Growing up my memories of Dominican Republic are warm, strong and vivid. My New York memories are hard like the brick and concrete of our Brooklyn brownstone. My heart throughout the years turned cold and frigid like the winter snow storms in Upper Manhattan aka Wash Heights. But one trip to Dominican Republic and all that coldness, harshness was quickly washed over with the warmth of the sun and the love of my people.
I've always felt equally American and Dominican but every time that plane landed in Dominican Republic (and we had to walk from the runway to the airport back then) my family and friends never hesitated to remind me that I was the "Americanita". My cousins wanted to hang out with us because we spoke English. They wanted to go to the dance club, AMBIS, because we could show off all the new dances we knew and they loved the attention. And of course, we had the good old American dollar, "Dolares" which in the 80s was a pretty big deal.
Waking up to the sounds of roosters, pigs and goats is something you just have to experience. I'm not even going to try to describe it. My grandfather use to get up before the sun. He'd feed the chickens and milk the cows with his cousin Paulino. He use to bring in the milk in those clear light blue bottles like the ones the milkmen use to leave out front in the houses on the Saturday morning cartoons. Since he had just milked it, it was still warm and it had that thick creamy layer on top. My grandmother would boil it for us and grate that dark chocolate bar in it because they didn't have chocolate powder. I miss those mornings. No worries in the world. We learned how to pick coffee, lemon, peanuts, avocados and of course, platanos. I remember being harshly reminded that I wasn't purely Dominican by my grandmother.
One summer afternoon as she cooked, she realized she needed cilantro. She told me to go to the conuco and get her some. I did. When I got to the far end of the 'conuco' (family farm) I realized that I had no clue what I was looking for. Fearing the worst I grabbed the first green leaves I saw growing out of the soil and took them back to my grandmother. Well, I'll never forget the look on her face. She laughed at first and then seemed upset. Told me, "E'to' muchacho de Nueva York no saben na'" translated loosely - We New York kids had no clue about nothing. That summed it up pretty much. She then proceeded to walk me back to the 'conuco' and show me what cilantro looked like. Needless to say that I can pretty much close my eyes and pick cilantro out from the supermarket just by smelling it these days. I will never forget cilantro. But the memory stays. I was still American in my parents country trying to learn to be Dominican and when I returned to New York I was Dominican trying to be American. It was a lose - lose situation.
The country is different now. More city like but still carrying the essence of what was. Tourism has become a major source of income. Especially catering to singles looking for a good time. Prostitution is at an all time high; drugs and violence are more prevalent than before. There are still those who visit and learn about the culture, history and the struggle of the people. A struggle that was non existent before Columbus decided to run rampant on foreign soil. But thus is history; invade, divide and conquer. That's another story.
It is still a part of me. A piece of my heart remains permanently in, what I consider, my homeland; Dominican Republic. When I am there, no matter how many times they call me ' Americanita' my soul still feels complete there. When I close my eyes I breathe and it breathes with me. Many of my transitional stages happened there. My first kiss, my first drink, my first many things. If you know me, if you really know me, you know that having concentrated on Dominican studies in College was very personal to me. I concentrated on literature, poetry, history and culture. I realized how rich we were as a culture and how much of that information is not dispersed to the masses. And that goes for all 'third world' countries which were not third world until foreigners stole everything and raped the people of its resources.
But I am equally American. A New Yorker at heart.
America is young. Still learning from its mistakes. Still growing. Yet I remain hopeful because I've seen the coldness turned into warmth from the people in it. A new generation that refuses to remain ignorant. That sees past color and sees character because trust, times have not changed and we are still living in a very cruel and prejudice world. This is what I hope I've offered this country being first generation American. This is what I know I've given to New York. The warmth from my parents homeland, my homeland at heart. So whenever I'm in New York, it gets the warmth of Dominican Republic from my heart and when I'm in Dominican Republic I remind it that I love and respect it. And although I am just revisiting, I will always honor its history and will not run rampant on its soil.
Because at the end of the day I am both; American and Dominican, a human being at heart.
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