My Family is Like a Tapestry
Words by Tianna Soto
The aroma of fresh coffee, island beats on the radio, and shoes tip-tapping across the kitchen floor. The sound of my parents softly stirring rice in a pot, and the crackle of sweet plantains and chicken cutlets frying on the stove. Photos and mementos lining the hallway, reminders of my parents’ travels around the world. Music, dancing, and laughter. These are some of my earliest memories of growing up in a Puerto Rican, Jamaican, Chinese household.
My family is a mix of cultures, woven together like a tapestry with colorful, contrasting designs that somehow fit perfectly together.
I grew up in a small town outside the capital of North Carolina. People there are kind. They go to church on Sundays, sometimes more than once. We had cookouts with our neighbors, each of whom we knew by name. Everyone grew up alongside one another. The classmates you had in kindergarten were often those you graduated with in high school, even college.
Living in North Carolina was idyllic, almost identical to scenes from Nicholas Sparks novels where many of his stories take place. Life in the south was filled with trips to the Outer Banks, weekends at my best friend’s lake house, and putting everything on hold for March Madness. I love North Carolina and the memories it has given me throughout my 25 years of life. Being raised in such a peaceful place is an enormous privilege that I don’t take for granted. Living in the south was not only a blast, but taught me the importance of hospitality, simplicity, and love.
At a glance, my family may not appear to be the most southern, but hospitality lives in our DNA. My mother is a beautiful Jamaican-Chinese woman born in Montego Bay who came to the United States at a young age. She is graceful as she is fierce, and never fails to make someone feel safe in her presence. My father is a cheerful Puerto Rican with a heart of gold who cares deeply for everyone around him. Growing up with big families in Brooklyn, my parents understood love and community from a young age. No matter who walked through the doors, guests were always greeted with fresh coffee, pastries, and lively conversation.
I have always envisioned my background as a tapestry embroidered with stories that represent the parts of who I am. I see plantains and ripe mangos, waterfalls cascading over cliffs, strips of sugar cane, hot dumplings in a straw basket, and a little girl learning to use chopsticks for the first time. I see a can of Café Bustelo, later emptied out to become a drum for me to beat on the living room floor. I see bright flowers, taste egg fried rice, and can almost hear reggae music. The memories are strung together by a bright red thread, a symbol that there is always something holding my family and I together. Together we become wrapped in this tapestry, a blanket that reminds us where we come from, and who we truly are.
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“What are you?”
“Are you Iranian?”
Growing up in the predominantly white south, people have always been thrown off by my background. As a young person I never minded the comments and bewildered reactions. In a sea of people who looked, sounded, and dressed the same, my rare blend of ethnicities made me proud to be different. Every time I got the chance to speak about my unique family, I felt my tapestry grow stronger. I even recalled fun stories, like my grandfather who raised chickens in the middle of an island, or my cousin who was crowned a beauty queen. These little moments made me even prouder of my heritage.
“I just assumed you were Mexican.”
“How did you end up here? Did you cross a border?”
“Your mom’s Chinese? Do her eyes look like this?”
It wasn’t until comments like these surfaced that I understood the difference between curiosity, innocent misunderstanding, and judgment. Often I would respond with nervous laughter, or simply with confusion about why I was being asked such a ridiculous question. As many kids do, I tried to let these comments roll off my shoulders and appear as if they didn’t bother me. During my brief moments of reaction or discomfort, I was labeled “too sensitive” by my peers or told, “it was just a joke!”
For me, a girl wrapped in a metaphorical tapestry so extravagant that I never wanted to take it off, these moments felt like an attack on what I had worked so hard to create. Many comments from peers were offensive, and often blatantly incorrect. These moments pushed me to speak up for myself, my family, and fellow people of color who continue to face far worse treatment than I did as a young person.
One of my favorite journalists, Elaine Welteroth, says that when you are multiracial, you have an opportunity to become a bridge for others. A bridge that leads people to understanding, community, compassion, and honestly, humanity. While I have always seen my mixed heritage as a strength, I now view it as a superpower. Where there is a lack of understanding, I try to welcome conversation and inspire new perspectives. Where there is hate, I try to understand what may be driving a person before responding with anger. I try to remember the tapestry that my loved ones created, and continue threading love and patience into my dialogue, even when it’s challenging.
The world is large, diverse, and waiting to be explored. What may happen if we look past our differences and see each human as a person carrying a unique tapestry of their own?
When I consider the word “self,” I cannot help but reflect on how we fit into the larger collective; how we stand on the shoulders of our ancestors, how we retell the stories of our grandmothers and grandfathers, how we adopt the mannerisms of our parents and inherit countless narratives without even realizing it. For me, self is identity, it is culture, it is diversity. It is colorful, spiritual, and always a learning process. It is rice and beans and salsa music, photographs, and never ending games of dominos around a kitchen table. How we show up in the world is influenced by those who came before us. It is our responsibility to honor our experiences, the important people in our storylines, and the questions that lead us to discover who we truly are.
We always have an opportunity to add something new to our tapestry, and admire the bright red thread that bravely holds us together.
** Editor’s Note: This essay first appeared in Vol. 3 of Kindred Magazine. **
About the Author:
Tianna Soto is a passionate artist who dedicates her time to writing, music, and storytelling. She loves travel, yoga, and all things Broadway.
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