Chapter 1 – In the Beginning
“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
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, 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 hit her like a bolt from the blue. That very evening, she underwent an emergency C-section. I was born around 5 PM.
My father, brimming with joy at my arrival, 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 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 traditional dishes. My parents, Rocio and Manuel, instilled in me a deep appreciation for our Spanish heritage and the importance of family—though later 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. In our small town, Quinones was a rare last name 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 renowned dress designer in our small town. Toward 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.