(no subject)
Glenda scolded me. She was as upset at me for feeling ugly as one would be at their little five-year-old child for hitting in class. Like the idea of me being average was unheard of. It was... sweet. Glenda, my Beauty, this is why I love you.
I cut my hair today, finally. Only about three or four inches- when it is curly it comes an inch or two beneath my shoulders. I look... older today. Older. But was I not a child yesterday? Was I not running around naked in the backyard in Hollywood, popsicle in hand? And my Abuela used to feed me pasta shells, and she thought I was too skinny so she would fill each one with butter. Absurd it seems today, but she was a simple woman, I suppose.
She lived by MIA and everytime we heard a plane she would pick up Dan and take my hand and rush out to the front porch and we would all point - ¡Avion! she would scream. I didn't know it then, but she had told my mother- She thought it must truly be magic, for such a big heavy piece of metal to float that way. She flew from Cuba to America, but I guess that doesn't make it any less intriguing.
The planes were too loud. The sun was too bright. I didn't like standing out there looking up.
And when we ran out of butter, she used cream cheese.
She always had Sunny Delight, and it tasted treacherous to me, so I would hurry and drink it so it would be done. Yet I would look again, and like magic, it would be brimming! It took me years to figure out that if I drank it slowly, I wouldn't have to drink a lot.
Even though I didn't like the juice, even though I hated staring into the sun, I never complained. I complained to everyone except her. Because my Abuela loved me more than anyone else in my entire family. Because she knew best, even if butter is better for clogging arteries than gaining weight.
Because what she knew did not come from text books. What she knew came from love.
I miss her so much...