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.

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:

Aniversario

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

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

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

Sweet procrastination

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

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

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

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"

Mic check - takin' it back

1. "I Can Still Feel You" by Collin Raye

Loved it when I first heard it, back in the late 90s and it's been in my head for the last few weeks. "I can still feel you just as close as skin/ Every now and then/ All by myself, in a crowded room, or my empty bed..../I thought I'd forget you/ But I guess I forgot to."

2. "Dreaming of You" by Selena

Brings back so many memories. Weren't all of us Latinos in the US Selena fans when this came out? So sad....

3. "I Could Fall in Love" by Selena

Yeah, that's two by Selena. But seriously, I love this one: "I could lose my heart tonight if you don't turn and walk away...."

4. "I Can't Stop Loving You" by Ella Fitzgerald

You know, or anything else by her. Because she's amazing. No one sings like this these days.

5. "El breve espacio en que no estás" by Silvio Rodríguez

I'm a bit of a Silvio junkie - something I inherited from my (conservative, apolitical) father (go figure). It took me forever to narrow down my Silvio picks, but this has always been one of my favorites: "No es perfecta, mas se acerca a lo que yo simplemente soñé."

6. "Con diez años de menos" by Silvio Rodríguez and Pablo Milanés

He really is that brilliant: "Esta mujer me propone que salte y me estrelle, sólo para verle, sólo para amarle, sólo para serle, solo y no olvidarle." My dad and I were always fascinated by those lines. What poets, those two!


7. "Always Be My Baby" by Mariah Carey
The video is important because everyone told me that I looked like the girl in it when it came out. Mariah was so GOOD back then! I'll also admit that I'm a huge fan of the David Cook version, so I'll include that video here. But, seriously, check out the original, because that totally could've been a twelve year old me. ;)


8. "Tal vez es amor" by Chayanne

I remember being in the car with Titi Myrna when this one came on. I must've been about twelve, the cheesiness together with Chayanne's sexiness made it an instant favorite. "No sé decir lo que me gusta de ti, algo me mata pero me hace vivir: tal vez es amor."

9. "Moscas en la casa" by Shakira

This one, or anything else from the "¿Dónde están los ladrones?" album. This was probably the first Shakira song that I fell in love with, though, so I chose it, though I was seriously debating "Ciega Sordomuda" and "Ojos Así".... This was the album that shot her to international stardom, before the crazy curls and the blonde hair. She's so beautiful and young here....

10. "My Boo" by Ghost Town DJs

My sister and I had this one on repeat. It still makes me want to dance.

11. "Always" by Bon Jovi

Stinkin' copyrights.... Check out the original video. I couldn't get enough of it: so much hotness!

12. "Hotstepper" by Ini Kamoze

Even back then I could recognize a hot beat. ;)

13. "More than Words" by Extreme

My favorite of the one-hit wonders. I always remember my cousins singing along to this and saying something like: "zen ju gwouldn't have to say that ju love me, because I'd alreary know..." The "alreary" was my favorite. Aww, but the four of us girls would sit in Liliana's room and play this tape OUT!

14. "Súbete a mi moto" by Menudo

Waaaaaay back. You can't be Puerto Rican and born in the seventies or eighties and not remember Menudo. I had pencils, t-shirts, and all the records (yes, records) which I played non-stop on my Big Bird record player (it was yellow). There's video of me dancing to this classic. Someone should've fired their choreographer, though....

15. "Rush Rush" by Paula Abdul

My favorite Paula Abdul song EVER - this one and "Blowing Kisses in the Wind". Ha, ha. We were huge fans. The reason this video won is for the young Keanu Reeves (those EYES!) and the "Rebel Without a Cause" theme. Major points for any James Dean reference.

Bonus Pick:
"I'll Never Get Over You Getting Over Me" by Expose

I used to cry listening to this one. How I identified with it at ten, I'll never know, but I loved it....

jueves

Long but good day.
First block seems like ages ago. My kids had some presentations, some entertaining, others were still okay. We'll have to keep working on the subjunctive, just because it's difficult, but they seem to be grasping the concept as best they can right now.

Second and fourth blocks my kids presented their final projects for Crónica de una muerte anunciada. They had to come up with a creative representation of one of the book's main themes. I got a lot of collages - some better than others, a hand-drawn timeline; a skit involving I. from News 4, Ángela Vicario, and the resurrected Santiago Nasar (fabulous!); a sword made of cardboard and aluminum foil with Víctor Manuelle as Santiago Nasar, Britney Spears as Ángela Vicario, and Kanye West's head on a duck as Bayardo San Román..... My kids are amazing sometimes. Just when I think they're not going to get their acts together, they pull it out and surprise me. This is what I'll miss when I'm gone.... Awww... I can't believe I'm leaving!

Sixth block, we started on the imperfect subjuntive - difficult concept, and I can already tell it's going to be killer for these kids, but I want to make sure they're prepared for next year. They'll make it through, I'm sure. It'll just be a mini unit anyway, since we're creeping up on the end of that school year....

Graduation is 15 days away and my birthday will be here in 13, not that I counted or anything, but I did. Haha.... Twenty-six isn't even a cool age, so I'm not making a really big deal out of it, but I wouldn't mind a soccer game and some dancing.

EDGE Club was pretty amazing today, too, at least the part I was there for. Mr. D. came by and talked to me about leaving. Seems like he'll miss me; I won't miss the frustration of GC with him, but I will miss him as a person. He's just a really nice guy.

Everyday I add items to my mental list of all I'll miss. So much, man.... So, so much....

For example:

* My 150+ kids
* Department lunches
* Food days
* The sound of students working in groups
* "¿B grande o v chica?"
* The satisfaction of writing a lesson plan and seeing it come to life
* The "Aha!" face
* "That starts with h?"
* "That needs an accent on the o, right?"
* The crush of humanity in the hallways during passing periods: wall-to-wall in every shade of skin
* The challenge of making grammar interesting
* Telling kids they've done an amazing job
* The easy banter in the classroom
* Being with people who believe in the importance of language
* Sharing my love for a subject

For the boys

There are some songs that will forever remind me of certain people and certain events. I was thinking the other day about songs that reminded of me of past crushes and boyfriends, and it kinda made me smile to myself.

Here's a sampling:

1. For W., my seventh grade boyfriend and my first kiss: "Water Runs Dry" by Boyz II Men. We danced to it at a dance and called it our song even though it had nothing to do with our situation. Haha.


2. For F., my on-again-off-again boyfriend in high school, "Anytime" by Brian McKnight. I think it was the "off-again" aspect of our relationship that made me associate this song with him.


3. For M., my first love and the man with whom I had the most complicated and unconventional relationship, "Complicated" by Carolyn Dawn Johnson. We started out as friends, and were/are both experts at denial so it took us AGES to talk about our feelings.


4. For S., a college boyfriend, and good friend now (most days *wink*), "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by whoever sings that song (everyone has). Mostly because I was on my way to Costa Rica in the early stages of our relationship. I chose the video with the Lost theme for him.


5. For T., the man I had a crush on, and who crushed on me at various points during our long friendship, there are two. The first, "Miedo" by Pepe Aguilar for the moments when I was crushing hard and was too scared to say anything. The second, "Nada fue un error" by Coti for after we made out at Shannon's when we were in PR.... Haha.



6. For J., the one who broke my heart like I knew he would, "Te voy a perder" by Alejandro Fernández, because I knew it was inevitable, but I fell into it anyway.

Potomac Tuesday

Eight years ago, on a day like today, I cast my first vote. I was seventeen, and was going to turn eighteen in time for the presidential elections, and was thus qualified to vote in the primaries. I remember going to the polling station with my mom and showing my license, then going into the booth and casting my vote.... I felt like an integral part of the democratic process.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm Latin: I understand corruption in ways that most Americans can't. I don't for a minute believe that the process is without flaw, but I still believe in the importance of participating. I believe in that moment of making a decision and standing for something you agree with. I cast my vote, and I cast my voice. This is what I believe. I believe that this person can represent my interests and the interests of the nation as a whole.
So I voted today, Potomac Tuesday, they called it. It was the day for the DMV's primary (for all those outside the region: D.C., Maryland, and Virginia) and I went, despite the fact that I'm in the process of moving, despite the fact that we were getting some freezing rain, despite the fact that I've lost my voice. I got my little sticker - a badge of honor - and went home feeling like a model citizen.
The funny thing, I remember how excited I was that first time, eight years ago, and I swear, I was just as excited this time around. It's always that exciting for me. It's that democratic process, that being a part of decision making, that I love.
The process and Obama.... ;)
Hope y'all voted....

This video...

Takes me back...

Peter on the Plane

First, here's another shirt that I want:





Now, I've been thinking about Peter from the Plane a lot lately. He was the guy I sat next to from DC to NYC, and we talked the whole time. He's a grad student, majored in philosphy in undergrad, and had packed for three weeks in Perú without really thinking, and mostly in plastic shopping bags. Anyway, aside from coining the term retrosexual (love it!) for people who still think that sex requires some kind of real emotional connection and commitment, he read me pretty well. I've been thinking a lot about what he said, as I mentioned earlier.

First, he realized that I'm the nicest person in the world (ha, ha). This he said with a bit of sarcasm, but also impressed by my line of work and history of volunteerism.
Then he said that he'd judged me, thinking that I was just a pretty girl, but apparently I was also smart and interesting. I told him I was a homely kid, so I was forced to develop a bit of personality, and he told me about ugly duckling syndrome. He asked me if I thought guys didn't take me seriously because of my looks. My answer? Yes. Absolutely. I know, I know, poor little pretty girl. But it does suck, because I'm much smarter than I look. And I'm less shallow than you might think. Don't let the make-up and stilettos fool you: I'm a lover of third world travel and beauty in the broken places. I want to live among the poor and work to better the world. I told him about my dreams for a non-profit in the States and the sister NGO working abroad, and he said he knew I'd do it because he could see the passion in my eyes.
As we parted ways in NY, he told me, "Don't forget, Frances, you're worth a million." And he seemed so incredibly sincere, that I felt like he knew how much I needed to be reminded of that. Anyway, I think about this now, and am desperately trying to remember that I really am worth a million. More than that. I am a bit insecure these days, but Peter on the Plane's words have been coming to me randomly when I most need them.
Funny how a person can be in your life for so little time and give you exactly what you need, not only in that moment, but for days later.

Snow...

It's snowing. The first big blizzard of the year. It's supposed to get worse, and so far, we've got at least two inches. After the snow, they're calling for sleet, after that, icy roads. Who's hoping they cancel school tomorrow? Ha, ha.

I hate snow - hate winter in general - but I love snow days. I'm already anticipating a day of packing and cleaning and grading papers while enjoying some fine Netflix selections. Let me not jinx myself though....

The past week and a half has been rough. I think (crossing fingers) that I'm coming to the top of that hill, though, and that it'll be smoother from here on out. I've got a few things to look forward to: MLK Jr. Day on Monday, M's visit that Friday, and the beginning of the semester. That brings me that much closer to Philly. I've set a deadline for myself: I must apply by Valentine's day. Why V Day? Why the heck not?

I've been a serious insomniac - I'm too stressed to sleep, but also too stressed to work. Go figure. That alone can make you feel like you're fighting your way through a permanent fog. Throw in the stress of exam review, friendship crises, a friend's death, and the need to move, and you've got a highly volatile situation. I am feeling like I need a vacation, and urgently. Of course, there's no time or money for that right now. Boo.

I haven't felt this frazzled since my first year of teaching when I felt like I couldn't get my head above water. Before that, it was exam time in college just before I went off to Costa Rica. The thing is, I hate this feeling. I don't know what to let go of: GC, Spanish Club, EDGE, two churches (could I just settle on one?), family, friends, working out, personal time.... The personal time is taking the biggest cut. I'm no fun these days. Ha, ha.

In more exciting news, M's coming to town for his birthday. I haven't seen him in about four years. I was in Atlanta the last time we hung out. Goodness, I do miss that man.... It'll be good to see him, even if it brings back a boatload of memories - both good and bad. I'm looking forward to it - sometimes it's the only thing that gets me through the days. I just have to get through one more week, and then I'll see him - and it's a short work week, so it's even better. He'll be my reward after semester exams.

I found this video that I used to love - one of those songs I still don't totally understand, but that I can feel - and it seems appropriate for M's upcoming visit. Like I said, I still don't totally get the lyrics (¿delfines en tu voz? Whaaat?), but there are some parts that I connect with, almost instinctively. They sing about not knowing whether to feel or to think, because even now, they love eachother. Hmm....

...wir müssen geduldig sein...

Some things never change...

I was on the phone with an old friend today - an ex, to be exact - and it occured to me that change comes slowly.

In spite of the way things may come across in this blog, I'm not a very emotional person. I'm such a freakin' boy when it comes to feelings and tears and all that jazz. I hate crying, I hate having those conversations where you talk about how you feel, I hate that kind of vulnerability. I run from it. Seriously. And this is where what I'm thinking of comes in.

Two people like this can't have a real relationship, right? You can't have two people who don't want to discuss feelings ever work out a real relationship, can you? It might work for a while, but it will soon fall apart. I know this.

The thing is that I fell in love when I was about 19. Maybe it happened before then - I mean, I met him when I was 14, and I had a crush on him for the next three years. I confessed this to him, like, two weeks before I moved across the Atlantic. Goodness, I was young. It was ages ago; I've known him for eleven plus years.

He's still a part of my life. The only man I've ever really really loved. I'm a stupid girl, I know. Anyway, after my teenaged confession, we talked occassionally on the phone. I went off to college, and we kept talking. Only now it was something more regular. It got to the point where it was every night for hours. I was in love. He was the first man I ever said that to, the first time I meant it with everything in me, the man I thought I would marry. I was young. When we broke things off - badly, I might add - I was only twenty; he was twenty-one. It hurt to lose him.

I'll be honest, most of the break up was my fault. Yes, there were some things he could've done, but I'll take the bulk of the blame. It is what it is, and the truth is that I put that final nail in the coffin.

We didn't talk for a year. One long year. I thought about him all the time - wondered what he was doing, if he'd found someone else, if he thought of me.... When I couldn't stand it any longer, I sent him an email, gave him my phone number, told him to call me.

The miracle is that he did. And we settled back into this comfortable conversation. Not the five hours a night of yesteryear, but still considerable conversation. I remembered how much I'd loved him. I said it then, and I'll say it again: I think I'll always love him. Even if it could never work between us, there will always be a part of me that loves him.

There are things we never talk about, subjects that we hint at as we tip-toe around our vulnerabilities. I would've given everything for him. Really. Things fell apart then; they kind of imploded. Since then, we've almost confessed these residual feelings without ever really really clearing the air. I'm not going to open that can of worms and neither will he; we'd lose control of our carefully controlled emotions. When things get too intense, someone's phone magically dies or suddenly I'm interested in football, or he has things to do. We're not going to touch it.

Maybe we're still in love? Maybe it's hard to let go. Eleven years. Eleven years he's been in my life - an important part. I think about him. I think he thinks about me.

This kind of hurts my heart. I don't know what prompted me to write all this, to tell this story, except that I'm realizing how much I miss him. Five plus years later and I'm realizing how much I still miss him. Is there something wrong here? I'm sure I could write a list.

We almost talked about things today, again. Tip toed around the ruins of what once was, remembering the beauty and the pain of it. Then I tried to switch the subject to football.

He makes me painfully aware of my shortcomings, but at the same time, I want to make them better.... Cliche, I know.

Anyway, the point is that I don't know what the point of this entry is. I haven't resolved anything, though that wasn't my intention. I haven't somehow gotten over him, though that might be impossible. It's still the same confusing mess it's always been. But it's okay, I think. We'll muddle through it and come up with one of our confusing agreements.

Nur wir müssen geduldig sein... *

(I stole the title and the last line from the following song. It means "we have to be patient")

Looking back on the year because it's a snow day...

1) Where did you begin 2007?
Ummm, I totally can't remember... It was either church or my parents' house....

2) What was your status by Valentine's Day?
super single. Quite frankly, I'm not a Valentine's Day kinda girl even when I'm dating. I'd much rather not deal with the crowds and sit around at home eating Indian take-out and watching movies on the couch.

3) Were you in school (anytime this year)?
Well, I work at a school, so yes.

4) How did you earn your money?
Teaching Spanish

5) Did you have to go to the hospital?
Nope.

6) Did you have any encounters with the police?
I got pulled over for doing 45 in a 25 zone just before I left for Vietnam. It was a female cop, so there was no getting out of it.

7) Where did you go on vacation?
Technically, Vietnam, although that was more of a working vacation, minus the trip to Ha Long Bay, most beautiful place on earth.

8) What did you purchase that was over $500?
A new computer to replace the one that was stolen, and my trip to Vietnam.

9) Did you know anybody who got married?
Yes, but I was fortunate enough to not have to go to any weddings.

10) Did you know anybody who passed away?
Wow, actually last year was the first year in a long time when I didn't lose anyone I cared for.

12) Did you move anywhere?
Almost did, but not quite.

14) What concerts/shows did you go to?
Maná - so fantastic! Also I saw Wayne Wonder and T-Pain

15) Are you registered to vote?
Of course!

16) Who did you want to win American Idol?
I remember being okay with Jordin Sparks winning, but I know she wasn't my number one choice. The bad thing? I don't remember my number one choice...

17) Where do you live now?
VA, and becoming okay with that.

18) Describe your birthday.
Geez, I think I went out with Maggie... Yeah, that's what we did.

19) What's one thing you thought you'd never do but did in 2007?
I'm copying the answer that the person before me wrote: Fall for a jerk. Also, be pursued by a professional athlete (granted, this was in Vietnam), eat eel and frog, ride a bicycle 20 km, travel to the other side of the world, defend myself in a non-European language, break my nose, and be considered tall

20) What has been your favorite moment?
Vietnam - all five/six weeks there, seeing Bethany for Thanksgiving, and countless others.

21) What's something you learned?
I am much more sure of what I want than most people my age, I'm a simple girl, and I'm not always as tough as I think I am.

22.) Any new additions to your family?
Not officially, but I will soon have a brother-in-law. It feels like he's already family. :)

23.) What was your best month?
July/August. It's a toss-up.

24.) What music will you remember 2007 by?
The latter part of the year will be heavily influenced by Kanye West and Alicia Keys. The first half of the year by Maná.

25) Who has been your best drinking buddy?
My Nalgene bottle... I'm not much of a drinker.

26) Made new friends?
Sure.

27) Best new friend?
She's an old one: Bethany. Best friend that I've reconnected with? Sammy.

28) Favorite Night out?
Nights out with my girl BK. :)