Cositas Así

Systems

2011-09-29T11:55:00.000-05:00

Something happened this week. There was a conversation about this cupcake protest and someone mentioned to me that if we all would just stop paying attention to race, racism wouldn't even be an issue. That the way to fight the system is to prove to people that we are more than our skin color. Fight the stereotypes, be successful, and then "they'll" like and accept us.
I didn't respond. I'd already told the person we'd just agree to disagree, but that comment? It's been bugging me since because people are still looking at my skin and my name and my sex as if they're bad things, as if they're the opposite of privilege. The thing is that if it's true that ignoring it and doing the "right thing" will prevent this treatment, I'm not sure where I've failed.

I've spent a lot of my life proving people wrong:

Third grade rolls around and they ask me to take a test to show that I speak English. Yeah, I'll do it. Let's ignore the fact that last year I took a test that put me in my elementary school's gifted and talented program; I'll go ahead and prove to you that I have mastered your language.

In middle school, I was in a special program for gifted and talented students and my English teacher told me that I was the smartest minority girl she'd ever taught. Um, what?

High school teachers and counselors steered me away from advanced classes - not in my HS in Germany, just the one in VA. I didn't listen, and took the classes anyway. I was in NHS and German Honor Society. Oh, and I studied German in high school, because my parents weren't going to let me study a language I already knew and spoke and it just made sense.
In my spare time, I get harassed by cops for walking around with my (Latino) friends at a football game and / or attending my (Latino) church youth group.

College. I came in with something like eighteen credits approved. I was part of my school's Honors program. I made dean's list almost every semester after my freshman year and graduated with a cumulative GPA of 3.7 or something like that. No "C's get degrees" for me. Oh, and my freshman year a girl flat out tells me, "I don't like you because you're Puerto Rican." Mmmkay... Thanks?
I graduated in five years, but only because I took a year and a half off in the middle: one year to volunteer and a semester to earn some money while working for the federal government.

I worked for three years as a Spanish teacher at a public school. I replied tactfully or shut up when my colleagues and / or superiors made comments about our immigrant students, or the "barrio" by the ESL classrooms (I wish I weren't quoting), or when people told me Puerto Ricans didn't know how to speak. Meanwhile, my Latino students were discouraged from taking advanced courses, being guided, instead to Auto Mechanics and Child Care. Security barged in to accuse one of my kids of vandalizing a bathroom when he'd been in my room the whole time. I saw two of my students being roughed up by cops for walking around in the evening. Oh, and this happened.

I went to grad school, and did really well, surprisingly enough. I cried my way through a Cross Cultural Skills class. I fell in love with a white man. I got stared at - not in a friendly way - when I went to the grocery store in my very white neighborhood. I was pulled over because a cop didn't think I should've been in my neighborhood at night.

I taught in Philly. I was told that "some students" shouldn't be held to the same standards, because, really, when were they ever going to use the information I was teaching them? Seriously?

So what I'm saying is that there's a flaw in this type of logic. I've done the right things. I'm well educated, well traveled, well read. I'm intelligent, middle-class, decently attractive. If I'm following the logic that being successful will make people ignore my skin and my heritage, then I should not be dealing with racism at all. Not ever. Not in my life, not in the lives of the people around me.
And yet, I've been yelled at to leave my own country, I've been told that my language isn't worth learning, I've dealt with the reality of being in a relationship with a white man, and I've been utterly exhausted by the dynamics of oppression.

What I'm saying is, I've played by the rules. I've done it even though it's hurt me and I sometimes wonder why I've had to give in and shut up and go along in order to be successful. Does it sometimes make me feel like I've sold out? Yeah, sometimes. But do I also think that I'm subverting the system in some way? Yeah. Put me in your stereotype box, sucker: I listen to country, salsa, and hip hop on the same playlist. But those rules? Those rules did NOT undo the system. It's going to take a lot more than that for me to, oh, I don't know, be paid the same amount as a white man in the same field.
What I'm saying is that I'm not going to feel guilty for believing that there's a system at play here and that said system goes beyond individual actions and beliefs. It's about the fact that people will react to my last name before they react to my educational background. It's about the fact that even though I have zero plans to have children, possible employers are worried about how soon I'm going to want to be on maternity leave. And I've done what I can, I've fought for myself and I've fought for others and I'll keep fighting.

It still matters. It's still important to note our privileges because we all have them. And you know what else is important? Finding ways to shed those privileges, or to subvert them, at least. And it's important that in the areas where we're at a disadvantage that we push and push and fight. And there will be tears and exhaustion and pain, but it's important. Because the sooner we recognize that there's a deeply flawed system at work, the sooner we can begin to live in opposition to it.

Remembering Ayer

2011-09-11T20:39:00.000-05:00

I feel like I've been a different person since we moved to Costa Rica. I feel like I don't really know myself, like I can't trust myself. That's a hard thing. Part of it - most of it - is my self-diagnosed seasonal affective disorder; the cold and rain are really getting to me.
Another part is just missing. Missing family and friends, missing hot water, missing the little things....
The rest?
Well, let's just say that I keep a lot of things inside. I keep going. Al mal tiempo, buena cara. Lift your chin, throw your shoulders back, and walk with a confidence you don't feel. It's hard; it's supposed to be hard. Get over it and get on with it.
So this is what I do, day after day, month after month.
This isn't about me. The work isn't for me. So I push this aside and keep going. And today talking to B about this, he makes me wonder if this is the right way to go about it or not. I don't know.
I don't know.

I stumbled across this post - nearly four years old - and remembered how hard that time was. This time is also hard. Really hard. And the poem? It still speaks to me. So here it is again:

Ayer - historia de un vuelo

Ayer lo vi.
Ayer, domingo, aunque él no lo sabía.
Lo vi con las alas estrechadas
flotando sobre las corrientes de aire que yo
jamás conoceré.
Lo vi y en ese momento,
con el viento fresco de otoño molestándome los ojos,
sentí una nostalgía tan profunda.
Nostalgía casi inapropiada
porque nunca he conocido lo que se siente
allá.
Arriba.
Lejos de todo, de todos, de la gravedad que me mantiene aquí
estancada.
Pero en ese momento, viéndolo flotando
sin mover esas alas enormes,
qué celos me han entrado.
Es lo único que anhelo.
Lo único que anhelé ayer, lo único que sigo anhelando:
flotar
sobre esas mismas corrientes de aire
sentir ese vientecito molestándome los ojos y llorar sin pena sabiendo
que allá nadie me verá.
Nadie me dirá que
sobreviviré.
Que saldré de ésta.
Que puedo encontrar algo - alguien - mejor.
A él nadie le dice eso.
Cuando viene ese viento
a agitarle las lágrimas, él las puede soltar
sin pena alguna.
Qué libertad plena.
Ayer lo vi
y mi alma se encogió, adolorida por el anhelo,
la nostalgía,
los celos.
Lo quise seguir hasta allá
hasta el cielo inmenso, azul y frío
en esta época (noviembre, el mes más solitario de todos),
y volar.
Volar, volar, volar hasta escaparme de su recuerdo,
hasta escaparme de mi debilidad tan obvia y vergonzosa,
hasta escaparme del dolor que me ahoga.
Y mientras volara, lloraría.
¿Lloraría?
¿Al frente de tal libertad?
¿Lloraría?
Quizás no.
No, no.
Solamente me quedaría volar para
poder aprender a respirar
nuevamente,
para aprender a querer nuevamente,
para aprender a ser
igualita a él.
Ayer lo vi.
Y hoy me sostiene ese recuerdo.
Estoy estrechando alas metafóricas,
flotando sobre corrientes que me suben y me bajan.
Sobreviviré.
Eso lo supe desde un principio.
Pero lo que quiero no es sobrevivir, sino
vivir.
Vivir en una libertad plena.
Respirando profundamente del aire que me sostiene
sin importarme lo que me digan.
Si me toma meses de supervivencia para
que llegue la vida, que así sea.
Días, meses, años
- ay, Diosito mío, que no sean años -
de supervivencia, esperaré.
Porque estas alas algún día me
llevarán lejos de aquí.
Flotaré.
Escaparé.
Viviré.
Como lo anhelé ayer.

Tired

2011-05-11T21:23:00.000-05:00

I'm tired. I'm tired of not having my own space, of working the proverbial double shift, of having no way to go anywhere. I'm tired of the isolation. Tired of not having a tv. Tired of running things. Tired of the never ending to do list. Tired of translating. Tired of budgeting. Tired of planning every moment of every day. Tired of joint decision making. Tired, tired, tired.

And it sounds like I'm whining, and I am. But I've been fighting this for a long time, and today, today it all caught up with me, and it's just too much. I need a break. Desperately, urgently, hopelessly need a break. And the reason it's rubbing me raw right now, is because I just don't see that break coming any time soon.

I need a moment alone. A moment - or several - alone with my husband. A day or two or seven in the city or on the beach. I need a full weekend. I need some time to just sit and be lazy. I need to not cook twice a day for a little while. I need to breathe. I need space to just sit down and have a good cry just to let something out, not because I'm actually sad.

I am tired.

I'm not on vacation

2011-02-25T21:33:00.000-05:00

It's been a while, yes? Yes. Things have been busy, life's been crazy.

We've moved. That's the first thing. We left Philly (happy dance for me!) and moved to Costa Rica. We're working with ADE in a really rural area of the Costa Rican mountainside, safely off the beaten tourist paths. Not that we don't have any tourists, just that we don't have many, not for a country whose economy revolves around tourism.

And therein lies my issue today. When people think of Costa Rica, they think of sun drenched beaches, frosty drinks, bright sun, and tourists. And they think I'm here on vacation, which, you know, I'm not. I'm working. I work anywhere from eight to thirteen hour days, six days a week. It's coldish where we live, getting down to 45 degrees Fahrenheit, and up to 75 degrees on bright, sunny days. Oh, and this used to be rain forest, so it rains. A lot. Torrential downpours of Biblical proportions. And that's all well and good, because that's what I signed up for. But sometimes I miss things from home. Cheese, for one. Or dark chocolate. Or the convenience of having a steady income. Or even just the ability to find a variety of things at a grocery store or, luxury of luxuries, restaurants that serve food from all over the world.

It's the little things.

Yes, there's running water, electricity, hot water in the shower, but sometimes I miss a little luxury. And when I say I miss something, people are all like, "But don't you live in a tropical paradise where every day is a sunny vacation with umbrellas in your drink? Be grateful that you live in one of our most popular tourist destinations."

Right. I am grateful because this is an amazing experience and it's doing wonders for my faith. You don't realize how big God is until you start expecting Him to be that BIG.

But let's get one thing straight: I'm not on vacation. I don't live on the beach, no one puts umbrellas in my water glass, and even if I do live in a country that gets a ton of tourism, I can't afford to check most of it out. I am not here to be a tourist. I am here to get up at the crack of dawn, teach all morning, come home, make lunch, and do administrative, organizational work until late in the evening. And then, when y'all are lazing around on Saturdays, I'm working some more. Again, it's what I signed up for, and I'm gaining some great experience, so I'm not writing this to complain about my work. What I want people to know is that I have not been here relaxing. This is my job. My day-in-day-out job that just happens to have dramatic volcanic backdrops.

The reality is this: I'm living in an area that is in recovery. It's been two years since the earthquake and the roads are still a rutted mess, the local clinic will see only thirty people once a month, this is only the second year that the local high school has been in existence. There's a lot of work to do, good work, fun work, important work, but it's still work. Life is different here. And because things are different, I'm allowed to miss some of what I had in the States. A car, for example, or security. Or just plain convenience.

Because I'm not on vacation every day of my life here, and sometimes, I'd like to be.

Soundtrack - Good stuff

2010-10-25T20:42:00.003-05:00

Because it's been ages since I've done one of these.

Here are the old(ish) songs I still think kick:

Here Comes the Hotstepper by Ini Kamoze

I can't understand most of it, but I love it. Also, I watched this video incessantly one summer when I was in Puerto Rico. I think I was eleven.

"Under the Bridge" by The Red Hot Chili Peppers

Even at ten I knew this song was amazing. A.May.Zing.

"You'll Think of Me" by Keith Urban

Not old enough to be a classic, but not new enough to be cool. Of course, it is country so cool is debatable. In my world, it's cool.

"Inevitable" by Shakira

This is the Shaki I fell in love with. Yeah, yeah, she sings in English now, but this stuff was so fabulous.

"Octavo día" by Shakira

I mean, as long as we're talking about her....

"Querida" by Juan Gabriel

This is the sound of family dinners at my house circa 1988.

"Crossroads" by Bone Thugs and Harmony

This was absolutely NOT played at dinner at my house, but it's still a good song.

"Unpretty" by TLC

I still need this song to get me through those ugly days.

"Waterfalls" by TLC

Gosh these girls were so great!

"Ordinary People" by John Legend

I love him. That is all.

"Burbujas de amor" by Juan Luis Guerra

This man is a poet.

"Maldita Suerte" by Víctor Manuelle and Sin Bandera

Another one that's in that in between - not old enough and not new enough.

"Good Life" by Kanye West

This song still makes me happy.

"No te veo" by Casa de Leones

Listen to this and TRY not to dance.

"Collide" by Howie Day

I don't know what it is, I just love this song.

Nomad

2010-08-31T19:09:00.003-05:00

"You droppin' that off?" he asks.

"Yes, sir," I respond.

He mocks me: "Okay, ma'am."

"Sorry, I'm from the South."

I said I was from the South today. Today when Philadelphia drivers made me so incredible angry (it's called a turn signal and NOT using the exit lane as your own personal fast lane, jerks!), I told the guy at the UPS store that I was from the South. And it's kind of a lie.

I hate the "Where are you from?" question. I'm not "from" anywhere. I mean, yes, technically, I'm from Puerto Rico. I was born there, it's the one place that I've gone back to over and over again. No matter where I've actually lived, Puerto Rico feels like going home. But it's not really where I'm from. Not in the sense of feeling that kind of intimate connection to a place and the people there. I look at my cousins, at the closeness they share, and I long for it. I get this nostalgia for what could have been if only my parents had stayed there - then I wouldn't've been the foreign cousin who came to visit every summer. Puerto Rico would've been mine. My place.

But it's not.

We left. We went to Virginia for six months, then moved to Montgomery, a suburb of Chicago in the dead of winter. Yes, y'all: in the dead of winter. I was nearly five. We lived there until I was 13, and I grew attached. We moved once while we were in Illinois, from Montgomery to Aurora, but it was the same general area. We could drive past the old house, visit our old friends, see the old haunts. I learned to ride a bike there, learned to speak English there, decided I wanted to be a writer, archeologist, fashion designer, doctor there. Lots of things happened to me in Illinois. I still have a soft spot in my heart for Aurora, for Chicago - my gosh, I love that city! - but I don't feel attached anymore. How could I? It's been fifteen years and I've only been back once for a conference in Chicago, far from the areas I used to visit as a child.

When we moved to Germany the day after my eighth grade graduation, I identified with Chicago. When people asked where I was from, I said, "Chicago," because none of us Army brats in Germany were really FROM Germany, you know? And then I spent three years in Heidelberg, picking up German, taking family road trips across Western Europe instead of across the US, snacking on döner kebab and Haribo and spezi. I shopped at H&M and Ikea before they came Stateside and listened to entirely too much Europop and techno.

We went back to Virginia after that stint in Germany, and I remember the culture shock all too well. Y'all, I was still wearing my Spice Girls inspired looks; I didn't realize the Americas had moved on. It took me a long time to get used to VA. I don't know if it was being back in the States, being about to graduate from high school, or living in the South, but everything felt foreign and restricting and I hated it for a long time. But then something happened: I kept going back to VA: after college, after Mission Year, briefly after grad school, and I fell in love. It was the proximity to DC, the incredible diversity, the good conversations about current events and politics that did it for me. Northern VA is an amazing place. Just Southern enough, I think, and very cosmopolitan as far as suburban sprawl goes.

And in the meantime, I've been in MD, Costa Rica, Atlanta, and Philly. I feel like each place has left an impression on me.

Puerto Rico is my center - the closest thing to home. Illinois gave me the easy, modulated English and taught me to pronounce Chicago "Shi-caaaaaaaah-go". Germany opened my eyes to the world, gave me the travel bug, peppered my speech with German phrases, and gave me space to roam and explore. NoVA reintroduced me to my love of all things political, put authentic international cuisine at my fingertips, and taught me to drive aggressively - uh, I mean defensively. Maryland taught me I hate winter and small towns. Atlanta nurtured my penchant for long, languid days, my ability to deal with humidity, and the ability to mimic a great Southern accent. Costa Rica made me more confident in my Spanish, let me swim in two oceans,and gave me space to take risks and face the consequences. Philly gave me my Masters, my husband, a chip on my shoulder, and a feeling of superiority because at least I can MERGE! (I'm [mostly] kidding about the last part.)

But here's what I'm missing: a real, strong connection to place. The safety of lifelong friendships with anyone who doesn't share my DNA. The security of knowing I belong to a place.

This morning I woke up to a facebook friend request from my eighth grade boyfriend. I look at his page and see he's still in touch with a lot of the kids from my class. They're mostly in IL, it seems, still friends - at least on facebook. And here I am, fifteen years later with no connection to that past. None. And I don't know if that's good or bad or what. I just know it made me miss something. Place. Home. An easy answer to "Where are you from?".

But then I think about what my life would've been like if I'd been in the same place all my life, if I hadn't gotten a three year European adventure paid for by the US government, if I hadn't learned to pack a house in a matter of days, if I hadn't learned a third language and found places that fostered my ethnic identity.... I wouldn't be this person, the person I am today.

So there's nostalgia, yes, but there's also the recognition that all this movement, the connections that I've made, the connections that have broken because of time and space, the nomadic nature of my life have all taught me so many things. I've lived, I've learned. So I'm still floating, still disconnected from place, but mostly okay with it.

Ramblings....

2010-07-08T11:38:00.002-05:00

I was called "White girl" last night. Granted, I was called this by some kid who thought I was staring at her as I was looking out the window, trying to get some air on our drive home from small group. Clearly this child was a bit delusional since she thought I was looking at her, specifically, even though she was pretty much in the middle of a group of nine or so girls of the same age, but her comment really irked me.

I hate being called white. Hate it.

As a woman, I've spent a lot of time looking in the mirror and lamenting what I see. Butt's too flat, hips too narrow, shoulders too broad, hair won't cooperate, what is up with my boobs? But in the long run, I've come to terms with my body, and not just come to terms with it, but learned to love it and embrace it and care for it. But there's this one thing that I still struggle with and that's my skin. For as long as I can remember, I've hated my skin tone. My sister and my dad have such a lovely, caramelly complexion and I'm so stinkin' pale. Yes, I can tan, but that fades in the winter, and I burn at least once every summer. I definitely take after my mom, though my mother's skin is lighter, even, than mine.

When my sister was born, I had a little baby doll that I tended to the way my mom tended to my sister. C. got a bath, my doll got a bath. I still remember that doll, chocolate-hued plastic and dark hair; my gosh, I loved her. Then we moved to the States and my mom learned English by watching Oprah. In my four-year-old mind, Oprah was the most beautiful woman on the planet, and I was convinced that I would never be pretty because you had to be Black to be pretty.

Clearly, I don't still think that there is only one type of beautiful today, but I still wish my skin were darker. My sister is so classically Latina, with her curves and golden skin. I feel like people think I'm an impostor. I know better, but I also know how I'm perceived, especially when I'm with B.

I've been thinking a lot over the past few weeks about ethnic identity, about the ways it's perceived and the ways it's presented. I think about what it means to "be Latina" in the US. I think about stereotypes that have impacted my own perception of who I am ethnically - the ones I've embraced and the ones I've rejected.

I know that when it comes to my hair, my curls feel like such a Puerto Rican thing. I try not to straighten them too often, because man, they make me feel so Latina. I wear fitted clothes, things that hug my curves, because aren't these curves so like a Latina? Aren't we all about emphasizing esa cinturita y esos muslos (waist and thighs)?

And I tan. All summer long, I try to draw those rays to my skin because in my head, darker skin is so much more Latina. I think about songs where men sing to their morenitas and negritas; songs that talk about piel canela.

I know in my head that there are many ways to be Latina, that there is no one Latino "look". But I feel like the rest of the US doesn't really get that.

And that "White girl" thing bugs me. While this girl was going off yesterday, I ignored her. And then she said, "White girl", and I snapped, "I ain't White." Because I don't feel White, I've never thought I was, never felt like it was the world I lived in. I've always been so Puerto Rican. And I know that Latino is this thing you become here in the States, that our own system of racial identity on the island is so different, but this is one area of my life where I've been completely "Americanized": I see my culture and my ethnicity in a US context, where I've been thrown in with the inhabitants of an entire continent (minus the US and Canada).... And now that B. and I are married, I see even more that I am not White. There are real things that are different, things I don't get, things that aren't acceptable in my culture. And B. and I work these things out, we try to build these bridges, create this hybrid, learn about and from each other. And it's not easy but we do it.

It's changed my life, our being together. Changed it in many ways, but one of the big ones is this part of ethnic identity that comes from others' perceptions. Yeah, yeah, I'm not supposed to care about what they think or say, but let's be honest. Human beings are social creatures, and we all base at least part of our identities on the perceptions of others.

I am, as always, living in the tension: too dark / too light. Too White / too "ethnic" (newsflash: being "White" does not prevent you from having an ethnicity). Too rich / too poor. Too loud / too quiet. Too safe / too exotic. Too gringa / too much of a S**c....

It doesn't get easier. I know, I know, I know that I have this strong identity, that I'm bicultural, that I know how to function in a variety of environments, that I can and have lived in areas that are majority White, majority Latino, majority Black, majority Asian. I know this. And yet....

"White girl".

ARGH!

2010-05-27T21:22:00.003-05:00

True story:

Projects were due today in my Spanish 2 classes. I gave them this project last week. It's a super easy project where they talk about what they did and what they were like at ages two, five, nine, and fourteen. I gave them questions to guide their writing and gave them step-by-step instructions with due dates and a note to the seniors saying that their projects were due before their last day of classes.

Their rough drafts were due Friday, final projects were due today.

One of my students came to me today before her class started and said, "Miss, are our projects due today?"

"Yes they are," I said.

"Nuh-uh, you said they were due Friday."

"Take out your project sheet," I said.

"No, you said Friday!" she insisted, angrily this time.

"Take out your project sheet," I repeated.

Another student looked over and said, "It says the twenty-seventh. It's due today."

Not to be outdone, the first student looked furiously at her project sheet, and said, "Yeah, like I'm supposed to read this."

Actually, honey, you are.

We're on etsy!

2010-04-18T02:18:00.004-05:00

B. and I have finally started an vintage clothing shop on etsy.

Check it out here: Frances Joy Vintage.

To get a sneak peek at some of our items, check my other blog: Mad Dress Game

I'm so excited for this, and I hope it goes well....

Quote of the Day

2010-04-08T19:12:00.003-05:00

My student J. came in today to (finally) take his midterm. He started joking around and said something in Spanish that sounded so thoroughly Dominican, that I whirled around and asked this Puerto Rican / Italian kid: "Where'd you get that Dominican accent?!"

Apparently it comes from the barber shops: "Miss, you can't talk Rican to them or they'll mess up your hair."

Oh, J....

A look inside my closet

2010-04-07T19:02:00.003-05:00

I've been reading a lot of personal style blogs for a long time, and I decided to finally go ahead and start my own. Which I've been keeping for a grand total of two days. We'll see how well I do with it.

Anyway, if you want to check it out, go ahead and click.

Mad Dress Game

That title is a direct quote from my students. Oh, those crazy kids.

Sound Track for a March

2010-03-22T20:53:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I marched with hundreds of thousands for immigration reform and was elated to hear that the health care bill was passed (color me red, to hear the complaints from folks that probably haven't actually READ THE BILL).

Anyway, while my friend Z. and I listened to speaker after speaker at the rally, we talked about how nice it'd be to have some musical interludes between the speeches. Sometimes I'm shallow like that, even when trying to save the world.

So here's my own sound track for immigration reform.

1. "Mojado" Ricardo Arjona e Intocable

The quintessential immigration song. "Si la luna suave se desliza por cualquier cornisa sin permiso alguno, porque el mojado precisa comprobar con visas que no es de neptuno." A reminder that God has given us citizenship in His Kingdom and that all other kingdoms don't really matter in the long run.

2. "Papeles mojados" Chambao

A look at immigration from a European perspective. Same story, different continents.

3. "Tres veces mojados" Los Tigres del Norte

My students in VA turned me on to this one. A reminder of those who cross more than one border to get here, and who are strangers in multiple countries, despite the common language. It's crazy to me to think of the craziness/bravery of those who travel weeks and months to get here.

4. "Visa para un sueño" Juan Luis Guerra

This one hits close to home because it's about Dominicans trying to leave the DR. Many of them end up taking rafts over to PR, which is just as dangerous as rafts from La Habana to Miami.

5. "Sólo le pido a Dios" done by everyone and their mother, though this particular version is by Tao Rodríguez-Seeger and the guys from Fiel a la Vega

I ask God only for this, that I would not be indifferent to injustice. Amen.

6. "Casas de cartón"

This version is by Javier Álvarez. Injustice, migration, capitalism....

7. "Pobre Juan" Maná

On the telenovela side of dramatic, but about those deaths in the desert.

8. "Si el norte fuera el sur" Ricardo Arjona

The differences (maybe?) between North and South America. "Free" trade, national debt, war, exploitation, etc.

9. "Sangre americana" Bacilos

For those who don't remember that America applies to two continents and the bridge in between. For those who don't remember that the United States is a nation of immigrants, and that the original "Americans" are not of European extraction.

10. "We Are Called" by David Haas

This is a song from my days as a Catholic. The sound quality is pretty much terrible, but the lyrics are here. The chorus pretty much sums it up:

"We are called to act with justice / we are called to love tenderly / we are called to serve one another / to walk humbly with God!"

I will not lie; this song was in my head all day yesterday.

And a bonus song:
"Voces de Sol" Fiel a la Vega

"Entren vestidos de sol, las almas que quieran luchar....Sigue el camino, persíguelo con alma y pasión" Fight the good fight, make your voice heard, and seek your goal with passion. Yes. Amen.

And finally, some verses that came to mind:
Matthew 25:33-40

Leviticus 19:33-34

Quote of the Day

2010-03-19T16:36:00.003-05:00

"Miss, do you put your clothes together yourself?"

Apparently, this is a compliment which should be taken to mean, "You dress well" and not, "You look like your mama dressed you".

Thanks, Y. I do, in fact, put my clothes together myself.

On the upside

2010-03-11T21:14:00.003-05:00

Since I was such a whiner last week (and have been since, oh, November), I figured it was time for a little something more upbeat.

There's this: Today was one of those days when I was glad to be a teacher. The students were exceptionally funny, I got positive feedback from administrators and coworkers, and I was teaching material that I absolutely love.

This is not to say that today was a blissful day at my inner city high school, just that it was a good day. I don't know if it's that the weather is warming my students' cold little hearts, or that the right combination of students was present, or that I was just in a good mood because I was so in love with my outfit (seriously, nothing can go wrong when you're wearing yellow shoes), but something was working today.

I taught about written accent marks, which, seriously, are my passion. If I could just introduce everyone to accent marks and my little tricks for where they go for the rest of my life, I would be one happy little word nerd. But, alas, when you teach Spanish to Latinos as if you were teaching non-Spanish speakers Spanish, you don't get to spend weeks on accent marks.
So I settled for a single day and totally geeked out over accent marks. I shared all the great examples: está/esta, papá/papa, and - my personal favorite - mamá/mama. I advised my students to show their mothers some respect and give them an accent mark, which got quite a laugh. I enjoyed it today.

Teaching is often a thankless job. You get blamed for everything that's wrong with education even though you're being forced to do more with fewer resources every day. It's my fault when the students don't do their homework or projects. It's my fault when they don't pass standardized tests. It's my fault when they're disrespectful (because in an hour a day, I should be able to what the parents haven't done in sixteen years). I'm an entertainer, a secretary, a disciplinarian, a counselor, and a surrogate parent. Oh, and an educator. That, too.

I loved every minute of teaching back at G-F. My department was amazing, my students were sweet or at least entertaining, and I was teaching a subject about which I am passionate. This year has often been a struggle. I'm teaching Spanish 1 and 2 and my classes are so mixed as far as level and ability that I'm actually teaching two or three classes at a time. I don't feel as connected to my department or to my students. I've struggled to love it.

But today, through the complaints, I felt something. Connection, perhaps. The easy banter I've got going on with my students, the gentle teasing (Twenty-seven, Miss?! ¡Abuela!), the flashes of understanding, the visits after class.... Yes. It's taken me just over six months, but it's happening.

And that's why I do what I do. Yes, I think it's important for folks to be multilingual, but that's not why I do this. Yes, I'm passionate about reconnecting Latino youth to the language of their parents and grandparents, but that's not why I do this. Yes, I get my "Spanish geek" on when I talk about grammar and orthography, but that's not why I do this, either. It's those moments when there's a human connection across generations, when two people standing in vastly different places in their journeys can look across at each other and see something familiar.

Today I felt that.

I joked with the student that had been such a challenge earlier this year - a student whose reputation precedes him - and thought, "This kid knows I care whether he makes it out or not. He knows I think he's talented and intelligent. He knows I make him do work that is more difficult than the work the rest of the class does AND HE DOES IT PROUDLY."

I tutored one of my students after school. She complained that the work was difficult, and we worked together for a while. She was dramatic as always, and I teased her a little about it, which caused her to crack up and say, "Miss, how are you in the world? You are too funny for the WORLD! You make me crack up!" And I thought, "Where else would I hear little bits of brilliance like that?"

People are such strange, fascinating, curious creatures. Our connections are so vitally important, so influential. I think it's been really hard for me to see them this school year. Maybe I was expecting this to be the utopian paradise that G-F was (I kid!), but it wasn't and I have been discouraged.

But today? Today I saw those connections, and I am content.

Confessions

2010-03-07T18:22:00.003-05:00

To be quite honest, I don't love Philly. Most days, I don't even like it. I didn't realize what a southerner I was until I moved to PA last August. Coming from Northern Virginia, you're always explaining to people that NOVA isn't the South - you know that South I'm talking about: that "Deliverance" or "Mississippi Burning" or even "Meet Joe Dirt" kind of South. And it's true, NOVA isn't like that. But it is Southern in that showing hospitality, saying hello, and blessing your heart kind of way. And silly, Southern me thought folks were polite everywhere.

But they're not. There's a coldness up north - both literal and figurative - that I struggle to understand. I miss saying "Sir" and "Ma'am" without being looked at as if I had a third eye. I miss a returned "Good mornin'" and the beauty of a perfectly drawled "y'all".

I miss VA.

I didn't want to come back here in September, but it made sense. B. was here and he had to finish school. A year. I could do a year.

That year will become at least a year and a half, and I still think I can handle it, but I'll be honest: it's been a hard winter. A long, hard winter.

I'm counting the months till June, hanging on for dear life till the end of the school year and a welcome vacation, and then counting down till December when our lease is up and we can go wherever our little hearts desire.

I don't know where we'll go or what will happen or even what I'll do between June and December. Honestly, it's kind of exciting to leave this up in the air for now. I've been praying a lot. Praying for a heart for this city, praying for direction, praying for guidance, praying that I won't stand in the way of whatever God has for us here now or in the future because of my stubborn love for the comfort of the South. I don't know what's coming, I just know that this year has been a struggle of epic proportions for me. I'm trying to feel this out and to adjust. And I've felt myself stretching, learning, and thinking, and these are good things.

No ha sido en vano, pero tampoco ha sido fácil.

I hate winter.

2010-02-25T17:06:00.003-05:00

Dear February,

We are not friends. I mean, we get along better than January and I do, but we are still not friends. And every time I think you're about to leave, you just linger on. It's like one of those phone conversations where I can't think of anything else to say and yet the other person keeps drawing out their goodbye. It's like that February: you just won't say goodbye.

Not only that, but you brought your friend Snow with you this year, and believe me, he has worn out his welcome. I'm over him blocking my street parking, getting into my boots, and leaving wet trails from the front door to the back door. Y'all need to MOVE ON.

Seriously.

I'm giving you three days.

Sincerely,

Frances Joy

Alright....

2010-02-08T10:06:00.002-05:00

It's been FOREVER. I know. I'm terrible.

Here's what's happened:

1. B and I got married in Puerto Rico on 27 December. It was pretty much FABULOUS.

2. We spent our honeymoon in PR as well, including New Years Eve (I can't tell you how long it took me to think of that in English) in Old San Juan at the party that was broadcast on Univisión. It was crazy fun out there, and way more laid back than I had expected a street party to be. Pretty much the best New Years EVER.

3. I got sick for, oh, the month of January. Apparently, between all the travel (PR, VA, PA, MI, PA....) I picked up an infection which triggered asthma. A bout of laryngitis, a round of antibiotics, one nasal spray, and an inhaler later, I'm finally not feeling like I'm constantly sick.

4. We went to MI for a wedding reception in mid-January. I was terrified because I seriously lack weather appropriate footwear for a Midwest winter, but thankfully, it was unseasonably warm (30 degrees is WARM?!) and not snowy, so I didn't die in my pointy-toed, stiletto knee high boots.

5. We've been getting settled in. The past month or so has been a flurry of furnishing our house (thanks to the good folks at Target, Ikea, and craigslist) and decorating. My husband is AMAZING with that.

6. We have a puppy! The adorable Kiku was born in PR last May, and came home with us after our honeymoon. My grandmother's dog had puppies, and Kiku is one of her babies. She's half chihuahua and half daschund and so stinkin' adorable. I had to do some convincing to make Ben agree to having a dog, but Kiku has totally won him over because she is so stinkin' well-behaved. She hasn't broken anything (except the occasional Kleenex), pees where she's supposed to, and doesn't bark unless there's a strange person in the house (and even then she doesn't yip incessantly). Seriously, we've got a good dog.

7. It's been winter, worse, it was JANUARY. January and I don't get along; Winter and I don't get along. And when I'm feeling like complete and utter crap, and like all I want to do is cry and dream about places where there is sun, I don't blog, simply because I don't want to bring the rest of the world down with me. That's been a huge reason for my absence here, but, I guess there's only a month and a half left of this cold and gray (PLEASE GOD!), so hopefully, I'll be up to it again, soon.

And those are the major points. I've been thinking about a lot of things, but not totally sure if those are things I want to share on the internet, so we'll see what happens...

OMG

2009-12-22T23:19:00.001-05:00

I am getting married in mere days.

DAYS!

The 27th to be exact.

I can't even believe it.

Line

2009-12-01T21:36:00.004-05:00

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.

Quotable

2009-11-18T18:07:00.004-05:00

I've been meaning to post something like this for a while, but I haven't gotten around to it until now.

My students are hilarious. Sometimes on purpose, and sometimes unintentionally, and they give me enough fodder to tell stories for days and days, so here are some of my favorite student quotes from this year.

1. L. (after wiping black marker off a white board with her hands): I'm all black.
B. (an African-American student): It's a privilege.

2. E.: Miss, you too serious. Do you have any friends?
Me (sarcastically and dramatically): No. None at all.
E.: Do you have any pets?
Me (Still dramatic and sarcastic): Nope.
E.: Do you have a husband?
Me (Even more dramatically): Nope. I go home and I don't talk at all until I come to work the next day.
Y. (looking concerned): For REAL Miss?!

3. While working on an example of a poem that they would have to write in class -
Me: What's something I might do over the summer?
Student: Swim!
Student: Go outside!
L.: Sell hotdogs!
Whaaaaaaa?!

4. C.: Miss, do you talk about us when you go home? Do you tell stories about us?
Yes, kiddies. I tell the Internet.

5. The day of parent-teacher conferences - J: Miss, my dad is coming; he's going to hit on you. (For the record, he did, but at least I was prepared! I flashed my ring like crazy.)

6. K.: Miss, you look nice today.
Me: I'm always scared when students tell me that. Does that mean that I don't look nice most days?
K.: Naw, Miss. You know how to dress; some teachers don't.
On a related note, I had parent-teacher conferences last night, and parents are funny, too:

1. Me: S. is doing really well; he has an A, but he talks a lot in class, and I had to give him two days of detention because he was disrupting class.
S. Sr.: I thought he had detention; he told me he was cleaning for community service hours.
So busted!

2. Me: C. has brought his grade up from an F to a C. He's been coming in for tutoring and is working really hard. I'm really proud of him.
C.'s mom: Me too. He's getting a milkshake!

The best part, though, was the mom who told me that her daughter hated speaking Spanish before my class and now she goes home and wants them to speak to her in Spanish. "She wants to send texts in Spanish and she watches movies in Spanish with her dad." I will not lie, I teared up.

Songs that make me feel pretty

2009-11-03T13:00:00.002-05:00

Forget María's catchy little ditty from West Side Story. These are the songs that make me feel better about myself when I'm feeling less than gorgeous or when I'm just in a funk.

1. "Unpretty" by TLC

About finding that inner strength when you're hit with the idea that you're less than the ideal. The actual video (linked in title) is stellar.

2. "Yo no soy esa mujer" by Paulina Rubio

Have I ever mentioned the fact that I was on the same plane as La Chica Dorada when I flew back from Chile to Miami? Because I walked right past her and thought, "Dang that's an ugly coat! But she looks kinda familiar...." It wasn't until we'd all gotten through customs that I realized who she was. Anyway, this song. "Yo no soy esa mujer que no sale de casa...." A song for the tough girl refusing to be relegated to a life of domesticity - read, me.

3. "Just Fine" by Mary J. Blige

"I like what I see when I'm looking at me when I'm walking past the mirror." Always classy and confident. Love! (Click title for the full song)

4. "Video" by India Arie

It's a classic. &heart

5. "Señora de las cuatro décadas" by Ricardo Arjona

Because no one does sexy imperfections in a song like Arjona. Another classic.

6. "Superwoman" by Alicia Keys

It's a no brainer, really. I remember having this one on repeat while I willed myself to believe it during a particularly rough period, not going to lie.

7. "Who I Am" by Jessica Andrews

Love it!

8. "Piel canela" by La Sonora Matancera and Bobby Capó

Let's hear it for this cinnamon skin! Also, it's hard to feel bad while listening to cha-cha-cha.

9. "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield

Cheesy Europop? Check. Clichés galore? Check. Catchiness? Double check. And I love it unabashedly.

10. "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley

Don't worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright.

NaNoWriMo

2009-10-27T18:04:00.004-05:00

I was five when I read my first novel, all by myself. Yes, it was a children's novel, but it was a NOVEL, not a picture book. That was the year that I fell head over heels with reading, and by extension, writing.

And, because I don't have enough to do as it is, I may have just signed up for National Novel Writing Month. Because the idea of writing for fun is appealing, because writing is one of the ways that I can de-stress after a day of dealing with students and wedding plans, because it feels so liberating to think that I can just WRITE about anything without any pressure. So, there. I told the internet. That means I have to do it.

Aaaaand, if you're as much a nerd as I am, go sign up!

On language, Part 2

2009-10-26T18:13:00.003-05:00

So this is the promised second part. I guess when I said Saturday, I meant Monday; it's been hectic.

My students in VA called them chents, my students here call them "hicks" for some reason that I still can't understand, but basically, there's a distinction between those Latinos who speak English and those who don't. Worse, there's a distinction between those who speak English and do and those who can and choose Spanish. Choosing Spanish, it seems, is just as bad as not speaking English. It breaks my heart to see how often my kids want to downplay what they know, how they want to cover up the fact that they do actually speak Spanish, for fear of being labeled any of the above terms, which, if you didn't know, are negative.

I expect the resistance from those on the outside, but the rejection by those who look like me is a sharper sting. I've spent a life building up the protective layers for the former, but the latter still surprises me. We might share ethnic or even national ties, but it's that damn LANGUAGE issue that trips us up. Within the community there's a recognition that the Spanish language gives you greater authenticity as a member, but at the same time, it's ENGLISH that gives you the cachet. So we downplay el español and play up that English, and pretend that's not the same form of self-hatred that prompts us to stay out of the sun and straighten our hair and diet our hips away.

That Guillén poem, though, just blows my mind. Here it is again:

PROBLEMAS DEL SUBDESARROLLO

Monsieur Dupont te llama inculto,
porque ignoras cuál era el nieto
preferido de Víctor Hugo.

Herr Müller se ha puesto a gritar,
porque no sabes el día
(exacto) en que murió Bismark.

Tu amigo Mr. Smith,
inglés o yanqui, yo no lo sé,
se subleva cuando escribes shell.
(Parece que ahorras una ele,
y que además pronuncias chel.)

Bueno ¿y qué?
Cuando te toque a ti,
mándales decir cacarajícara,
y que donde está el Aconcagua,
y que quién era Sucre,
y que en qué lugar de este planeta
murió Martí.

Un favor:
Que te hablen siempre en español.

I love this. First off, the title: Problems of "Underdevelopment" - Third World problems. And guess what? The problems are not corruption or lack of clean water or terribly deficient educational systems. The problems are that the French think we're uncivilized because we don't know the minor details of French literary history, that the Germans get angry because we don't know about their historical figures, and that the Brits and US Americans are annoyed with the way we speak and write their language. It's that familiarity of being looked down on for the language we speak.
Ah, but the catch: We can ask them to say tongue twisting words, to point out some geography, to identify a historical figure, and to give us some details on Latin American literary history. And the other catch? Do it in Spanish. We're always playing along, adopting the other's language - it's exhausting and exasperating. We are just as educated, cultured, relevant. And guess what? So is our language.

Whether we've been here for five weeks, five years, or five generations, we have to learn to respect the humanity of those who don't speak English and those who do but choose to love and cherish Spanish as well. There's an element of dehumanization in disrespecting languages, I think. If I can't understand you, then you aren't as much a person as I am. And that's dangerous.

On language, Part 1

2009-10-22T18:13:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about the idea of the perceived superiority of the English language and the implications that has on identity and self-esteem and racial/ethnic tensions. This is not to say that I have my thoughts "together", but that it's been floating around a lot.
I'm teaching Spanish again, my first language, and one that I love now, so I'm always thinking about language, the politics of language, and the connection between language and Latino identity. This past spring during my Cross-Cultural Skills class, I started thinking of how I identify as a speaker of Spanish in public places.
I love to speak Spanish in public for several reasons, though I won't deny that one of them is just that it makes some people uncomfortable. Is that terrible? I'm not trying to be mean, and believe, I'm most certainly NOT talking about you, I'm just pushing the envelope on what's acceptable for a middle-class, well-educated, young woman who's spent most of her life in the United States. I mean, it's understandable when recent arrivals speak their languages in public, but it's somehow less accepted for someone who's been here since the age of four to do the same. If you speak English, why speak Spanish?
For me, the answer is simple: my family speaks Spanish. My aunts, my uncles, my grandparents, my cousins, my parents - they all speak Spanish. With few exceptions, that's all they speak, and I love them and want to communicate with them. Too easy, right? Right. Because that doesn't explain why I speak Spanish at the grocery store and on the street when I'm with bilingual folks. Spanish allows me to express myself in ways that I can't in English. There's a musicality to it, a reassuring structure, an identification of the nuances of gender and class and age built into the very foundations of the language. Not to mention the loveliness of words like "desahogarse" and "humildad" and "bendito". There are ideas that can't be translated, links and connections between states of being that can't be as fully expressed in English because it would require two nouns and a conjunction. There's always something lost in translation.
Spanish is beautiful, so rich and layered and homey. Algo cómodo y a la vez lleno de vida y pasión. I admit that I am smitten with accent marks, arching gracefully over vowels, coaxing my tongue into proper pronunciation.
But this has not always been my attitude towards my first language.
There was a time when I felt that Spanish was the language of lesser intelligence; a time when it marked me as a child who might need extra help. I was ashamed of my heritage and that came out in hatred towards my mother tongue.
It wasn't a conscious shame, but rather a subtly internalized sense of inferiority passed down by well-meaning clueless teachers, folks at the store who looked at me with mixed suspicion and pity, and curious but insensitive classmates. Poor little brown girl, with her inferior skin, inferior language, and (logically) inferior brain. Which is not what they were literally thinking, but in a world where White, English-speaking men are the standard, I do not measure up.
And so English became my defense; it let people know that I was, indeed, smart. See how well I speak your language?

It wasn't until high school, when I started to develop a real sense of ethnic identity, that I brushed off my Spanish and wore it as a badge. It was a sign of how "truly Puerto Rican" I am, which, really, what does that MEAN?! Apparently, in my head, it meant speaking Spanish. And I'm glad it did, because once I got over the greater part of my militancy, I just fell in love with the language, with the way it feels in my mouth, with the incredible diversity of it, and the myriad influences which have shaped it. And have I mentioned the PRACTICALITY of Spanish? It's one the top three most spoken languages in the world, and the United States actually has the second largest Spanish-speaking population in the world. (Which is why I'm not talking about you when I speak Spanish in public. I know better.) It has served me well, allowing me to communicate with people from all walks of life, opening doors for me when it comes to jobs, and giving me the opportunity to read Neruda and García Márquez as they are meant to be read: en español.

But there still seems to be a stigma associated with the language. I notice it all the time in overt and subtle ways, and I'll get into those later, tomorrow or Saturday. But for now, a poem from my favorite poet: Nicolás Guillén:

PROBLEMAS DEL SUBDESARROLLO

Monsieur Dupont te llama inculto,
porque ignoras cuál era el nieto
preferido de Víctor Hugo.

Herr Müller se ha puesto a gritar,
porque no sabes el día
(exacto) en que murió Bismark.

Tu amigo Mr. Smith,
inglés o yanqui, yo no lo sé,
se subleva cuando escribes shell.
(Parece que ahorras una ele,
y que además pronuncias chel.)

Bueno ¿y qué?
Cuando te toque a ti,
mándales decir cacarajícara,
y que donde está el Aconcagua,
y que quién era Sucre,
y que en qué lugar de este planeta
murió Martí.

Un favor:
Que te hablen siempre en español.

I think I just fell in love

2009-10-18T16:53:00.002-05:00

With these shoes.

Which I am NOT ALLOWED to buy, just because I need boots more than I need another pair of fabulous pumps.

*sigh* Heartbreak.

Mine

2009-10-11T19:51:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I went to the gym and put in a good, long workout. I've recently joined a gym for the first time ever because (a) I'm getting married in December and want my arms to look SICK (b) my current housing situation is not conducive to at home workouts, and (c) I can actually afford it. I've only been going about three times a week, but as I was trying on clothes yesterday after my wonderful workout, I looked in the mirror and thought, my body is mine again. I don't know exactly why that popped in my head the way it did, but it made sense. There was a familiarity in the soreness of muscle, in the reemerging definition, in the increasing flatness of my abs, that I'd missed during the year of sporadic workouts that was grad school. My body feels like it's MINE again, like I OWN it and care for it and love it again. It felt good, feels good. Which is not to say that I am one hundred percent happy with the way I'm shaped and the way I carry my weight and what have you, but I'm closer to that satisfaction again.

On a different note - my car window was smashed today while I was at church. $3 in quarters were taken and they looked around the center console for more goodies (there were none there). I'm glad that the repairs will cost nearly $300 for the $3 theft. *sigh*

And to end this with a happier story:
We sang this song at church this morning. My mom used to sing it to wake us up when my sister and I were kids, and I hated it then because my sister loved it and my mom has the kind of singing voice that I have: a not in public kind of voice. But it's grown on me over the years, and today when we sang it I thought of my mom singing the song that she'd learned at a Christian high school to her daughters back when we were oh-so-Catholic. I thought of the way God's worked in our lives, I thought of the love I have for my mamita and my sister (who's made me an auntie, by the way!) and I missed my family so much. But singing that, it was like I was connected to them for just a moment.

Shameless plug

2009-10-06T21:28:00.003-05:00

This is my friend M. She's amazing and she's going to be in my wedding. You should buy her stuff.
Also, she's not charging an arm and a leg for it, which I appreciate.

I mean, look at this cuteness:

Cute green earrings!

Apple apron!

Lap blanket which I covet!

Check her out because you never know what she'll post next. That girl likes to keep you guessing. ;)

Like a tumor

2009-10-06T18:12:00.003-05:00

When I moved out to PA, I pretty much hated it. I was living out in the western suburbs of Philadelphia, the single whitest place I've ever lived, and I hated it. I hated the looks I got at the grocery store, the relative lack of any type of authentic ethnic cuisine or ingredients (beyond Italian), the cold, and the way people were so unfriendly. Oh, and have I mentioned the TERRIBLE DRIVERS? And the INABILITY TO MERGE? And the INVASION OF LANES?
But, it's where I was going to school, and I had to be there. And then I graduated, and could have gone back down South to NoVA - Northern Virginia - or DC and worked and lived where my foreignness blends in, where I could find authentic Ethiopian, Salvadoran, Pakistani, Greek, Peruvian, Indian, Afghan, etc. restaurants and/or grocery stores in a five mile radius; where the winters aren't so bad, and where our traffic sucks, but dammit, we can MERGE. (And STAY IN OUR OWN LANES!) But B. was here, and he still had to finish school, and so I came back. To Philly.
So now I'm in the city itself, way out in West Philadelphia (go ahead and sing it, because I know you want to) and I work in North Philly, and I'm starting to like it. Or if not like it, warm up to it. To be fair, I still prefer our Southern hospitality to the cool Northern way of interacting, and I still think Philly drivers are the worst, but, it's growing on me.
I don't want to think about winter, because that might have me cursing the geography again (not so much the city, just its location), but for right now, in this lovely illusion of fall, Philly is growing on me. It's filthy, the drivers suck, and the roads are a disaster, but there's something about it that I'm warming up to.
Maybe it's the fact that I can find little pieces of Puerto Rico here: the bars on porches to create a marquesina, the Puerto Rican bakery that sells quesitos, pan sobao, and pastelillos, the passion fruit popsicle that I got from a man who called it una paleta, because that's what it's called, thank you very much. Maybe it's the fact that I'm finally settling in.
I don't know.
I can't say that I love it like I love NoVA and DC, but I must admit it's growing on me. Even if folks can't drive.

Broken road

2009-09-24T20:06:00.004-05:00

I thought about you yesterday. I thought about the way you pushed me from the adolescent wanderings of the quarter-life to full-blown adulthood. Standing here, two years over the threshold, I feel good. Not old, but not so naively young, either. Thanks for that. It wasn't easy, life with you. It wasn't easy and it wasn't always fun, but it didn't suck either. I look back and think that it was good; necessary, even.
I thought of you yesterday and the way things were. Good times, I thought, but times I wouldn't want to relive. They've been lived, been enjoyed, been analyzed, and I've learned and emerged. I thought of you and felt grateful that you were one of the stops on my way to this moment, because I know - I know - that if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be standing in this exact moment. You prepared me for this. You taught me to stop selling myself short, to follow my gut, to take the chance and be happy, to close my eyes and step off the edge and let life take me. You taught me to stop hating myself in those subtle ways: not giving myself credit, building walls, running away. You taught me about the beauty of these curves and this brain and this heart when I saw them through your eyes.
I thank you because you prepared me for this. This is better. It's like my first pair of heels: low and chunky and not particularly stylish, but I learned and then moved on, and now I've got these fabulous electric blue stilettos and I rock them - one foot in front of the other - gracefully. I love those electric blue stilettos, and I love the place where I am now. Really do. Love the way I've moved on to a near-perfect fit - as close to perfection as anything we'll find on earth. You, you were a good fit, but now it's so much better.
And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Because I was not so great for you, either, and I know that. We smoothed each other's rough edges, like sandpaper, preparing for what was to come. I thought of you yesterday and I thought that we'd been happy, but that I hope that today you are happier the way I'm happier. I think of you with affection and gratitude, because I wouldn't take it back. I mean, yeah, there were some sleepless nights and some wasted tears that I will attribute to you, but in the grand scheme of things, it was good.
So thanks, for the lessons, for the challenges, for the healing.
I'm glad it brought me here.

*The song that inspired the title, although my post is more about the road than the destination, the intention is the same:

Back to School

2009-09-16T21:50:00.003-05:00

Some memorable moments from my first two weeks of teaching in Philly:

1. At freshmen orientation, students are asked to give three reasons why they need their student IDs. They give two of the answers pretty quickly (to get into the building, to check out library books) and then get creative with the last one: "In case we get kidnapped. Because it says return to...."

2. Michael Vick. Not kidding. He came and spoke. And you thought Obama was controversial.

3. One of my students asked me to call him "Jigga"; he insisted it was his real name. Newsflash, kid: I've got your real name on a roster right here and it's not even CLOSE.

4. While reviewing nationalities, I gave my (mostly Puerto Rican) students the word for Puerto Rican in Spanish - puertorriqueño. They ooh-ed, and said, "I didn't know there was a Q in there."

5. Again, while reviewing nationalities in Spanish. Students were asked to write a sentence saying a person's nationality given some information. The information given said: "Yo soy de San Antonio, Texas." I am from San Antonio, Texas. They said: "Miss, you didn't teach us Texas!" I asked, "Where is Texas? What country is it in?" The reply: "I don't know, Miss. Mexico?" *sigh* That, kids, is a lesson for another day....

Possibilities

2009-08-26T22:39:00.002-05:00

So it's been ages.
Here's the deal:
1. I'm engaged.
2. Wedding's in December in PR - we used the trip to get some of the big stuff taken care of. Wedding coordinator has been hired, praise the Lord!
3. We're both looking for jobs. Praying, praying, praying.
4. Yes, there are a gazillion wedding plans in my head.

That said, one of my favorite things ever is to make lists of songs that would be great first dance songs. Some are traditional, others not so much, some I'd never choose, some I'd choose if I could... Anyway, as long as I've got weddings on the brain, I figured I'd make a list of possible songs.

1. "Is This Love?" by Bob Marley

Because it's still the song that I most love for a first dance. I remember listening to it a lot while I was in Costa Rica and thinking, "This is so the song I want to dance to at my wedding."

2. "Forever" by Ben Harper

Ideal for non-dancers with its insanely slow tempo - all you have to do is sway. Plus, how sweet and sexy is it? And the lyrics! Lines like: "I won't let my forever roam" and "Give me your forever...not a day less will do" make me love this one.

3. "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds

Stinkin' adorable. That is all.

4. "Bendita la luz" by Maná

I can't even count how many times I've mentioned this song on this blog, and I still love, love, love it. Such a blessing to find those people at just the right time in just the right place. Bendita la luz, indeed.

5. "Making Memories of Us" by Keith Urban

Much more on the traditional side. Much more mushy than most of the songs I'd have chosen for myself, but still, I love it because I have an unabashed love for cheesy country songs. There. I said it.

6. "Cosa más bella" or "Più Bella Cosa" by Eros Ramazzotti

I remember listening to this song when I was, like, fourteen, on this Spanish channel (as in, from Spain) and falling in love with both Eros Ramazzotti and this song. I remember how I just LOVED the line that says "Gracias por existir"; it kinda blew my mind then and still does.

7. "Hard to Concentrate" by The Red Hot Chili Peppers

Because they're one of the few musical acts that I've loved since I was ten and because, hello, the love! Different, but still totally appropriate.

7. "Come Close" by Common

Because Common is a smart rapper, because it's romantic, because I love the idea of pulling out a little hip hop for a first dance.

8. "Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You" by Lauryn Hill

Classic with a twist.

10. "Amor de conuco" by Juan Luis Guerra

*Sigh* Honestly, what I most want is to walk down the aisle to this lovely little song. "Na' me tienes que ofrecer, tu mirada es lo único que quiero...." Off the charts, this one.

11. "Almas gemelas" by Gilberto Santa Rosa

How fun would it be to do a little salsa number as the first dance? And I love how it captures the idea of sharing and growing together that marriage is all about.

12. "Turn Your Lights Down Low" by Lauryn Hill and Bob Marley
Love, love, love! The sweetness! The sexy!

13. "En tus púpilas" by Shakira

I'm so glad she's been writing more songs about love that survives, because, at least in Spanish, I think she's got a great way of saying things.

14. "Refuge (When It's Cold Outside)" by John Legend

Because I can't have a list without Mr. Legend. This is, without a doubt, one of my favorite of his songs. The love!

15. "Solamente" by Fiel a la Vega

"Encontrarte es una historia que hoy deberían publicar" is just a bit too intimate, but this one - this one is lovely and abstract and perfect. It's hard to pick a favorite Fiel song or to rank them in any way, but this is one of the first ones that I fell absolutely in love with. It's those last two verses that really get me: "Rellenas mi espacio sin corazón y resurges mi idea de redención." *Sigh* Those Fiel boys get me every time!

Any other creative suggestions out there?

She emerges...

2009-07-06T21:47:00.003-05:00

This girl is thisclose to being a MASTER. No more sitting in classes for me.

That, of course, is why I've been pretty much absent since early June - Summer I will do that to a girl.

But I've emerged with one more project to do just in time to spend three glorious weeks in Puerto Rico. Love!

I'm trying not to worry too much about anything - about the job situation (or lack thereof), about the housing situation (or lack thereof), about saying goodbye to people with whom I've spent so much time for the past year. Bittersweet.

In the meantime, I'm packing, heading to the Shore, celebrating the fourth just to be with people, and remembering.

This year has gone by so fast. So, so fast. All those days and nights of reading and writing and preparing presentations have slipped away. The days I thought I wouldn't make it - well, I've made it.

And soon there will be time to write, to think about what comes next, to worry about the way my life will play out after all that I've learned and experienced this year. Good times, hard times, challenges.... For now, though, Puerto Rico awaits.
I'll be back the 27th - catch ya on the flip side.

Después de la tormenta siempre sale el sol

2009-06-09T09:13:00.001-05:00

This made my day and totally makes up for yesterday's craptacular-ness.

Today I...

2009-06-08T18:49:00.002-05:00

1. Hit a cute little bird while driving on I-76E on my way to the school where I volunteer and felt really, really sad about it.

2. Passed out in the hallway at aforementioned school, tumbling over a recycling bin, losing a flip-flop, scratching my neck, and bruising my knee (and my ego) in the process.

3. Put my hands over my eyes in class and felt my contact fall out of my right eye, forcing me to leave the room to put that sucker back in.

*Sigh*

What. A. Day.

At least I got in a good workout this morning before chaos ensued.

Sound of Summer

2009-05-31T21:14:00.003-05:00

There are some songs that I associate with summer. I hear them and think of riding in the car with the windows down heading to the park, to the beach, to a BBQ.... Oh, yeah!

So, the sounds of summer, for me:

1. "Summertime" by Will Smith and DJ Jazzy Jeff

'Nuff said.

2. "Canción en la arena" by Fiel a la Vega

This is THE beach song, in my head. The title translates to "Song on the sand" - it's a little slice of life, a day on a Puerto Rican beach. Love, love, love it. This is such a summer song for me. PLUS, it's FIEL! Can't go wrong with those boys.

3. "Cowboy Take Me Away" by The Dixie Chicks

I don't know why I associate this song with summer, but I do. I guess it might be the idea of sleeping on a pillow of bluebonnets with a blanket made of stars. That and the fact that I think that this song is one of the most beautiful songs ever written. So perfect I can barely even stand it.

4. "I Wish" by Skee Lo
Y'all know you remember this one. Fun, fun, fun stuff - and hilarious.

5. "Vamos de nuevo" by Víctor Manuelle

Or anything by him, you know, because I love him. He is my favorite salsero, and there is nothing like driving around with some good salsa playing on the stereo. A few more good ones: "He tratado", "Cómo se lo explico al corazón", and "Así es la mujer".

6. "Guayaquil" by Don Omar

I know, I know. Don Omar doing cumbia? Oh, but it's catchy! And I don't know how it works, but Latinos can make an accordion sound HOT! Believe it. Oh, and as a 6 1/2: "Salió el sol" by Don Omar. I'm not huge into reggaetón, but this song makes me want to dance EVERY TIME!

7. "Quickly" by John Legend

Because y'all KNOW I can't make a soundtrack without Mr. Legend.

8. "Is This Love?" by Bob Marley and the Wailers

This song reminds me of walking down Costa Rican streets on my way to the beach from some little café where I might have just enjoyed a fresco de guanábana. Delicious. Also, the lyrics? "I wanna love you and treat you right....We'll be together with a roof right over our heads, we'll share the shelter of my single bed." LOVE!

9. "Oye mi amor" by Maná

And a couple more by Maná: "Cómo te deseo", "Tú me salvaste" and "Bendita la luz"

10. "Touch the Sky" by Kanye West feat. Lupe Fiasco
Two of my three favorite Chi-town rappers, Common being the third. Actually, I'll take pretty much anything by Kanye. He's good summer music.

Let the summer begin!

Mamita linda

2009-05-18T19:51:00.003-05:00

With my beautiful mom on Mothers' Day

So I'm late on this one. I've been thinking about it since well before Mothers' Day and have been meaning to write it for a loooong time and then the end of the semester came and knocked me upside the head, and I'm only now beginning to emerge...just in time for the beginning of my summer classes. So anyway, I have cover letters to write and a gazillion pages to read, so I figured this was the perfect time to get this post out of the way.

I'm one of those women who thinks of her mother as her best friend, which is funny, because things weren't always this way. Growing up, my mom had no interest in being my friend. I had enough friends, she said, what I needed was a mother. Looking back, I'm glad for that. I had friends, good ones, but my mom needed to be something more, and she was.
She got here to the States when she was about twenty-four, following her husband, with two kids in tow: a four-year-old me and my one-year-old sister. She came without speaking the language, without knowing a soul, without knowing how many years of bitter cold she'd have to endure in this strange land. My mother is a brave woman, braver, I think, than I. I don't know that I could have handled it the way she did.
My mom learned English by watching Oprah and the news. She's the kind of woman who knows how to fake confidence, how to make herself look more secure than she is inside. She never apologized for her accent, and she wasn't afraid to speak up when she knew someone was trying to take advantage of her, of us, of anyone else.
My mother showed me strength, told me that women could do anything, let me know that I had choices. She stayed home with my sister and me, a stay-at-home-mom until we were old enough to fend for ourselves, and then home again when we moved to Germany. Once in a fit of anger, I lashed out at her, told her I'd be more than a housewife. I can't remember what the punishment was for that, but I do know that I deserved it. She stayed home, yes, but that did not make her weak, did not make her one of those silent, subservient women. There was a strength to choosing to stay home, choosing to forgo her own dreams to see her daughter's dreams fulfilled. There's a strength in sacrifice that I see now.
My mother is the type of person who will give and give and give without reservation, like her mother before her; I like to think I've inherited some of that. I remember her volunteering at my school, with a community of migrant field workers in our area, at our church. She gave her time, gave her skills, and never asked for anything in return. To this day, she works for a pittance because she loves what she does, and she translates and interprets for free because she knows someone needs to do it. She's an advocate, my mother. She's the woman people call when they don't have the words to fight for themselves, because she'll march into a bank or a store or a doctor's office with you and give someone what-for. Believe, she's a woman you'll want in your corner.
My mother flings open the doors of her home to bring people in. If you need a place to stay and you're in town, come on over. If you just want to hang out, come on over. If you need someone to listen, come on over. She'll let you in, feed you till you can barely move, and kill you with hospitality. The woman knows how to throw a get-together. And don't even get me started on her fashion! We used to tease her, my sister and I, for covering up and layering, but my gosh, she always looks polished and elegant. We have different styles - my look is a little funkier, a little more in the scoop neck/deep V territory - but we can both rock some basic pieces and have a passion for a beautiful, well-crafted shoe that is both stylish and comfortable. And best of all, she taught me how to walk in heels without lurching or looking like I'm tripping all over myself. Thank you, mom, for teaching me how to work a stiletto in comfort and with grace.
I love my mamita. Love her for being a parent, perfectly imperfect, the kind of woman who made me who I am: a well-adjusted, intelligent, passionate woman who can only hope to be half as stylish and generous as she. Even more, I love her because on this side of childhood and the self-righteous anger of my adolescence, we can be friends, women who can share victories and struggles, hopes and fears. I love that she's still in my corner, but I'm also glad to be in her's now.

The kiddies

2009-04-28T18:57:00.002-05:00

I volunteer twice a week in a fourth grade class and tutor two girls on Tuesday evenings and lately I've been wishing I had a tape recorder with me to document all the craziness they say. A few gems from this week:
1. D: Miss, you got a daughter?
Me: No.
D: You got a son?
Me: Nope.
D: You don't got anything?!
Me: Nope.
D: (Looks at me like I have grown a second head and says with some degree of disappointment) Miss, I heard you were twenty-five!
Me: I'm actually twenty-six.
At this point, she just looked at me again and shook her head. In other words: What is wrong with you, woman? Go pop out some babies!

2. The teacher explains how to use "I" and "me" correctly, and then mentions that there is a character on Sesame Street who always uses "I" and "me" incorrectly. She asks the students to guess who it is.
The students correctly guess that it's Cookie Monster, and then proceed to talk about some of the different characters. One of the boys looks around at his classmates and says: "Are we really discussing Sesame Street?"
I mean, really. Fourth grade is so far from the days of discussing Sesame Street.

3. With the girls I tutor:
M: Do you ever talk to imaginary friends when you're bored?
Me: (Pick my jaw up from the floor) Um, no. Maybe when I was little, but not in a long, long time. Do you?
M: Yep.
For the record, I don't remember ever having an imaginary friend, and I don't think my mom has ever said anything about me having one, I just had a feeling she needed to know it was okay if she did. Also, her sister, J. asked what her imaginary friend's name was and M. said she didn't know.
Mad props to J. for being a supportive older sister; I would've teased C. mercilessly.

Today

2009-04-25T11:32:00.002-05:00

To do:
1. Laundry
2. Urban Econ paper, O.M.G!
3. Study guide for Urban Econ exam
4. Clean my room
5. Pick up books from the library
6. Deposit check
7. Walk in the beautiful sunshine

I've done two of the above, numbers five and six, of course. I've started on number one, and am thinking about number seven, but two and three really, really, REALLY need to get done. Today.

Why is it that when I really have to write a paper I fall asleep at my computer, feel an overwhelming need to clean, suddenly remember that I'll need a job in two months and I should start searching, or think of all the people I haven't talked to in a long time that I really want to catch up with?

I'm currently fighting the urge to nap or reorganize my closet and put away winter clothes. Because, seriously? Not as pressing as FAILING OUT OF GRAD SCHOOL BECAUSE I COULDN'T GET MY ACT TOGETHER LONG ENOUGH TO WRITE MY STINKIN' PAPER!

Back to work... I hope.

She's got a point.....

2009-04-21T19:03:00.003-05:00

Today I went into the school where I usually volunteer with the fourth graders. They were testing, so I helped out with second grade. I walked around the room as the kids worked on their penmanship and overheard this little bit of genius:

Boy 1: I wish I had a time machine. I'd go back in time.
Boy 2: Back in time?
Boy 1: Yeah, to like a hundred years ago!
Girl: That's dumb. How would you get back? They didn't have electricity a hundred years ago. What would you do with your machine?

I have to admit that I have never ONCE in my life thought about that as I've dreamed of hopping in a time-machine and hanging out in 1920s Chicago speakesies or 1600s Puerto Rico. Girl had a point - it'd be mighty hard to power up a time machine in 1600s Puerto Rico.
The thing that struck me about their conversation, though, besides the obvious hilarity of the exchange, is that they cannot conceive of a world without electricity. Frankly, neither can I. Don't get me wrong, I've spent some time in developing nations where blackouts are a way of life, but that's just part of the experience, it is NOT my day-in-day-out. These kids have never lived in a world without internet and cell phones. I still remember being one of the only kids in school with a computer at home. I remember listening to RECORDS on a Big Bird record player! I remember when cordless phones came out.
Oh, technology. I can't even dream about going back in time anymore because of my complete and utter dependence on you....

Dang, I'm old.

havin' church

2009-04-19T15:30:00.002-05:00

I know your deeds and your toil and perseverance, and that you cannot tolerate evil men, and you put to the test those who call themselves apostles, and they are not, and you found them to be false; and you have perseverance and have endured for My name's sake, and have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have left your first love.
Revelation 2:2-4 (NASB)

This is what they preached on this morning at church. I went to the second service, but I glanced at the notes from the first service's sermon and was struck by this:

Passionate about truth but not passionate for God.
Passionate for justice but not for God.
Passionate for purity but not for God.
Passionate for marriage but not for God.
You can hate what God hates and love what God loves and yet fail to love God.

My immediate reaction: "Gulp. Daaaaaaang...." Such a common thing for Christians. We're characterized by so many, many things. On one end of the spectrum, there's a quest for social justice and serving the poor; on the other end, there's railing against all the evils (and "evils") around us. Both are sin when it's done apart from a quest to love God fully. When we love God - really love Him - it's hard to hate the people around us, to feel that we are somehow superior to them. And, yes, I do believe that there are feelings of superiority on both ends of the aforementioned spectrum. This girl from the left can attest to that.
Anyway, it really helped me to gain some perspective.

Also, there was this song that we sang, a song which I've long loved. I was reminded of its power today when we sang it, partly because we sang it in a church where most of the members would rather speak English than Spanish, and you could still feel the emotion that swept us up. There was something beyond language that descended. I hate saying it like that, because it makes me sound all mystical, but it's the only way I can explain it. A hush fell over the room, and wow....

Renuévame, Señor Jesús, ya no quiero ser igual.
Renuévame, Señor Jesús, pon en mí tu corazón.
Porque todo lo que hay dentro de mí
necesita ser cambiado Señor.
Porque todo lo que hay dentro de mi corazón
necesita más de ti.

Stinkin' cheesy YouTube videos...

perreo

2009-04-17T11:45:00.002-05:00

This morning I was awakened by someone blasting reggaetón from their car as they parked at the greenhouse-type-place next door. My first thought: ¿Reggaetón? In Wayne? If it hadn't been that it happened just minutes before my alarm sounded, I might have run outside to meet my fellow displaced Latinos. You know, before I realized that women who are technically soltera but not sin compromisos should NOT run out to meet landscapers just because we share a language.

As it was, I was a little unhappy that I lost precious moments of sleep.

Wordle

2009-04-15T18:45:00.004-05:00

Have y'all heard of Wordle? Hours of entertainment, folks. HOURS.
That translates to "hours of procrastination".

Image courtesy of www.wordle.net

Five

2009-04-15T10:23:00.001-05:00

Days until I find out from Teach for America.
The nerves....

Reflection on my complete and utter exhaustion

2009-04-14T23:22:00.003-05:00

Suspiro.
Respiro.
El corazón me pesa.
Duele respirar.
Lo que más quiero es dormir
para apaciguar este cansancio interminable.
Pero el sueño no lo calma
y esa pesadez persiste.
Suspiro.
Respiro.
Siento que el aire no pasa,
que en vez de sostenerme, me
atraganta.
Otro día más del jueguito,
del -sí señor,
de comprometer mi esencia de ser.
Suspiro.
Respiro.
Un aire contaminado
por los pecados del pueblo:
mi pueblo, el pueblo que me
ha rechazado, de los pueblos
que existen en proximidad
pero no en unidad.
Suspiro.
Respiro.
Esperando el día que esto se aclare,
que ya no me duela,
que no me canse
el respirar.
Respiro.
Suspiro.
El día aún no ha llegado.

Assimilation

2009-04-08T19:52:00.003-05:00

I just heard this quote on a documentary about Puerto Ricans: "Assimilation is a curse because it forces you to give up your identity".

I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about this documentary, probably because it was done by Rosie Pérez and her Spanish is a more than a little rusty. (I have seriously got to get over my discrimination against Latinos who can't speak Spanish well.) The quote, however, got my attention because I've been thinking about how much I've given up simply because I live here in the US. I'm a speaker of Spanish in public places; I like resisting expectation, if that makes any sense. But my question is, is assimilation even a choice? I mean, we're here, we live here. How much can you avoid becoming something else? You retain what you can, but you give up a lot anyway. You give up and you adopt and adapt.
I've been thinking about this assimilation thing a lot. I know I've assimilated, but I know I haven't completely lost myself - that piece of my people that I carry around. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone else, if anyone else feels that they carry their people inside, but I do.
I don't know, I don't know.... I wonder what happens next, you know? With the next generation? What do they lose? What do they gain? I don't know.
I
Don't
Know

Aniversario

2009-04-07T18:23:00.003-05:00

I don't call my family in PR this week, at least, not anymore. Is that awful? I think sometimes it might be.
My cousin died four years ago tomorrow, and the thought of it still hurts. It hurts me and I know it hurts my aunts and cousins and grandmother. It still sucks. It's still not okay.

It was a beautiful day, a Friday, and I was sitting in the backseat of someone's car on my way to work. Leroy was supposed to be coming into town that day to speak at my church, and I'd be getting off work early to pick him up.
We were pulling into DC, I was on 14th street, just before my stop at Independence, when my mom called. There had been an accident. Yamil had been hurt, and he might be dead. "They're still not sure," she said, but I knew. I knew he was gone already. I told her I'd be waiting for her call, that I'd leave my phone on so that she could call me once it was certain.
I walked down Independence trembling, up to my office, still trembling. And when that phone finally rang with the news I already knew, I fell apart. I went to the bathroom and cried. I stood in the stairwell and cried some more. Gone. He was gone, gone, gone.
I have no idea how I got through that day at work. I had to stay till two so I could head to the airport to meet Leroy; I don't think it was the arrival he'd expected.
We were all a mess at my parents' house. My dad was arriving from Romania that day and he arrived and broke down, still standing on the driveway, holding my mother. I remembered that he'd loved Yamil like a son.
At church, we sang "In Your Hands" in English and Spanish and I let go, for real let go, and sobbed and sobbed because I didn't feel like God was close at all, because if He were, He wouldn't have taken my sweet, beautiful cousin.
My mom, sister, and I went to Puerto Rico the next day, leaving Leroy with my daddy in VA. We had a layover in Boston, and I remember feeling raw and just on the verge of tears the whole time. The guy on the plane next to me wanted to talk and I just wasn't having it; I didn't have the strength to speak and control the tears, I just wanted to be left alone.
We went from the airport to the funeral home. When we walked through the door, the knot in my throat loosened itself into a flood of tears. I screamed, "No, no, no," and looked at the body that was no longer my cousin and thought, "It's not him, it's not him." I felt like my soul were being ripped apart. Gone. Here today, and tomorrow a truck drags you down the road and you're gone. Gone.
My gosh. He was so young - twenty-one - and he was gone.
After that moment at the funeral home when I collapsed - literally - on my aunt's lap in a mess of tears and unintelligible sounds, I got it together because I had to. I had to be strong for my aunt, for my uncle, for my cousin J, for my grandmother. I had to be strong.
It rained the day we buried him. A torrential downpour as we walked down the paths to the plot where my uncle's parents were buried, where my cousin was joining them: coffin in the stone and cement of a Latin American cemetery, none of the lush, green fields of the States. We walked in the rain, soaked to the skin, water filling our black dress shoes. I remember thinking it was appropriate weather for the occasion.
When we got back home, I would randomly cry at the thought of all we'd lost as a family.
Yamil.
So full of life. So funny. He was the one who would take us out, who taught me about good music, who would visit us everywhere we lived. Every time I go back home to PR, he's missing. His absence is still painfully obvious. Our family has never been the same since he was taken away.

¿Dónde estás? Te busco, sólo encuentro un lugar
de piedra y silencio.
Tu cuerpo acecha tras la sombra,
tu cuerpo laberinto eterno,
encubre peligro y misterio,
peligro y misterio.
-- Robi Draco Rosa "Cruzando puertas"

While pretending to write a paper

2009-04-05T14:54:00.002-05:00

Just some random stuff I've been thinking about lately:

1. I'm probably one of very, very few women who actually prefers wearing heels. I hate wearing socks, and I don't like closed shoes very much. If I've got to wear closed shoes, I enjoy a little toe cleavage and some height, courtesy of a skinny heel - no clunkers for me. And here's the thing: I'm not one of those women who's all about suffering for beauty. My heels aren't terribly high (usually an inch and a half to two inches), and I refuse to wear uncomfortable shoes all day long, I just want them to look GOOD.

2. On a related note: I hate tights. I love how the look on other people, but my gosh! I feel like I'm in some type of torture device when I'm wearing tights.

3. I'm obsessed with Nivea cream. Oh. My. Gosh. I bought a tiny little tin of it a few months ago and I've been using it daily as I'm running around. I have such stinkin' dry skin, and I need to reapply lotion every few hours. This stuff is fabulous and a little goes a long way. Best of all, it's not smelly; it smells clean, not like flowers or perfume. Love it!

4. I've rediscovered the joy of cooking, proper cooking, not just making a sandwich. I can imagine how the ingredients will work together, and I really like experimenting with different flavors and textures. My favorite part is seeing people's reactions to what I've created. It makes me happy.

5. Spring. It's spring here, finally and I feel like I've come back to life. Have I mentioned I hate winter? That it depresses me like crazy? Yeah, man, spring feels GOOD!

Walk

2009-03-27T12:09:00.002-05:00

I took a long way today - about three and a half miles long - during which I listened to the birds, searched the trees for signs of life, and pondered the importance of a good sports bra. On my walk I noticed a few things:

1. A cute, cute, cute Golden Retriever puppy. Awww!
2. A gazillion young moms in yoga pants pushing those special strollers for working out with your baby.
3. A tall, gray-haired man pushing a two-year-old boy in aforementioned stroller.
4. A woman with a labradoodle who was very proud of her dog and talking on her blue-tooth about being laid-off
5. Only one person smiled in passing, and only one said hello. Man, do I miss the South!
6. One Asian family.
7. Little old ladies.
8. People wearing gloves. Whaaaat?

Today is one of those fantastic days that makes you eager for spring and the coming summer. There's sun, there's green, there's a clear, blue sky; there's hope. Mmm, after the long, freezing winter, that's a good thing.

Sweet procrastination

2009-03-24T20:34:00.002-05:00

I'm supposed to be working on a draft grant proposal for my class tomorrow. The thing is that I just can't seem to make myself work on that sucker. This class has taught me that while I'm glad to have a little experience in the whole process of grant writing, this is probably NOT my forte. I'm an ideas person, but not so much a planner.
Big surprise there. (The sarcasm....)

Anyway, I've found that writing for myself tends to help me focus on writing for others. Fun writing helps me do the boring writing as well. Let's be honest: grants are boring writing.

I'm also taking a class on cross-cultural skills which has been making me think (even more) about my own ethnic/cultural identity. I think today's class was the first one in which I've sat without an overwhelming sense of heaviness, of otherness. There have been a lot of notes scrawled in the margins of my notebooks that have less to do with the lecture/discussion and much more to do with the sorting of identity issues.
I didn't grow up in predominantly Latino area. In fact, I was the darkest kid in school until my sister went to Kindergarten; then I was the second darkest kid. For the record, I'm stinkin' light-skinned. Too light for my own tastes. Even so, we were always surrounded by fellow Puerto Ricans and a handful of Mexican friends. I was, even from a very young age, acutely aware that I lived in two worlds. One world existed inside my house and at friends' houses. It was a world of Spanish, arroz, chuletas, and habichuelas; and Latin music. It was a place where we got together for Pay-per-View boxing matches, games of dominoes, and women's raucous stories. The other world existed at school and in public spaces. In this world, we spoke English, waited our turn, and spoke quietly and politely. And then after elementary school, I was shipped off to Catholic school, which was in a much rougher area. And there I was: one more brown face. I wasn't the oddity, the "immigrant" kid (we're technically NOT immigrants), the token Latina. It was a place where those two worlds were in such close proximity that I wasn't as certain of their separation.
The thing is that feels like centuries ago. I left Illinois when I was thirteen - just days before my fourteenth birthday - and ended up on a military base in Heidelberg, Germany. Yeah, yeah, all of us Heidelberg kids know just how white HD was (is?), but it was light years from my childhood in the Chicago suburbs. And I was in high school now, at that age when you're suddenly forging this identity, and for a brown kid in the US, that identity will invariably be wrapped up in your non-whiteness. It's funny to me that I have never been unaware of the fact that I'm not part of the in-group; I have never been unaware of the fact that I am not fully "American", even though I am, more fully than anyone can imagine.
I've been thinking a lot about those years of wrestling with my identity. I was embarrassed by my awkward Spanish, afraid of being teased the way my sister was when she tried to speak, tongue clumsy around sharp "t"s and trilled "r"s. I didn't want to be teased, so I kept my mouth shut, saying the phrases in my mind until I was certain my tongue wouldn't betray me as la prima americana.
I was even more embarrassed by my light skin. My sister and my dad are both gloriously dark - skin that's so obviously Latin, but my skin is obviously nothing. It's both too light and too dark to fit easily in anyone's preconceived notions. I had to make up for my physical deficiency with a real knowledge of the language and history and culture of my people. I consumed every book I could find on Puerto Rico or on Hispanic and Latino issues. I perused the library stacks for Latino names and read their works. I listened to my dad's music: El Gran Combo, Silvio Rodríguez, Juan Luis Guerra. I became addicted to the media form that Latinos have perfected: the telenovela. I dusted off my Spanish and worked it into every sentence; even better, I mastered the art of Spanglish. Spanglish, I'd read, was the language of the future, a tidbit I shared with anyone who would listen.
I think back and I wonder about what led me down that path. It must've been more than all the shame associated with my skin, you know? That can't have been the only reason. The thing is, I don't remember feeling lost or like it was too much work or even thinking that there was anything unusual about living in two worlds. I mean, I didn't think about that until I got back to the States.
Within two months of our return, I'd experienced three distinct racially fraught incidents that had me wondering if the racial harmony I'd experienced in Germany was an illusion. Once, my family was shuttled to the back of a restaurant, past many empty tables to an area occupied exclusively by people of color. I might've been young, but I was neither blind nor stupid. The second time, I was at my church youth group, and we were outside our youth leader's apartment doing a trust building activity. Someone called the cops on us; they'd reported a "gang initiation" going on. Too many Latino kids outside, I guess. The third was my AP English Lit. teacher's reaction to the Latina in her class. She didn't have to say a word. I was the darkest kid in the room, and the shock and confusion on her face were enough; I never felt safe in that class.
That was where I learned that not everyone lives in two worlds. In fact, most people will never have to deal with anything or anyone from outside their world in anything but the most cursory manner. That's a luxury I never had.
I guess the thing that saved me that year - I was only seventeen - was my creative writing class where I was given this outlet to write out these things. My teacher loved it. She made me believe that this story I'd been weaving - the fragments of language, the collage of experiences, the hybridization of culture - were beautiful. My struggle was a source of pride.
I still think about that teacher because that year, I felt like only two of my teachers actually cared about me. She fostered my passion for writing and for creating my cultural and ethnic identity. Someday I'll have to track her down and thank her....

Blonde

2009-03-13T21:59:00.004-05:00

Later on I hope to write about how I felt in LA, how good it was for B. and I, how good it was to see my sister and brother-in-law, and how much I love the beach. For right now, however, there's this article: Fade to Blonde, which I loved. It's about a Latina like me: Brown and proud, hoping everyone can see her pride in her ethnicity, light-skinned, and political. And then she dyes her hair blonde for the piece.
Now, to me - and to her - this is a big no-no. Going blonde is selling out, it's trying to pass for white, it's giving up on your ethnicity, it's wanting to be white. And she does it. And she writes about the experience with amazing clarity, open-mindedness, and intelligence. Loved it.

Why I'm glad I learned to drive in NoVA

2009-02-26T00:05:00.002-05:00

I had to drive in to Philly three times this week, which resulted in me spending a hecka lot of time on 476, 76, and 95. Also, I was in VA over the weekend - more time on 95.
All that to say: Philadelphians can't drive. If there's one thing we know in the DMV (that's DC, Maryland, and Virginia, for those of you who don't know), it's traffic. We, of the three hour commute (20 miles, people, 20 miles!), know how to handle traffic. We know how to keep things interesting - a little weaving in and out, a little movement. Also, we know that on the rare occasion that traffic may be moving, you must take advantage of that and MOVE. If the speed limit says 55, but things are moving, go ahead and do 65 - but stay in the slow lane. The fast lane is reserved for people who are actually moving fast - like 80 fast.

People here don't know how good they have it.... It's only a forty minute commute in rush hour! That said, if we had those conditions down in DC, it'd be a twenty minute commute. Philadelphians cannot seem to figure out how to keep things moving! You'll have two lanes of traffic, and there will be two cars, each going 65. O. M. G. People! Stop blocking me in! If you're only going ten miles over the speed limit, move it over to the slow lane.
Stinkin' Philly drivers....

;)

In gear

2009-02-19T19:00:00.004-05:00

So I just realized that I plan to be in LA in a week wearing this little number:

Yikes!

I'm planning accordingly.

On the to-do list:

stop eating so many stinkin' carbs (oh, those delicious, delicious carbs)
focus on my core like craaaazy
invest in a little self tanner (yes, I am ridiculous)

Cali, here I come!

In the meantime, can I get a sound check?

2009-02-17T19:28:00.002-05:00

I've been thinking about a lot of things lately, some pretty heavy, and I do want to write about them, but I'm pretty frustrated after my class today. I feel like it'd be good for me to cool down a bit before I write about those issues; my perspective is a bit clouded right now.
Anyway, it's not like I haven't been thinking about my current soundtrack for a hot minute.

1. "Take Me Away" by John Legend

Oh, Mr. Legend.... There's a melancholy to it but also an optimism, and I like that. It reminds me of the way I feel in winter and how this winter has been so much better than last, partly because of the people I've had around me. And it's John Legend. How can I NOT love it?

2. "This Time" by John Legend

"This time I want it all, this time I want it all. Showing you all the cards, giving you all my heart. This time I'll take the chance, this time I'll be your man. I can be all you need, this time it's all of me." I love this song, mostly for the preceding lines. It just reminds me that I'm glad that I've taken the chances I've taken this year instead of holding back.

3. "Talkin' About A Revolution" by Tracy Chapman

So, I was in the car the other day, and this song came on my ipod, and it felt like I was listening to this song for the first time. Man, it is such good stuff!
"Don't you know you're talking about a revolution It sounds like a whisper While they're standing in the welfare lines Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation Wasting time in unemployment lines Sitting around waiting for a promotion...." Go 'head and sing it, Tracy.

4. "You Got Me" by The Roots
The video is copyrighted like crazy, so click the link, because it's worth it. I remember listening to this when it first came out in the late 90s and loving it, and I kind of recently rediscovered it. The sign of good music: you hear it again ten years later, and it STILL sounds fresh and beautiful.

5. "The Nature" by Talib Kweli feat. Justin Timberlake

Such a smart song; such a clear, sharp analysis of where we are as a society. "Don't nobody talk no more they all text message Driving and typing, not paying attention, missing the next exit Depending on navigation they never know where they're goin'They stay stuck in one spot; they're not growin'"

6. "Octavo día" by Shakira

Classic Shakira, before the blonde hair and the crossover, when she was still dying her hair burgundy (has any Latina NOT gone through that stage?!). Also, the lyrics. It's funny how so often it's the non-Christians who really get our need for God, because that's what I get from this. It's also about how easy it is for us to forget Him and our need for Him, because we're so busy letting the media give us folks to worship. "Es más difícil ser rey sin corona que una persona más normal..."

7. "Hold You in My Arms" by Ray LaMontagne

His voice, the folk influences in the music, the lyrics.... Oh, the love.

8. "Sólo quiero darte amor" by La Secta

Big shout out to my Puerto Rican rock en español bands. This is just fun - love this PR rock.

9. "Boquerón" by Fiel a la Vega

Speaking of my Puerto Rican rockers.... These guys are absolute geniuses. This is a little instrumental piece that is both so classic and so Puerto Rican.

10. "Cheer Up" by Ten Shekel Shirt

Except that what I was really going for was "House of Memories". That said, "Cheer Up" is a fine substitute, especially those last lines: "Wake up, it's time to dream bigger." Challenging. I'll take it.

Also, when will this be back on tv?

Things I would like

2009-02-11T18:25:00.002-05:00

1. A week near the beach - under the sun - with the boy I love. (Scheduled to come up SOOOOON!)
2. Adequate sleep tonight. Ha!
3. If my paper for Urban Econ. would WRITE ITSELF!
4. If the article I have to read would read itself aloud to me, because I actually do want to know all about it.
5. A couple hours of free time to write.
6. A couple hours to write things that are less fun, but arguably have more weight on my future. Such as an essay and a letter of introduction.
7. Some time with the fam. Man, I miss those crazy fools.

Formative

2009-02-03T00:16:00.003-05:00

I had to write a case study about a "cross-cultural interaction" from my personal experience for my Cross-Cultural Skills and Understanding class. I struggled a lot with it because I didn't want to get too personal; I think I did end up going in that direction, but it wasn't my intention. I wrote a few bits before the final draft, a little snippet about an experience I wrote about here before, which I kind of liked, so I'm including that here:

Last August: I was running an errand for my mother. The car windows were down to take advantage of the August heat, and Alejandra Guzmán blasted on the radio; Mexican rock spilled out the open windows. I pulled up to the stop sign, ready to turn right, and waited for the coming car to pass. I saw two teenage boys in the car, windows down; there was nothing unusual about it, just a couple high school kids taking advantage of their last weeks of summer vacation. And then they drove by; one leaned out the window: white face, black mouth. “GET OUT!”
My heart stopped and my mind raced. Was he talking to me? Did he just yell that at me? Was it my flag hanging from the rearview mirror? Was it the Alejandra Guzmán on the radio? Was it just the sight of this brown face? My hands trembled on the steering wheel because I knew they were driving in the same direction that I myself was heading toward, and the thought of running into them at the grocery store terrified me. Here I was, twenty-five years old and afraid to run into a couple of high school kids at the grocery store.
The car behind me honked, snapping me out of my paralysis. I drove, still shaking, knowing that this would never end. No matter how long I spend here, I will never fully understand; I will never fully belong. The feeling that this is home will always be tenuous and fragile. I am not welcome.

That's not what I ended up writing about, though. I wrote about an incident that happened when I was eleven that I have never been able to shake off. It's the one that has pushed me to be more and better my whole life. I think about Edward James Olmos in Selena, saying how Mexican-Americans have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans and I think of that day in 1993 when that first became clear to me. So here's a bit of what I wrote for class:

I’m eleven. At eleven, I could not possibly be more all-American, having lived most of my conscious life in the Midwest. I straighten my hair and worry about the fullness of my hips and listen to rock; I’m busy trying to fit in, trying to hide the ethnic parts of myself and my upbringing. There’s no way to hide it right now, though, because my grandmother and two of my cousins are visiting and I have to speak Spanish, not just inside the house, but outside of it as well. We have come to the mall with them, and I am walking with Marilyn, my cool oldest cousin, the older sister I always wished I had. We are in 579, my favorite store, lingering over a rack of stirrup leggings with matching sweatshirts; it was 1993. I remember my fingers trailing over a pair of plaid leggings – jade green, maroon, and ivory – and wondering if my mom would say yes to this purchase. Marilyn and I talk excitedly about the outfits, already carefully selected by the company and hung on interlocking hangers. We speak Spanish.
One of the saleswomen leans over the counter to talk to the cashier. I can still remember her: the shoulder-length blonde perm, the bubble bangs, and the winter white sweater she wore; it’s all seared in my memory, just as clear sixteen years later. She opens her mouth and says, “You know, we’re going to have to start offering a credit card for these Hispanics like Sears does. These Hispanics. They come to this country and they don’t learn English.” The cashier nods her head knowingly as if she’s thought of this before – as if she understands.
I’m standing not three feet away, at a rack right next to the register, but they have not bothered to lower their voices. I look at them nervously from the corners of my eyes. Marilyn, of course, is oblivious and it occurs to me that they think I don’t understand. I feel a heat in the pit of my stomach, a ball of shame and fear and confusion. I can’t make my tongue form words in either language, and all I know to do is to move away as quickly as possible.
I’m still clutching the plaid leggings and the matching jade green sweatshirt when I meet my mother and grandmother in the back of the store. The words are still ringing in my head, and I can feel my hands trembling despite my tight grip on the plastic hanger. Somehow, I convince my mother that Mari and I are ready to leave 579. She pays for the clothes in our hands, and I escape the stifling air of the store with my family, all of them still speaking loudly in the language that has caused my personal crisis.
I was afraid to mention it for months, afraid to put words to the event that had transpired. I did not know how to respond to it, and so I kept silent. One day, nearly three months later, I sat in the backseat of the car and told my mother about it. The confession felt like release at the time, a sharing of hidden pain that made it possible for me to be defended. My mother marched down to 579 one day and spoke to the manager. She told her everything that had happened, and made it clear that we would no longer support their establishment and that she would share our story with all our friends. There must have been apologies, offers of better service, something to keep her quiet; but it did not change her mind. We never set foot in that store again.
This is always in the back of my mind. Deep down inside, I’m still that eleven-year-old girl in 579 overhearing the staff say that my people did not learn English. I know that it was not my first uncomfortable cross-cultural experience, and it was not even the worst of those experiences, but it is the one that I carry with me, the one that haunts me....

As I was writing, I was amazed by the clarity of the memory. I can remember the cashier's long, brown hair - wavy in the way hair was wavy back in 1993 (was it called a body wave?). I can remember the guilt and shame I felt every time I wore those daggone stirrup leggings - shame that was not associated with the fact that they were stirrup leggings, but that they'd been purchased on the day I knew I needed to flee that place. (Don't worry, I'm now QUITE ashamed of the fact that I wore plaid stirrup leggings, period.) I don't think I'd realized quite how much that shaped me, how I realized that if I spoke we could organize a little economic resistance, how I felt wonderfully principled and proud every time I walked by my old favorite store without so much as looking in, how it's taught me to be the kind of woman who will speak Spanish in public places and challenge a stranger's stare with my own....
For better or worse, this, and all those other incidents, have made me who I am. They've made me embrace my culture with so much pride, while walking that careful tightrope of being "ethnic" in the US: la prima americana, the Puerto Rican friend. Ésa soy yo.

Confessions

2009-01-30T14:07:00.003-05:00

I hate snow. Hate it. Despise it.
I know I'm going to get flak for this and people will be like, "Oh, but it's so pretty." Yeah, yeah. I've heard that. It is. It's pretty when it's falling down, but I want that ish to melt as soon as it hits the ground; it should not accumulate on any surface that I need to walk on.

Everyone tells me about all the fun they had as children playing in the snow, and to be honest, I have one and a half fun memories of that. The half is that first time I played in snow. I was probably four or five and there's a picture of my sister and I bundled up in snow suits wielding a snow shovel and piling the snow in C.'s toy stroller. I was probably excited about it that day. After that, we did not play in the snow by choice. We were totally over it.
The full memory is of an eighth grade winter camp when we went snow tubing and had a big snowball fight. It was fun only because I was with my friends, not because balls of fabricated snow (read: ice) were flying at my head.

So, yeah, spare me the nostalgia, because I have no love for snow. I have plenty of love for 95 degrees and 100% humidity, so I would not say that I have no appreciation for nature or what not. Give me sun and heat and humidity any day and I won't even ask you for AC. Snow is just not my thing.

It snowed here this week and now my driveway is a dangerous skating rink. It snowed, rained, froze. There are deadly layers of ice and icy snow from the bottom of the steps to the cars parked out back, and even more deadly layers leading out to the curb where my recycling bins have been sitting for days because I cannot bring myself to make the trek out there to drag them back to their rightful place because I don't. Want. To die. It's scary, no joke.

I had to scrape that stuff off my car the other morning and it put me in such a bad mood until the sun came out and melted a little bit of it. Nothing depresses me like scraping snow and ice off my car in the morning, except, you know, maybe January.

So to end this rant on a positive note, I get to escape this frozen wasteland in a month. Mmmmm, Los Angeles.... Land of sunshine, beaches, taco trucks, and heat. Can't wait for the fun in Southern Cali with the sweetest boy. Oh yeah, and my sister and brother-in-law. Yay.

Random

2009-01-28T19:11:00.002-05:00

I can feel a couple heavy blog topics brewin' right about now, so I wanted to throw in a little something light before I expound on issues of race and ethnicity, grace, and the city of Nineveh (in separate posts, of course), and a couple of poems (if you're lucky).

For today, nothing but randomness:

1. I'm fascinated/obsessed with Ernesto "Che" Guevara and Marilyn Monroe for reasons that are the same but different. They're both people who have come to symbolize something much greater than themselves (revolution, feminine beauty), both people who lost their lives at young ages and under mysterious circumstances, both people with an amazing potential who didn't have the chance to fulfill it.
I read Che's Bolivian Diary as well as The Motorcycle Diaries this past summer, and when I can read for fun again, I plan to read more of his works. The thing is, he's a brilliant writer, even if you can't/don't agree with all of his ideas. I loved The Motorcycle Diaries because it showed him in all his idealism, before he was so radicalized, before he was El Comandante Che Guevara. There's a hopefulness in his writing and an idealism that I can connect with. But by the time the Bolivian Diary rolls around, this has been replaced by stubborn adherence to a failed ideal. That tragedy is what intrigues me.
That's what I see in Marilyn as well. She was this young woman who'd had a rough, rough life, but she kept hoping that she'd make it. And then she did. She never really knew what an impact she had; never really knew her inside out beauty. But she also had this idealism, this optimism, about her that was just luminous. Ultimately, though, it was that stubborn lack of self-confidence and the way she was shamelessly used that led to her demise.
They say Che was executed by the Bolivian army, but they also say he was executed by the CIA. They say that Marilyn committed suicide, but they also say that she was killed by the Mafia. That mystery - and I'll admit to being a bit of a conspiracy theorist where these two are involved - is pretty interesting as well.
Ah, and as a side note, my favorite poem in the world is "Oración por Marilyn Monroe" by Ernesto Cardenal, a liberation theologist from Nicaragua. You can find it here.

2. I have always, always, always, for as long as I can remember, wished that my skin were at least five shades darker. Daggone Spanish and Italian blood! I've always wished that my African and Taíno heritage would be more apparent in this light skin. I can't even tell you the complex I have because of it. My sister is wonderfully dark, and I'm so stinkin' pale. I've had people question my Puerto Rican-ness because of it, which makes me so. Stinkin'. Mad.

3. I always have hummus in the fridge because it is a delicious and convenient source of lean protein. I spread it on sandwiches, stuff it in pitas, eat it with carrot sticks and broccoli, and use it as salad dressing. Good and versatile stuff, hummus.

4. I feel personally offended when Puerto Ricans call themselves "Boriquas" with a "Q". UGH! Spell it right if you want those Puerto Rican points! "BORICUA", with a "C". Thank you.

5. I am obsessed with the concept of grace. It's a big, big thing, and I wonder if we've softened it or skipped over it in modern US Christianity. I'm grateful I spent a few years as a "hot mess", because those years have helped me realize how wonderfully all-encompassing grace really is.

6. As I've gotten older, I realize how little I care about what people say about me. This is a big deal for a Latina where el qué dirán is always just under the surface, especially in the church circuit. So I'm not apologizing for loving hip-hop, engaging in politics, and speaking Spanish in public, among other things. Which is not to say that I'm completely free of this qué dirán thing, just that I can see myself getting there, because I'm only trying to make One Person really, really happy with me.

7. I'm much more attached to my family than most people my age. In that way, I'm so Latina.

8. Corny as it sounds, I really believe that whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. The fact that Kanye sings about it just makes me more able to work his lyrics into conversation. I do love me some Kanye.

9. I miss having a tv so I can watch telenovelas, AI, House, and Bones. Also, I heart Food Network and Top Chef. Sigh. I wish I liked tv less.

10. I love the physical act of writing: the contact with paper, the sound of pencil on the page, the satisfaction of seeing lines of my own handwriting on a page.... Blogging, while fun, doesn't give me the same feeling.

So much for not going too deep....

Happy day

2009-01-22T16:45:00.005-05:00

***I started writing this the 22nd of January, and have really struggled to find the words to describe it all. I still think it's inadequate, but I also feel like I can't really hold off on it much longer. So, here it is, on the 28th, with all its imperfections: my attempt to share what I experienced on 20 January 2009.***

We have a new president. I was reading the headlines online today and it struck me that "President" no longer means "George W. Bush"; it means "Barack Obama". Man, I have been waiting for this day for ages, it seems, and it's finally here. It happened, and I'm still trying to get my head around it all.

First of all, we went. A group of about ten of us from Eastern went down to my parents' house and went into the city on Tuesday. I could talk about the logistics of it: the hours of travel, the lines to get on metro, the free buses, and the helpfulness of Metro staff, and I guess I just did, but that's not the point. We saw (albeit on the jumbo-tron) Yo-Yo Ma, Aretha Franklin (and her bow), Beyonce, and Jay-Z, but that is also not the point.
The point isn't, as some wanted to make us believe, that George W. Bush was out of office.

The point, at least for me, is that the city was flooded with people from all over the nation - from all over the WORLD! - to see history being made. As a nation, we have elected a man who is nothing like any other President before him. He is not a Washington insider, not an old white man from a political family, not the easy choice. The poignancy was undeniable as he took the oath of office the day after we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr.; the nation's first black President. And there were over a million people there to see it happen. There was a unity in that crowd that I've never before experienced outside of church. There was a sense of hope and this swelling of pride that we, as a nation, might possibly become what we'd always hoped we could be.

This is a dark time in this country, and it has been for a long time, I think. September 11th really rocked our sense of self; our sense of justice and security and all that is right. It turned the country on its head, and I think that as a nation we've been reeling from that for the past seven-plus years. I remember being on my way to Panamá when the war in Iraq started, and going back to Panamá the day of the infamous "Mission Accomplished" speech - let's just say that in the six years since then, my own perception of my country has changed, and our image abroad has, too. I'm not saying that it's exclusively Bush's fault, because I think that there were several issues that led to this phenomenon, but it feels like there might be hope to make the US more like what we'd like her to be. Does that make sense?

I mean, I am not the most patriotic person - wait. That's kind of what I'm trying to say. There has been a narrowing of what it means to be patriotic, and it's not the first time in our history that it's happened. My particular brand of patriotism involves a critical look at our nation, at our shortcomings and sins, and the courage to dream of something better for this country. Something like mercy and justice and inclusion and grace. And standing on that mall in that crush of people, I felt like I wasn't alone in that hope. Standing there, in that crowd of a million plus, I thought: "This is what democracy is about; this is what it feels like to believe that your voice has been heard. This is what it's like to believe that the people of a nation can truly bring change."
I think this is what Barack Obama has been about: about bringing the outsiders in, about opening the lines of dialogue so that it's not just a select few who can say what's what in Washington. I hope and pray that it's something that he can carry through his presidency. He has started a movement that I hope continues.
There's this: as I watched Barack Obama take that oath, I felt, for the first time since I left elementary school, that I really can make it. I felt like this really is the land of opportunity. Here's this man who looks nothing like any president before him, who's been on the outside, who's young and brash and different, and HE MADE IT. This nation chose him. I can't even explain the kind of hope that gives me as a Latina, that someday my children, with all their differences might dream those same big dreams and see them come to pass; that they won't have to assimilate and speak only English and straighten and dye their hair to make it. It makes me feel like this really is MY America, too.

There are some who will say I'm being melodramatic, and maybe I am, but that's what I felt on the Mall on January 20th. There was a sense of unity and hope and pride (in its best form) in the city that day, and it made my heart full. I pray that Barack Obama would lead with that same hope and unity that I felt that day.

Y'all...

2009-01-18T19:08:00.004-05:00

People always make fun of me for loving country music the way I do. They laugh even more when I say my top three musical genres are (in no particular order) probably hip-hop, salsa, and country.
I don't often have to defend salsa - it's hot, it's danceable, it's distinctly Latin. Same goes for hip-hop - it's hot, it's danceable, it has the potential to be very smart and thought provoking....

I wish I could say the same about country, but people are always hatin' on country. I tell you, it is so underrated.
Here's what I like about it:
1. Story songs. I like songs that make sense, and stories do. They're these little snippets of life set to music, and who doesn't love a story?
2. They still believe in being in love forever. Think of all those great "love" songs from other genres - they're about heartbreak, or unrequited love, or lust. Country has some great songs about the sexiness of everyday love. Of growing old with someone, of celebrating the different stages of life with the same person, of sticking through those hard things and making it. I like that; there's something real about it that's sorely lacking from so many other forms of entertainment where the only part of the relationship that matters is that exciting pursuit and the sweet honeymoon part of it. Country celebrates that and all the mundane aspects of love and relationships.
3. On a related note, they talk about family. As a Latina, family is crazy important to me. Crazy, crazy important. My mom and I have become such good friends now that I'm an adult, I love my sister dearly, and I have always, always been Daddy's li'l girl. When I hear those songs about leaving home for the first time, or about dads and daughters, I get a little choked up. There are so few songs about family in other genres.
4. It's so stinkin' American. Y'all know I'm not that patriotic; I'm not talking Toby Keith post-9/11 talking about boots in anyone's rear. I'm talking about the searching for undiscovered places, the beauty of long afternoons in the country, the love of freedom, faith in God, and the faith that we can get through tough times. Those are the parts of American culture that I really like, and they come through in the lyrics.
5. The music itself. These are real people, playing real instruments - obscure instruments at times. There are fiddles and rhythm guitars and mandolins and drums and guitars.... There's a richness to the music with all those layers of guitars, the subtle harmonies, and a rawness you can't get from the slick studio productions with drum and bass machines. I appreciate that.

I like the twangs, but a lot of modern country is less twangy than it once was, which makes it more palatable for more people - the thing is I wish people'd give it a chance, because they might discover it's so much better than they'd thought.

Impulse

2009-01-15T20:46:00.004-05:00

I might have just purchased this bathing suit from Victoria's Secret sale....

I guess I'm looking forward to Spring Break.

Now excuse me while I do a few crunches....

Ugh, January

2009-01-14T03:51:00.004-05:00

I really, really don't like January. I'd say I hate it, except that seems a little strong a word.
January is the worst month for me - right up there with November in the suckage, except that November at least has Thanksgiving and the anticipation of Christmas. January has none of that.
There's this:
Gray skies.
Bare trees.
Dry grass.
Bitter cold.
And the knowledge that another month and a half of winter waits.

January is knowing that you've made some progress, but not nearly as much as you'd like. It's like waking up thinking it's Friday only to discover that it's Wednesday - not even close.

I know I'm not alone in this craptacular winter feeling, but it sure feels that way sometimes. My skin is peeling, my hands cracking and bleeding - no matter how much cream I rub into them with obsessive care, my eyes are dry and itchy, and I can seem to warm my toes at all.
But the worse part is that heaviness, the lethargy, the feeling that I'm suffocating under the weight of too much gray.... I just don't feel like myself; I don't feel quite as alive.

January.

What a let down.

Throw in the fact that I just got back from Puerto Rico two weeks ago, and you can see why I'm feeling this way.
Gosh, I miss it. Miss it so much. I miss the sun, of course, and the sweet air, thick with humidity. I miss the walk to the bakery, the warmth of family and friends that might as well be family. I miss the closeness and the chill vibe of Latino culture with that healthy dose of Puerto Rican bravado. I miss speaking Spanish, I miss coquís at night, I miss the warm rain in the day - especially the times it rains while the sun's still out. Man, I miss PR. Here's the thing - no place has ever felt as consistently like home to me as Puerto Rico does. It's been the only constant place in my nomadic life.

Place means something to me in a way that I can't even explain. I refer to time periods by place. Ask me when something happened and I'm more likely to tell you a place than a year. "When did you graduate from middle school?" - "When I was in Illinois." Yeah, that's a time to me.... But the point is, that right now, when I feel less anchored to geographic place than ever before, Puerto Rico is that one place that I can hold onto. It's the thread that's run through my whole life - the place where all time lives.

Man, I miss Puerto Rico. Especially in January.

Lookin' forward, lookin' back

2009-01-11T16:48:00.003-05:00

First blog of the new year, and yeah, it's been awhile. I've got a few things that have been tumblin' in my head, and I've finally got the time and patience to sit down and write it out.

So first, a look at 2008 in numbers.
One: Amazing tattoo I got in March. Yeah it hurt; yeah it was worth it. I still love it every time I see it.
Two: The number of weddings in which I was the maid of honor and the number of times I went to Puerto Rico. Two of my favorite women were happy and beautiful brides and I'm glad to have been a part of it. And while the second time in PR was MUCH better than the first, it was so, so, so good to see my family twice in one year under happy circumstances.
Three: The number of times I moved in 2008 and the number of years I taught at Gar-Field. I cried the day I left because it was a good experience. I loved my students, loved my coworkers, felt mostly supported by the administration team.... I can't complain about my experience at G-F, and there will always be a special place in my heart for that place. Also, three is the number of extracurricular activities which I (co)sponsored in 2008. Oh, and the number of months B and I dated in 2008. :)
Four: The number of courses I took my first semester of grad school - and the number of "A"s on my report card. Alright, full-disclosure: two "A"s and two "A-"s. It still counts. Also, the number of preps I had at G-F: Spanish for Native Speakers 1, 2, and 3, as well as IB Spanish A2 - a Spanish lit and culture class. Finally, it's the number of Twilight books I lost sleep over. What an addiction!
Five: The number of days per week I spent working during my "summer vacation". It was the first time since college that I worked over the summer, and I enjoyed my time running that little camp in DC, despite the issues with the site itself. Also, it's the number of regulars I had in my Sunday School class. Love those kids....
Six: The number of classes I taught at Gar-Field (what a year!), and the number of major US cities I visited in 2008: New York, DC, Boston, Philly, Pittsburgh, and LA.
Seven: The number of major US cities I visited in 2008 if I count the hour I spent at BWI - maybe I should add Baltimore to the list? ;)
Innumerable: The number of hours "wasted" on YouTube and/or Facebook, the number of articles and books I read for class, the number of gallons of gas I burned through sitting in traffic, the number of all nighters I pulled, the adventures, the laughs, the tears, the lessons, and the smiles.

And not so much in numbers - I'm so grateful for all the amazing people I met, for the people with whom I reconnected (thank God for facebook!), for my amazing family, for B, for my classmates, for my church here and my church back in VA.... In short, I'm glad for the good things this year. I'm glad I learned some hard lessons and that God has been beyond faithful in all things. Even if I did spend the New Year at Dulles' baggage claim #10, and I lost my Cinna-Love in April (gosh, I still miss that dog so much it hurts sometimes), it was a good year.

And looking ahead to 2009 - who knows?
First there's this thing I like to call "The Rest of My Life" that will be staring me in the face around mid-June. I'll be finished with grad school, si Dios quiere, and ready to work in a big girl job that may not give me summers off to go traipsing around the world (not that I'd have money for that). And for the first time ever (?) I feel like I'm not making decisions just for me - if I decided to move clear across the country, there is someone else who might have something to say about that. It's not a bad place to be, but it is a little daunting to think about The Rest of My Life looming before me like this. Teaching, while I loved it, felt temporary to me. I went into it thinking I'd do it for three years and then reevaluate. Now there's school and after this, who knows?
Second, I'll be twenty-seven in June. Twenty-seven. It feels more momentous than twenty-five and twenty-six did. It puts me officially into the late-twenties camp. It struck me a couple days ago that I would only be this young once, and I was running out of youth. One of these days I'm going to wake up and be middle-aged. Yeah, yeah, I know I've got ten to fifteen years before that, but I'm definitely leaving my young, carefree days behind. Maybe it was Twilight that got me thinking about this- Twilight and my time with my grandparents, but I'm suddenly very conscious of the inevitability of those things, of time passing, of my own aging.... I mean, I am a grown woman all of a sudden - when did that happen? And in that vein, I offer this song by Carrie Underwood, which struck a chord with me when I heard it on the radio today: "Don't Forget to Remember Me".
Sample lyrics:

This downtown apartment sure makes me miss home
and those bills there on the counter
Are telling me I'm on my own
And just like every Sunday I called momma up last night
And even when it's not, I tell her everything's all right
Before we hung up I said
"Hey momma, don't forget:

to tell my baby sister I'll see her in the fall
And tell me-maw that I miss her
Yeah, I should give her a call
And make sure you tell Daddy that I'm still his little girl
Yeah I still feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be
Don't forget to remember me"

Christmas soundtrack

2008-12-15T18:19:00.002-05:00

There had to be a Christmas edition of this. I wonder if we ever really realize the depth of the words we're singing at Christmas....

1. "O Holy Night"

This is by far my favorite Christmas song because of lines like these:
* "A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn."
* "Fall on your knees, O hear the angels voices"
* "Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother, and in His name all oppression shall cease..."

2. "Arbolito de Navidad"

"Arbolito, arbolito, campanitas te pondré. Quiero que seas bonito, que al recién nacido te voy a ofrecer. Iremos por el camino, caminito de Belén, iremos porque esta noche, ha nacido el niño rey." And it's catchy. I end up singing it all the time.

3. "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen/We Three Kings" by BNL featuring Sarah MacLachlan

And it's true: I love their version above all other ones. Sample lyrics: "Let nothing you dismay, for Jesus Christ our Saviour was born upon this day, to save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray" and "Born a king on Bethlehem's plain, gold I bring to crown Him again, king forever, ceasing never over us all to reign"

4. "Burrito sabanero"

Nothing too deep here, but it's so stinkin' catchy and I love it. "Con mi burrito sabanero voy camino de Belén, si me ven, si me ven, voy camino de Belén"

5. "Angels We Have Heard On High"

"Angels we have heard on high, singing sweetly o'er the plains, and the mountains in reply echoing their joyous strains..."

6. "What Child Is This?"

"This, this is Christ the King whom shepherds guard and angels sing. Haste, haste to bring Him praise..."

7. "Las Posadas"

So the story behind this song is that Joseph and Mary are looking for an inn.... I don't know why I love it as much as I do, but I do love it.

8. "Villancico Yaucano"

This is one of those uniquely Puerto Rican Christmas songs. The story is similar to "Little Drummer Boy" in that it's about poor folks coming to visit the Christ child without a whole lot to offer materially, but I like it just a little more than "Little Drummer Boy" - "Al Niño recién nacido todos le ofrecen un don yo como no tengo nada le ofrezco mi corazón."

9. "Little Drummer Boy"

I guess it's the story that I really like - bringing what you've got, and I kinda like what David Bowie does with it. I really don't think we think about the things we're singing at Christmas....

10. "No Hay Cama Pa' Tanta Gente" by El Gran Combo de Puerto Rico

Trust a Puerto Rican to make a song about kicking people out of your house after a rowdy Christmas party a holiday classic. Seriously. This song is hilarious! "¡Pa'fuera! ¡Pa' la calle!" Jajaja...

sister

2008-12-12T12:57:00.003-05:00

So I switched my email yesterday and sent out one of those obligatory "I have a new email address" mass emails that ended with "Change is good, right?"
To which my sister, that priceless little gem, replied:

"Change is wonderful! like getting married, joining the gym, and eating morningstar sausage patties..."

Whaaaaaaat?! Man, I miss that crazy kid....

The project beckons

2008-12-11T17:06:00.002-05:00

but in the meantime:
Lovelovelovelovelove!

More pics

2008-12-05T12:27:00.006-05:00

More pics from M's wedding, shamelessly stolen from S.

With B.

Giving the toast

With S. So cute!

Again, with B.

And now for the ugly sweater party pics:

Can't stop listening to it....

2008-12-03T15:37:00.005-05:00

"The Great Conductor"
by Steven Delopoulos

So you dived beneath the tide
And you radio the sky
As you leave your desert land
And your fortune all behind

It’s a sequel never told
As you build it you can tell it
As the waves flush out the notes,
you built that temple just to sell it
The moon is sitting, speechless
As our castles slowly burning

Well, I bought a cup of coffee
when I asked her for her hand
She was checking me for Egypt,
she was shaking me for sand
But I've been resurrected years ago

So you listen to the sign
And you can’t believe the sound
Feels like blood is in the air like that lion’s close around
I can’t do it on my own you must be sober to reject him
Like a soldier with a Bible but no armor to protect him

If you listen to the saints
They’ll give you juice enough to fly
Now they found him in the catwalk
when he was knighted for the throne
And the crowd was throwing harmonies
To claim him as their own
As I close my eyes and vanished in the blessing

And oh, there’s a fire in the sky
Sit beside me on that last train
There’s a pinch before we’re through it
Close your eyes we’re almost to it

To the punch, the pain that popped our famous egos
out the window as we grew
And she opened up her eyes to see that
mansion full of glory
She was brand new….brand new, brand new, brand new

So you start with kicking pebbles
as you learn to fight in silence
And you orchestrate His presence
as you crucify the man
There’s a wand in your command,
as you became
The Great Conductor

So it’s fire turned to gold, you can catch it in the steam
As you slowly disappear in that crucifixion dream
You’re hanging in the balance of that heavenly perfection
While you’re having a conversation
Nonchalantly in suspension

And you notice something’s different
as you’re hanging in the sky
Well I got up from my knees
but I was dizzy from the trance
I was speaking like the angels,
I was raptured in the dance
Moving mountains with a glance

We must leave our earthly beds
And pray for those who strike us
In His house there are no weapons
Heal the sick and raise the dead

Raise the ballroom where we danced
until the broken sun surprised us from our doom
And we promised on our knees
to return the devil’s keys
We were in bloom
I do, I do, I do

So you start with kicking pebbles
as you learn to fight in silence
And you orchestrate his presence
as you crucify the man
There’s a wand in your command
As you expand

This is the song I've got on repeat these days. I won't say that I totally understand it, but there are pieces of it, lines that have made me really take notice as I listen to it again and again. For example:

"She was checking me for Egypt, she was shaking me for sand But I've been resurrected years ago"
"And you notice something’s different as you’re hanging in the sky Well I got up from my knees but I was dizzy from the trance I was speaking like the angels, I was raptured in the dance Moving mountains with a glance"
"Raise the ballroom where we danced until the broken sun surprised us from our doom"

And of course, that chorus is pretty stinkin' amazing.

There's a lot there about resurrection, about being made new right here and now while we're still on earth, about the perfection of God in acting in ways that make no sense.... There's more to it that I'm sure I haven't even begun to touch on, but, man, do I love this song!

Wedding pics

2008-11-30T20:09:00.004-05:00

So one of my favorite girls got married this weekend. A few wedding pics - hopefully there will be more to come:

Current soundtrack

2008-11-24T01:12:00.003-05:00

1. "Lost" by Anouk

Yeah, the video's a little creepy, but the song is brill. "My hands longing to touch you, but I can barely breathe, Starry eyes that make me melt, right in front of me..." Love it! I can't get enough of this song these days.

2. "Another Day" (or anything) by Steven Delopoulos

This man is pretty genius. First there's the brilliance of his guitar playing, then there's the depth of the lyrics. I'm not usually a fan of Christian music (am I a bad Christian for saying that?) - at least not 90% of what they play on the radio - but this is good stuff. L.P. once said something about how rare it is that Story (capital S) and Truth (capital T) coincide, but his music is one of those rare examples, I think.

3. "If You're Out There" by John Legend

I can't make a list without Mr. Legend; y'all know this. "The future started yesterday and we're already late..." It's a little on the cheesy side, I know, but it's still the kind of song that gets to me. There's a hope in the song, a call to action. Good stuff.

4. "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds Five

I love, love, love this song. "And in a white sea of eyes I see one pair that I recognize, and I know that I am...the luckiest." Mmmm...

5. "teachme" by Musiq Soulchild

Even though the title irks the grammar nerd in me, I'm a fan. "Teach me how to love, show me the way to surrender my heart...how I can get my emotions involved." I kind of love those lines....

6. "Father and Daughter" by Paul Simon

This video has both that song and "You Can Call Me Al" - another favorite. Maybe it's because I miss my Stinky, but everyday I realize how much I love this song. Plus, those lyrics! I mean: "I'm going to stand guard like a postcard of a golden retriever", who can't imagine that?!

7. "What a Good Boy" by Barenaked Ladies

"I go to school, I write exams; If I pass, if I fail, if I drop out, does anyone give a damn? And if they do, they'll soon forget, cuz it won't take much for me to show my life ain't over yet." Love those lines....

8. "Hay amores" by Shakira

First, I'm happy to see Shaki with darker hair - still blonde, but a natural shade of blonde. (I'm still a fan of the crazy haired Shaki of the 90s.) Second, I love the old school bolero flavor of this song. "There are loves that are resistant to damage, like the wine that gets better as it ages, so grow my feelings for you." Again, translations don't do it justice.

9. "Hoy te permito odiar" by Tercer Cielo

Speaking of things that don't translate well.... The part when they say "Odio el mismo lugar" gets me EVERYTIME! I can't even begin to translate this one well.... It's about not selling God short, basically, about trusting Him enough to push us beyond our human limitations.

10. "Turn Your Lights Down Low" by Lauryn Hill and Bob Marley (ah, technology)

To echo Kanye: "I wish her heart still was in rhymin'" This song is just good stuff: chill, not boring, summery.... I do miss summer. Hahaha.

Things I'm thankful for

2008-11-19T20:06:00.004-05:00

In no particular order:
1. Field trips
2. Meeting some interesting people - interesting in a good way.
3. People who challenge me to think in different ways/about different things.
4. That sweet, sweet boy. :)
5. Hablar español.
6. Provision.
7. Family.
8. All those people who love me, in spite of me.
9. Soup.
10. My car, because even though it's a little finnicky, it gets me where I need to go. Most of the time. ;)

Blue toothin'

2008-11-17T21:12:00.002-05:00

Because phone convos aren't the only things that distract the average driver.

Self censorship

2008-11-15T19:51:00.004-05:00

I'm really struggling these days. Wednesday I totally fell apart. Class left me feeling emotionally exhausted, even though it was pretty stinkin' wonderful, and I pretty much dissolved into tears right after it. Combine that with a lot of thinking on Tuesday about my grandparents getting older and the loss of my grandfather over ten years ago, some family related stress, and the fact that I had to share my testimony in ProSem on Thursday. It was all too much and I fell apart Wednesday.
To be honest, I feel better since Thursday, but at the same time I kind of feel guilty for feeling better because of the family related stress mentioned above.
So I'm struggling. I had to really think about everything that has happened in my life to bring me here to Eastern as I was preparing for giving my testimony. There were a lot of good things and a lot of bad. As I look back, I see how God really worked all the terrible things for good, and I'm glad for them. I wouldn't go back and change a single thing. There's that verse in John where Jesus says something like "This illness won't kill him, it's so that God can be glorified through it." Obviously, I'm paraphrasing it, but the point is, I can see that in so many of the crappy situations that have come my way. They didn't kill me, they have been opportunities for God to be glorified. Which is not to say that they didn't suck at the time - having my wallet stolen in Costa Rica was pretty awful - but I can see now how God moved through those situations. (That particular situation forced me to realize that I couldn't keep "playing church".) God grows us through the good and the bad. He reveals Himself to us as individuals and as a body in those moments.
The thing is, when these situations involve others, what I see as a time of growth and of the greatness of God can be perceived quite differently by the others involved. And here is my dilemma. There has been great freedom and healing in me because I have been able to own my crap - I've talked about my sins and (some) of my struggles and have also talked about the grace and mercy of God in these areas, His salvific powers.... It's a good thing to share some of that, to know that you're not alone, to be a testimony of God's fullness and healing, and to let others around you know that they aren't alone either.
There have been some issues that I've never really talked about, though. Things that I'm too afraid to mention because I don't want others to think negatively about people I love and care for. The point is, I might have mentioned one of those things here recently. It was mentioned in passing, and was really not the point of the entry, but I feel like it brought up a lot of hurt for someone else. That was not my intention. I know that God has really healed the pain I carried around for a long, long time. I know that I have forgiven. Forgiving doesn't erase the past, but it does shape the future; it means that I've decided it's not my place to judge or retaliate; there's no need for judgment or retaliation. I am the chief of sinners, and I have been forgiven; that's the example I wish to follow.
All of this to say: I took down the last entry. Because, while it was therapeutic for me to write, I don't want it to hurt anyone I sincerely love. And since it did, I apologize.

The Bible or the Bard?

2008-11-11T01:47:00.002-05:00

Someone needs to read the Bible in English....

The Bible or The Bard?

Score: 70% (7 out of 10)

Dance overload

2008-11-07T11:51:00.003-05:00

I <3 this show and Youtube for letting me enjoy it.

Twitch and Kherrington's contemporary routine

Twitch and Katee's contemporary routine

That Mia Michaels! Unbelievable!

Joshua and Katee's lyrical routine

Twitch and Kherrington's Viennese waltz

Finally, Will and Courtney's hip hop routine

Things I wish people knew

2008-11-05T21:31:00.002-05:00

The opposite of "democracy" is NOT "communism", the opposite of "democracy" is "dictatorship"; the opposite of "communism" is "capitalism".
The first pair describe political systems, the second pair refer to economic models.

"It's" means "it is", "its" is a possesive pronoun meaning that something belongs to "it". It's a mouse. That's its tail.

I know this is not the first time I've mentioned this here, but it bears repeating: an apostrophe DOES NOT make anything plural, for the love of all things holy! Stop telling me to "buy book's" or whatever. Buy book's what?! What belongs to this book that I must buy?!

That's the end of my rant for today.

¡Sí se puede!

2008-11-05T01:10:00.002-05:00

Yes, we can. Yes, we did. People showed up, people voted, and Barack Obama is our president-elect. I watched election coverage and waited for the results. They trickled in, and just when I thought it couldn't possibly be that easy, it turned out that they called the race. Who knew? The polls were pretty much on point. I sat on that couch next to B., wondering which states had tipped the balance, watching the crowd in Grant Park cry and cheer, and I just shook. I shook because I knew I was watching something so much greater than me, greater than B., greater than Barack Obama himself. This is another step in that march towards a more perfect union, towards equality and justice in this nation. This is part of the history of this nation - a point on the broken road - and a step towards the future. It's taken me a while to put my thoughts in order. I mean, of course, I'm thrilled that Obama won because I voted for him, but this goes beyond that.
I feel like I'm standing on the verge of this swell of public participation, like there is this lovely hope visible on the horizon, like I'm part of this unbelievable mobilization to make this nation MY nation. Does that make sense? I'm a part of this. Besides my $25 contribution to the campaign, my attendance at a rally, my Obama t-shirts, and my vote; I am now expected to participate in this change. It's an invitation that resonates with me as I'm studying community development; I mean, this is what I want to do. I want to participate and I want to invite others to do the same. Barack Obama makes me feel like I can do just that - like it's my patriotic duty to do so. This is my nation, my government: by the people, for the people....

And then there's the obvious: this issue of race, of knocking down this barrier, of making me believe that this country can really begin to heal the deepest wounds of race and ethnicity.... This is the idealist in me talking, I'm sure. I don't by any means believe that this proves that race is no longer an issue. I'm too smart and too brown to believe such foolishness; this will not change overnight with Barack Obama, but there's something visionary about it. This is the nation taking the steps necessary in a post-civil rights movement era - an era characterized by a change in demographics. Power is not going to be centralized soley in the hands of the old money, WASP establishment. The outsider has found his way into the White House. It's the kind of thing that brings hope to a fellow outsider.

This is a beautiful thing, the verge of something greater.

Four years ago, a coworker told me that at church they prayed for candidate that they were supporting and also prayed for the opposing candidate. Today, post-election, I remember that story and I pray:

I pray for Barack Obama and his beautiful family. I pray that he will have the grace and humility to create relationships and partnerships that will benefit the nation and the world at large; I pray that he will have the wisdom and discernment to make sound decisions; I pray that he will have the strength and courage to stand by his convictions. I pray that God will keep him and his family safe.

I pray for John McCain. I pray that he will continue to be a man known for working across party lines; that he will continue to be gracious; that he would have the foresight and the vision to keep working for change in Washington. He is a good man, too.

I pray for Bush. I pray for wisdom in these final months of presidency. It struck me today that he can't possibly feel very good about himself in light of record low approval ratings, so I pray for him....

2008-11-04T09:50:00.000-05:00

Today's the day!

Go Barack the vote!

Or vote.

Whatever....

Do it.

2008-11-03T09:58:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow's the big day. I mentioned Barack Obama here in early March of 2007, which pretty much makes this the longest campaign EVER. That's about a year and a half ago! But this is the last day of that longest political season, and to be quite honest I'm ready for it to get there.
I already cast my absentee ballot, and I know countless others who have done the same. For the rest of you, go out and vote! Y'all know where my sympathies lie, but the important thing is to actually make it to your polling place and vote. Whatever your politics, whatever your issues, take your stand. It does matter; the last few races have been a testament to what a few thousand votes can do.
When I think about all that people have suffered in this country so that they could vote, it makes me feel like voting is not just my privilege, but my responsibility. As a woman, I have to recognize the long battle of the suffragettes who marched and were often arrested to have their voices heard. As a woman of color, I have to look at the struggles of African Americans who were disenfranchised first by slavery and then by Jim Crow laws that prevented them from exercising their legal rights. Theirs was a double struggle, and we should honor that as fellow minorities, by voting. Finally, as a Latina, I feel like it is important for me to vote because so many of my people cannot vote because of immigration issues or citizenship issues (not exactly the same thing). I vote for the millions who came before me who could not. I vote for the millions around me now who still cannot.

Besides, I'm ready for change. ¡Sí se puede!

Here, Ben and I demonstrate a little Democrat/Republican tension; though this is not our actual situation, I would like to say that I still talk to staunch Republicans on a daily basis, and they're not all bad people. ;) There's hope for bipartisan conversation!

Represent! Gotta give it to Obama's marketing team - Puerto Ricans love ANYTHING with our island and our flag on it. I begged for this shirt, folks. That is dedication!

Oh, that Sarah Palin!

2008-11-02T11:33:00.003-05:00

Seriously? This woman? The Republicans couldn't find a better candidate for VP for the oldest freakin' presidential candidate EVER?!

Oh, but she's funny, in a not on purpose kind of way.

Um, hilarious.

2008-11-01T13:34:00.001-05:00

And the original - a classic - is also hilarious.

Ungodly Hubris....

2008-10-30T20:25:00.001-05:00

We were talking in class yesterday about the role of the prophet and decided that prophets, both in the Bible and in the present day (MLK, Jr. was mentioned) are men and women who challenge the status quo, confront God's people with His truth and their shortcomings, and provide a greater vision. There's an identification with the plight of the poor and oppressed - a partaking in that pain - heart break on behalf of the people. There's a challenge to hold ungodly rulers and systems accountable to a just and righteous God.

So that was yesterday; Tuesday, our Urban Politics prof read us this article from USA Today which I feel touches on the prophetic elements outlined above.

This is not your typical "God-bless-America-and-the-Republican-Party" Christianity people show on tv (I hate that depiction...). It's a more biblically-based faith. One that points out the flaws of the nation and the church. There were many points that resonated with me, but I'll highlight a few:

Pop taught me that true patriotism is not a contest to see who can fly the biggest flag. True patriotism exists where citizens love their country enough to hold it accountable. That means working to make certain that the president we have elected and the government we have created live up to the words of our creeds and the dreams of our poets and prophets.

That kind of patriotism is at the heart of authentic biblical faith. The great prophets of the Bible were considered unpatriotic by many of their day.

I love this. I love it because I do love this nation; I've travelled a bit - mostly in the developing world - and can honestly say, though I love the socialist tendencies of Europe, this is truly a country with the potential to be great. This country gave my family and so many of my friends the opportunities we didn't have available in our own countries. (Not that I'm not passionate about the beauty of Puerto Rico, just that I know I have more opportunities here.) This is one of the greatest countries to be a woman, in spite of the glaring inequalities and failures. It's a country that acknowledges the handicapped, racial and ethnic minorities, and sexual minorities. Not that things are perfect, just that we are light years ahead of other countries.
That said, I can criticize the obvious failures and the half-ass job we've done on many issues because of my love for this country. I believe it can be more and it can be better, and that is why I am not okay with the current mediocrity and all out fracas. That is patriotism: to ask that my government make this the best country it can be, and not the one that will appease the greatest numbers. Shake things up; change the nation.

Which brings me to point number two: We are not the greatest nation on earth, but we'd sure like to think that we are.

Part of our challenge stems from the fact that we Americans have an overabundance of self-confidence. So much, in fact, that management guru Marshall Goldsmith reports that 70% of the 50,000 people he has surveyed rank themselves in the top 10% of their peer group. Among doctors, pilots and investment bankers, the number is even higher. Once when Goldsmith told a group of doctors that his "extensive research" had revealed that exactly half of all MDs graduated in the bottom half of their med-school class, two in the audience insisted that this was impossible.

I suspect we read the Bible much the same way. We don't identify with the Egyptians, Babylonians or the multitude of Israelites who worshipped the golden calf. We identify with Abraham and Moses the good guys. Likewise, in the New Testament, we don't identify with the scribes and the Pharisees. And we certainly don't identify with those hated Romans. We identify with Peter, James and John. But like Marshall Goldsmith's overweening physicians, we might be fooling ourselves. Look beneath the surface, and much of what's plaguing the world is what's plaguing us.

I hate when I'm traveling and I run into the proverbial "Ugly American". He's the guy at McDonald's in freakin' Germany where the food is so unbelievably good that McDonald's should be classified as a crime against gastronomy. He's the guy who tries to pay for everything in dollars and doesn't understand why people (a) won't take his money and (b) don't speak English like they should. These are the people that tell the locals that George W. Bush is a wonderful diplomat and that they don't understand why the international community can't back the United States. They don't know why "they hate us".
They hate us because we (as a nation) are greedy and arrogant and, worst of all, ignorant of our greed and arrogance.

The church, sadly, does the same thing. I blame the media for part of this, because they do tend to focus on the crazy fringes of the faith, but I've been around in this aspect as well. There are some ignorant church folks out there. Anyway, here's the thing: we're always preaching against the Pharisees and the Egyptians while we turn away those who don't conform to our rules and exploit the most vulnerable people both here and overseas. We are a self-righteous and often insular body.

For the past few months, I've really been identifying with the Pharisees; I've been identifying with all the failures of the prophets and the disciples (not as much with their successes, but maybe someday). I've been seeing my own brokenness and limitations in some very real ways. It's good; I mean, it sucks, but it's good for me.

I think it's a good thing on grander scales: the church and the nation. It's time to start looking at those broken places and recognizing that we. Need. Help.

We can no longer be those smug, self-righteous folks who have it all together; the wars and the economic crisis should be making that clear. We need to start reaching out, asking for forgiveness in our flawed foreign and domestic policies, and moving towards something better, no matter who wins the election.

Phillies!

2008-10-29T22:09:00.001-05:00

The Phillies won!
Which means two things:
1. B. really DOES turn around the fate of sports teams in cities in which he lives. ;)

2. Parade! Whoot whoot!

Boston in the fall

2008-10-27T22:46:00.007-05:00

Pics from the recent trip to Boston/Lynn, MA. Good times, good times....

There was fun with hats:

There were street performers:

There were historical sights, 294 steps, sweet views, and some stretching:

There were things couples do:

Oh, and this:

Insiders/Outsiders and the Beauty of Grace

2008-10-26T16:00:00.002-05:00

Ephesians 2 (The Message)
He Tore Down the Wall
It wasn't so long ago that you were mired in that old stagnant life of sin. You let the world, which doesn't know the first thing about living, tell you how to live. You filled your lungs with polluted unbelief, and then exhaled disobedience. We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same boat. It's a wonder God didn't lose his temper and do away with the whole lot of us. Instead, immense in mercy and with an incredible love, he embraced us. He took our sin-dead lives and made us alive in Christ. He did all this on his own, with no help from us! Then he picked us up and set us down in highest heaven in company with Jesus, our Messiah.

Now God has us where he wants us, with all the time in this world and the next to shower grace and kindness upon us in Christ Jesus. Saving is all his idea, and all his work. All we do is trust him enough to let him do it. It's God's gift from start to finish! We don't play the major role. If we did, we'd probably go around bragging that we'd done the whole thing! No, we neither make nor save ourselves. God does both the making and saving. He creates each of us by Christ Jesus to join him in the work he does, the good work he has gotten ready for us to do, work we had better be doing.

But don't take any of this for granted. It was only yesterday that you outsiders to God's ways had no idea of any of this, didn't know the first thing about the way God works, hadn't the faintest idea of Christ. You knew nothing of that rich history of God's covenants and promises in Israel, hadn't a clue about what God was doing in the world at large. Now because of Christ—dying that death, shedding that blood—you who were once out of it altogether are in on everything.

The Messiah has made things up between us so that we're now together on this, both non-Jewish outsiders and Jewish insiders. He tore down the wall we used to keep each other at a distance. He repealed the law code that had become so clogged with fine print and footnotes that it hindered more than it helped. Then he started over. Instead of continuing with two groups of people separated by centuries of animosity and suspicion, he created a new kind of human being, a fresh start for everybody.

Christ brought us together through his death on the cross. The Cross got us to embrace, and that was the end of the hostility. Christ came and preached peace to you outsiders and peace to us insiders. He treated us as equals, and so made us equals. Through him we both share the same Spirit and have equal access to the Father.

That's plain enough, isn't it? You're no longer wandering exiles. This kingdom of faith is now your home country. You're no longer strangers or outsiders. You belong here, with as much right to the name Christian as anyone. God is building a home. He's using us all—irrespective of how we got here—in what he is building. He used the apostles and prophets for the foundation. Now he's using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. We see it taking shape day after day—a holy temple built by God, all of us built into it, a temple in which God is quite at home.

It came up twice today: once at church, once as I was reading. The thing is, it came up in the most inclusive church I've ever visited in my life - inclusive to the point of discomfort. I like that; it's a rare find.

There's so much beauty in the passage: the beauty of my inadequacy, the beauty of God's grace and redemption in Christ, the beauty of walls being broken and a single unit of faith being formed from that. Love it....

"Think of this face"

2008-10-24T12:21:00.003-05:00

Thank you, Sarah Palin. Ever since you came into my life, SNL has been funny again. Of course, that's all I can really say about that.

PS You want to kick some of that $150000 my way? Not for clothes, just that I've got some bills to pay.... Thanks.

Lighten up

2008-10-23T00:56:00.002-05:00

Advance apologies

2008-10-22T17:33:00.003-05:00

* This is much longer and more rambling than I'd originally anticipated. I didn't reread it or edit it; it's "as is". Mostly, it's a look at myself; me trying to process everything I've been thinking about both in and out of class. I'm not trying to offend or polarize - just thinking "aloud", if you will. *

I was trying to upload Boston pics this morning, to no avail. Blogger really needs a better system for uploading pictures - just saying.

In the meantime, I've been thinking about a lot of things lately, and one of them is how far the church is from the teachings of Jesus. This is something I've thought a lot about since I started reading the Bible for myself when I was in high school, but it's been compounded in the past five years, and this semester has me wondering about this all over again. Don't get me wrong: I'm not saying that I'm an accurate picture of who and what Jesus is, just that I'm feeling really convicted by my inaccurate depiction of Him. Does that make sense?
I hate the "Christian" dichotomization of the spiritual and the mundane - there's a spirituality in the mundane, and an everydayness to the spiritual. There is no distinction, as far as I can tell between Jesus's spiritual, social, and physical healing. He repaired relationships, repaired people's sense of self-worth, went first to the untouchable and undesireables - and He preached salvation to them as He met their needs. Needs so deep they didn't even realize in some cases that they had them. I don't do this often enough, and neither does the church.
I was reading the Bible the other day and it struck me that Jesus looked out on the people and that His heart BROKE for them. Not just that it ached, but that it broke for them. My heart doesn't break that easily. It's one thing to say that I feel sorry for people - that keeps me on the moral/social high ground - I am somehow better than those people. But for my hear to break, there has to be a participation: the pain must become mine. That pain was Jesus's pain, and His heart and body broke for it. I don't allow myself to participate much.
In class today, we were talking about how the church would reject Jesus if He were to come today, Pharisees and Saducees that we are. We're so indoctrinated in "church culture", in the moral issues, in pro-life, anti-gay, creationism arguments; in buildings, in "ministries", in music. We've fallen away from the unbelievably inclusive revolutionary nature of the founder of our faith.
The truth is that if Jesus were here today, He'd be on the corners with the drug dealers and the addicts. He'd be talking to strippers, to homosexuals, to the mentally ill, to the immigrants, to the forgotten children in poor schools. He'd be embracing everyone the church has so neatly excluded - everyone I've excluded.
I was reading about the Kingdom of God being a whole new game in the middle of the old ballpark. It takes a special kind of crazy and a special kind of bravery to take the church to that level. Shoot, it takes all of that to get one person out there, playing tag in the middle of a play-off game. The book was talking about the church doing this in the middle of broader American culture, but I've been thinking about it in terms of people doing this in the middle of general church culture. I had this thought in class today, this phrase that popped into my head as we were talking about God's intentions for community and society as a whole as laid out in the book of Deuteronomy: "the unreached church". I'm not exactly sure what it means, but I wrote it in the margin of my notes.
There's a church that's complacent with the current systems: with exclusion, with injustice; with comfort, and riches, and big buildings. There's a church that's okay with saying that God is on the side of a particular political party, and that His will magically lines up with our own (that's rarely - if ever - the case, but that's a story for another blog).... Yes, that church exists, and it's huge, but there's another Church. It's a Church that wants its heart to be broken when Christ's heart is broken, a Church that can't be okay with injustice and oppression, a Church that won't use God to justify all kinds of ugliness. This Church, these people, must change the church.
I'm in school with all these amazing Christians - the kind you will never see on tv - who want to see this amazing Kingdom being played out, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Whenever two or more are gathered He is there; when we agree in prayer, there is power. This is revolutionary to me lately. I keep seeing myself as this tiny puzzle piece.
Have you ever done one of those gazillion-piece puzzles? The kind with the tiny, tiny pieces? Each piece looks like a whole lot of nothing. Sure, there are pretty colors, but you can't really make out the picture based on any one piece. So you start putting them together, and you have clusters spread out on the table: pieces of a tree over here, some river over there, a cloud in the sky... It's not quite finished, but these little groups of pieces are starting to make sense. And then you put them all together and it's amazing. This is how God works. He sees this great big picture, and all the little pieces of it. We have to start linking up with other little pieces to make this picture of a world where debts are forgiven and the alien is welcomed and the poor are provided for.
That's the good part, this linking up of the Church. Even so, it will not be easy. There will be a church to contend with and all of those outside who just won't understand. And that's okay. I mean, yo no soy monedita de oro para caerle bien a todo el mundo. These revolutionary words of Christ, the structure that God set up for His people won't make sense in the light of American individualism and the American dream (Turning the other cheek?! Cancelling debts?! Providing for the poor?!). The important thing is to stand with the Church and say that things are not okay as they are. And if makes people uncomfortable, that's kind of the point. I mean, it's making me very uncomfortable; I'm feelin' pretty convicted and challenged myself.

I was talking today to my roommate about institutionalized racism affecting education in low-income areas. I have my student seminar tomorrow, and I'm going to be talking about poverty and education. Here's the thing: it's impossible to talk about poverty in this country without also mentioning race and ethnicity. It's a fact that the levels of poverty among people of color are higher than they are among Whites. There are real historical reasons for that based largely on slavery and other exploitative systems (*cough* immigration and economic policies *cough*). It's so much safer to just refer to "the poor", though, without acknowledging that the poor tend to be black and brown. It's the way things are right now. I was vacillating - wondering whether I should take it there during my presentation - and I talked to her about it briefly. It made her uncomfortable, I could tell; as if she didn't want to think that the system that had worked so well for her (and to some extent, for me), could possibly be anything but empowering to all. Ah, America, land of opportunity and equality.... It occured to me as I was talking that if I'm afraid to bring it up because it'll make folks uncomfortable, it probably needs to be addressed. I don't think Jesus's heart aches when he sees these institutions, I think it breaks; that means that mine should and that the hearts of my classmates probably should break as well. That's something I'll be praying about as I'm preparing my presentation and actually presenting it. If y'all would pray, too, I'd appreciate it.

Oh, and if you're the praying types, I'd also urge you to sit down with a Bible and take a look at Deuteronomy and Matthew. If possible, pick up a different translation so that you're not just rereading the words you already know - sometimes that alone can give you that shift in perspective. I hope they challenge you as much as they challenge me.

Quiz-o-rama!

2008-10-13T21:27:00.003-05:00

This is becoming my Monday night ritual....

Your 80s Hunk Is

Kirk Cameron

Who's Your 80s Hunk?

And just so I can say I'm at least partially on task, let's check out some urban quizzes....

American Cities That Best Fit You:

70% Washington, DC

60% Los Angeles

55% Atlanta

50% Boston

50% Chicago

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern.

A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock.

A unique soul like you needs a city that offers everything.

No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong In?

We survived!

2008-10-11T22:43:00.002-05:00

There are no pictures to show for it, since I forgot my camera, but the weekend with the parents went well. They loved B. just like I knew they would. We ate lots of good Hispanic food, did some shopping (I got my dress for M. and J.'s wedding), and just hung out with the family and some of our good family friends. Good times, good times.....

Things I'm workin' on or workin' out

2008-10-09T00:06:00.003-05:00

1. Resting in God.
2. Not focusing on the obvious brokenness of systems, and instead looking at what is doable on a small scale.
3. Remembering that this mess isn't mine to fix.
4. Trusting God to work out the details.
5. Balancing school, relationships, time with God, and "me time".
6. Facing all those unfinished areas of my life; coming back in contact with my own selfishness and materialism and stupidity.
7. Realizing that those are the areas where God really works.
8. (Re)learning to be less guarded, that vulnerability takes strength, that it is not weak to show emotion. Such a hard one for me.

You know, among other things....

Also, I may have run over a squirrel the other day on my way to school. He was ambivalent about which curb to run to, and I was coming around a curve a bit too quickly. There was a car in the other lane coming towards me and swerving was not an option. Poor little, ambivalent squirrel. He's been in my head since it happened....

I heart "Pearls Before Swine"

2008-10-08T19:38:00.003-05:00

Random

2008-10-07T21:42:00.003-05:00

I wish my eyes worked better than they do. As I write, I'm squinting at the screen and soon I will be squinting at my books, still fighting this headache that has come on because I. Can't. See.

Ugh, my eyes!

Hold up, pass me my glasses....

Another study break

2008-10-06T23:24:00.002-05:00

Internet quizzes know all. Especially if they only require that you click one button.

What Your Little Black Dress Says About You

You are elegant, classy, and sophisticated.

You know how to turn heads when you enter a room... and then keep people interested with your witty banter.

Your style is classic, tailored, and flawless. You don't fall for silly fashion trends.

If you were a shoe, you would be: Classic black pumps

The Little Black Dress Test

Parents

2008-10-06T10:21:00.004-05:00

B. and I just had round 1 of Meeting the Parents, preceded by rounds 1 and 2 of Meeting Friends.

In a reversal of tradition, his parents were first. I was nervous because I have never had to meet parents before; I've usually dated guys whose families I already knew. Thankfully, all went well and we had a good time hanging out in the city and exploring.

A few pics:

All of us at the Japanese house and garden in Fairmount Park

He looks so hot in this pic.... B. in the bathroom at the Japanese house, obviously too tall for the stool.

Modeling my sexy paper slippers

The Magic Garden on South Street - If you're in Philly, check it out, the place is unbelievable!

B. and I reflected on the ceiling in the basement of the Magic Garden

Bonus: Butterfly at the Horticultural Center in Fairmount Park

Next weekend: Round 2 of Meeting the Parents; easier for me, more nerve wracking for B....

Good News/Bad News

2008-10-01T01:29:00.003-05:00

Perhaps y'all remember this post about the spider that was crawling on my arm and how I was paranoid about swallowing it in my sleep.

Good news: I didn't swallow him in my sleep.

Bad news: He still lives in my room.

I'm sorry, M., I lied to you; he did NOT move out.

Nice web, Mr. Crack Spider.

Study break!

2008-09-29T22:20:00.002-05:00

What Your Favorite Color Green Says About You:

Balanced --- Relaxed --- Flexible

Compassionate --- Philosophical --- Humble

Loyal --- Inventive --- Unique

What Does Your Favorite Color Say About You?

Internet quizzes are never wrong about these things.
Now, back to Urban Politics.... Boo....

It's been awhile - can I get a sound check?

2008-09-27T18:28:00.002-05:00

Songs I've been listening to a lot lately - the latest soundtrack of my life.

1. "I Want a Little Sugar in My Bowl" by Nina Simone

Oh, the scandal. Dirty, dirty little song, but so smooth you almost don't even notice it. Hahaha. This is the perfect sound for studying, though, and her voice is fantastic. I love her.

2. "P.D.A. (We Just Don't Care)" by John Legend

Who doesn't know how much I love John Legend? No one, that's who. This particular video has the lyrics translate (not quite accurately, as far as I can tell) into Portuguese, which I thought was fun. I love the "Let's go to the park. I want to kiss you underneath the stars" lines....

3. "Refuge (When It's Cold Outside" by John Legend

As long as we're talking Mr. Legend.... This is such a good, good song. "When it's cold outside, there's no need to worry, 'cause I'm so warm inside. You give me peace." So cheesy, so cute. This is probably my favorite of his songs.

4. "Like a Star" by Corinne Bailey Rae

Her voice! 'Nuff said. Can you tell I've been listening to all this mellow stuff while studying? Hahaha...

5. "Restless" by Alison Krauss and Union Station

The woman's voice is unbelievable: clear, effortless, beautiful. "I just can't stand bein' alone; gonna have to change that someday." This song and "Gravity" have been top of my list lately.

6. "These Arms of Mine" by Otis Redding

Combining one of my favorite songs with a great dance routine.... Oh, this song! "These arms of mine, they are yearning, yearning from wanting you. And if you would let them hold you, oh, how grateful I will be." Mmmm, what a way with words, and how subtly sexy. The dance routine, a little less subtle on the sexy, but still fabulous.

7. "You Were Made for Me" by Sam Cooke

They just don't make music like this anymore.

8. "Welcome to DC" by Mambo Sauce

This is the one that I'm blastin' in the car on my way to school. "The G. O. the G. O...." Yessir, that is the sound of Go-Go, the sound of home. The video isn't good, not gonna lie, but the sound! "Much love to VA and MD, that's why the new DC is the DMV." Who knew I'd be reppin' it like this. Hahaha...

9. "Una plegaria más" by Fiel a la Vega

Surprise, surprise: a little Fiel love. This song gets to me more and more these days, though, because of the way they're trying to figure out just how God is involved in all the brokenness of the world. It's the kind of the thing that we're working through in class, too. Not that I've quite figured it out - I don't think I ever will. But I do believe He's somehow involved in it with this plan that's so much bigger than my head.

10. "I Tried" by Bone Thugs N Harmnoy Feat. Akon

Bone Thugs will always hold a special place in my heart. "I'm startin'to see it's me where the complication's at" Great line! That's always a hard thing to admit, not that the message is consistent, throughout, but that's so good. Plus, this song fits with my idea that nothing worth having comes easily.

11. "Much" by Ten Shekel Shirt

Obviously, not the original, but the song is the point of it. "I am the one who's been forgiven much, and I am the one who loves much." I'm working on that second half.

12. "Constellations" by Jack Johnson

So chill, so good. Can't you just picture the whole thing? I love it. What is up with all the Portuguese translations, though?!

13. "One" by U2 feat. Mary J. Blige

Two legends on a legendary song. It's got a new flavor, and it made me think about the lyrics again, instead of just sitting back and listening. The crush I have on Bono and the respect I have for MJB make me a sucker for this particular version.

14. "Tell You Something (Nana's Reprise)" by Alicia Keys

"I wanna tell you something, give you something, show you in so many ways....Won't wait till it's too late." This is the kind of song I wish I could live by.

15. "Que Sera Sera" by Sly and the Family Stone

My favorite version of a great song. This version is like magic: mellow, but not boring at all. Those harmonies are on point.

P.O.V

2008-09-24T18:32:00.002-05:00

This makes me wish I had a tv that got reception: "Critical Condition"

Oh well, hope someone sees it and tells me all about it....
I freakin' love PBS!

In print

2008-09-24T13:31:00.002-05:00

So J. got the mail today and let me know that I had gotten a package in the mail. It had the tell-tale shape of a book - familiar to us both because all I ever get in the mail are text books. But when I pulled the envelope down, I noticed that there was a Mission Year sticker in the corner: there it was: my autographed copy of New Neighbor: An Invitation to Join Beloved Community by Leroy Barber. Here's why I got an autographed copy: because this girl (yes, ME!) is listed as a contributing author. There's an edited version of this post in the book. Also, one of my classmates, N.M., is also featured in the book, not to mention pictures of another classmate, S. It's unbelievable to me that I have this book, that I know the real author, know other contributing authors, and know the subjects of some of the photos....
Anyway, it looks like it'll be good downtime reading for when I'm so over anything that has to do with my classes, and it's a freakin' beautiful book with all those photos. Excellent job!
That is my little advertisement. I promise I am getting absolutely NO money for this plug, I just really do think it's worth checkin' out.
Plus, holy geez!, I've always wanted to see something I'd written in print and there it is, folks! Haha.

Cositas Así

Systems

Remembering Ayer

Tired

I'm not on vacation

Soundtrack - Good stuff

Nomad

Ramblings....

ARGH!

We're on etsy!

Quote of the Day

A look inside my closet

Sound Track for a March

Quote of the Day

On the upside

Confessions

I hate winter.

Alright....

OMG

Line

Quotable

Songs that make me feel pretty

NaNoWriMo

On language, Part 2

On language, Part 1

I think I just fell in love

Mine

Shameless plug

Like a tumor

Broken road

Back to School

Possibilities

She emerges...

Después de la tormenta siempre sale el sol

Today I...

Sound of Summer

Mamita linda

The kiddies

Today

She's got a point.....

havin' church

perreo

Wordle

Five

Reflection on my complete and utter exhaustion

Related to the previous post

Assimilation

Aniversario

While pretending to write a paper

Walk

Sweet procrastination

Blonde

Why I'm glad I learned to drive in NoVA

In gear

In the meantime, can I get a sound check?

Things I would like

Formative

Confessions

Random

Happy day

Y'all...

Impulse

Ugh, January

Lookin' forward, lookin' back

Christmas soundtrack

sister

The project beckons

More pics

Can't stop listening to it....

Wedding pics

Current soundtrack

Things I'm thankful for

Blue toothin'

Self censorship

The Bible or the Bard?

Dance overload

Things I wish people knew

¡Sí se puede!

Do it.

Oh, that Sarah Palin!