I am getting married in mere days.
DAYS!
The 27th to be exact.
I can't even believe it.
Outfit Formula: Easy Spring Olive Pants
1 day ago
Hello!
22 December 2009
01 December 2009
Line
They're talking about salsa and merengue, the songs the "old heads" like, the ones that get them out on the dance floor.
"You know she be jammin' to that in her car, when she's cleaning on Saturdays, with the mapo"
"She's from Puerto Rico; she's a hick. So you know she does."
And there it is, the line is drawn, the us-them divide, the island-mainland divide. To these kids - second, third, fourth generation Philly Ricans - I am the island. I was born in Puerto Rico, I eat the food, listen to the music, believe in the language.
But on the island? On the island, I'm so mainland. Shoes too casual, hair too wild, speaking English much too easily.
The familiarity of the push and pull invades. It's all in lighthearted fun, but my heart aches for the homeland I've lost, for the land which will never really be my own. And my heart aches also for the tightrope, for its existence, and for those who live on it - men and women like me who are neither here nor there.
But here's the thing: lately my heart aches most for those who live on either side of that divide, those who are safely island, safely mainland, because they will never know the sweetness of Spanglish - true Spanglish - on the tongue. They will never know the relief of return on both ends of the flight that links the two places. Those on the island will never know the way it feels to wake up in the morning aching for the tropical heat and salty air, la nostalgia aguda que forma el carácter e inspira el corazón. Those on the mainland will never know what it feels like to live in perpetual summer, to live as part of a unit instead of wandering alone; nunca reconocerán el destino y la mano de Dios de la misma manera que la vemos los de la isla.
So I'm a hick - the island Puerto Rican - and at the same time I'm la americana.
And today, looking at my students, pondering the unique situation of the third generation of Brown folks, I felt grateful for my place on the tightrope.
And they're right: I do jam to some salsa in my car.
"You know she be jammin' to that in her car, when she's cleaning on Saturdays, with the mapo"
"She's from Puerto Rico; she's a hick. So you know she does."
And there it is, the line is drawn, the us-them divide, the island-mainland divide. To these kids - second, third, fourth generation Philly Ricans - I am the island. I was born in Puerto Rico, I eat the food, listen to the music, believe in the language.
But on the island? On the island, I'm so mainland. Shoes too casual, hair too wild, speaking English much too easily.
The familiarity of the push and pull invades. It's all in lighthearted fun, but my heart aches for the homeland I've lost, for the land which will never really be my own. And my heart aches also for the tightrope, for its existence, and for those who live on it - men and women like me who are neither here nor there.
But here's the thing: lately my heart aches most for those who live on either side of that divide, those who are safely island, safely mainland, because they will never know the sweetness of Spanglish - true Spanglish - on the tongue. They will never know the relief of return on both ends of the flight that links the two places. Those on the island will never know the way it feels to wake up in the morning aching for the tropical heat and salty air, la nostalgia aguda que forma el carácter e inspira el corazón. Those on the mainland will never know what it feels like to live in perpetual summer, to live as part of a unit instead of wandering alone; nunca reconocerán el destino y la mano de Dios de la misma manera que la vemos los de la isla.
So I'm a hick - the island Puerto Rican - and at the same time I'm la americana.
And today, looking at my students, pondering the unique situation of the third generation of Brown folks, I felt grateful for my place on the tightrope.
And they're right: I do jam to some salsa in my car.
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