From Colombia to New Jersey to Iowa, With Love

Soraya Raquel Lamilla Cuevas was born on March 11, 1969, in the city of Point Pleasant, New Jersey, part of the inextricable maze of counties, townships, and other assorted man-made institutions that make up the New York Metropolitan area. Her parents had recently immigrated from Colombia, and Soraya would spend most of the first eight years of her life there, only to return to the U.S. and and the New York-New Jersey monstrosity. Her parents seem to have believed in America, and if you study Colombia in the 1970's and 1980's, it's easy to see why.

Soraya had both an unnatural gift and interest in music. Wikipedia reports that she became fascinated at the age of five with an uncle who was playing "Pueblito Viejo", a coming-of-age song played on a tiple, a version of guitar played with three strings.

I'm sure the story is much more complicated than Wikipedia makes it sound, but somehow Soraya (as she came to be known in the music world) continued learning and performing music. Her ability to switch seamlessly between English and Spanish undoubtedly helped her in Hispanic-heavy eastern New Jersey. Nevertheless, Wikipedia glosses over this seemingly interesting plot point by saying, "Soraya worked as a flight attendant for a time before signing a contract with Polygram Records in 1994" (paraphrased).

Nevertheless, the albums got made. Her early work features a Spanish clearly influenced by English; for example, she uses the "v" sound in words like "vaya", whereas a monolingual speaker would say "baya" (the English "v" sound does not exist in standard Spanish). Her first three albums were made for both English and Spanish consumption.  The albums are not complicated musically; they depend heavily on catchy guitar licks around which Soraya sings lyrics about the insecurity and infatuation that nearly all of us have experienced. They could almost be about teen angst, except, I'm 41, and they still draw me in, perhaps moreso now than ever.

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I may have gone my whole life without experiencing Soraya. I followed music pretty seriously in the late 90's, but I have to confess that the Colombian-American singer passed me by. Then, I made five separate trips to Venezuela from 1999-2002, and out of that milieu--Ricardo Arjona, Mana, Aterciopelados, Shakira, Enanitos Verdes, Juanes--came a vague awareness of this Soraya. A friend of mine (gringo, no less!) made me a mix tape. Sonia did not know Soraya either but "De Repente" ("Suddenly"), a magical song about falling in love unexpectedly, made it into our wedding ceremony.

I said before that her songs are not complicated musically, but at the same time, Soraya's sing-a-long-friendly voice and her readily accessible lyrics led to lots of repeated listening. Particularly, after long days spent teaching, my mix tape of Soraya became the perfect Xanax-like medicine for coming down from that constant social buzz. Songs like "Amor en tus ojos" ("Love in your eyes") were reminiscent of her early work, while songs like "Lejos de aqui" ("Far away from here") began exploring a deeper, more melancholic side that resided in the singer, without losing the humanity and accessibility that had been her hallmark.

Then, suddenly, the songs stopped coming.

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Long before becoming a Soraya the singer/songwriter, Soraya the woman lost her mother, her maternal grandmother and maternal aunt to the scour of breast cancer. In 2000, at the age of 31, she found a lump during a routine self-inspection. She was already Level 3.

She fought. Her third album had been finished just before the diagnosis and after chemo, radiation and a mastectomy, came out with a fourth. The songs were more urgent, but just as human and vulnerable as ever. "Casi" ("Almost") is probably the most famous song from this time. but I'm partial to "Solo por ti" ("Only for you").

She shaved her head and became an advocate. She got sick again, got better, made a fifth album. A year later, on May 10, 2006, Soraya's body gave in. In a final statement to her fans, she said "I know that there are many questions without answers and that hope doesn't leave with me, and above all, that my mission does not end with my physical story."

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A few weeks ago, I found myself driving home from West Liberty after a 12 hour day of teaching and conferences with parents. I was tired and it was dark, very dark. I hate driving home in the dark. All around me, the lights of combines and tractor trailers were busy trying to get corn and soybeans out of the ground, oblivious to the 2013 Sonata moving towards home. A Soraya song popped up on my playlist and suddenly I knew what I needed. I switched my playlist to artist and let Soraya take me home. I don't remember the precise songs I listened to, but I sang along to every one, letting the melodic voice temporarily bring me into her world, which is really all of our worlds, one vulnerable lyric at a time.

I reflected, just for a second, on the oddities (miracles?) of the modern world, in which a Colombian singer raised in New Jersey could have such a profound effect on an Iowa boy driving home during harvest season, the bright lights for the tractors illuminating his way home. But just for a second. If you reflect on things too much, you tend to ruin them. Soraya's been gone 12 years (12 years?!), but I think she'd probably just be glad I her music means so much to me. I know I am.

Just another one of life's little miracles. I sang full blast all the way home. 

--Mark

"Hoy que vuelvo a tus lares
trayendo mis cantares
con el alma enferma
de tanto padecer...
Quiero pueblito viejo,
morirme aqui en tu suelo
bajo la luz del cielo
que un dia me vio nacer..."

"Now that I return to you
bringing my songs
soulsick from my suffering...
I want to, Old Town,
die here on your ground,
underneath the sunny sky,
that one day witnessed my birth..."

https://youtu.be/i1W2QcMLO_8