{"id":25218,"date":"2021-04-27T12:33:51","date_gmt":"2021-04-27T18:33:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/?p=25218"},"modified":"2023-05-15T13:23:10","modified_gmt":"2023-05-15T19:23:10","slug":"sopa-fria-by-dana-ordonez-sanchez-junior","status":"archive","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/sopa-fria-by-dana-ordonez-sanchez-junior\/","title":{"rendered":"Archived: Sopa Fria by Dana Ordonez Sanchez (Junior)"},"content":{"rendered":"

The days, as my dad would tell me, were spent longing for something. For my father, that was the homeland, for my mother, that was the house being clean, for my sister, that was the depths of her imagination, for my brother, that was his toys, and for me, I wasn\u2019t sure. I do as I am told. I do my homework, I get good grades, I clean, I pray, I respect, and I repeat. I got so used to the routine that I had fooled myself into thinking that is what I wanted. I <\/span>want<\/span><\/i> to get good grades even though I spent all my hours studying. I <\/span>want<\/span><\/i> to have an honorable career so I won\u2019t have to work as hard as my parents.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

High school was the epitome of my realization, <\/span>maybe I want something more. <\/span><\/i>And I realized it every time I told someone that I was in high school and got the same question: \u201cLuciana, what are you planning to do after high school?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI am going to college. I want to be a pediatrician,\u201d I\u2019d say. It felt like the right answer. Oftentimes, they would praise me for being intelligent and having my goals set for an honorable career. I would get the same\u00a0 question every year\u2014except for sophomore year, where I\u2019d get the added bonus of \u201cWhen will you drive?\u201d I thought to myself <\/span>how should I know what I want if I barely know who I am?<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

I wanted to be popular, the one all the boys wanted. I wanted to be reliable, the person you go to when you\u2019re down. I wanted to be smart, the person who knew all the answers when Google wasn\u2019t there. Most importantly, I wanted to be beautiful, I wanted to feel confident I wanted to know I am beautiful inside and out. Some days more than others, I spent my time looking in the mirror. <\/span>Am I Beautiful?\u00a0 Why don\u2019t boys like me?\u00a0 My legs are too big. My nose is too wide.\u00a0 My cheeks are too round.\u00a0 My waist is too big. My hair is too frizzy.\u00a0 My eyes are too puffy.\u00a0 My freckles are too dark. Who am I?\u00a0 Why can\u2019t I look like her?\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

Why can\u2019t I look like her? <\/span><\/i>That phrase was stuck inside my head all the time. I wanted to be someone who wasn\u2019t me. I wanted to be like Rebecca, her hair was always beautiful, Cassandra, her hands were always perfectly manicured, Brianna, who was always stylish, but I never wanted to be me. I began to look for ways to validate myself. I wanted someone telling me,\u00a0 \u201cYou are enough.\u201d That\u2019s when I met Roberto. I never liked him. I thought he was repulsive and ignorant. But he was the only boy I could think of that would want me. I hesitated \u2014I knew he was bad news\u2014 but, I let myself think that if he wanted me and that I was special. The relationship began innocently; we’d held hands, he\u2019d asked me how my day was, and when I said no it meant no. Shortly, I would become aware that even shouting no wouldn\u2019t be enough. I knew that on the night when too many beer bottles were on the ground, I knew that when I was locked in a room, I knew when laughter was the only thing I could hear other than my cries, and I knew that when I felt broken. I would become a broken cassette, always on repeat.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d come to do something I never thought I would do, lie.\u00a0 I lied to my mom and dad about Roberto. \u201c<\/span>Mija, <\/span><\/i>do you have a boyfriend?\u201d they\u2019d ask. I\u2019d always say no. I was too ashamed. My parents would never approve of Roberto; he was everything they despised. Soon, white lies began to become bigger and bigger. I\u2019d ditch school, I\u2019d fail classes, I\u2019d talk back, and I\u2019d sneak out.<\/span><\/p>\n

The day that my mom figured out my whole fa\u00e7ade started normally. My mom gave me her blessing before heading to school. On the way to school, she asked me about my assignments and all the work around the house. Around my mom, I always felt so at ease I\u2019d forget about everything. I kissed her on the cheek and said, \u201c<\/span>Mami, <\/span><\/i>can you make <\/span>sopa fria <\/span><\/i>for dinner tonight?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I went to school and, although I lied about my grades and my attendance, that day felt different. I paid attention, I didn\u2019t see Roberto, and I didn\u2019t feel broken. I knew I didn\u2019t have the courage to leave Roberto or tell my parents, but I felt like things were better. At the end of the day, I remembered I had left my laptop at home. When I got home, I realized that my mom had found the messages between Roberto and me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c\u00a1<\/span>Ni\u00f1a! <\/span><\/i>What\u2019s going on?\u201d she yelled, shoving the screen across the table. She then asked, \u201cIs there something I shouldn\u2019t see?\u201d My first instinct was to lie\u2014it had become my version of a getaway driver\u2014but I nodded and she knew. She knew about the relationship, she knew about the disrespect, and she knew about the abuse. It was all out, all the parts of my life I didn\u2019t want her to know because I was ashamed. I didn\u2019t feel anything. She was angry and disappointed. I was too. My dad found out, my sister, and my brother. That night I didn\u2019t eat dinner, and I cried.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The next day, my parents yelled. They reminded me that I was stupid, immature, and na\u00efve. My mom said she was disappointed and she couldn\u2019t understand why I was stupid enough to believe him. That\u2019s when I told her about the night with too many beer bottles on the ground, the locked door, and my cries that serenaded his laughter. Her expression changed, she just stood up and walked away.\u00a0 The cold silence lingered with us for weeks. Everyday was a reminder of the disappointment I had become. My world was in shambles. The part I kept true with my family was destroyed. I betrayed their trust and, worst of all, my secret was out. Dinner, once lively and fun, became dreadful and cold.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

One night, I was going to skip dinner. I knew that my presence was what made dinner so dreadful. I was going to read a book and grab something to eat later when everyone was away. I pondered on leaving altogether. No lie, apology, plea, or cry could get me out of this.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMom said to come for dinner,\u201d my sister said bluntly.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not hungry,\u201d I said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cShe said to come.\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFine.\u201d I mustered the bit of courage I had left and walked myself to the dinner table.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

My dad was sitting next to me, my mom beside him, my brother in his chair, and my sister beside me.<\/span> Sopa fria<\/span><\/i>, it was on my plate. I smiled for the first time in weeks and looked at my parents. \u201c<\/span>Com\u00e9,<\/span><\/i>\u201d <\/span>Eat<\/span><\/i>, they said.\u00a0 Tears rolled down my face. I ate my heart out and I cried. I felt my mom\u2019s soft hand on my back. \u201c<\/span>Ya ya mija, todo va estar bien<\/span><\/i>.\u201d <\/span>Everything will be okay.<\/span><\/i>\u00a0 I knew what I longed for and what I wanted now: <\/span>sopa fria.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The days, as my dad would tell me, were spent longing for something. For my father, that was the homeland, for my mother, that was the house being clean, for my sister, that was the depths of her imagination, for my brother, that was his toys, and for me, I wasn\u2019t sure. I do as… <\/p>\n

Read More<\/a><\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":7,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"gallery","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[33],"tags":[40],"class_list":["post-25218","post","type-post","status-archive","format-gallery","hentry","category-archive","tag-junior","post_format-post-format-gallery"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25218","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/7"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25218"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25218\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25444,"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25218\/revisions\/25444"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25218"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25218"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/aimsreview.aims.edu\/incite\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25218"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}