Confessions

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

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

***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...

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

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

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

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"