Systems

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

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

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

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.

Nomad

"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....

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!

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!

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....

A look inside my closet

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.

On the upside

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

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.

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....

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...

Songs that make me feel pretty

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.

Mine

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.

Like a tumor

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

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

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....

She emerges...

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.

Today I...

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.