It took generations but we
rediscovered our magic and finally broke free.
Together we rewrote our
stories.
My maternal grandmother:
Maria Estela
My
maternal grandmother is a matriarch; she is the eldest of 12. Responsibility
weighed down on her from an early age. As the eldest it was her duty to raise
many of her siblings. At the age of 10 she was told that she was not smart
enough for school despite really wanting to pursue further studies. She never
felt a calling for the ‘womanly’ careers she was steered toward- hairdresser,
dressmaker. At a young age she fell in love and married- not by the church, as
she would have liked. She raised her 5 children and ran a family grocery store
for over 20 years, on top of putting up with a cheating husband. She would
leave her husband many times even though they never officially separated. At
the age of 55 she chose looking after her sick daughter over her husband,
leaving him in another country. She came back to care for him on his
dying days. From my grandmother I learned unconditional love, sacrifice,
strength in the face of adversity, and faith.
We
sit across from each other on the dining hall table in her mobile home. The
dining table is actually patio furniture- glass, round, and ill fitting
indoors. The chairs are falling apart. They are not cute or comfortable. I feel
the heaviness she still carries- even after all these years- as she stands over
the stove flipping the tortillas, asking me what else I want with my food,
asking if she can heat up water for my tea and moving to do it before I answer.
There is rarely silence between us. We always have something witty to say to
each other. All of our lives we have shared intimate spaces. We know and
respond to each other’s humor. We also know what buttons to push on each other-
how to sting, which is why when we get into hard conversations it’s always
intentional. We both know the time has come. She begins, “I failed the test to
enter middle school and my father told me it was because I was stupid and not
made for school.” I can tell the memory is vivid. I can tell it buried deep
inside her psyche and has not abandoned her. She is 72 years old. We spread our
wings and fly there. I sit next to a 10-year old girl as she cries. I tell her:
“He’s wrong. He doesn’t know any better and you are most brilliant. You are
destined for greatness and will achieve anything you set your mind to.” I
embrace her, plant a kiss on her forehead.
The spell leaves her lips
as if of its own will, charting a different course:
I am smart and capable
I will retake this test
And I will pass
Schools will open their doors and be lucky to have me
Not again will I doubt in my abilities
Not again will I let a man hold me back
The next thing I know we
are back at her dining table. The ground grumbles as she steps around. “We had
planned to get married.” She tells me. “He didn’t show up the first time.” She
remembers. “He claims his friends basically kidnapped him at his bachelor
party.” She doesn’t believe him. I take her there- to the day of the wedding
that never was. I find a young lady- still, but shattered. I tell her she has
the power to rein him in. I tell her she deserves the world.
She recites the spell from
ancient memory:
You
will be an impotent man
You
lack the ability to be a responsible father so no kids you will have
You
will bow at my feet
And
work every day of your life to provide for me
You
will never cheat
Maria Estela: with her
husband as an anchor instead of burden she started an empire. She opened a
chain of grocery stores at a young age and did not have to work another day in
her life. She put herself through school. Felt the calling to sing and became a
famous singer. She never stopped believing in herself. She thrived and because
of her many other women thrived. I, her eldest granddaughter, was never born in
this dimension.
Back in her kitchen we sit
in silence. There is no warmer feeling than sharing a cup of tea with your
grandmother.
My paternal grandmother:
Maria Elena
I know my paternal
grandmother through her relationship with my grandfather. I always knew them
together. It was not until I became an adult that I learned she was not the
first wife. It was as an adult that I heard their meeting story as more
problematic than romantic. That I realized my grandma’s adoration for my
grandpa - who passed away 8 years ago-, had been so intense it burned through
all the other relationships in her life. He became her world and she grew tall
vines to keep others out of their castle. My dad became a part of that fortress
and when he was old enough to become an alcoholic abuser she chose to have his
back - more than once. She scorned the women who dared stand up to his abuse.
I sit next to her in the
luxury of her living room in an apartment that has changed little over the past
20 years. Tidy, expensive, and petite. There is a deep silence between us. I
wonder if when she sees me she is reminded of the pain of our estrangement. We
spent 8 years apart after my mom left my dad and fled the country with us. I
sit with grandma and we watch show after show on television, sharing laughs and
exchanging shallow commentary until the moment arrives. She shares, “He used to
work at the building across from mine. Both buildings were all glass and he had
a set of binoculars. He would watch me and try to catch me as I left the
office. I remember vividly one time how he came out, as I was about to get in a
car with a male co-worker I had agreed to grab coffee with. Your grandfather,
he came flying down his own building to catch me before we got in the car. So
valiant.” We transition there. A young and sexy version of the woman I know as
my grandmother is standing in between two men, both of whom feel they can
possess her. She wears a mini-skirt, a big hair-do and a full face of makeup. I
whisper in her ear: “He is stalking you. His behavior is not normal. You should
be able to have coffee with whomever you choose and not be under constant
surveillance.”
She is startled at first
but as she snaps out of it delivers the spell with confidence:
This
woman is not yours
This
woman makes her own path
This
woman blurs your binoculars
And
rejects your advances
You
may walk beside me
And
woo me
But
you will not own me
We are back on her couch. A
mirror covers the entire wall behind us. “She is crazy I cannot forgive her.
How dare she call the cops on your father? Make his life so difficult with all
these false accusations.” My father had finally been called out on his domestic
violence; the police were involved for the first time. It had really messed up
their work situation, as they were stationed abroad by the US government. We
travel to the phone call he first made to her after the incident. I remind her
she knows her son more that she’d like to admit. That he is an alcoholic and
she knows it. I ask her what she would have done in the face of a violent man
and two young kids in the house?
She shivers as she declares
her spell:
My son, you are wrong
You know I have always sided with you
After you abused your first wife I stayed quiet
I condemned her too
But you are too grown for this and I too wise not to tell you that
you are in the wrong
I declare you sober and kind
May you never exert violence again
In that moment I heard
chains breaking.
Maria Elena: She set the
terms of her relationships. She traveled the whole world and developed infinite
friendships with men and women. She had a son and when she first heard of him
mistreating a woman she rained hell down on him. He never drank or raised his
voice at a woman ever again. My father never abused my mom and I never left
Mexico in this dimension.
Another one? She asks. And
we watch another show.
My mother: Blanca Estela
My mom is intelligent.
Growing up she was one of five kids, but the only girl. Her mom put her
brothers’ care in her hands. She wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without her
brothers. For this reason she fell in love and married very young. She finished
her architecture degree and gave birth to two babies. From her I’ve learned
femininity, I’ve learned devotion to a passion, and I’ve learned strength. My
mom also sacrificed a lot for us. And from her I learned vulnerability. For all
the times she fell in love, seeking in men what she couldn’t find within
herself because this society didn’t teach her that she was complete all by
herself. My mom experienced domestic violence at the hands of my alcoholic
father. When she gathered the strength to leave him he threatened to kill her
and her kids (my brother and I). This fear and the impossible situation she
found herself in led her to a mental breakdown and triggered her mental illness.
She was diagnosed bipolar at the age of 33.
I sat in my brother’s
kitchen across from my mother. She was busy writing and dreaming up big plans.
I both loved and hated her when she hit the highs of her illness. I looked at
her long, thin fingers, much like mine. I looked at her bright lipstick on her
barely existing lips and at the green eye shadow that matched her green dress.
The bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. She started, “Pick up after all
of your siblings, and feed them, help them with their homework it was all
too much for me. I didn’t enjoy my childhood or my teenage years, started
working too soon. I felt imprisoned inside the walls of my home and the family
grocery store I worked so hard in.” We go there. She is young and radiant and
tired. I say to her: “You can say no. You can rebel against the patriarchal
rules governing your life. You don’t have to feel guilty about doing things for
yourself. About searching for your own meaning.”
The spell comes to her in waves;
she struggles through it at first but hits every word:
Today
I cease the martyrdom
My
brothers will learn responsibility
I
will find love in friendship
I
will learn that I don’t need a man to be happy
I
will learn that I complete myself
To
my mother I say
Allow
me to pave my own path
Like
you once sought to pave for yourself
We are back in my brother’s
kitchen. She continues, “I wanted to leave him, I planned to. He threatened to
kill me along with you and your brother and I was so afraid. I was terrified. I
couldn’t sleep for months, I felt myself losing grasp with reality.” We go back
to that big house where it all went down. She is terrified. “Mom, he is lying.
He doesn’t have the strength to kill anyone. He is deadly afraid of you leaving
him but you can be sure that he will not harm you. His threats are empty just
like his apologies after every drinking session. Leave him.”
She spells:
Love
you promised me
Harm
you delivered
We
could have built a beautiful life together
But
you chose to indulge your addiction
Safe
passage to my children and I
Into
our new life
Banished
you are
Blanca- she finished her career,
started excelling as an architect. She won Architect of the Year. Started a new
industry that focused on supporting women architects and paired up with non-profit
construction firms to provide homes to the indigent. She started her own firm
and spent half of their resources doing pro-bono work. She started an institute
to give people the skills to design and build their own homes. She had a kid
later in life and her husband was a stay at home dad.
“I am proud of you mom,” I
tell her. She smiles.
Me: Najla Angelica
I am my mom and
grandmother’s wildest dreams.
Every time I challenge
preconceived notions of women’s worth in this society outside of a patriarchal
relationship, all four of us win.
I am re-shaping what it
means to be a woman. I am carving boundaries and making space for myself. I am
re-charting a path.
From my mother and
grandmothers I’ve learned courage and devotion. I have learned responsibility
and commitment. They have shown me what it means to love unconditionally.
From their strength I
gained my powers, my spell goes something like this:
I
will not make sacrifices at the expense of my own well-being
I
will not diminish my needs or put myself in harm’s way to appease others
I
will shout my truth and be proud of who I am and why I do what I do
I
will deal with the trauma I carry from my childhood and teenage years
I
will seek help
I
will build a community of support so tall and strong that it will not be
toppled or overshadowed
My
mom and grandmothers laid the foundation
And
together we will reach the sky
