At the beginning of this book, I promised that throughout this autobiography I was going to introduce myself to the readers as traveling through time and space carrying not only my genetic design, but also the imprint of everyone and of every culture that has touched me during different moments of my personal history. And that I have tried to do.
I have written about growing up as a boarding student and as a confused young adult who suffered the effects of the political, economic, and socio-cultural changes that have destroyed my country of origin. Through my writing, you could witness my efforts to find myself as a student of Colegio del Apostolado, as a consecrated lay minister, as a Cuban exile, as a concerned bilingual school psychologist, as a cancer survivor, as a friend of my friends, and as a woman of faith.
In more than one opportunity in my life, I went through severe subjective distress over my inability to reconcile aspects of myself into a relative and acceptable sense of self. Who was I when attending Colegio El Apostolado? While I was living in two worlds: Colegio and Central España? When I was a Cooperadora Diocesana? When I married and became a mom? When I emigrated to Spain first and to the United States later?
Through the effort of writing this autobiography, I began to put together the different pieces of the puzzle of my life: this autobiography has been and is “the” way of Finding Myself. Three underlying ideas guided my search. First, I learn from others that I was a bright (“talented”) person, and this comment was—for a long time—my only anchor in life to achieve my full potential. Secondly, came the inner energy that came from my faith. During my adolescence I learned and loved to reflect on the purpose of my life; being part of a community of believers gave me a sense of togetherness and the certainty found in God’s word. Finally, the conviction that my identity search was a continuous process of discovering. A process that became more dramatic during the migration and acculturation processes initiated in 1980. Since the very beginning that I was exposed to other cultures, I felt the struggle between the deep ego, the one born and raised in Cuba, and the need to adjust to the new-total cultural context. No doubt, to migrate is to be reborn again. No doubt, to follow the acculturative path is to be and to become a person in transition, between two cultures, doing always-conscientious choices from both cultures. With this understanding, acculturation is not a subtractive process but an accumulative one: We don’t lose, we go adding and adding until we finally reach a bilingual and bicultural identity status.
We develop our identity by identifying, comparing, and contrasting ourselves with others at the same age and circumstances throughout our life. Consequently, Finding Myself has been a lifelong process. Just a few years ago, in my late adulthood, I was able to get a comprehensive sense of who I was and am. And after that I began to love myself and feel comfortable with me, as I was and am and not as the others wanted me to be or were expecting me to be. That sense of found wholeness includes everything I lived—no matter how difficult it was, and everything I learned—through books and experience but especially including all and everyone that has touched my life—tía Margarita, my parents, my siblings, the nuns from Colegio del Apostolado, the Cooperadoras Diocesanas, Monsignor Arcadio Marinas, the brothers of San Juan de Dios, my husband, my son and his wife, all and each one of the Family Life ministers, all the sincere and honest lay people that I meet and work with, all and each one of the students, and teachers, and parents that I had the opportunity to work with, but especially all my friends that have not only accompanied me but have made the difference with their acceptance, support, and love. All these people have added a little bit to my sense of myself and are part of my wholeness.
Just a few weeks ago, I opened a box with photos that I brought from Cuba, Spain, Tampa, and Flushing, and from working in Brooklyn, from North Bergen, and from vacations. Looking at the photos since the very beginning of my life until today gave me a sense of continuity, where everything make sense, But, looking at the photos, I felt sad. Why did I feel sadness? Because sadness is the emotion people feel when they’ve lost something important, or when they have been disappointed about something, or when something sad has happened to them or to someone else. In all those photos link one to the other in front of me as a video I saw myself running, always in hurry, always going against time, cooking, ironing, cleaning, studying until sunrise, working on term papers or on my dissertation, lunching while riding subway trains so I could get early to classes, conducting workshops, writing evaluation reports, and so on. How much time have I dedicated to be at home enjoying myself and enjoying my family?
As Julio Iglesias sings, I was sad because “me olvide de vivir” (I forget to live).