Who Do You Love More?
By Melina Borja
It's summer.
We are visiting my father's home in Oaxaca, Mexico. We decide to have dinner in a cave-like restaurant. The walls are dark, rounded, and jagged. The room gives off dark lighting with hints of orange that comes from the single dimmed light bulbs that hang above each table. The tables are dark brown covered in white tablecloths with red and green squares at the edges. I'm sitting next to my dad, who many say I am exactly like.
We both have dark skin, straight brown hair, and brown eyes. Across from us sits my mother, who has pale white skin, black eyes,
and curly hair. She and I are complete opposites.
I'm mad at my mom; I can't remember why, but I’m mad at my mom. The restaurant smells like carne asada and we’ve eaten through the chips they’ve brought us. There is an old couple sitting next to us. The woman has short white hair and frost-white skin. Her husband is bald with burnt red skin. For some reason la viejita me sigue mirando. She makes me uncomfortable, I think she
knows this because she keeps trying to smile at me. She leans toward our table, and my parents glance over at her. I’m wondering
why she’s invading our space.
She asks if we speak English. My parents tell her yes and she compliments us by saying, “You look like a beautiful family! Look at your
little girl, how old is she? seven?” while clapping her hands together.
“Eight.” I say.
She looks over at me. “Who do you love more? Your mom or your dad?”
I immediately say, "my dad" as I remember that I'm mad at my mom.
A smile grows on his face, while silence comes from my mother. This just became my father's proudest moment, the moment he would discuss at all future gatherings. His daughter loves him the most.
The mood at the dinner table has changed. Pride and sadness and have joined us.
There's not enough room at the table.
We are visiting my father's home in Oaxaca, Mexico. We decide to have dinner in a cave-like restaurant. The walls are dark, rounded, and jagged. The room gives off dark lighting with hints of orange that comes from the single dimmed light bulbs that hang above each table. The tables are dark brown covered in white tablecloths with red and green squares at the edges. I'm sitting next to my dad, who many say I am exactly like.
We both have dark skin, straight brown hair, and brown eyes. Across from us sits my mother, who has pale white skin, black eyes,
and curly hair. She and I are complete opposites.
I'm mad at my mom; I can't remember why, but I’m mad at my mom. The restaurant smells like carne asada and we’ve eaten through the chips they’ve brought us. There is an old couple sitting next to us. The woman has short white hair and frost-white skin. Her husband is bald with burnt red skin. For some reason la viejita me sigue mirando. She makes me uncomfortable, I think she
knows this because she keeps trying to smile at me. She leans toward our table, and my parents glance over at her. I’m wondering
why she’s invading our space.
She asks if we speak English. My parents tell her yes and she compliments us by saying, “You look like a beautiful family! Look at your
little girl, how old is she? seven?” while clapping her hands together.
“Eight.” I say.
She looks over at me. “Who do you love more? Your mom or your dad?”
I immediately say, "my dad" as I remember that I'm mad at my mom.
A smile grows on his face, while silence comes from my mother. This just became my father's proudest moment, the moment he would discuss at all future gatherings. His daughter loves him the most.
The mood at the dinner table has changed. Pride and sadness and have joined us.
There's not enough room at the table.
Melina Borja has never pursued writing but she has always appreciated it for the art form that it is. After taking a creative writing class here at PCC she has found writing to be a great way to clear her mind and to find a focus. She's learned that it's about expressing herself. She finds that her writing gets very personal at times.She once heard that writing is your best therapist and it's free! She took that statement to heart and started to use writing to look over the situations she's in and to learn how to handle them.
