I am what I am – I am Victoria Puglia, Spanish-American born, Spanish-American raised, half-Lynx , half-Trojan, and slowly making my way around the world.
I spent my school years in the bull-fighting peninsula, where I ate lots of ham and savored lots of cheese. Paella, gazpacho, pan con tomate y more, are the foods of my soul, the foods I enjoy. My mother tongue is a romance language, and it’s not Spanish. No em toquis els nasos eh , just ‘cuz its Catalan doesn’t mean it’s a dialect. For me, it’s both Barzelona and Barcelona. I’m proud to say that I beat what looks like a log on the night before Christmas as I sing for it to defecate Turrón; celebrate the day San Jordi slayed a dragon by giving a book to a boy; chase the three kings for hours on end as they chuck candy into my bag; and on the eve of San Juan feast on coca, shoot off fireworks, while I sing about my “Black Shirt”. Being an independentista …show more content…
My family laughs at my lack of New York English ‘cuz I drink water, walk my dog, count to three, and stand in line while they drink wohde, walk the doohg, count to tree, and stand on line. Throwback to Ellis Island in 1906, and shout out to my Great-Great-Grandpa Anniello who disembarked with no more than $25, a hope, and a dream. This is the reason for Pizza Saturday and Pasta Sunday in the Puglia household. The generations’ pass but the Italian traditions linger on. But no, I don’t have roots in the mafia.
This was my life ‘til the age of 13, when I bid farewell to the Mediterranean land. Good-bye to sunny days and hello to the chilly rain. Even though I claim to “spreek een beetje Nederlands” my Dutch is limited to “Mag ik, dankjewel, tot ziens, en little more.” Nonetheless, I love riding my fiets, fighting the wind, and showing up to school with two shades of black pants. Bagel Alley, Vapianos, and sketchy bike paths to The Hague have all become a part of me
I spent my school years in the bull-fighting peninsula, where I ate lots of ham and savored lots of cheese. Paella, gazpacho, pan con tomate y more, are the foods of my soul, the foods I enjoy. My mother tongue is a romance language, and it’s not Spanish. No em toquis els nasos eh , just ‘cuz its Catalan doesn’t mean it’s a dialect. For me, it’s both Barzelona and Barcelona. I’m proud to say that I beat what looks like a log on the night before Christmas as I sing for it to defecate Turrón; celebrate the day San Jordi slayed a dragon by giving a book to a boy; chase the three kings for hours on end as they chuck candy into my bag; and on the eve of San Juan feast on coca, shoot off fireworks, while I sing about my “Black Shirt”. Being an independentista …show more content…
My family laughs at my lack of New York English ‘cuz I drink water, walk my dog, count to three, and stand in line while they drink wohde, walk the doohg, count to tree, and stand on line. Throwback to Ellis Island in 1906, and shout out to my Great-Great-Grandpa Anniello who disembarked with no more than $25, a hope, and a dream. This is the reason for Pizza Saturday and Pasta Sunday in the Puglia household. The generations’ pass but the Italian traditions linger on. But no, I don’t have roots in the mafia.
This was my life ‘til the age of 13, when I bid farewell to the Mediterranean land. Good-bye to sunny days and hello to the chilly rain. Even though I claim to “spreek een beetje Nederlands” my Dutch is limited to “Mag ik, dankjewel, tot ziens, en little more.” Nonetheless, I love riding my fiets, fighting the wind, and showing up to school with two shades of black pants. Bagel Alley, Vapianos, and sketchy bike paths to The Hague have all become a part of me