The Courage to Succeed: A true American Dream; Book Series - Chapter 1

 

Chapter 1:

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, but understanding where we come from provides the map for the path we take." — Unknown

In the beginning

It was a Friday, November 5th, 1982, in Sincelejo-Sucre, Colombia, South America. According to my mother's account, she went for what she believed to be a routine prenatal appointment. She was about 34 weeks pregnant at the time. The OBGYN doctor, Dr. Blanco, examined her and delivered an urgent message: "Are you ready to have this baby? Let's do it; the baby needs to come out yesterday. Your blood pressure is extremely high." The news was sudden, like a bolt from the blue. That very evening, she underwent an emergency C-section. I was born around 5 PM.

Brimming with joy at my arrival, my father brought mariachis to the hospital and serenaded us with the song "Eres mi Niña Bonita"—"You are my beautiful girl." His happiness was palpable, a testament to the strength of our family's love. Meanwhile, I was placed in an incubator, having arrived a bit more prematurely than expected, barely 34 weeks into gestation. My mother was filled with fear as she looked at my tiny, fragile form. She cried, worried I might not make it. Even my three-year-old cousin Diana, who came to visit, remarked on my long, skinny legs.

My early years were filled with the vibrant colors and sounds of our small town, Sincelejo-Sucre. I grew up surrounded by the rich cultural heritage of Colombia, from the lively music in the streets to the delicious aromas of our traditional dishes. My parents, Rocio and Manuel, instilled in me a deep appreciation for our Spanish heritage and the importance of family. Later on in this book, you may sense an ironic tone. The story of my name is a tale of creativity and fate. My father found a book or pamphlet with the French name Rosabelle. Thinking he could give it a Spanish twist, he removed the "-le," creating Rosabel. Later, he discovered that Rosabel was an English name. To add more layers to my identity, my mother chose Virginia as my middle name, another English name. Thus, I became Rosabel Virginia Gonzalez Quinones—a mix of English and Spanish names, with Gonzalez and Quinones reflecting my Spanish heritage. Quinones was a rare last name in our small town that stood out even in the local phone book.

Allow me to tell you about the most wonderful woman I have ever met—my mother, Rocio, whose name means "morning dawn." Affectionately known as "la seño" or "the teacher," she began her career as an elementary school teacher, proudly serving the government for 34 years. But her talents extended beyond the classroom; she was also a well-known dress decorator in our small town. Towards the end of her life, she pursued a master's degree in arts, showcasing her dedication to lifelong learning and personal growth. Her commitment to education and self-improvement has always been a guiding light in my life. My mother was one of the founders of the elementary school where she served for many years, and her name remains etched in the school hymn and emblem—a testament to her lasting impact.

Rocio, my mother, was a woman whose heart was as vast as the sky, and her capacity for kindness seemed limitless. People often said, "She would take bread out of her mouth to give to others," perfectly capturing her selflessness and generosity. She was the kind of person who would give everything she had to help someone in need, even if it meant sacrificing her comfort or well-being. Her acts of kindness and generosity were not just gestures, they were a warm embrace that touched the lives of everyone she met.

I sincerely believe my mother was a beautiful soul, carrying within her a profound kindness and warmth that touched everyone around her. However, she was also shaped by her circumstances, and in many ways, she was misguided. Her life was heavily influenced by the dysfunction and instability of the family she grew up in—a family marked by conflict, broken relationships, and a lack of nurturing support.

Despite her intrinsic goodness, her chaotic upbringing left her without the guidance or resources to navigate life's challenges healthily. This dysfunction likely influenced her decisions, relationships, and perhaps even how she saw herself and the world around her.

Her journey was one of contrasts—on one hand, she was a source of love and light; on the other, she was burdened by the scars of her past. This duality shaped her life and had a significant impact on mine. I honor her for the beauty she brought into the world, even as I recognize the struggles that held her back. Understanding her story has helped me appreciate the complexity of her character and the remarkable resilience she showed in the face of adversity—a strength that continues to inspire me and will surely inspire you.

Her mother married at a very young age, between 12 and 14, to a man in his early 30s. She described her relationship with her husband as a transaction her father made; she was given in marriage to this man in exchange for animals and land. She had a total of 14 children, of which only 11 survived. My mother had ten siblings, though the youngest daughter committed suicide at a very young age. The stories of her family dynamics were nothing short of terrible, and I won't go into detail here.

I often witnessed my mother cry, her tears revealing a deep longing to be loved and cherished in a way she never fully received. She believed she needed to buy love and affection, often giving gifts to earn the love and respect she desperately sought. This belief, likely born out of her unmet emotional needs, led her to equate giving with being valued by others.

Sadly, some family members took advantage of her generosity, exploiting her kindness for their gain. I could see this happening, and it deeply troubled me. There were moments when I felt our roles were reversed—that I was raising my mother. I could see what was wrong, and I felt compelled to step in, to try to right the wrongs that others imposed on her.

In many ways, my mother was like a child—vulnerable and easily swayed—and I felt an overwhelming need to protect her. This responsibility forced me to be solid and grown-up in situations where she couldn't be. Even at a young age, I carried a strong sense of duty to shield her from the harm others might cause. The need to protect her often manifested as aggression, making me a very fierce little girl, ready to defend her at any cost.

My mother was a remarkable individual in appearance and talent. Her undeniable beauty went beyond the physical, and her artistry and creativity were exceptional. She had a unique gift for crafting exquisite items, turning ordinary materials into beautiful and intricate works of art. Her skill was so impressive that people often praised her for her "lovely hands," acknowledging her creations' delicate and refined nature. Her artistic talents were indeed something to be admired.

In addition to her artistic talents, my mother was also an exceptional teacher. She had a natural ability to connect with her students, earning them respect and admiration. Her dedication to teaching and her ability to inspire her students made her a beloved figure in the educational community. She was admired for her creative skills and commitment to nurturing and educating others, leaving a lasting impact on those fortunate enough to learn from her.

Her beauty wasn't just skin-deep; it radiated from within her soul. Rocio had a warmth and gentleness that drew people to her—a light that shone brightly despite the darkness that often surrounded her life. Sadly, her life was marked by suffering and hardship. She was a victim of the circumstances and the time she lived in, enduring unimaginable abuse at the hands of those who were supposed to protect and love her—first from her own family and later from her husband. Even the friends she trusted turned away from her, leaving her to face her struggles alone.

Despite the pain and betrayal she experienced, my mother never lost her faith in humanity. She never let bitterness take root in her heart or let anger define her. Instead, she continued to see the good in others, believing in their better nature even when life had given her every reason to doubt it. Her kindness and generosity were not just qualities she possessed; they were the essence of her identity. Rocio gave of herself freely and fully, often without expecting anything in return. She loved deeply and without reservation, touching the lives of those around her in profound and lasting ways.

Though my mother's life was tragically cut short, her legacy endures in the hearts of those who were fortunate enough to know her. She was a beacon of light in a world that can often be cruel, a reminder that even in the face of suffering, it is possible to hold on to kindness and live with a heart full of love. Her story is a testament to the strength of the human spirit, a powerful example of how one person's compassion can leave an indelible mark on the world. Rocio may be gone, but her impact on the lives she touched will never be forgotten.