Cultural Doors and pyjamas

From the tender age of six as I arrived in Canada on a snowy February night I knew that we were( my family) different, well atleast culturally different. On that night in the airport there was about 10 of my parents closests friends that came to welcome us to our new home in a snowy very cold Toronto, compared to the other people who arrived with us who had to take cabs ALONE to their homes.

My heart is filled with memories of Saturdays flooded with singing and dancing with my mom and younger brothers to her favourite salsa songs, as well as listening to her recreate through stories the wonderful childhood she and my dad experienced. My culture was filled with family, music, singing, soccer games and politics...it was amazing...it was mine.

As I would return to school on monday mornings it was customary to write a one page journal on the weekend. I would retell the never ending family get togethers, the food, the music...the get togethers that always ended in the 'adultos' discussing politics and the children dozing off to often quoted words of revolutionaries and idolized political heros. My teachers would always write comments such as " I hope your not saying up past your bedtime" or " wow, your family sure likes to party". I smile now knowing that they weren't just parties where people ate and were happy, it was the coming together of intelligent minds who shared ideas in order to keep their culture alive. All the food and the music brought them back to a familiar culture, that had to be hidden until you came into your own home.


" De la puetra para fuera es Canada, de la puerta para dentro es Ecuador", man I hated when my mom began one of her many "No you cant do anything" speeches with these words!!! It would infuriate me, to the point where I wished that I had Canadian(white) parents, especially when my friends or other girls in my class were allowed to do many things that my parents did not deem appropriate. One of these things was sleepovers or pyjamas parties as the inviations always read. I remember the first time I received such an invitation, and I could not wait for the day to arrive. My friends explained to me that when the party was over is where the sleepover began which was when the real fun began. I remember wanting to float home as I imagined all the fun I would have. To my shocking surprise (not)....my mom said NO! I begged, I cried, I even threaten to stop talking to her. Everything she did was laugh and say " you can go to the party but not the pyjama!" Needless to say, I left early that Saturday of the birthday party and spent yet another one with my cousins and friends who also were not allowed to pyjama anywhere else but their own homes.

I laugh about this pyjama incident NOW, but back then I was torn. I felt like I lived a double life, and these two lives could never meet because I knew they would never understand each other. How could I explain to my friends who bragged about being able to do what they wanted and that their parents were old and fell asleep early that my parents and family were the complete opposite! My heart and stomach were torn...I loved pancakes with syrup but also loved ceviche....I was not ready to give up either life because they both made me happy and complemented me.

Weekend after weekend I sang, I ate, I danced and breathed Ecuador...but as I returned to school on monday everything would fade into a bright red maple leaf as I attempted to immerse myself back to Canada. The more I grew up the more I enjoyed the weekends with my family, and their ability to make me feel beautiful and intelligent all the time. The dancing and the singing became the beat of my heart, as I remember my Ecuadorian culture but never forgot where I lived. The love for the weekends only intensified as I reached University as they became safe havens from cars, shopping, brand names, labs, essays and textbooks. The weekends were my culture...my culture the weekends...and I long for them especially during monday 830am tutorials...

To sum of my culture...its made up of singing, dancing, hope, politics, laughter but most of all family. That was the message that my mom was trying so hard to instill in me and the main reason for the weekend gatherings. The need and love for family is my culture, in order for my parents and many Ecuadorian families to maintain this love for familiy was creating these cultural doors and not allwing their children to pyjama anywhere else but their own homes.
My mom was right, I have not died from not attending a pyjama party but I would have died without the loud rhythm of my heart that beats in Spanish and without my culture and family this would not be possible. I would never be who I am without my culture singing in my heart.
I am my family and my family is my culture, even if they are divided by cultural doors and pyjamas.