Proud of Our Pupusas

In honor of this month’s theme of Pride, I had to look back on what I can confidently speak about. There was much to choose, such as being an English major, being a woman, and knowing I have political views that prioritize the freedom to choose for all Americans, no matter what color they are. But there aren’t many things in my life that I am as passionate about as my culture. 

From the moment I was born, I was blessed with Salvadoran blood and a loud and proud family. I am the daughter of two Salvadoran immigrants who gave their lives to give me a better one here in the United States. This is similar to many immigrant stories you may hear: parents moving here at the age of this, this, or this, they never went to college, all the typical sayings. Except the stories aren’t typical. 

Every background is unique and has its own pain and sacrifices, yet we’re all clumped together under the same generalized umbrella. In my case, I’ve grown up hearing all Latinos are Mexican. Everyone is generalized even though we couldn’t be more different. Under all the racism and umbrella terms I faced growing up, there is a statement I never once doubted for even a second: I am proud to be Salvadoran.

Proud of Our Food

I admit I’m an awful cook, or at least I don’t know how to. I get nervous using anything but a microwave and electric stove. I can make instant noodles and eggs in the morning for survival, but that’s as far as my skills can go. I guess it’s because I always preferred to watch as my family cooked for me, mesmerized by their cooking skills. 

My dad used to bake a lot when I was little. I always asked him to make pan de quesadilla. It's a sweet, cheese-like bread, often topped with sesame seeds and a golden brown exterior. I remember coming home from school and smelling it all the way from the garage. He’d take it out of the oven and place it right above the stove, letting me take the first bite after it cooled down. Then I’d go to school and tell my friends all about the delicious bread, and they’d tell me they’d never heard of quesadilla. I thought it was a sad thing to hear, having to live without knowing the mouth-watering smell and the pride of knowing my dad knew how to make them.

I’ve only met my grandmother twice in my life before she died when I was twelve. I never had the chance to have an actual conversation with her. When she would visit, my entire family hogged her for themselves, trying to savor every moment with her before she went back home. My Spanish wasn’t as strong as it is now, so I remember being nervous around her. My mom once told me my grandmother was like a saint, always prioritizing others before her, and being the sweetest woman in our village back home. She used to cook for the entire neighborhood. When she came to visit us, I remember seeing her in my aunt’s kitchen with a huge, wide silver pot in front of her, stirring something that smelled incredible. It was atole de elote, I would later learn. It's a sweet corn drink with the texture of hot chocolate. To this day, no one makes it as well as my abuelita, no matter how much we try. I know she watches from heaven as we try to mimic her recipe, proud of the beautiful family she created.

Proud of Our Tropics

I grew up hearing all about the drastic weather differences compared to Las Vegas. El Salvador is in Central America, right along the equator, filled with tropical plants, fruit, and greenery as far as the eye can see. I used to think 117 degrees in the desert was bad—it still is, don’t get me wrong—until the second I stepped out of the crowded airport in El Salvador. The heat is sticky and humid and the sun never stops blazing down on your skin. It’s so hot the water by the beach is as warm as bath water, with bubbly foam that tickles your skin. 

And when it rains, it’s like hundreds of buckets of water dump from the sky all at once. It’s never cold in El Salvador, even with such heavy rain that it floods the streets ankle deep. It’s cloudy, with just enough humidity that you don’t ever need to wear a jacket. My abuelito’s house is an outdoor house. You can’t necessarily go “inside” unless you step into a bedroom or the living room. My entire family sat on the patio facing outdoors, right in front of the kitchen, just sitting, laughing, and eating around the pouring rain, and I’m proud to have experienced that level of happiness and comfort.

Proud of Our Language

My parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins were once immigrants fresh off the border. I was born only a few years after my parents arrived, and our household was only Spanish-speaking. Spanish is my first language. I learned English in school, and since I was surrounded by cousins similar to my age who were also learning English, it became my most confident language. Every once in a while, I mess up the pronunciation of a word in Spanish, or my grammar is off. My family recognizes my mistakes and corrects me respectfully. Even though I fumble a little with my Spanish, I’m still proud to have it in my blood and memory.

Of course, my Spanish is different from other Latinos I meet. Even though I speak it, many other Latinos still don’t understand me due to my Salvadoran dialect. Every country has their own slang, their own way of spelling words, and maybe some words are different while meaning the same thing. Straw is popote, but Salvadorans say pajilla. Shaved ice is raspado, but we say minuta. Although we get interesting looks, I always become excited when I’m asked why I pronounce things a certain way. It’s fun to explain it and compare each other in a loving manner, not in ways that are meant to hate and correct each other.

Proud of Our Love

Salvadorans, at least the ones in my family, have strong emotions. When we’re angry, we can light the world on fire. When we’re sad, even if we don’t show it, we cry a river in silence. Our depression is just as strong, and we do too good a job at hiding it.

But when we love, it’s the strongest and most powerful we become, because it’s all unconditional. It’s like we’re blinded by it, and it’s so grand we often scare people away. All my parents ever ask of me is to try my hardest, and if my hardest isn’t the best, they’re proud that I tried. College or no college, my aunts and uncles love their children regardless of the path they choose. My abuelita saved every childhood drawing and arts and crafts project I made simply because I was the one who gave it to her. My aunt married her husband for love when they were young, and soon after, he became disabled. She’s stayed by his side for decades, simply because she loves him. I know many married couples outside the family who wouldn’t have done the same.

I’ll never forget what my mother showed and told me a few years ago. It was a picture of a cousin of ours who completed his transition from man to woman, smiling happily with my grandparents. “Look,” my mom said with a proud smile. “Isn’t it amazing how happy she looks now?” I was so relieved I could’ve cried, knowing that if I were to come out to my parents, their love for me wouldn’t change a bit. 

Conclusion

I come from a line of loud, crazy, and loving Salvadorans, proud of their country and grateful even through poverty and racism. I pass down my pride to my friends around me, always emphasizing how happy my culture makes me. There’s not much attention or appreciation shown to Salvadorans, and many people have never heard of our small country, but the love from my family makes up for that lack. I’ll always be proud and happy with them by my side.

About the Author

Litzy Rivas is an English major concentrating in Creative Writing at UNLV, who hopes to be a novelist and publishing editor once she graduates. As a Blog, Newsletter, and Marketing Intern for LYF, she hopes to improve her writing and editing skills with the help of the supportive LYF team and readers. Her interests include the Bridgerton and Heartstopper books and TV shows, K-Pop, anime, and her dream is to travel the world through the opportunities she hopes to gain through the creative writing field.