El Remolino — Papi was born in El Remolino, a small town to the south of Lake Maracaibo in Venezuela. …

An Artist in Mexico — In Mexico, my father joined a community of artists cultivating evenings of poetry recitals amidst a growing collection of records. His earliest paintings depicted various renditions of boats docked on a harbor, each line benefitting from the care and precision that dissipated in his later years. …

Paraguaná — Upon to returning to Venezuela, my father led a series of projects for companies such as Meneven, Pequiven, and Bariven before securing the role of Senior Manager of Materials for a major refinery construction with Maraven. …

La Chachi — My first years of life were spent in the arid lands of Punta Cardón, where coastal winds dissipate the desert-like heat brought on by relentless sunlight. Once a poor fishing town, refineries brought hundreds of families to the region in the late 20th century, fueling the growth of residential complexes. …

Caracas — Each evening before bed, my father rotated between reading a book and watching Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. I climbed into his bed regardless of the selection and spent my evenings hearing him think out loud. Every so often, when I guessed the correct answer on the television, his…

Maracaibo — Maracaibo was rumored to be the coldest city in Venezuela because air conditioning blasted in every establishment. My parents purchased an apartment lacking wooden bay windows but drenched in the sunlight reflecting off Lake Maracaibo in the horizon. …

Farewell to Venezuela — The idea to immigrate to the United States was solely my mother’s. Hugo Chavez rose to the presidency in 1999 only seven years after leading an unsuccessful coup d’état against President Carlos Andrés Pérez. Waves of protests and national strikes sought to prevent Chavez’s ascent to Venezuela’s top office, yet…

Houston — In part due to global trading channels, my father managed to purchase the tastes of our land while living in America. In all earnestness, the cheese sold by Kroger always lacked flavor, its fruit tasted artificial and everybody’s coffee paled in comparison to our beans, proud cousins of Colombia’s. …

Prelude — My father’s last years of life were simply painful. My departure to college forced my parents to look directly at one other without distractions, unearthing years of resentment that previously went unspoken. …