A window and a View
My papi’s favorite part of his trip to SF seemed to have been the view from my apartment window. Now I’m sure the part of the trip where his daughter graduated with her masters was also just as special to him to but I can’t get his voice out of my head telling me over and over how amazing this view was. I’ve been sitting here thinking, why papi, why was this view so amazing to you? I even took him to spots in the city that had a view better than the one from my apartment, but still none lived up to the one out my window. And then suddenly it clicked and it was all tied together.
My father is someone in my life who has sacrificed so much. He sacrificed finishing high school so that he could help support his family, he sacrificed parts of his youth helping to raise his nieces and nephews, him and my mom sacrificed their plans for their future when I came along (though they will never admit this one). I remember one day, I was listening to a keynote speaker talk about how success means something different to Latinx families. It’s not always tied with how many degrees you have, but rather if you have a car, a house, a job. All things you can get, without a degree, although our parents are proud of those as well. But at the end of the day, a degree is just a piece of paper, for some something we have taken out thousands upon thousands of dollars in loans to receive, and for others, if not received in the right field don’t reap as many financial benefits.
But this window... this window on the top floor, with the view that looks out onto downtown San Francisco, and the water, and the houses, and just a small glimpse of the bay bridge was a sign I had done well for myself. On one side of the window, I had all my belongings that I worked hard to furnish my apartment and on the other, a view that showed my papi I was doing alright, especially while being so far from him. My papi being proud of this view, was his way of saying he was proud of me.
And maybe to him it was actually just a beautiful view and I’m over here trying to find meaning in the spaces between these words and the silence that usually sits between us, but that, that is a poem for a different day.