Every ball needs refreshments. The Debutante Ball invites you to immerse yourself in Maria Alejandra Barrios Velez’s debut novel about food, family connections, and love trianges set against the blue Caribbean backdrop of Colombia.
Fear Just Means You Care
When I introduce myself, I always say the same thing: My name is María, and I'm a writer from Barranquilla, Colombia. That detail to me feels endemic to myself, like my name, I'm from Colombia. From the Caribbean, close to the sea, where the sun burns every day of the year, and the heat is so suffocating sometimes you can barely breathe.
I came to the country six years ago with a dream but without a plan. I was a teacher working for a university, teaching a lot of classes with over 100 students, and barely any time for myself, let alone writing. The plan was to go to a residency in Vermont, then go to NYC for a month to take a couple of writing classes, and then go back home. I never went home after that. I stayed, and that began the cycle of applying for work visas, attempting my hand at working in the US as an educator and a writing teacher. Reinventing myself and my work prospects and writing my first novel, what would become The Waves Take You Home.
The Waves Take You Home, previously called A Cilantro Wedding Bouquet, came to me in January 2020 in a coffee shop in Kingston when I was still unaware of everything that was to come.
I wrote about a woman who had arrived in Colombia after the death of her Abuela and had arrived at the family restaurant to see all the decay, a product of the passage of time and the abandonment of the beloved property. That year, I had enrolled in a year-long course for writing a novel and would spend the next twelve months on Zoom with strangers, tending to the deadlines we had imposed on each other. Around September, my Abuela's health in real life was declining. Cancer was spreading through her body, and I was unable to leave the United States due to the pandemic and my latest work visa that hadn't been stamped yet.
The urgent fear that I wouldn't get to say goodbye to her made its way into my writing. My debut, The Waves Take You Home, is about Violeta Sanoguera, a woman who, after living in NYC and building a life in the States chasing dreams and aspirations of being an illustrator, returns to Colombia after the death of her grandmother to realize she has inherited the family restaurant, and that her grandma's ghost has stayed behind, anxious to deliver a message.
I put many of the interests and elements I wanted to see in the story: my love for food and narratives centered around restaurants, family drama, love triangles, and the Caribbean. But the thing I wanted to explore the most ardently was our connection with those ancestors, with the people who dreamt hard for us, influenced us, and deposited their fears into us.
I thought long and hard about that: Where did the fears of my ancestors begin, and where did mine?
I battled with impostor syndrome while writing my first novel. English is my second language, and writing a first project feels like there's a lot you don't know, and at times, it feels like you'll never learn it. Like somehow, everyone else who has written a novel until now has it down to a science, and you're on your own. I wish I had a formula I could replicate for the next novel, but when it came down to it, it was a lot of sitting and staring at the blank page.
I was battling the same fears my character was facing. The fear of the unknown, the fear of not being enough, the fear of not honoring my ancestors, my name, the place where I'm from.
I sought solace in groups of writers of color, workshops, and classes. I kept writing and publishing short stories, looking for that connection with readers and writers. I realized that my fear was not mine alone. I leaned into something someone told me, fear sometimes just means you care. I made it my mantra. I feared because I wanted to tell this story right. I feared it because Vi's story, in many ways, mirrored mine. I feared because I ached for my ancestors. I feared because I knew that this story would be out in the world someday, and there's no fear without excitement.
Stories can be linear, but journeys don’t have to be. When I look back at what led me to write this novel, I realized that what fueled my words wasn’t all pretty or nice to talk about: Grief over losing my Abuela, grief and guilt over not being able to say goodbye, conjuring ghosts on a story from the desire of wanting to talk to her once more, grief over immigration hurdles and not knowing an end in sight, and the desire that characterizes the beginning of carving a dream. The dream of building a life for myself in a new country, on my own terms—yes, it is a lot. All at once.
And that’s what I want to leave you with today. It’s okay for fear and inspiration to live in the same room. In fact, I think it’s a perfect combination.
It’s great if your first novel contains so much, so many themes, that sometimes it feels like it’s bursting out of the seams. It’s great if your first book, or your first story or poem feels deeply personal. It’s okay to feel like sometimes you care too much. It’s okay to write in your second language, or in your first. No, you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. It’s okay if your first book that makes it out in the world is your third. Or your tenth.
At the end of the day, making it into the page even when our hands are shaking, and our hearts are breaking, can be a beautiful start. A start to a journey doesn’t need to be perfect or beautiful in order for it to be meaningful. In fact, I would argue that it is better if it’s not. All that matters is that you make that journey yours.
Connect with María
● Website: https://mariaalejandrabarriosvelez.com
Buy it Today! https://www.amazon.com/Waves-Take-You-Home-Novel/dp/166251395X
● Instagram: @mariaalebvelezwrites
● X: @MariaaleBave
Such a lovely essay. I’m eager to read more by Maria.
Beautiful! I can't wait to read it.