El Cumpleaños de Abuela
Today is my grandmother's birthday, my mother’s mother. She’s a Sagittarius, and I’m a Leo, but we share more than the stars might suggest. At first glance, we seem like opposites: she’s a reserved and enigmatic woman, while I’m more open, less inclined to keep secrets. Yet beneath the surface, the mirror reflects our commonalities: a shared love for art—painting, to be exact—and an insecurity we both disguise with vanity.
As a child, my grandmother would take me to art galleries. In those spaces, my small world bloomed with color and form, leaving imprints on my imagination I didn’t yet understand. She taught me to see beauty in the details, to realize that art isn’t just something to look at but something to feel. It was an adventure for the soul—one of many we shared—because if there’s one thing we have in common, it’s our fearless pursuit of our goals, no matter the outcome.
My grandmother, Elma, was born on November 26, 1946, in Puerto Cortés, Honduras, but grew up in Tela, where the sea breeze cradles dreams. She worked for many years as a secretary at a customs agency and later became a merchant, juggling numbers and goods while harboring a heart full of stories. Emotionally, she is the family member I resemble most. We share a quiet determination: we never ask for help and always find a way to figure things out on our own.
She has been married three times—once to a Gabbe, then a Botto, and finally a Boggio. It seems she has a taste for names that echo like melodies. She has four children: two sons and two daughters, and seven grandchildren, of which I am one. Our bond, though built across distances, is unshakable. In the late 1980s, she left Honduras to seek new horizons in New York, eventually settling in Miami, where life brought us together time and again.
My childhood is painted with memories of visiting her during summers and winters. Sometimes, it was difficult—there were no children to play with, and my days were a mix of restrictions and lessons. Yet, in that environment, I learned about history, literature, and film, as though she were patiently preparing my mind for the world. She has always believed in me, her support a steady beacon, especially now at 23 years old. When I argue with my mother or stumble through the chaos of love, she listens. Her advice isn’t always what I expect, but it’s always what I need.
Today, I think her greatest wish is to return to Honduras. She dreams of spending her time caring for her sick son, making up for the years lost across borders.
Happy birthday, Abuelita Elma.
Thank you for the art, the strength, and the life you’ve passed down to me.
