Growing up, my family didn’t just tell stories — they orchestrated novellas. The kind with dramatic pauses, over-the-top characters, and just the right amount of supernatural flair to keep you guessing. This wasn’t your average “back in my day” stuff; in my home, stories were currency, cautionary tales were entertainment, and every busted piñata or domino game ended with a lesson (whether you asked for it or not).
So naturally, when I started navigating adulthood — and later, the labyrinth of modern relationships — I realized something: my family lore was essentially my emotional toolkit. Every tradition, every wild story they told had hidden gems of wisdom buried underneath the exaggerated accents and sound effects. Let me explain.
The Legend of Tía Camila: Or, Why You Should Never Settle
First, let me paint you a picture of Tía Camila, my grandmother’s younger sister, an absolute firecracker who could light up a room with just a flick of her hoop earrings. She had an uncanny ability to make her suitors feel like the only man in the room — while simultaneously refusing to tolerate any nonsense. Family lore says she once turned down a proposal from a dentist in Havana because he interrupted her while she was telling a joke. She claimed you could tell a lot about someone who doesn’t know how to listen.
Her story is a family classic, retold every Christmas Eve over lechón asado. To outsiders, it seems like an embellished tale of sass. But to me, it’s a masterclass in self-worth. Tía Camila didn’t let herself shrink for anyone — not even someone who could’ve offered her a lifetime of free dental work. She knew what she brought to the table and never apologized for it.
Takeaway: Whether you’re considering a second date or deciding whether this is the person you want to Netflix-and-chill with for eternity, ask yourself: Do they truly listen to me? Like, really listen. If not, summon your inner Tía Camila — wear those earrings, tell your joke, and walk away.
Abuela’s Espiritista Days: Knowing What Feels Right, Even When It’s Not Logical
My abuela swore she could predict things. World events, yes, but also which one of my cousins was about to show up late for dinner. “I get feelings about people,” she’d say, leaning back in her chair with a knowing smirk. The family affectionately called her an espiritista, even though she wasn’t about to charge anyone for palm readings—thankfully. That would’ve been uncomfortably on-brand for South Florida.
But here’s the kicker: sometimes, she was right. Like the time she pulled me aside at age 16, took a long sip of café cubano, and said with alarming confidence, “The boy with the bad haircut? Don’t bother. He chews gum with his mouth open.” At the time, I rolled my eyes. But sure enough, three months later, I was dodging the boy with the worst table manners I’d ever encountered.
Flash forward to my adult life, and I’ve learned to trust those gut feelings. Not everything needs to be justified or overanalyzed. Sometimes you just know. That uncanny ability to “read the vibes" — whether it's ghostly intuition or finely tuned observation skills — helps you avoid wasting time on people who simply aren’t right for you.
Takeaway: Listen to that little voice in your head when someone seems off. Sure, they might not chew their gum like a cow, but if their energy feels weird, it probably is. Learn to trust your instincts. And maybe start drinking more coffee. It seems to help with clarity.
Domino Tables and the Art of the Slow Burn
Family domino games aren’t a pastime in Cuban households — they’re a contact sport. Picture this: overly competitive uncles slamming down tiles like they just solved world hunger, trash-talking cousins challenging your every move, all set against the backdrop of Marc Anthony serenading us from the speaker in the corner. Dominoes taught me two things.
First, patience is a virtue (even when someone keeps drawing tiles like they’re fishing for gold). And second, strategy matters. Far too often, I’ve seen people rush to play a double-nine for the big “ooh” moment, only to regret it when they’re left without options later. Dominoes are about pacing yourself, playing the small hands before you bring out the big guns.
The same rule applies to relationships. The slow burns, the ones that develop steadily over time, are almost always the most satisfying. They teach you to savor the small signs of compatibility instead of going all-in at the first spark. Sure, instant attraction is exciting — but it might just leave you with an empty hand later on.
Takeaway: Love (much like dominoes) isn’t about grand gestures all the time. It’s about learning to play the long game — finding someone who’s in it for the whole match, not just the highlight reels.
La Caja China and the Importance of Showing Up for the Big Moments
In Cuban culture, food is love, and nothing says “I love you” more than roasting an entire pig for your family. Every Thanksgiving, my family gathers around the caja china — basically an oversized aluminum box-slash-grill contraption that turns a whole pig into culinary perfection. It’s a process. The marinade prep starts days in advance. The roasting takes hours, with everyone taking turns basting it while swapping stories and drinking guarapo (sugarcane juice).
It’s a ritual that’s not just about the food; it’s about showing up. You don’t just eat the pig — you’re part of the journey from marinade to masterpiece. It’s communal, messy, and occasionally smoke-alarm-inducing.
Love is the same. Showing up matters. It’s not always glamorous or Instagram-worthy, but it’s those little moments — the ones leading up to the big celebration — that make the feast worthwhile. Relationships require attention, participation, and yes, basting through the metaphorical smoke of challenges.
Takeaway: The big moments (anniversaries, weddings, meeting-the-parents dinners) are awesome, but don’t neglect the prep work. Celebrate the times in between. Love is marinated in the day-to-day effort.
The Key to My Worldview: Embrace the Chaos
If there’s one thread tying together all my family stories, it’s this: life is beautifully unpredictable. Whether you’re navigating a first date or debating your life choices in the middle of the dairy aisle (as everyone inevitably does at some point), bringing a little humor and perspective from your family roots can be grounding.
In Little Havana, we didn’t have a polished definition of what “happily ever after” looked like — just a million ways to laugh, cry, and sometimes dance around the messiness of getting there. And isn’t that the whole point? Relationships, much like family lore, are about taking the memorable moments (and the mistakes) and crafting something uniquely yours.
So the next time you’re wondering what’s next for your love life, think back to your own stories — the characters, the lessons, the dramas that maybe only your family gets. Because within their chaos, you’ll probably find your clearest reflection.
End scene. Curtain call. And maybe a plate of flan to celebrate.
