By Daisy Hernandez
A coming-of-age memoir by means of a Colombian-Cuban girl approximately shaping classes from domestic right into a new, queer life
In this lyrical, coming-of-age memoir, Daisy Hernández chronicles what the ladies in her Cuban-Colombian kinfolk taught her approximately love, funds, and race. Her mom warns her approximately envidia and males who seduce you with pastries, whereas one tía bemoans that her niece is popping out to be “una india” rather than an American. one other auntie instructs that after individuals are shut, they're sure to develop into like uña y mugre, fingernails and grime, and that no, Daisy’s father isn't godless. He’s easily praying to a sweet dish that may be traced again to Africa.
These lessons—rooted in women’s reports of migration, colonization, y cariño—define in evocative element what it potential to develop up lady in an immigrant domestic. in a single tale, Daisy units out to defy the dictates of race and sophistication that preoccupy her mom and tías, yet courting girls and transmen, and coming to spot as bisexual, leads her to unforeseen questions. In one other piece, NAFTA shuts neighborhood factories in her native land at the outskirts of recent York urban, and she or he starts translating unemployment kinds for her mom and dad, relocating among English and Spanish, in addition to deepest and collective fears. In prose that's either memoir and remark, Daisy displays on reporting for the recent York instances because the paper is rocked through the largest plagiarism scandal in its background and plunged into debates concerning the function of race within the newsroom.
A heartfelt exploration of kinfolk, identification, and language, A Cup of Water lower than My mattress is finally a daughter’s tale of discovering herself and her neighborhood, and of making a brand new, queer life.
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Extra resources for A Cup of Water Under My Bed
My snail secreted a special kind of slime for locomotion, called pedal mucus, over which it traveled.
This brought a sense of connection and contentment, yet was a striking reminder of how entirely cut off I was from the most basic activities of life. 6. TIME AND TERRITORY The velocity of the ill, however, is like that of the snail. — EMILY DICKINSON, in a letter to Charles H. Clark, April 1886 INCHES FROM MY bed and from each other stood the terrarium and a clock. While life in the terrarium flourished, time ticked away its seconds. But the relationship between time and the snail confused me. The snail would make its way through the terrarium while the hands of the clock hardly moved—so I often thought the snail traveled faster than time.
That moment was always full of pure, sweet, uncontrollable hope. I did not ask for this hope to come; I did not even want it, for it trailed disappointment in its wake. Yet there it was, hovering within me—hope that my illness had vanished with the night and my health had returned magically with daybreak. But that moment always passed, my eyes opened, and reality flooded in; nothing had changed at all. Then I thought of the snail. I’d look for the tiny, earth-colored creature. Usually it was back up in the flowerpot asleep, its familiar shape reminding me that I wasn’t alone.
A Cup of Water Under My Bed by Daisy Hernandez