I didn’t grow up spending the holidays in El Salvador.
I first visited El Salvador when I was three but after that, it became too expensive to travel for a family of four.
So instead of memories, I had stories.
Stories that shaped how I imagined the holidays back home.
I grew up hearing how my Abuelito Vigil invited every family from their cantón to celebrate together. How my Abuelita set up long banquet tables that stretched across their home, making sure there was enough food for everyone.
Families would show up in their best outfits, eat tamales and panes, celebrate together, and fill the night with fireworks.
And the part I always loved most:
My Abuelito buying sacks of toys — little dolls and toy soldiers — so that every child received a Christmas gift. No one was left out.
These stories were vivid, warm, and full of heart.
They painted a beautiful picture of a holiday I never got to experience myself.
When you don’t grow up visiting your parents’ homeland, the holidays exist in this strange in-between space.
You know the traditions through stories, but you don’t have the memories.
You hear about the food, the noise, the joy… but your own holidays looked different.
You feel connected, but also disconnected — like you’re part of something you’ve never fully stepped into.
There’s a quiet grief in that.
Not dramatic — just a small ache you carry without always having the words for it.
I didn’t step into my Salvadoran identity until adulthood.
Growing up, I didn’t have a strong Salvadoran community around me.
I grew up in a predominantly white school and in a predominantly Mexican barrio.
Like many first-gen kids, I learned to blend in.
To adapt.
To navigate the world by softening and hiding the parts of me that felt “different.”
But the older I got, the more I realized I was craving the very things I didn’t grow up with.
I wanted connection.
I wanted meaning.
I wanted to feel like I belonged.
When I began my journey of reconnecting with my roots, I had to find intentional ways to weave my cultura into the holidays. We already ate the typical Salvadoran foods — tamales, panes con pollo, ponche, quesadilla — but lately I’ve been looking for deeper ways to bring in connection.
Learning more Salvadoran dishes.
Playing música that makes my home feel warm and familiar (those Aniceto Molina cumbias!)
Decorating my table with pieces handmade in El Salvador.
Wearing pieces from El Salvador to keep me warm and close to home.
I’m learning how to reconnect with the parts of my culture I didn’t grow up fully experiencing — and it’s been one of the most grounding and healing pieces of my journey.
These little things help me build a bridge to something I didn’t get to experience firsthand.
They help me feel a connection I didn’t always know how to access.
For a long time, I felt like I wasn’t “Salvadoran enough.”
I didn’t spend holidays running around the cantón.
I didn’t sit at those banquet tables my Abuelita prepared.
I didn’t grow up watching my grandfather hand out dolls and toy soldiers on Christmas Eve.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
Identity isn’t only about what you lived — it’s also about what you carry, what you choose to honor, and what you’re reclaiming now.
Belonging isn’t something you earn.
It’s something you return to.
It’s something you grow into.
It’s something you get to define.
Salutierra is a huge part of my healing and reconnection.
It’s my way of honoring my roots, supporting artisans in El Salvador, and building community in the ways I always wished existed when I was younger.
Every piece carries the spirit of the stories I grew up hearing — generosity, craft, family, connection.
Especially during the holidays.
And I think about others like me — those who didn’t grow up celebrating the holidays in El Salvador, but who are reconnecting later, rebuilding traditions, or creating brand new ones.
I may not have childhood memories of Christmas in El Salvador, but I’m building new ones now.
Ones rooted in intention, connection, and pride.
And if you’re in that same space — navigating the in-between, reconnecting with your cultura, or creating traditions you didn’t grow up with — I hope you know you’re not alone.
You don’t need the memories to honor the roots.
You don’t need to have grown up there to claim your cultura.
You get to build your own version of home, in your own way, in your own timing.
- Rachael Vigil Hernandez