When Park Sooyoung was born several things happened at once. Her mother went into cardiac arrest. And Sooyoung wasn’t breathing. Her father nearly fainted seeing both loves of his life near death. And her grandmother prayed. It was hectic. It was scary. But Park Sooyoung would become one of the many South Korean adoptees to be adopted out internationally. Her mother would fall asleep in death. And her father would live out his life wondering where his little girl was.

Sooyoung would be passed along twice. Once to her foster mother of eleven days. Who showered her with love and affection and felt her heart break when she gave the giggling baby away one last time. Into the arms of the two Puerto Rican’s who would love this bundle of joy till their dying breaths. Within this handoff. Park Sooyoung became; Joy Maribel Ruiz Garcia. 

Cristobal and Maya Garcia we’re married by 16. Having grown up in Ponce, Puerto Rico. It became apparent by their 10th year trying that having kids would not be in their future. It was a pain that neither wanted to take part in. So they fought for the honor to raise the less fortunate kids. And that was how they found Park Sooyoung. A Korean baby with a lung problem that was adopted out. They would love this girl. To them. She was their own. The shape of her eyes. And the color of skin. And the curl of her hair mattered little. They had a little girl. And their little girl was home. 

Sooyoung would grow up in Puerto Rico with her family until the age of 14. Where her parents seeking better financial stability would move their family to New York. And there they would remain. Her father opened a deli/bakery. And her mother would stay at home, selling Avon lotion to the tenants in the building. Sooyoung would not have siblings. But like most Puerto Rican families. She had so many cousins her front door was never closed. Every morning she woke up to the crisp smell of coffee and lavender Fabuloso. Some Tío or cousin sitting at their kitchen table.Yelling to the roof top. Although when accused they’d always say. “Mamita. I’m not yelling. This is just my voice”. 

Her home was never dull. Her heart always full. That is. Until she met Wendy shon. A Canadian that would come in and fill up the spaces in her heart she didn’t even know were empty. But when falling in love you tend to forget minor things, you forget that your mother yells rather than talks. You forget that your girlfriend is all about personal space with strangers and your family are all about hugs and kisses. You forget that you still get hit. And your girlfriend never even got a voice raised at her. 

They look so similar. They should share so much. But culturally these two women are words apart. 

—————————————————————

“I don’t think I can do this Wendy”. 

“I think you can do anything you put your mind to babe”. 

I looked at my girlfriend of the past five months. Brow in my hairline. Who did she think I was? Who did she think she was? “We’re not ready for this love”. 

“Babe. Why are you so scared? She’s your mother!”

“Exactly!” 

“I don’t get it. Explain this to me. Why are you so scared to introduce me to your parents. If anything I should be the scared one”.

“Jes. Jes. You should!” My heart feels like it’s going to fly out of my chest. Oh Jesus. Lord save me. Wendy pushed me down onto a nearby bench. Hands cupping my cheeks while my eyes stayed trained on the 7th floor window I knew my mother resides in. 

“First things first. It’s yes baby. Not Jes.” I glared at her. Because really. Who are you to be commenting on my mispronunciations on words when you say don’cha every other sentences. Who says that? Who does that? Rude. “And second. I can’t be scared when I’m so busy trying to calm you down. Can you explain what’s going on here?”

I took a deep breath. I knew this day would come. I knew I’d have to introduce Wendy eventually. I had just hoped we’d have more time. I thought we’d be safe just a little bit longer. But here my beautiful Canadian girlfriend was. Saying she wanted to meet my family. Eat off their foam plates. Drink their Malta. swing her hips to Marc Anthony. And sit in my plastic covered sofas in my living room with 50 other members of my family while they bombard her questions and comments. That she’ll think is sweet but I’ll know is just borderline racist! I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to share her. But I had no idea how to explain this. “Mi amor listen. My family is not like yours. When you meet my mother. You don’t just meet her. You meet her. My father. My cousins. My aunts and uncles. My grand parents. You meet family that’s already died. You meet the dog and the cat. And the rats that live next door. It’s not like you. Where I meet just your mom and dad and sisters. When I graduate high school baby. My mom called the school and complain that they didn’t give enough tickets. They give me 8 tickets. Everyone else. Three tickets. Me? 8. And my mom yell on the phone for 2 hours. 2 hours baby! By next day I come home with 12 more tickets. My mom. Dad. My cousin Carlitos. My neighbor Isabel and her daughter Monet came. My Tio Roberto came. My abuelita came. The ashes of my abuelo came. My mother tried to bring our dog, baby. My moms friend from upstairs came. Family I didn’t even know I had came. And everyone acted like it was normal. Do you know what it is to kiss 20 people on the cheek? 12 of them you’ve never even met before?” 

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic Joy?”

I can’t believe it. She really doesn’t believe me. She’s going to die. “Your crazy. You know that? You. Are. Crazy.”

Wendy just smiled at me and jumped up. Fist in the air. “Hwaiting!” I blinked. 

“Why do you do that? You make fun of me for an accent I can’t control. And you say fighting with a H”. 

Wendy pouted. “My family is Korean babe. It’s a thing we do. It’s to boost your morale. Get you fired up”. Wendy grabbed my hand with a big smile on her face as she pulled me to my apartment building where I knew hell awaited us. In the elevator she still had the smile. 

Good. You’ll need it love.

—————————————-

“Really quick babe. Before we go in. I need you to understand something. They’re going to kiss you.”

“What? I don’t really like that Joy. You know that”.

“Yeah but If you fight it. They’ll instantly never approve of us. They won’t say it to our faces. But you better believe it’ll get my abuelita. And if she doesn’t like you. Then it’s done. So. Just follow my lead. And say bendición to everyone.  Hell. Even say it to my dog to be on the safe side. You want your coffee with milk. Not creamer. Milk. If my mother makes you the coffee with no sugar just drink it. You’re not important enough yet to comment on it. You gotta wait till tomorrow for the verdict. My mother will ask you if you want galletas. Say yes.”

“What is that? I have a very sensitive pallate babe”, I put my fingertips to Wendy’s lips. Hushing her and pulling her close. I tucked her little head under my chin and felt the sting in my eyes. I don’t think I’ve trained her enough. 

“It means crackers baby. She’ll open a big green tin. It’s gonna be full of either saltines or rice. It’s really anybodies guess. If she gives you hot chocolate. She will give you cheese. Just eat it.”

“Cheese? Like sliced cheese?”

I felt the tears roll down my cheeks. Oh god. She’s so unprepared. “No baby. It’s cheese that comes in a big red ball. If she offers you these little crackers and asks if you want. Pasta de guava. Just nod. It’s delicious I swear.” 

“Um okay. Anything else?” I looked down at her. Pale chubby cheeks. Bright eyes. Oh. Unknowing. Unprepared. Eyes. Ay Dios. Save us. 

I looked at the maroon door in front of us. Planted a kiss on Wendy’s head. And knocked on the door. 

————————————

I want to say that we had a chance. But once my mother’s eyes lit up I knew. Wendy wasn’t going home till late. 

My little cousin greeted us upon first entry. He was holding a banana in his tiny hands. Wendy stares at him like a deer in headlights. “Wendy this is my little cousin Mateo. He turned 6 last month.” 

Just as Wendy was about to bend down to say hi to my cousin I heard it. The distinct sound of a pair of chancletas sliding across linoleum flooring. My mom burst through our little curtain in the hall way with a nightgown to her feet and a rainbow of rollers in her head. The fishnet hair piece in place to hold the monstrosity together. 

Oh god. We’re going to die. 

“Ay Dios!” My mom yelled. Hand on her chest. “Joy!” I jumped back. We’re screwed. Oh lord. My mom plastered a smile her freckled face and came over. Hugging Wendy tight. All the while glaring at me from over her shoulder. “Hi. How are ju? I’m Maya. Joy’s moder.”

My beautiful. Naive. Ignorant to the hostility in the room girlfriend just smiled. A smile to solve world hunger. But not to stop my mother. “I’m Wendy.”

“Mí novia mami.”

My mom leaned back in the hug. Holding Wendy by her arms a bright grin on her faking it face. My mom pointed at me. “Ahhh! Su novia?” I nodded. “Ay qué beuno. Um. Just one moment. Sit. Sit. I made you coffee. You want coffee?” And like a good little lamb. Wendy nodded. “One second I need to talk to my daughter.” 

I knew right then and there. I might come back. I followed my mother as she began stomping her way to her room. As soon as we made it into her room. She was hitting me with the very flip-flop she was wearing. All i saw was just a mesh pink flip-flop flying at me from all different directions. I wasn’t prepared for this assault. Nearly 25 years and I’ve still not mastered a counter attack. “Oyé! You bring your girlfriend! With me looking like this! Ya tu sabes, los Wednesday’s are for mi pelo. Y you bring her here!”

All the while my mother continues to hitting me. Switching arms when one gets tired. “Mami! I told you Monday!”

“No! Nunca me dijiste! Always lie!” And then she was swinging even harder at me. Even when she’s wrong. I swear man. She’s right. I told her Monday. Tuesday. And this morning. 

“Mami! You don’t listen!” 

“Queeeeeee! What did you say!?” 

I wish I could go outside. Rewind this day. Tell Wendy no. Survive until my 26 birthday. It’s no biggie I guess. It’s my life. I love you Wendy. 

———————-

Translations. 

Ponce: a city in Puerto Rico. 

Tío: uncle. 

Abuelita/abuelito: grandmother/grandfather

Malta: non alcoholic, malt soda. 

Mi amor: my love

bendición: a greeting. Bless you 

Pasta de guava: guava paste 

Ay Dios: oh lord. Oh god. 

 chancletas: flip-flops

(Mí)(su) novia: girlfriend./my girlfriend / your 

girlfriend. 

Ay qué beuno: oh how nice/That’s good. 

Ya tu sabes: you already know 

(mi)pelo: hair/my hair. 

Nunca me dijiste: you never told me

Que: what