A Cup of Water Under My Bed: A Memoir

By Daisy Hernandez

A coming-of-age memoir by means of a Colombian-Cuban girl approximately shaping classes from domestic right into a new, queer life
 
In this lyrical, coming-of-age memoir, Daisy Hernández chronicles what the ladies in her Cuban-Colombian family members taught her approximately love, cash, and race. Her mom warns her approximately envidia and males who seduce you with pastries, whereas one tía bemoans that her niece is popping out to be “una india” rather than an American. one other auntie instructs that after everyone is shut, they're sure to turn into like uña y mugre, fingernails and grime, and that no, Daisy’s father isn't godless. He’s easily praying to a sweet dish that may be traced again to Africa. 

those lessons—rooted in women’s studies of migration, colonization, y cariño—define in evocative element what it ability to develop up lady in an immigrant domestic. in a single tale, Daisy units out to defy the dictates of race and sophistication that preoccupy her mom and tías, yet relationship girls and transmen, and coming to spot as bisexual, leads her to unforeseen questions. In one other piece, NAFTA shuts neighborhood factories in her fatherland at the outskirts of recent York urban, and she or he starts translating unemployment types for her mom and dad, relocating among English and Spanish, in addition to inner most and collective fears. In prose that's either memoir and statement, Daisy displays on reporting for the New York occasions as the paper is rocked through the most important plagiarism scandal in its background and plunged into debates in regards to the function of race within the newsroom.

A heartfelt exploration of kin, id, and language, A Cup of Water lower than My Bed is eventually a daughter’s tale of discovering herself and her group, and of making a brand new, queer existence.

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Made from bleached wooden, the ship’s aspects glisten with glitter, cowrie shells, and coat buttons. “It’s beautiful,” I wonder. “Yeah, you love it? ” Yvette says, fingering the strict. “I made it. ” “How? ” “You locate stuff, you know,” she laughs. “I decide up bits from right here and there and also you know . . . ” Her lengthy palms flutter to complete her sentence. Seeing the send she has created is like discovering a poem you need you had written. The barco itself is for Yemayá, the sea goddess within the Afro-Cuban faith, the nice mom. I don’t inform Yvette that i'm, myself, a fan of Eleggúa, yet status subsequent to me now, she says: “What occurred together with your father—Eleggúa observed that. He used to be there. ” My chest, my throat, my abdominal, my entire physique it feels, falls into position. Eleggúa observed that. He used to be there. You weren’t by myself. I stare on the ship’s stern and the brass buttons like portholes, and that i can see that for greater than thirty years i've been looking forward to a girl like Juana yet no longer her, a girl my mom may have consulted, to convenience me. A small knot in my chest loosens, and the reminiscence of Juana, the anger towards her, falls away, and someway too all of the doubts i've got ever had approximately those ladies. It was once no longer wisdom i used to be looking, now not a definitive model of the reality, yet relatively the solace of a woman’s phrases. occasionally now while i believe concerning the ladies my mom known as on, I give some thought to how they might have helped her to consider much less by myself during this international. not less than there has been a lady to speak to, to invite questions of, to take a seat with, simply because nobody ever mentions the silence that follows the painful moments. every person talks of what occurred while the forelady introduced the manufacturing facility was once ultimate, while a guy beat a baby and the police have been known as, while a woman learned that going to varsity may rate hundreds of thousands of bucks. yet of what occurs afterwards, not anyone ever speaks. it's an empty room, that afterwards, a soledad, and it sits there on the middle of a person’s existence and waits to be stuffed. no matter if I Kiss a lady My mom and tías warn me approximately courting Colombian males: “Esos no sirven. ” they are saying an identical factor in regards to the Seventies tv set in our kitchen. “That television no sirve para nada. ” It doesn’t paintings. As a toddler, i feel being married to a Colombian guy may be like scuffling with with our previous tv. It simply will get 3 channels, yet we make it paintings since it is the only we've. We change among channels through turning the knob with a wrench. Then we spin the antennas in circles, and while one issues on the sink and the opposite out the window— earlier the clothesline with Tía Chuchi’s three-dollar pants—we locate it does paintings, and we've got the telenovela Simplemente María. even if my 5 uncles are in Colombia, cellphone calls among New Jersey and Bogotá deliver tales of my fascinating, whiskey-drinking tíos and all of the proof for why Colombian males don’t paintings. From the kitchen, my mom and aunties dictate warnings that through the years come to sound like twisted nursery rhymes. Colombian males get inebriated, beat their ladies, cheat on their other halves, and not earn adequate funds.

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