Food Heritage

Recently, hubby and I went to visit family. We first went to my uncle’s house for dinner and had some amazing soup. It was cheesy, and potato-y, and reminded me of home. I don’t tend to make a lot of recipes that I grew up with, mostly because of my husband’s different tastes in food. However, during dinner, he leaned over to me and whispered that it would be okay if I made that soup at home.

Later that week, we traveled to my grandma’s house, and to our surprise, we were served the exact same meal. We didn’t complain because it was so good, but it made me start to think.

My aunt is my grandma’s daughter, and she grew up with the foods that my grandma made. She learned how to cook from my grandma. It makes sense that they would have similar tastes and that they would serve similar foods. Whenever I have dinner with my dad’s family, we have fresh made bread, and usually homemade jam with it. I love their amazing food, but it’s not what I grew up eating for every meal.

My mom cooks very differently than my aunt and grandma.

One of the things I remember about my mom’s cooking is that she loves to barbeque. Even during the winter months, she had my little brother shovel a path to the grill so that we could have salmon or steak. I remember one time, when I was home alone with my dad for Father’s Day, I made lasagna because that’s the kind of thing my mom would make. When I told my grandma about it, she commented on lasagna was so fancy and she’d never made it before.

Because I lived in a different country, my tastes in food have drastically changed from when I grew up. I eat a lot more rice than I did growing up, and I use a lot more spices and flavors that I used to. Even so, something as simple as cheesy, broccoli, potato soup can bring back the best of memories. I love how food can be a heritage, and how even the simplest things can bring back our past.

Country of Origin

When I was a brand new nurse in Saint Louis, I had one of the best jobs ever. The facility was definitely better than most of the other ones I’ve worked in, and the staff quickly became some of my closest friends. I worked the evening shift, and most of my CNAs were from Africa – mostly from the Kenya/Zambia regions.

I had two particular CNAs that I became very close with. We used to have a lot of fun pulling pranks on one another, and keeping the environment light.

I quickly learned that our points of view were very different on a lot of matters, but the biggest one was marriage and country of heritage. They were both devout Christians and took a literal approach on the man and the woman becoming one during marriage. Since my husband is Bolivian, they would ask me about Bolivia as though it was my country of origin.

Questions like:

In your country, do you eat…

I was reading about your country and it said…

At first, I was confused. My country is the USA. I was born here, and I was raised here. But these two CNAs kept asking me about my country of origin, Bolivia, because in marrying a Bolivian, they believed that I had become a Bolivian as well.

It soon became a running joke for us, mostly because they realized that they could get me aggravated pretty quickly when they asked those kind of questions.

“In your country, do you have salad like this?”

“I don’t know. In Colorado, where I grew up, we ate it. So what do you think?” 

Immigration Heritage

My name is Krista. My last name is Quintana. And I’m Asian. Most people assume Quintana is an Asian name, mostly because of how similar it sounds to katana. (The Qu is like quesadilla, or quiche. Has a hard K sound. Also, it’s Spanish, not Japanese.) No one even questions my last name.

My first name is a different story. I can’t count the number of times people are surprised by it. I had a patient’s husband come up to talk to me, and after we talked about the patient, he looked at my nametag and said, “Krista with a ‘k’. That’s different.”

I replied with, “Yup. It’s because of my Swedish heritage.”

He laughed. “Swedish, right.” After that, whenever he saw me, he would say, “There’s that Swedish nurse.”

He thought I was joking. But aside from my mother, who was adopted from Japan, the most recent immigrant in my family heritage is my Great Grandmother who came from Stockholm, Sweden. In fact, after Japanese, I’m probably the highest percent Swedish.

I’m proud of that heritage. I love my Great Grandmother, and I’ve learned about her life. I even wrote an essay about her when I was in sixth grade. She’s one of my role models, even if I don’t look like her.

We are all children of immigrants. They all came to the US for different reasons, but they all gave us a legacy. I’m grateful for the sacrifices they made for me.

Being Politically Correct

I’m Asian. You can tell just by looking at me. My hair is black, my eyes are dark, and I’m kind of short.

I’m not denying it, but I’m also saying that I’m not your typical Asian.

Whenever anyone asks me where I’m from, the answer is always Colorado. That’s where I’m from. I lived there my entire life, up until I left for college. Then I get awkward laughs, and they ask where I’m from.

Same question, but they expect a different answer.

If I repeat Colorado, they ask where my parents are from. Or they ask where my family is from.

Honestly, I have no idea how to ask this question in a way that sounds politically correct and not stupid. Asking someone why they don’t look white is always an awkward question, and one that could get you into trouble. I know I’ve skirted around the question too, when talking to someone who has an accent, and I’m trying to place it.

A few months ago, I had a patient ask me a version of the question that made me laugh. When I told her I was from Colorado, she laughed and asked “Where are your great grandparents from?”

Tricky question, considering that technically, the answer is Europe. Sweden, Switzerland, France… everywhere you wouldn’t expect from a little Asian girl. My mom was adopted, which means she didn’t come from her parents, or her grandparents.

Sometimes, I wish that we could just ask the question. What’s your heritage? You look exotic, what’s your ancestry?

But then, we start to sound like dog breeders.

NaNoWriMo to a Non-Writer

My husband is fantastic. I know I’m bragging, but it’s really true. He has supported my writing in ways I really wouldn’t have expected. Out of the two of us, he’s more afraid of my work getting stolen online. He lets me attend all of the writing classes, seminars and meetings in the area, and even lets me take the car when I need.

He understands my passion, though he doesn’t always feel the same way.

Last night, we were talking about NaNoWriMo. He and a friend went to where my group was having a write-in, and his friend asked him why I was in there with my computer.

Here’s the story as he told it to me.

Husband: Let me explain to you. (Though, in his accent, it sounds more like asplain).

You know how the gringos are weirdos and always have a day for everything? October was breast cancer, a few days ago, they had cat day. 

Friend: No, I didn’t know that.

Husband: Well, they do. Those gringos have a party for everything. Now November has two things. One is for prostate, and that’s Movember. The other is NaNoWriMo, which is National Writing Month.

At this point, I interrupted him, to tell him that it’s National Novel writing month.

Husband: I don’t care. Anyway, Krista and other people try to write 50,000 words in all of November.

Friend: Wow, that’s a lot of words.

Husband: I know. I told you they were weirdos.

So there you have it. If that’s the way that a supportive non-writer looks at NaNoWriMo, then I’m assuming the non-supportive ones thinks we’re raving lunatics. (For those curious, he learned the word weirdo from me.)

How about the rest of you? Do your friends and family understand your crazy November antics?

Adoption

I’m sure some of you have noticed that I’ve been a little bit less active than normal. There’s definitely a good reason for it.

Several months ago, my facility finally opened officially, and instead of sitting around, waiting for something to happen, we grew from two to seventeen in no time flat. During that time, it gave me a good chance to reevaluate my life’s goals, and the direction that I’m taking.

As my husband and I talked and pondered and prayed, we came to the decision that it’s time to expand our family. This decision wasn’t easy to make. Last year, we found out that chances of having kids is slim to almost none. We considered in-vitro, but even that doesn’t have the greatest projected outcome for us. Since I was young, I always said I would adopt, and now, we’re working on making that a reality.

We looked into both fostering and adoption. We would love to foster someday, but right now, we feel that adoption is the right path. So for the past 2-3 months, we’ve worked on all the preliminary papers: the home study, the reference forms, background checks, doctor’s physicals… and everything in between.

Earlier this month, we were finally approved to adopt. But that means that now we’re playing the waiting game. We’re waiting for someone to choose us to love their child. I can’t even imagine how difficult that decision would be.

We would love for you to spread the word for us. The more people who see our profile, the greater the chance we have of finding the right match, and the child who will make our family complete.

Here’s a link to our profile on adoption.com 

Thank you!