therefore in my family. From here I chose who to be, what to follow, and who to believe. Que dios te bendiga y la virgen te acompañe. For God’s Sake how I love this phrase! This is a blessing; it’s the spirituality, the faith, the conviction that saves my essence, my existence and my spirit. This is what I chose, not the corruption and distortion of an unfulfilled religion, but the clarity and peace of a sacred devotion; the divine belief in a supreme entity, in a superior being, free of bribery and malice.
Today I am the essence of what I chose to be. I am the symbol of a breakage in tradition in the history of my family, I am that one girl that is not like the others, that responds to you when something is wrong, that thinks critically, that goes against restrictions and false convictions. And I am sure that my grandma is glad for this, I am sure that even though she does not realize it, she is glad that I have found my path. For everything else I am satisfied. I am pleased to be able to use my mind and my heart in their pure state, uninvolved with religious issues, with hatred, with falsity, and corruption.

The pupils of life detangle themselves,
The accordion plays a sad song,
The teachers teach, no one knows why,
The illness penetrates, it harms;
Happiness responds,
The aspiration emerges,
The will sustains,
The hope remains,
The sun reflects.