I'm in the kitchen with my sleeves rolled up chopping vegetables. my tía
leans towards me and whispers in my ear, y tu novio? and my boyfriend? tía, if what you were trying to ask me was do you derive your value as a woman from the sexual desire of college boys? the short answer is, sometimes. the long answer is, when Saturday sunsets slither by and I am in my suite tempted to sleep away the soiree my options look like I can either a.) search for love on a sticky-slicked frat floor as I third-wheel at the heel of a slurred friend's fling b.) ring up my old high school friends only to find out that they just got a different kind of ring or c.) give myself bangs. I choose d, none of the above, instead write-in a free-response answer: schoolwork on a weekend night and the fright of wasting my youth. "you have to find love in college!" is an eternal lie and an ephemeral truth, muted in the music of a muffled moment. that said, it might be nice to be someone's favorite person. but loneliness is not the same as being unloved. the vegetables move from the cutting board to the boiling pot. or tía, if you were trying to ask me have you ever been loved by a man? the answer is, I have since the day I was born. I have two dogs who sleep at the foot of my bed I have a coworker who prepares fruit for me I have a roommate who tells people to shut up while I'm asleep I have a dad who lets me sit on his shoulders, swings me from tree branches, swears I soar through the sky, calls me chango, changuito, calls me "my little monkey." tía, a wedding will not wish away your worries. love is not just the person who fathers your children - love is in the peeled naranjas and the peaceful naptimes and the peculiar nicknames. so I stand at the stove stirring the simmering soup. tía, if you were trying to ask me do you truly believe you are worthy of being loved? the answer is, I am worthy of this love that is passed down through generations, I am worthy of this love that my creator molded me out of, I am worthy of this love that tethers me to the great timescales of the universe. peer into the mirror and the proof of love grows clearer - this is my face, given up for you, the face, ageless, the object of attraction for an enamored ancestor. this is my hair, given up for you, the hair that my mother ties tenderly in trensas. these are my bones and my joints and my muscles, given up for you, that carry me through the cosmos. this is my body, which I share with those who came before me, this is my body, proof that love defeats death, this is my body, given up for you, so love yourself in memory of me. tía, the soup is done, and because I love you, I pour you a bowl.
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About MeHi! I'm Andrea. I really like words. Categories
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