Tired

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.

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.

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.

Jump and Fall

I don't fall easily; I really, really don't. I've got these walls, I'm careful with this heart, and I value my space and independence. I'm not "cariñosa" or mushy....
But when I fall, I fall hard. I've got a bit of a romantic streak deep down inside - deeeeeeeeep down inside. I don't believe in easy love or that you only fall in love once, or even that you can only love one person at a time. Love is - in my flawed and limited understanding of the subject - a messy thing that you have to choose to do, day in and day out. It's the kind of thing you have to work at and fight for. There's no fighting it; it's this almost involuntary thing, this subconcious decision - half feeling, half choice. And when it picks you up, it can sweep you under. But you have to make the choice to make it work. Does that make sense? You can love a person, love them with everything in you, and know that you can't make the relationship itself work. Not that the love will go away, just that that same love will make you choose to maintain some distance.

I've been in love. I'm still friends with the first man I ever loved, I still love him deeply, but I'm aware that our relationship won't work. I want what's best for him and that's not me.

I still hear from the only other guy I've ever loved. That love is a bit rawer, still the kind of thing that can sweep me up in its current, a little on the violent side because of a healthy dose of heartache that was thrown in by both parties. Me with my inability to express emotions, him with his indecision; fear on both sides, I guess.

This past week I've been wondering if it was worth it. There's a part of me that wonders why this heart still loves him, still thinks of him, still holds him in high esteem.... There's this song that says that you can't hide from love; it's too strong, and I kind of feel like that's the case here. Let's weigh the pros and cons, shall we?
The pros: It's mutual.
The cons: It's mutual.
Hmmm....

That sounds like it should work out, yes? But here's the thing: I don't think we'll be able to get past some issues, a few obstacles, our own fears - the usual. En fin, it's not going to work out, y eso se ve a leguas. Is it worth it? Worth it to talk about the reality of what we're feeling, the way we'd like things to be, the hopes we have?

I'm thinking it has been, and it still is. I've learned a lot and am still learning. When we finally make that decision to walk away, it'll be as wiser people. I've learned to take chances, emotional risks, say what I feel. I've been learning to surrender.
I like to think he's learned not to play it safe, that there's more to life than what he's always known, and that he needs to step it up and make decisions.

There's this song by Los Bukis (yeah, yeah, don't judge me!) that I like, and that Los Enanitos Verdes covered: "Tu cárcel". The chorus goes like this:

"Pero recuerda nadie es perfecto, y tú lo verás
tal vez mil cosas mejores vendrán, pero cariño sincero jamás.
Vete olvidando, de esto que hoy dejas
y que cambiarás
por la aventura que pronto verás
será tu cárcel y nunca saldrás"

A rough translation: "But remember, no one is perfect, and you'll see that maybe a thousand better things will come, but never sincere love. Start forgetting about this that you're leaving today, and trading in for an adventure that you'll soon see will be your prison and you'll never escape." It sounds even worse in English....
The point is, I don't believe that's how it works. I don't believe we'll walk away from one another and miss out on true love. I think we'll walk away and continue to love one another, but be better at loving the other people who come into our lives. Does that make sense? It's kind of like that Ricardo Arjona song "Reputación" - where all of their experiences have prepared them for each other.

So yes, the risk, the heartache, the confusion has been worth it: I have learned and am learning.

"Too" raw

Perhaps it's too vulnerable, too honest, and too raw, but I'm a hot mess right now, and I don't know that I really need to keep holding up the front. Sometimes things fall apart. Sometimes it's your own damn fault, because you put too much stock in what everyone else is going to say. Because you've built yourself up to be all muscle and grit and walls. Because you are just too picky but apparently selling yourself short.... Basically, when you win, you lose. And everyone else has a better understanding of what I want and need than I do. So before this gets even more convoluted - know that the poem is straight up as it came out. It probably needs a lot of editing, a lot of work, but here it is for now.

Too

I am the dreaded
independent woman.
The one who's perpetually single,
too smart, too pretty, too fat, too skinny -
too-TOO
for most men.
That strong woman
who bought into the feminist ideal:
You, too, can have it all.
Except that here, in the quarterlife,
I'm struggling to find that.
Throw in this brown skin,
la mancha de plátano,
the crisis of the second generation.
I am too-TOO.
Too Latina, too American, too young, too old -
too picky.
I am that complete package:
beauty, brains, heart.
That's what they tell me.
They say "you could have anyone",
and they all fall.
But when I fall,
they say I sell myself short.
There's this:
sometimes that independent woman,
that strong woman,
that too-TOO woman,
needs a moment,
a series of moments,
to be like the rest:
to be a girl.
To fall carelessly and wrecklessly,
to doodle hearts in the margins,
to dream of weddings on a beach,
and to forget for a moment
everything that she's had
to build up and fight for
alone.
But when you're that woman
too tough, too strong, too hard -
everyone's watching.

*edited slightly already....

Palabras

Son los que uno más aprecia que más nos lastiman. Son los que dicen querernos, los que dicen ser nuestros amigos hasta el fin que menos lo son.

Ya no quiero palabras.

No quiero que me digan mil cosas sin actuar.

Lo digo por varias razones, no te me asustes.

Me sacas de tu vida, me abres las puertas a tu vida, me dices que soy tu vida, me dices que no seré tu vida.

Ya.

No quiero seguir nutriéndome de palabras. Si me amas, enséñamelo. Si eres mi amigo, enséñamelo. Si soy tu vida, enséñamelo. Si no lo soy, enséñamelo.

Estoy luchando. Por el aire, por cada latido de mi corazón, por controlar estas lágrimas, luchando. Y si no me darán la gracia, la paciencia, el tiempo, que necesito, pues ¿qué más da?

es3

Worst day.

First: Drama. The unnecessarily dramatic kind.

Second: Senioritis. The overwhelming, paralyzing kind.

Third: Pain. The razor-dragging-itself-down-my-insides kind.

Fourth: Lock down. The "This is not a drill" kind.

It takes a lot to scare me, but that message over the intercom fifteen minutes before the end of the school day did it for me. Heart fluttering into my throat; breathe, take control, you're in charge. Kids into the corner, sitting, quiet. Door locked, lights out: check, check.
Wait.
Minutes slip by.
"Ignore any bells or fire alarms"
More minutes.
- Ms. S?- -Yes?- -I need to go downstairs.- -I can't let you go downstairs. Your kids are okay; they're being taken care of.-
Sighs of frustration.
More minutes.
Noise from somewhere, no gunshots - good sign?
Minutes, minutes, minutes....

"All clear."

Release.

Breathe.

And the trembling subsides, heart descends to chest, sweat dries.



This year, this year.... We had weekly bomb threats for a while. More fights, more threats, a stabbing, this....

Oh, but it's May. Ya casi se ve la luz.

This one's for you....

Because I process by writing:

First, effin' A! It took over $28 to fill my tank. Mind you, I own a Toyota Corolla. That's ridiculous.

Second, there's this:

Apágalo.
Apaga ese chorro de emoción que te dijeron
que querían de ti.
Era mentira,
una de esas mentiritas piedosas que nos contamos
a nosotros mismos,
nadie quiere tu verdad.
Guárdate esos momentos de debilidad.
Escóndelos.
Escóndelos come te habían enseñado
desde un principio.
Aunque te digan que quieren
que seas una mujer de veras, una mujer de estrógeno, sentimiento y lágrimas,
eso sólo lo quieren cuando les conviene.
Guárdatelo.
Guarda ese dolor que se presenta
de vez en cuando
guarda esa estupidez femenina
que se cuela
guarda ese sentimiento
débil.
Manten esa fachada fuerte.
Aunque te digan que quieren verte de verdad,
alma desnuda,
corazón abierto,
son mentiras piadosas, de aquellas que nos contamos a nosotros mismos,
para lucir bien.
Ahora:
Arrepiéntete.
Haz tu penitencia.
Perdóname.
Por no ser la mujer que quiero ser,
perdóname.
Por no poder olvidar,
perdóname.
Por no tener control de mis sentimientos,
perdóname.
Por ser de carne y hueso,
perdóname.
Y si no puedes perdonar,
pues, hasta aquí nos trajo el río.

Quizás algún día seas tú la causa del dolor que se
interpone
cuando uno menos se lo espera.

Quizás ese día querrás mis sentimientos
pero ya los habré enterrado.

Sound check of the week....

Some songs to sum up what's going through my head lately:

1. At the risk of sounding oh-so-cliché, "Bleeding Love" by Leona Lewis

"I don't care what they say, I'm in love with you. They try to pull me away, but they don't know the truth.... You cut me open." Who can't identify with that at some point?

2. "I Want You" by Common

Repeat performance for this song. It's just so HOT. "A hint of perfume that reminds me of you...I hope the gods and the stars align me and you."

3. "Hoy me voy" by Juanes

"Tú no supiste valorar lo que en verdad de daba yo.... Coraje me faltó para dejarte, tengo miedo de no olvidarte y por eso de ti me despido." You didn't know how to appreciate what I gave you truly.... I lacked the courage to leave you, I'm afraid I won't be able to forget you and that's why I'm saying goodbye.

4. "Si no te hubieras ido" by Maná

This is the Maná version of a Marco Antonio Solís classic. Good stuff, this. "No hay nada más difícil que vivir sin ti." There's nothing harder than living without you.

Throwing stones

So I was sitting in church last night and I leaned forward to pray. My mom was sitting next to me, and she about flipped out. "Pull your shirt up in the back!" she snapped. I looked at her puzzled, and she repeated it. "What are you talking about?" I whispered back.
Mind you, this is while people are trying to pray silently.
"Oh, I'm so embarrassed. You can see your tattoo; what will people say? I'm so embarrassed."
I'm not even making this up.

Here's where I'm going with this: people pass judgment. Period. It's what happens; everyone does it. Now here's where we make a differentiation: we can judge people and act on those judgments, or we can judge and wait to be surprised. You know, we can go in anyway.

I won't say that I'm always surprised, but I do give it a chance.

And here's what I've decided about my own life: people talk smack, regardless. I work hard, keep to myself, and do the things that I'm passionate about. But that's not to say that everyone will see that. It doesn't matter. The thing that matters is that God and I know that I'm doing what He needs me to do.

When I went to Mission Year, a lot of people talked; people doubted the reality of what I lived there. That doesn't make my experience any less powerful or life-changing.

My aunt once told my mom that she'd expected more from me; that she'd thought I'd be more thän "just a teacher". It doesn't make me any less satisfied or passionate about my job.

I was walking with my mom the other day and I thanked her for everything that she's done since I moved back home. I told her that it's been much better than I expected. She sniffed and said, "Well, maybe it's been better for you. I don't feel like you help out at home." Thanks, mom, but it doesn't make me less grateful for the sacrifices that you've made.

The thing is that she's not the only one to make sacrifices. I've made some, too. People never see that, you know? No one else will ever know what it's like to live in your skin. I remember as a kid, I used to think, "Wow, C's life is just as real to her as mine is to me." (I was a bright kid.) Think about that a minute: everyone lives in their own personal reality. Sometimes our realities overlap, but there's so much that we cannot possibly comprehend about one another.

And that's kind of what I wanted to get to. I'm not perfect: I have a hard time giving complete trust, I am what we refer to in Spanish as antipática, and I'm a bit of a cynic. That said, I am painfully aware of my shortcomings and I work at them. I consciously try to give people the benefit of the doubt, I work extra hard to curb the sarcasm and be a little friendly, I ask God everyday to help me look at things the way He does.

I fail.

I fail often.

But that doesn't make my attempts any less real or valid. People may think that I don't give enough, but it's because they don't know how much I'm giving, because they don't know the sheer effort that goes into the steps that I'm making towards progress.

I have students who've taken three years - three YEARS - to remember to put an accent mark on the "O" in words that end in "-ión". It's one of the easiest tricks to remember, in my opinion, but it's hard for them. I can't discount the effort that they're making in trying to remember this "foreign" concept of accentuation. But here's the thing, when I see that occasional accent mark on "opinión" or "acción" or "canción" - it fills my heart. I know that all their efforts have paid off, that all those days of reminding myself of their potential have paid off.

So the point is this: We are all flawed, all imperfect, but all working at becoming better.

Maybe you don't see the progress, maybe change doesn't come quickly enough for you, and maybe you don't think that person will ever get to where you think they should be.

But guess what?

You can't be sure. You don't know their inner struggles, don't know how hard they're working.

People will surprise you, but sometimes it takes years.

One step forward, two steps back...

It's official, folks.
I live with my parents.
Remember the time I said I was leaving and wouldn't be back? Yeah... eating those words now. So far, it's not as bad as I expected, but it's only been a week. In some ways though, I feel like I suck at life; like this week, and the finality of unpacking my stuff, have somehow cancelled out all the years I've lived on my own. Like all that erases all my years of living like a responsible adult and paying rent. It erases all of my contributions to society. It erases my effectiveness as an adult.
I know. I'm ridiculous. I realize I am still as productive a citizen in my parents' house as I was while paying (too much) rent for a (craptacular) condo. I realize I can still call them my roommates, if I want to sound cooler. ;) I realize that I'm still all the things that I was before (AND frugal). It's a pride thing that I'm wrestling with.
This is what I never wanted to do, and yet, here I am. There should be no shame in this, but I'm struggling with it. The funny thing is that in my own culture, I would've been home until the day I got married.
It's temporary. A sign of my commitment to grad school, to moving to Philly, to pursuing a dream....
A necessary hardship.
Five months.
It won't be that bad.
Right?



PS - Points if you can name the song I was humming after typing the title. Bonus points if you don't judge me for it. ;)

You know that feeling?

I woke up not too long ago to "Lágrimas negras" by José Feliciano, the light of my lamp, that terrible feeling of contacts sticking to my eyeballs, and the knot in my stomach that made me think I was late for work.
For a minute I was panicky, and then came the deliciousness of the realization that it was Saturday. Mmmmm.... One good thing in this scenario.
I'm sick, I'm stressed, my back hurts, but it's Saturday and I get to go back to sleep as soon as I feel like it.

Yum. Love this feeling....