Not Another “Abuela” Story?
Who and What I Found in a Sacred Space
I can hear a million compliments (and complaints) on a daily basis about my writing but when something adheres to my chest like the pain of a swift punch and remains there for a few days growing into a bruise, I tend to examine it until I receive the true message behind the comment. Am I bitter? Well, maybe but usually there is more to explore because as I have always said words carry energy and power.
I was told recently that my writing has great detail that engages the reader. That I have wonderful potential BUT, the topics I choose to write about are cliché and that if I want to be published by the mainstream I need to include other details, something else, that would make my story unique because
“who wants another “abuela” story?” FUAKATA! PEGGY GOES DOWN!
I carried those words home and sat with them for a while thinking that those are the stories I like to read. Am I alone in this? I want to read about the Babushka, the Nana, the Abuela, the woman who needs to be remembered as we modify our identities to be in tune with the times.
On the other hand was she was right? Should my “abuela” story include a crime fighter? A sleuth who solves SVU crimes and beats her suspects with a brass cane? Bueno, esta bien, I will explore that further as I rub Vick’s vapor rub on my chest. (what cliché too?)
The next few days were rough as I wrote poems and free writes about women, my women, other women, Latina women, Afro-Latino women, Afro- Latino men, and myself. That line mocking me:
“who wants another “abuela” story?” PEGGY RUBS HER CHEST
Thankfully, this Saturday I attended A Women’s Writing Retreat organized by Gloria Rodriguez, award winning author and founder of Dealmas.org. The co facilitator for the day was Dahlma Llanos- Figueroa, author of Daughters Of The Stone, a book filled with abuela stories! (coincidence? I guess some may call it that but I prefer to think of it as a message.)
The day long writing retreat was well organized, challenging and refreshing on several levels, but one specific feature made this workshop unique and meaningful. Before the activities began we all created a sacred space. Gloria led us on a meditative journey to release all the strife of the morning commute and the last minute child care arrangements, and allowed us to fully be present to write our stories. As I sat trying to stop fidgeting, breathing, and ignoring my aching chest I heard a voice. It was the voice of my paternal grandmother who I never met but who I have come to know through my writing and family stories. I hesitated thinking that the damn comment was once again getting to me and I really needed to be present here. NOW! But the more I allowed my body to sink into the floor, relax and listen all I could hear was her voice telling me not to forget her.
In the next exercise Dahlma detailed instructions on how we can personalize our writing journals and transform them from simple composition notebooks into valuable tools that would hold our most important thoughts. The previous night I printed out images and words that were symbolic in my life. So many that I could probably fill several notebooks. So as the group cut and pasted, glued and chatted I sat quietly selecting images. As I pulled from my stack, I found one of the countryside of Ciales, Puerto Rico and heard my grandmother again.
Acuerdate de mi.
Without notice, a steady stream of tears began to flow. Not like the novelas, all dramatic and mascara ridden. It was quiet, peaceful and very private although I was in a crowded room.
PENDEJA! What is wrong with you? I thought.
But only for a few seconds because the more I listened the more I came to understand that she was trying to relieve the pain in my chest. So my journal cover had images of the ocean, Dominican coffee, my children, my husband, Ciales mountains, and tear stains.
In writing activity that followed Dahlma had each woman meditate on the idea of imagery and then select from a scattered pile of postcards that were laying face down. Blindly, we all selected images and wrote about them or what they represented in our lives. What did I get? Look below!
Yes! It was a picture of an abuelita standing by a mural of Don Albizu Campos in Calle San Sebastian in San Juan. Still think it’s a coincidence? Well, I don’t. Not at all. So I wrote her voice as she instructed me that she has much to share with me and that I need to listen. She reminded me that Albizu said to love Puerto Rico is to love the Puerto Rican woman, La mujer Puertorriqueña. No importa que sea campesina, jibara, dama o doncella. To love myself is to write what I love, abuelita stories.
When the retreat ended and the women shared their reflections of the day, Dahlma said it best when she expressed gratitude for readers like us who value her words when mainstream publishers do not. She said we must make a space for our stories because they are valuable.
Thank you Gloria, Dahlma and all the ladies present that day. I left that sacred space with a new journal and a soothed chest as I was able to release the doubt, the worry and the fear that my stories had no place. I left with the understanding that my “abuela” story is not the same as other “abuela” stories and there is room for all of them. Being able to meditate and once again listen to my abuela restored me as a writer. Gracias Dolores Ocasio Ortega. Ibaye y Ashé
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Created, Directed & Produced by: Addie Diaz
