Traveling Home

It is Mother’s Day and, even though I am beyond grateful for so many blessings, I can’t help but miss my mom and family in Puerto Rico. The pandemic hasn’t helped, for sure. It has now been close to a year from the last time I saw my parents. I have always been close to them and appreciated their love and guidance, but as we grow older it might feel as time is slipping away.

The other day I stopped at the post office after work and stood in line with all the other adult children to ship mom her Mother’s Day card and gift. I was a little late, but figured better late than never. The post office was packed but the single post man took whatever time was needed to help each and every customer. He dedicated well over five minutes to understand and type my Puerto Rico home address. Now, if you are Puerto Rican you understand how complicated our names and addresses are. Name, middle name, paternal last name followed by maternal last name. Street name and house number, neighborhood and section, city, zip code… I felt a sense of relief and gratitude he had entered the address with so much care. Because, when you are apart, these packages are the closest you get to visiting home. You surely don’t want to end up at the wrong destination and miss your visit altogether.

This is not an unfamiliar feeling when you live away from home. The last two days I have had flashbacks of the sadness I would have every time I returned from a trip back home - or when my parents would fly back home after visiting me in Dallas. I also thought about my New Zealand former co-worker who would feel exactly the same. She finally moved back home a few years ago and I’m so happy for her!

Today I woke up in a daze… With my cup of coffee and no Internet signal, I started browsing over my paper Food and Wine magazine and stumbled upon the article “Shopping for Identity” by Mandy Baca. The writer - child of Nicaraguan parents born in Miami - has found herself while shopping the aisles at her local grocery store Sedano’s. There, she can find our beloved root vegetables with unpronounceable names to many- malanga, boniato, ?ame… Also the pork cracklings, galletas María, snack-sized plantain chip bags - all while listening to overhead music and announcements in Spanish. This article made me nostalgic for our local Latino supermarket in Texas. At their bakery, you can find authentic tres leches cake, the classic bolillos (French bread rolls) and so much more. A trip down its aisles is a trip back home with many of the aromas, brands and music I grew up with. One of these days, I will put on my mask and travel home while shopping at my local Latin grocer again.