The Many Colors of US: Remembering 9/11
September 22, 2025 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as ancestors, complexity, cultures, Diversity
A Reflection On Diversity
by Veronica Jorge
Most people are a combination of various cultures, though I think their ancestors tended to confine their marriages to one continent. Mine didn’t.
I am a potpourri of Nicaraguan, Dominican, Middle-Eastern, French, Chinese, and African cultures, (hope I didn’t miss anyone); and born in Brooklyn, New York.
Often pressured to take sides and answer, ‘So what are you?’ I comprehended the complexity of diversity. But how could I choose which part of me is the most important? The combination of each nationality made me who I am, makes me whole.
Considering the current challenges that threaten to divide our country, memories carry me back to my childhood and to that pivotal moment of September 11, 2001.
Growing up in New York City my life revolved around a kaleidoscope of colors and nationalities. I was present each year at the Irish St. Patrick’s Day Parade. At age twelve I learned my first Israeli folk dance. I never missed the West Indian Day Parade. The glittery costumes of performers on stilts and musicians danced the length of Eastern Parkway, home to one of Brooklyn’s largest Caribbean and Orthodox Jewish communities.
During the holidays we baked cookies for the police officers and firefighters.
The neighborhood pizzeria was our favorite hangout. I can still see Tony’s can of Medaglia D’Oro coffee on the shelf. The best desserts were from Sinclair’s German bakery where I feasted on cinnamon-raisin rugelach. For newspapers and comic books, (yes, I know, I’m dating myself), we went to Kasim’s candy store, a Yemenite, who also made the best ice cream soda. Hungry? Tom’s Greek diner for a hamburger deluxe. Need a little bling bling? The Armenian jewelry store located two doors down near the Cuban dress shop. Then stop in at the Haitian photo studio where Roland would snap your picture and let you practice your high school French. Puerto Rican bodegas, Chinese, Dominican, Indian, Pakistani, Polish restaurants, and exquisite Russian delicacies; the list goes on. We had it all.
We were so many different faces from so many different places, but we were neighbors, friends, classmates, co-workers. We were a community. We were…we are Americans.
After the attack on the World Trade Center, we felt an emptiness of something lost, and unsure if the wound would heal. Our eyes watered. Strangers held hands. Our voices cracked singing the national anthem. A palpable patriotism enveloped us as we reached out to embrace and encourage one another and ourselves. Gratitude for our peace and freedom, and thanksgiving for the abundance America has provided for us filled our hearts.
Yet uncertainty clouded our vision. In a city where everyone carries backpacks, tote bags, over-size purses, and shopping bags, we feared the contents they might contain within while the slogan warned in our ears. ‘See something, say something.’
We stepped back from colleagues and classmates measuring the people we smiled at and lunched with every day. Do I truly know him? Can I trust her? How do they really feel about me?
My brown face worried I would be mistaken for a terrorist, yet my eyes doubted the integrity of the brown face from whom I had bought my daily paper for ten years.
These unplanned thoughts and fears that arose within us revealed the inconsistencies of our human nature. On the one hand; quick to help, befriend and love, yet so easily prone to judge, accuse, and look the other way.
Our nation has known its full share of prejudice and discrimination. We have all experienced it. Throughout our history each religious and ethnic group has skillfully practiced hostility against another. And yet, somehow, we have succeeded in overcoming many of these divisions. Our collective love of freedom always forces us to cry out against inequality and injustice wherever we see it, and especially when we discover it in ourselves. It is to our credit that despite the many conflicts our country has endured, race and ethnicity have not prevailed to divide us. At every level of society, from friendships, neighbors, and marriages to work, sports, and blended families, we find strength and unity in the shared values that make us unique. This unity, forged in the fires of adversity, cannot easily be dissolved.
Just as I cannot remove any of the cultures within me, for they are part of me and make me who I am, we as a nation, cannot separate ourselves from each other. We are joined together. It is who we are. Like the colorful and oddly shaped pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, we make a perfect fit that forms and reveals a magnificent creation.
Our family portrait called America.
Veronica Jorge
See you next time on October 22nd!
Originally published in The Morning Call Newspaper, August 13, 2021
A Slight Change of Plans—A Review by Veronica Jorge
August 22, 2025 by Veronica Jorge in category Book Reviews, Book Reviews by Veronica Jorge, Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as A Slight Change of Plans, Denise M. Colby, new release, review, Reviewed by Veronica Jorge
A Slight Change of Plans
Best-laid Plans Book 2
Denise M. Colby
Scrivening’s Press
2025
ISBN 978-1- 64917-470-3
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…. Well, sort of.
Last summer, in Denise M. Colby’s, When Plans Go Awry, Book One of the Best-laid Plans books, we met Olivia Carmichael in the small ranching community of Washton, California, (you see, there really is a ranch), where Olivia had fled to escape a scandal and start a new life as a school teacher. As luck would have it, love loomed on the horizon for her with Luke Taylor. To get those dreamy details, you’ll have to read the book, and the review I posted on this site July 22, 2024.
In this second book, A Slight Change of Plans, Olivia is still in Washton and welcomes Jenny Millard, her friend and fellow teacher, into the community, helping her to settle in. But for Jenny, settling in means more than just finding a job. Although she has travelled far from home, the miles and the distance have not helped to leave the rejection behind. How can she ever erase or put to rest all of the years of hurt and her wounded heart that won’t heal?
The past is not so easy to shake loose as both women discover.
Jenny makes a connection with another newcomer, Ren Lyman, a blacksmith, and a loner due to the scars of his own life. She is strongly attracted to him, but is not sure she can overcome her past and learn to trust, much less love.
A story of second-chances, hope, friendship, gratitude, and yes, the redeeming power of love, A Slight Change of Plans, satisfies at many levels. As the title suggests, things may not always work out the way we plan or expect. Colby encourages us to believe that there is a good plan for our lives, and a Master Planner who knows how to put all of the pieces together in the right place if we would only trust Him and let Him.
See you next time on September 22nd!
Veronica Jorge
Other Books Reviewed by Veronica Jorge
READ YOUR WORLD by Veronica Jorge
July 22, 2025 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as Allentown Art Museum, Girl Balancing Knowledge, Librarys
The world’s treasures, many of them at your fingertips, in the pages of a book.
Such was my experience during a recent museum visit when I discovered an inspiring and uplifting work of art, Girl Balancing Knowledge, by the sculptor Yinka Shonibare. A British-Nigerian artist, he explores themes of cultural identity in a globalized world. The bright colors of the African Ankara fabrics he uses in his pieces are appealing and strikingly eye catching.
As you can see in this picture, the sculpture depicts a girl standing on one foot with a pile of books on her back begging the viewer to consider the following. The challenges children face to obtain an education. The joy of learning. The ability of children to learn and their amazing versatility to navigate through complex and difficult lives.
Relatives and friends from other countries often speak about the wonder of America’s libraries and bookstores. Books are available on any topic to borrow or to even buy and keep for your very own. Not so in all parts of the world, even in this day and age.
Girl Balancing Knowledge made me value books all the more increasing my eagerness to hear voices from other cultures, to discover the ways in which they use words, to enter into and to experience the worlds they inhabit, to see the lives they live and gain new perspectives; all from the pages of the books that they write, and the stories they have to tell.
I know that every reading journey will be a flowering new discovery.
Veronica Jorge
See you next time on August 22nd!
2 2 Read moreVeronica Jorge: Writers Mentorship Program, Showcase
June 22, 2025 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as Crushed Like Sugarcane, excerpt, Latinx in Publishing, Showcase, Veronica Jorge
A Slice of Orange started in 2006 as a group of authors from Orange County, California. We have expanded to include authors from around the globe–from the Europe, all across the US, to New Zealand. Our authors include the multi-published and writers at the beginning of their publishing career. In addition to authors, we have featured blog posts from editors, PR professionals, and cover designers.
Veronica Jorge writes a monthly column for A Slice of Orange titled Write from the Heart, where she talks about writing, publishing and reading. She also includes honest but nice reviews of an interesting array of books from children’s picture books to historical fiction to romantic suspense. We hope you enjoy this Showcase of Veronica by The Latinx Writers Mentorship Program.
Veronica Jorge — Latinx in Publishing
The Latinx in Publishing Writers Mentorship Showcase Series features excerpts by our Class of 2024 mentees from the projects they’ve developed with the guidance of their mentors.
The LxP Writers Mentorship Program is an annual volunteer-based initiative that offers the opportunity for unpublished and/or unagented writers who identify as Latinx (mentees) to strengthen their craft, gain first-hand industry knowledge, and expand their professional connections through work with experienced published authors (mentors).
Below is an excerpt from one of our 2024 mentees, Veronica Jorge, from her project, Crushed Like Sugarcane, based on her Chinese ancestor, Zhou Zhijian, who left China to work in the sugarcane fields of Cuba where he was enslaved. In this portion, newly arrived and unwilling to accept the situation, he decides to escape:
Zhijian sat in the slave barracoon.
His bunk mate, Gong Mang, nudged him, “What’s eating away at you?
“My family’s waiting to hear from me.”
Gong Mang broke the news to him. “We are not allowed to write home.”
Incredulous, Zhijian asked why.
Gong Mang enlightened him. “To prevent us from writing about our imprisonment.
If the reality of our condition reaches China, the lies of the foreigners will be exposed.”
Zhijian bolted up, eyes open wide. “What about the pay promised in our contracts? When do we receive it? How can I send my family the money if I cannot write to them?”
Gong Mang rested a hand on Zhijian’s shoulder. “Easy brother.” He waited a moment, then whispered, “You won’t see any money.”
Zhijian stared back blankly while Gong Mang explained.
“The mighty man pays, but that crook of an overseer keeps most of it. Although sometimes Diego does give us a little to buy clothing or smokes, we have to buy from his cronies. They make us pay through the nose.”
A-Hing joined the conversation. “It’s impossible to save enough money to get back home. As if they would allow us to leave.”
“True,” added Mang Gi, once your contract is up they force you to renew it.”
Zhijian swallowed hard, afraid to even ask the next question. “How long have you been here?” He searched each man’s face. No one answered. Zhijian’s blood froze. He choked out his next words. “Haven’t any of you tried to escape?”
The men hung their heads.
“Sure,” answered Gong Mang. “Usually the Africans. We seem to prefer suicide.” He pointed to three men sitting in a corner. “Or indulging in yen shee su and smoking ourselves into opie heaven. When you die, they just toss your bones into a pit and burn them together with those of horses and oxen. They need the charred mixture to make their sugar.”
Aghast, Zhijian shuddered. “We have to get out of here! We have to warn our brothers back home. Tell the emperor what is happening.”
The other men in the compound who had been listening laughed.
“Sure. We’ll just stroll right out of here whenever you say.”
Zhijian shouted at them. “Don’t any of you want to get out?”
“We’re polite, so please, after you.” They cackled.
“Ignore them,” urged Gong Mang. “Besides, where would we go? Even if we somehow did make it back to China, do you really think that after all the time we’ve been gone our wives will still be waiting for us?
The reply left Zhijian dumbfounded.
Gong Mang and Mang Gi moved away and joined the smokers and gamblers.
Only A-Hing remained. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “I know the lay of the land.”
Huddled together, they whispered their escape plan.
“Tomorrow, after dinner,” said Zhijian. “We’ll need our strength.”
“Remember, count thirty seconds,” said A-Hing, “then follow close behind me. We’ll go toward the railway shunting yard, cross the tracks, then head for the Yumuri River. There are many caves there where we can easily hide.”
Sleep fled from Zhijian. All night he wondered if escape was futile and questioned why no one had ever tried. Was there something they were not telling him?
When the meal trough came, the food stuck in Zhijian’s throat. Doubt strangled his hope of success, and pulverized last night’s eagerness. “I don’t think I can go through with this,” he whispered to A-Hing.
“Like you said, Zhijian, we have to try. It’s our one chance to get home.”
Zhijian reached the building that housed the grinding machine. He heard voices approaching and ran back. Turning the corner of the building, he flattened his body against the wall.
His breath came in gasps.
His mouth dried up.
His ears pounded.
The voices faded.
Then silence.
Inch by inch, he edged his body along the wall, turned the corner, and found himself face to face with the overseer. Zhijian froze.
Diego’s arm rolled back forming a V-shape from hand to shoulder like a sling shot. His fist flew out like a rock and smashed into Zhijian’s face.
Falling backward, it seemed like a long time before he hit the ground. He was oblivious to the beating that followed.
Zhijian awoke; Diego looming over him.
Diego pointed to Zhijian on the floor of the slave compound where all could see the bloody mess. “This is what happens to those who try to escape.” His eyes bored into each man. Then, he kicked Zhijian and stomped out.
Gong Mang rushed forward to help his friend. Zhijian tried to speak; his slurred words unintelligible through his swollen mouth. Gong Mang leaned in close and made out the raspy question, “Did he get away?”
Gong Mang thought he must be delirious then he realized the question referred to A-Hing. “Yes,” answered Gong Mang.
Zhijian exhaled. “Then it is possible.” Next time I will make it, he said to himself. Next time I’ll get home to my wife and child.
Veronica Jorge is now represented by Charlotte Sheedy of Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency, having met during one of our Writers Mentorship Program events exclusive to the mentees. Congratulations, Veronica!
Manager, Educator, and former High School Social Studies teacher, Veronica Jorge credits her love of history and books to the potpourri of cultures that make up her life, and to her upbringing in diverse Brooklyn, New York. Her genres of choice are historical fiction where she always makes new discoveries; literary works because she loves beautiful writing; and children’s picture books because there are so many wonderful worlds yet to be imagined and visited. Veronica currently resides in Macungie, PA, but she’s still a Brooklyn girl at heart. How sweet it is!
Connect with her on Facebook @VeronicaJorgeauthor.
MIRROR, MIRROR: A WRITER’S REFLECTION BY VERONICA JORGE
May 22, 2025 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as art, reflection, revelation, words, writing
The painter stares at the canvas waiting for an image to appear. Patiently, he waits until a faint imprint of a landscape or a face emerges. He then grabs a brush and dabs it into the paint on his palette, making haste to reach the canvas with his brush to capture the image. The artist contrasts shade and light. He tightens or increases space. His brush moves rhythmically or scratches across the linen to make the colors and texture warm or cool. The work he renders leaves the viewer feeling airy or heavy.
That’s how I feel when I write. I stare at a blank page as though something secret lay hidden deep within the fibers and emptiness, that by patiently waiting will reveal itself to me. So I wait…until a word, a phrase, or a picture appears.
Could it be that the blank screen or journal page is a powerful mirror able to enlighten my own ideas and though
ts? Is it I who write on the paper; or does the paper draw out what is inside of me?
My words pour out and my hand races across the page. My mind tries to keep up with both for they seem to move of their own volition depicting moments dark and light. Paragraphs heavy laden with emotion yield and give way to joy and humor, while spacing slows or hurries the reader along.
Finished, I sit back exhausted and, ignoring my headache, I read what I wrote. Awestruck, I ask, “Where did this come from?”
My trembling fingers turn the leaf to uncover a new blank page and my sweaty palm smooths the journal sheet flat. Pen in hand, I sit ready to capture another treasure. My eyes dilate seeking and waiting for new wonders to behold.
See you next time on June 22nd.
Veronica Jorge
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