Instrument of Transformation
A story of adaptation—a dance from words straight to your stomach and back.
Author’s Note: I’ll be sending out 1-2 longreads (1000+ word) essays a month on Friday. I hope you enjoy them!
Originally written in August 2023
“Writing Like Water for Chocolate changed Tita’s story at the same time as my destiny. Since then, writing has served me as an instrument of transformation and knowledge.”
—Laura Esquivel
This weekend I saw the ballet adaption of Laura Esquivel’s seminal book Like Water for Chocolate. I haven’t been to a dance performance in over ten years, but when I saw the local promotion at the mall, I immediately wanted to go. Firstly, I love the theater and haven’t been much because of that whole pandemic thing (if you recall.) Secondly, the book is filled with magical realism. At multiple times, Tita’s cooking transmogrifies her feelings through her food into those she feeds. In one well-known scene, the tears she sheds into a wedding cake she bakes causes all the guests indigestion, and in another, the desire she can’t bestow on the man she loves overwhelms her own sister through a dish of quails, causing the girl to tear off her clothes from the heat. I wanted to see what that would all look like on stage. (Spoiler: It was AMAZING!)
The quote above comes from the production notes; and Laura Esquivel is writing from the privilege of hindsight. The original inspiration for the story comes from an old family photograph; Esquivel was intrigued by the expression of an aunt she never knew. Since that moment and its first publication, Like Water for Chocolate has been in the world for over three decades. Tita’s struggle for autonomy gets adapted over and over; it continues to transform people—even the author herself.
Ok, now let’s talk about fear.
I am afraid.
The equation of creation is simple: the creator + the idea ≤ something tangible + those on whom the creation is bestowed.
The first three parts of the equation are often done alone. Here as a creator is where I am always afraid. Because my desire for it overwhelms me, it causes me indigestion. I am always jealous of others and in fear that my creative voice—my most authentic self—will never be fully autonomous. …. I am afraid that my desire will never be fulfilled. It scares me away from the act of creation itself. It scares me into other projects where I find more immediate success and validation. Yet it always lures me back because here is where I personally find transformation and self-knowledge.
As a young girl, I used to think creation was all about control in that I could be a small god of my imaginary world. But as time has passed, and I find myself happy to submit to it over and over again, I believe that it’s more an odd balance of discipline vs. spontaneity. The creator is a vessel through which the idea gets filter. As it leaves the vessel, it then finds new lives through the people it inspires. Then, they go forth. The works’ reach expands beyond the simple equation, and it becomes an artifact of humankind.
Those to whom it is bestowed.
When I’m not writing, I make websites and build digital products. It’s a lucrative career, and I currently teach graduate students how to do it. Often, my students are very young; they have gone directly from undergrad into graduate school. So they think very much in terms of attendance + learning + assignment = grade. The only part of the equation contingent on them is the first. In the latter three, I am there to help them as their teacher.
But in a recent class, I wanted them to think beyond the classroom. I wanted them to understand that what you write/create has consequence beyond a grade of A or B. That their final evaluation is more nebulous than finite terms of right or wrong in the syllabus. Rather, it hinges on their ability to tell a story to their audience—a paying client or employer. And that client is less concerned about their technical ability to execute a task. Instead, that client is only thinking in terms of him or herself: Why do I care? What will this do for me? How will this get me what I want?
Creativity is like this for those who enjoy it. I believe most artists eventually realize that it’s not enough for art to just be about you. Your work and you don’t want to live in a vacuum. Instead, we want an audience, and the fear multiples because the work needs to become about other people. It starts as your flesh, blood and mind baby all in one. But the only way for it to transcend across the equation sign is to allow other people to hold or discard it.
Now, let’s talk about hope.
I feel safe in saying that I doubt Laura Esquivel could’ve imagined how well Like Water for Chocolate would be received in the world. What an amazing accomplishment! We are all so lucky that she birthed her creation and bestowed it on us.
I have hopes of doing the same, but that hope is just as scary as the fear. I want my work to be Like Water for Chocolate now rather than thirty years ago as an idea just born from a photograph. So I get in my head, and I run away. Eventually, I distract myself by looking at the works of others—like going to the ballet. Then, I’m inspired! I love everything I saw on stage, and I am filled with fire to make it happen for me. So I return to the keyboard like a penitent. I close my eyes, then open them. I start to write.