this is the memoir that a bunch of other ("lyrical," "braided," "memoir in essays") memoirs i've read recently are trying to be. ( )

A queer Cuban/Colombian memoir that delves into Santería, identity, sexuality, money, class, debt, language and intersectionality. ( )

"Over and over again, this truth: Writing is how I leave my family and how I take them with me."

I have been sitting with this one for over a week because I just didn't have the words for the emotions I felt during and after reading this one. A Cup of Water Under the Bed by Daisy Hernandez had masterful prose, descriptive and emotional writing that speaks to your soul and makes you contemplate and reconcile your feelings about language, being tethered to a homeland and how to navigate your own identity. It is an ode to the power of language and how it shapes our interactions with people, places and things. It explored this idea that not every word has a literal translation, that some have context and experience that do not translate and how it is okay to allow such language to just exist and belong to its intended group.

The one word that comes to mind to describe this book's main theme is "reckoning":

☆ reckoning with being bilingual, one language feels like pebbles on the tongue while the other feels like home

☆ reckoning with the bittersweetness of American Dream and who reaps the benefits

☆ reckoning with the humanity and imperfections of parents

☆ reckoning with learning to love family despite the hurt and forgiveness

☆ reckoning with sexuality and identity within the rigidity of Latinx culture

☆ reckoning with feminism in a world dominated by machismo and patriarchy

☆ reckoning with the disparities in income, education, financial literacy and access to social capital as a Latinx person

☆ reckoning with faith and spiritual practices and colonialism

☆ reckoning with what healing looks like

☆ reckoning with assimilation vs. tradition

☆ reckoning with gender based violence and the social inequalities women face

☆ reckoning with the guilt of being a child of immigrants and not living up to expectations

Alot of the author's experiences resonated with me on a personal level. There were times when I felt like she was describing my own parents' experiences. This book helped me to see how our imperfections can also be beautiful and tell a story rich in history and resilience.

Bookdragon Rating: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 ( )

My Takeaway

“Generally speaking, gay people come out of the closet, straight people walk around the closet, and bisexuals have to be told to look for the closet. We are too preoccupied with shifting.”
Daisy Hernández, A Cup of Water Under My Bed

A Cup of Water Under My Bed was chosen by my book club at work (lovingly named El Barrio Book Club). The memoir was heartfelt, witty, honest and full of sentiment. I truly enjoyed the vivid vignettes Hernández's provided throughout the book. I found myself reminiscing quite a lot. As a first-generation Dominican-American, I appreciate and cherish being part of two cultures. I love the United States and I love the Dominican Republic (DR) . . . However, my traditions are pretty much all Dominican (with a es-prinkle of American) because of my parents -- especially my mom. This woman did not play around and meant business! I was born in the US, but Spanish was my first language. Once I learned English, I was not allowed to speak it at home until I was around thirteen years old. Also, every year until the age of nine, I traveled to DR with my abuela (Mama). Some of my fondest childhood memories are from those amazing summer trips. Many of Hernández's anecdotes reminded me of my childhood. I too had to translate and interpret for family members (grandparents, aunts, uncles, neighbors, and my dad). Interestingly, my parents worked at a glass factory for many years until it closed. I appreciated Hernández's candid writing especially on common taboo subjects in Latino households. I thoroughly enjoyed this memoir and highly recommend it. Hernández gives readers a front row seat to her childhood and early experiences as a queer and feminist Latina. ( )

Hernández writes so well, delicate little prose gifts spread across this memoir set up as a series of tangential anecdotes subtly segued. I loved the bits of Spanish sprinkled throughout ( )