PISCO SOUR
by Andrea Torres
I imagine my birth as a festive occasion. I picture salsa dancing, Pisco Sours, cigars and family members cheering and smiling. How I came to be is, on the contrary, quite ordinary.
I was born on a September day in Lima, Peru. I am the first child to two professionals who were ready to start a family. The apple of my grandmother's eye, she taught me poetry, bought me white chocolate, picked me up from ballet and taught me how to stand up tall and project my voice. I remember a room full of older women, smelling like the Peruvian version of Chanel No. 5, tea saucers in hand, staring at me warmly, waiting for me to recite the day’s poem, my grandmother’s favorite, Margarita. Margarita esta linda la mar… That line has stayed with me since I first learned it over 25 years ago.
My childhood was a happy one. My mother was the youngest daughter and my grandparents spoiled my brother and me with love, D’Onofrio chocolate and warmth. I can still remember my grandmother’s perfume; musky with vanilla undertones and a little bit of spice I can't quite place. She taught me how to be a caring person and encouraged what started as my rote memorization of poetry to a passion for creating poetry as a young kid.
At the age of six my world changed from family gatherings to leaving behind everything and everyone I held dear. The Shining Path, Ascendero Luminoso, a terrorist organization were kidnapping families, blowing up power plants and instilling terror throughout the country. You never knew if you would come home to electricity or a house full of melted wax covered appliances because of the candles that littered every surface. And so we moved, to the land of opportunity and new experiences like ball pit laden restaurants.
My first memory of California is getting off the plane, eyes still full of sleep, driving by words and places, trying to get a sense of what this new land meant. What I first noticed was the smell of BBQ, familiar yet so different. As we drove to my aunt’s house, I noticed that the streets were empty as it was midday on a Tuesday in May. Most Los Angeles residents were at work or school. Meanwhile there we stood, my brother and I, our eyes as big as saucers, completely transfixed by the pool of colored plastic balls at the Burger King.
I cried for the first month. Because of my English immersion pre-school in Peru and my grandfather’s diligent teaching – he taught me my American ABC’s -- I knew some English, but I didn’t want to use it. I thought if I cry enough, maybe these strangers will leave me alone, if I keep crying then this English world will make sense. And so I cried.
I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, until I entered a state of numbness. I was scared, frightened, unsure of everything and everyone. I wanted to go back to my home, back to the land of chocolate, poetry and family. This land of magical plastic ball pits didn't make any sense; it could keep its balls.
But so my parents wouldn't think that all their sacrifices from leaving jobs, friends and family were in vain, I learned to put on a brave face. I trenched on, one foot in front of another.
by Andrea Torres
I imagine my birth as a festive occasion. I picture salsa dancing, Pisco Sours, cigars and family members cheering and smiling. How I came to be is, on the contrary, quite ordinary.
I was born on a September day in Lima, Peru. I am the first child to two professionals who were ready to start a family. The apple of my grandmother's eye, she taught me poetry, bought me white chocolate, picked me up from ballet and taught me how to stand up tall and project my voice. I remember a room full of older women, smelling like the Peruvian version of Chanel No. 5, tea saucers in hand, staring at me warmly, waiting for me to recite the day’s poem, my grandmother’s favorite, Margarita. Margarita esta linda la mar… That line has stayed with me since I first learned it over 25 years ago.
My childhood was a happy one. My mother was the youngest daughter and my grandparents spoiled my brother and me with love, D’Onofrio chocolate and warmth. I can still remember my grandmother’s perfume; musky with vanilla undertones and a little bit of spice I can't quite place. She taught me how to be a caring person and encouraged what started as my rote memorization of poetry to a passion for creating poetry as a young kid.
At the age of six my world changed from family gatherings to leaving behind everything and everyone I held dear. The Shining Path, Ascendero Luminoso, a terrorist organization were kidnapping families, blowing up power plants and instilling terror throughout the country. You never knew if you would come home to electricity or a house full of melted wax covered appliances because of the candles that littered every surface. And so we moved, to the land of opportunity and new experiences like ball pit laden restaurants.
My first memory of California is getting off the plane, eyes still full of sleep, driving by words and places, trying to get a sense of what this new land meant. What I first noticed was the smell of BBQ, familiar yet so different. As we drove to my aunt’s house, I noticed that the streets were empty as it was midday on a Tuesday in May. Most Los Angeles residents were at work or school. Meanwhile there we stood, my brother and I, our eyes as big as saucers, completely transfixed by the pool of colored plastic balls at the Burger King.
I cried for the first month. Because of my English immersion pre-school in Peru and my grandfather’s diligent teaching – he taught me my American ABC’s -- I knew some English, but I didn’t want to use it. I thought if I cry enough, maybe these strangers will leave me alone, if I keep crying then this English world will make sense. And so I cried.
I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, until I entered a state of numbness. I was scared, frightened, unsure of everything and everyone. I wanted to go back to my home, back to the land of chocolate, poetry and family. This land of magical plastic ball pits didn't make any sense; it could keep its balls.
But so my parents wouldn't think that all their sacrifices from leaving jobs, friends and family were in vain, I learned to put on a brave face. I trenched on, one foot in front of another.