Devotion

Photo Courtesy of FreeFoto.com

Pray
Meditate
Be good to

my inner and outer body
Develop
Evolve
Be kind to
Pamper
Create 

Devotion to
small things
Lost balance
I seek to tilt scales
Back to transcendence
To living in the moment
To erasing guilt
To being honest
To remember my beginnings
To be better
To always try
To energize
 
My self and purpose questioned
I drowned in the moment
Loathing every second
I dwelled in the moment
And owned self pity
Felt eaten whole
He was my only salva vida
 
Now, I can save my own life
By living by striving by stirring up
What brought me joy when I needed rescue
My mantras
My praying
My poetry
My sacred time and words
My ability to create whole cloth where nothing existed before
 
So I redevote myself
To me 
Mi espiritu,
Mi alma,
Mi creatividad,
Mi intuicion,
Mi destino

With my salvation by my side
(always a comforting and constant presence)
I reinforces what the inner me always knew: 
you are already complete, 
you bring your blessings to you, 
you change landscapes, 
you craft dreams, 
you bounce back, 
you weave words that become scripture. 
You ...

Till Death Do Us Part

Death and I are friends. Always cool but never tight. In fact, we barely spoke. Definitely weren't peoples like that. But every couple of years, Death would appear to remind me of his existence. Sorta like that outta the blue phone call from a lover you haven't seen in years or a neighborhood playmate you haven't thought of since junior high.

The first time I knew Death was more than the boogeyman or diving into the deep end of the pool, I was 8 and a half years old. Papa, my father's father, swiftly lost his battle with cancer and six months after being diagnosed was at Rodriguez Funeral home for a two day stint surrounded by black clad mourners, weeping sons and neighborhood heroes who recalled Don Jorge. Soon after he took permant residencey at Bushwick Cemetary. 

In the decades after I saw Death steal high school classmates, work colleagues, friends of friends...in short no one I was close to or called family. I pushed Deaths presence to the back of my mind, like a date you say you'll make but never do. 

Then on the cusp of turning 30 years old, Death rudely showed up on my front porch. My Titi Gloria-- a church-going-chain-smoking-sunshine-smile-wearing-woman-- met her demise from cancer a few short weeks after being diagnosed formally. It felt like bricks fell on my head; worse than any two-timing heartbreak or screaming macth I'd ever had. Mortality was real and my elders--my parents,aunts, uncles, cousins,family friends--were ready companions.

The issue with being the youngest child of youngest children, means I will continue to go to funerals, wakes, memorials and burials with every passing year. 

The three years since Titi Gloria passed have been like Death's got my name on his permanent rsvp list. My mother's sister unexpectedly passed on in September 2009. Family friends, beloveds of my beloved, siblings of my sisters, and just months ago, another one of my mother's sisters.  

In the past nine months I've been to more burials than I've ever attended in my entire life. Cloaked in sadness. Immersed in grief. Or worse, numb to it all. 

The more spirits, lives and families are lost, the more Death manages to live by my side like a close friend rather than a distant acquaintance. I am almost grateful that it has come to reside by me, preparing me for its frequent visits rather than being a surprising reminder that he exists. Almost. Not entirely. Because when I stop to consider what is left when he's gone--the emotional exhaustion, the physical pain of longing, the dull ache of depression--I prefer to rarely see his face than be familiar with its contours and expressions.

Para Lolita Lebron

Lolita Lebron passed from this world on Sunday August 1, 2010. I will never forget where I was, who I was with or the non-emotive response I had. It literally didn't make sense in my brain. Although this space I created-- Love, Lolita -- was inspired by her and my ability to share my feelings with the world. It has taken me an entire two days to even begin to understand what occurred, to feel, to grieve.

Having spent most of her adult life in a prison, I have benefits that Ms. Lebron never did. But they exist in part because of her actions in 1954. A Puerto Rican woman, chose to sacrifice her life for what she believed was right not just for herself but for an entire nation--for me, for my people, for my tierra. She did so at a time when women weren't allowed to be heard or acknowledged. She demonstrated that women can take a stand, can sacrifice, can be revolutionaries, can be agents of change when and how they choose.

And because of that I pray her spirit rises to light, and am grateful to and for her existence, courage and strength. Que sigue la revolucion, la evolucion y un Puerto Rico libre.

It's Not You, It's Me! Citibank's Bad Break-Up

It's been a while since I've posted (and Lord knows I've got several things I need to get off my chest) but this whole issue sparked some annoyance and I had to sound off asap.

By this point, I'm sure most folks have read about, heard about, seen about Deborahlee Lorenzana, the woman banker suing her former employer, Citibank, for firing her over (for lack of better word) being "too hot." They allege that her clothing was "distracting" male employees. In a nutshell, she was harassed and ridiculed for wearing clothes that they deemed were too tight, inappropriate and unprofessional. Most recently (as seen in the above video) there are critiques arising that insinuate she somehow "deserved" her treatment because she opted for cosmetic, plastic surgery.

So, her decision to enhance her body, somehow merited the negative attention? Or, my other fave, her clothing was distracting? Since when are turtlenecks and Ann Taylor suits risque?

Hold up...why aren't we talking about the real issue here?

It's not about Deborahlee or her surgeries or her gear. The woman, while attractive, isn't "too hot" or distracting from her work environment. The real issue? Men who don't know how to control themselves or act around attractive women. And I wouldn't be surprised to learn that group of complaints includes women she formally worked for and with.

None of them--male or female-- knew (or know) how to act or deal or feel with having an attractive woman who didn't mimic a man's professional attire or posture in a workspace aka wore form fitting clothing and didn't de-feminize herself to maintain her professional position.

In short, it's not about her or how she dressed. It's about them and their own issues and stereotypes of what they think corporate women should look and dress like. Not to mention what role and level they believe feminine and attractive women are supposed to occupy.

And no, I wouldn't be surprised if women at her office were on board with the men. I love my sisters, pero I know quite well how catty and spiteful we women can be towards one another. The stares, the gasps, the "no she didn't!" hisses that follow when you see someone wearing or presenting themselves in a way you personally deem inappropriate.

I'm just saying, this is a classic case of the "it's not you, it's me!" break-up scenario. Except in this case, it's not a romantic relationship, it's a professional one. But here's the big mistake, you're dealing with a protected class of people and a big, fat lawsuit. Guess the split won't be as easy as they thought...

Regaining My Swagger - About Face

When I was a teenager and started wearing make up I wouldn't leave the house without it. I had this complejo about the dark circles under my eyes. I thought they were so obvious and the second my moms allowed me to wear make up I bought coverup to make them lighter. Even when I wore nothing else, I made sure those dark spots were as invisible as I could make them.

When I got to the end of my freshman year in college and found sleeping and engaging in 3am conversations more important than what I looked like with no sleep, I stopped caring about what was--or wasn't--on my face before I left my dorm room. That stage lasted about two years (depending on my mood) but was pretty much my m.o. along with overalls and hooded sweatshirts.

When I entered the working world I quickly realized that being "low maintenance" (little makeup, little fuss over my clothes) was still my favorite option, but I dressed for the role I wanted to have: a successful New York writer/editor. Because despite my preferences people were still going to judge me for what I looked like. So I dutifully did my hair, put on some color and bought my best business casual at local stores.

As I got older, more confident/competent/comfortable, with my skills, my gifts and my me, I struck a balance between "cute" and "comfortable." I wore clothes that flattered my figure but were less trendy because let's face it, just cause it looks good doesn't mean it will look good on you. I tried hairstyles and makeup that required little upkeep and nothing more than a washing and a swipe of color while I rode the train from home to office. So as my love for fashion, adornments and all things "girly" grew 10-fold (I swear accessories cure all evils) I kept the see-saw level between my need to be me and the "me" I liked presenting in plain sight.

Lately I have foresaken even this balance, especially in my professional environment. Splitting my time and self into various facets has made sleep more important and jumping into whatever is clean and weather proof priority. I've even scaled back on my jewelery (something I literally feel naked without). I didn't think I missed any of it. Sure I still love getting dressed up, but I'll take a pair of jeans and kicks over tight skirts and heels any day. Or at least that's what I thought.

Recently I was asked to speak on a panel about "powerful women" to college students. Since it was a formal event, I planned out an outfit, grabbed my favorite necklaces and bangles and painted on my favorite colored eyeliner. I felt amazing. I literally walked with more swagger that day. I knew it had been toned down a bit, but walking in my heels and hearing my them clack against the ground was like a personal alarm clock. "Get up and move!" "Stay motivated!" "You are presenting the you inside to the world outside!"

I felt so dag on good that I kept up the routine for a whole two weeks. It added some zest to my day and reminded me that my evolution is ongoing; I need to present myself for me, not just for other people.

Something about choosing to put on decor is so personal. And for months I had abandoned it in favor of simplicity or mood; sometimes I feel like rocking all my glories and sometimes I don't. It's almost like body armor. Not always for protection (well maybe sometimes), not always for attention (well maybe sometimes) but for me. To fortify who I am, remind myself that I don't just occupy "a role" but that I am the person I present myself to be. Or as I like to put it: "me, only better." =)

Mujeres: Presente y Fuerte

It's women's history month and I was inspired to compose a short and sweet something for my XX chromosomes. It's dedicated to women everywhere. Specifically to the women who are my foundation: mami Rosa Robles Rodriguez, abuelas Camilla Santiago, Aliz Victoria Galarza Rodriguez.

We break backs and bruise hearts to raise generations; toil at day jobs to connect ends; feed and nourish partners emotionally and physically.

We selflessly sacrifice to shore up and protect those we love; rise to defenses when others don't dare; keep sorrow whole and move forward fluidly.

I'm grateful and humbled by the women who came before me to clear paths, push cielings and defy definition.

Luz pa'toda ellas que nos guardan.

L'Union Fait La Force (For Haiti January 2010)

Rise Above
All that has been said, and continues to be said, about who you are or aren't
Rise Above
Knowing that the world stands with you, waiting to lift you above broken sidewalkes

"A nation accustomed to misery..."

Not what Touissant or Dessalines ever imagined when they fought to get you from beneath oppressors thumbs

Rise above
Petty differences, stereotypes and misgivings
to send love, light and positivity

Rise above
Those that don’t understand or believe you “deserve” this for you chose not to stand about being ruled by people who saw you as property

Pat Robertson can suck my nuts
There was no deal with the devil
Perhaps with Bondye and the Loa and Papa Legba
who pledged to protect as long as you served
But human frailty and pride and greed overruled all

But none of that matters now
not when the ground opens and swallows people, or
leaves others trapped beneath the earth
and still many more swept away to the skies

My heart breaks to look at babies snatched before life ever started
The pain and suffering so many endure in a land that is completely theirs

Rise above
While others pull you up from beneath slabs, sand and stone
to stand in sunlight instead of being cloaked by darkness
Now and always

32 Thank You's

Laying awake in my bed this morning, I listened to rain on my windows and relished the fact that I got to sleep in on my 32nd birthday. My typical morning ritual of recounting my lessons, my goals and blessings, is somewhat different since I decided to start a day early. And rather than just think about or consider those things, I decided to recount what I'm most thankful for this year. Mostly because of how hard it was. I had serious milestones, unexpected and wonderful high's along with heartbreaking lows. I doubted myself, I questioned my purpose and I even allowed it to bring me down at certain points. But I recognize how fortunate I am to have the things, people and experiences that I have in my life. Without them, I would not be the resilient woman I am (like a basketball I always bounce back). So I am focusing on the positives that uplifted my life through this trying year and using them as a source of power and strength for the new one. (I say this because my birthday is my 'new year' versus the calendar one). Enjoy...

I am thankful for:

1* My patience which is infinitely greater than I ever realized. It grows a little stronger everyday and I couldn't get through without it.

2* My mami Rosa and my papi Willie for raising me the way they wanted to, not the way they were expected to.

3* My brothers Will and Alex for being bedrocks of knowledge, laughter, and ninja-like strength. They were p.i.t.a.'s too, but I'm focusing on the positives here people...

4* My BFF Mel. She shares my core like a split apart. Which explains why we've had each other's back for 20 years and counting...

5* The universe for bringing me my partner. Eight years after we met, we came together at exactly the time we were meant to and ready to be in each other's lives.

6* My Angel. For being who he is and teaching me so much about life and love and partnerships. I love you PB.

7* My humility. It reminds me of how much I don't know and how much I want to know.

8* My late blooming. I don't think I would have appreciated/enjoyed my life and its experiences if it had been thrown at me all at once or I tried to rush through it.

9* My sensitivity. It colors everything I see and do. It makes me infinitely more humane and empathetic. That is truly priceless.

10* My little daily lessons that remind me that I know nothing/everything/something.

11* The protection and love of the orishas, mi ile, my elders and especially that of my padrinos.

12* For ride-or-die-know-me-and-still-like-me-double-digit/two-hand-friends that I've grown with.

13* The so bad they're good for me treats that I can't live without: cupcakes, french fries, sangria...

14* Thoughtful people who understand the world is bigger than they are and their contribution is but a small piece of the greater whole.

15* Intellect; my own and that of others.

16* Chase the Bear.

17* Conversations with thought provoking people. It keeps my brain moving and creativity flowing.

18* Rediscovering books I once loved and those I've never read.

19* Finding old friends (there are many from various times in my life) who I can reconnect with effortlessly no matter how much time has passed since we've seen or spoken to one another.

20* A good red wine

21* Splurging on meals that cost more than they should. Something about eating and enjoying different tastes reminds me that life is here to be enjoyed.

22* My many families (blood, spiritual, chosen)

23* My CC's

24* Unconditional love

25* My inquisitiveness. It is what pushes me to question and ask questions.

26* A great mani-pedi. Nothing like your digits and tootsies looking stellar. And the massage that comes with each doesn't hurt.

27* Knowing that what I want isn't always what I need.

28* Laughter because it cures everything.

29* Silence

30* Music

31* Another year that I can look back upon and be grateful to have lived

32* The gift of using/shaping/sharing words. Without it I would be lost.

Hi Hater!

Below is a piece I wrote, and have since edited, for my sorority newsletter. I post it on this blog because the more I think about it, all women, not just my Hermanas or those who I take responsibility for, should consider the concept of how women treat one another. Enjoy - JRod

"Women hate women." - Chris Rock

And apparently, I hate women too. My most recent obsession is The "Real Housewives" series, Atlanta and New Jersey respectively. Weekly, I’m drawn into–dare I say it?—the entertainment of how these women live, relate to each other and get caught up in drama. But the core of what entertained me—the drama—was actually sad. I realized how these women presented themselves and the images they reflected—self-centered, materialistic, insecure—was what we, women especially, were buying into. But like a bad car accident I can’t tear my eyes away. So whether I like it or not, I validate the stereotype giving onus to the idea that these images are the norm.

When I actually considered Chris Rock’s words, I realized he touched on something many of us hadn’t, or are afraid to voice or even consider: women do hate women. And it’s easy to find examples of it. Flip through any radio station, Facebook/ MySpace/ Twitter entry, television channel and you'll see, read and hear the declarations, accusations and anger that we direct at each other. The Real Housewives, The Flavor of Love, Charm School, The Bachelor….the list of media images is endless. Accepted societal perceptions dictate that women are supposed to fight over men, are untrustworthy, are wildly insecure, rationalize their insecurity with horrid behavior towards other women, are catty, and do not uplift one another. I believe that, subconsciously, women “hate” on each other. Not with malintent or purpose but in a socially acceptable way; from the way we comment on a woman clothes, body, hair, speech, walks, etc., to how we react to other women’s attitudes.

I’m by no means saying that’s the “norm” for everyone. But it’s what has become typically accepted and more bothersome, expected. By men, by women, by our society at large.

What should, at times, be healthy competition snowballs into rivalry and denigrates to dissent and eventually outright hostility. And it’s not anyone’s “fault” when we’re all responsible for either reflecting contentious feelings/behavior we receive or projecting our own insecurities on to others.

The heart of the matters lies with the fact that this sociology destroys community rather than builds it. The constant and excessive action—whether its’ self-initiated or reactive—wears us down and builds upon misogynistic perceptions rather than creating new, positive ones. It also demonstrates how we look outside of ourselves at negativity for positive reinforcement and detract from our actual intentions and potential power.

Some of us are fortunate enough to have intellectual capital—the privilege of higher education, social consciousness, civic-mindedness, ambitions and aspirations—we’re better than we portray ourselves to be. And as women, we are responsible for one another.

I don’t say this to preach, accuse or blame. I say it because I wish to change the dynamic that we contribute to.

I’m guilty as charged, if not more so, because my actions are accompanied by a keen consciousness that these issues exists. Rather than negate each others’ existence or cut each other down, let’s build one another up and change perceptions on a larger, global scale. If we are to move forward as a group and overcome the obstacles and battles placed before us at every turn, we need to start with our attitudes and ourselves.

In doing research to write this, I came across a quote that struck me as beyond appropriate for how we as women can move ourselves forward: "We cannot create functional movements if we refuse to address the dysfunction within us.” – bell hooks.

I couldn’t agree more.

Insanity At Its Best

I love New York.

I am a life-long New Yorker. I was born and raised in the 'burbs (Long Island to be exact) but spent a good deal of my childhood in the outer boroughs thanks to my Brooklyn-ite parents. This means that I regularly glimpsed the special kinds of insanity and uniqueness that comes with daily life in New York City.

So tonight I had a chance to see this insanity which reminded me of the kind and type of freedom that NYC affords to its inhabitants. As soon as I boarded the uptown A train from W. 4th street (in the West Village which for anyone who knows its history has its own brand of crazy) I saw it happen. A young man,dressed in jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt had a gleaming red face. I wasn't sure if he was a teen en route from a belated Halloween celebration or if he was a theater geek. And then....it happened.

My man, with his dirty blonde 'fro and red painted face, pulled off his pullover and began quietly talking to himself, full Joker grin in place. He quickly bent down and stood up with a bottle of red paint in hand and began covering his arms, torso, neck and face (mouth included) with the gooey red substance.

Most of the curious onlookers/fellow passengers looked on in wonderment, standing as observers like most New Yorkers do, not saying much of anything. After covering his upper body in the goopy paint, he proceeded to press his face against the glass, giggle and put his fingerprints on white stickers that he pulled from his book bag.

"I'm living art!" he exclaimed to the man in front of him on the crowded car. Though the man didn't give him much of a response, he continued with his feedback.

As I watched him pull his shirt back on, his jacket arm in arm and a fuzzy hat on his head, I realized that only in New York, and only in the subway, would that type of behavior be common and acceptable and unquestioned. It reminded me of all the other unusual events I had seen on the subway: the man who stripped in the middle of a car on a dare; the man so engrossed in his music and dancing that he put on an unintentional show for all to see; the woman who boarded the train with a life sized version of a firetruck and stood in front, protecting it.

I believe New York City, its energy, its vibe, all allow a degree of freedom and autonomy that can't be found anywhere else.

Geeze, despite living across the river, I still love New York.

Putting Some Pep In My Step

I woke up on this crisp, fall Wednesday in October and made up my mind that I would have a good day. Attitude is definitely a state of mind and I realize that I choose how and what mood/'tude I'll take the moment I wake up.

And ya know what?

It really was as simple as that. My mood hasn't dampened (despite still being sick with a sinus cold), my spirits are high (sitting outside in the park during lunch helped) and my feet haven't hurt once today despite having worn heels. I realized my good mood enhancers were so simple I had to share. Wanna hear about 'em?

Here they go:

1. Putting on dark red lipstick-it makes me feel instantly dressed up

2. Wearing a dress - it is hands down the most no brainer solution to the question: what do I wear today?

3. Rocking high heels - anything that makes your legs look better is a plus

4. Sipping perfectly brewed cafecito with the right amount of creamer - even better when someone else makes it for you

5. Shutting out the world via my ipod in favor of classic dancehall - 'nuff said.

6. Hot showers - bad for your skin but an awesome way to wake up

7. Feeling sun shine on my face-it's got vitamins and is good for ya too

8. Crossing items off my work 'to do' list-because it means they won't be there to do the next day!

9. Art - words, pictures, sounds, doesn't matter. Any art will do.

10. Realizing that the work day has FLOWN by and it's almost time to go home! =)

Domestic Violence: The Same Sad Song

Violence against women is nothing new. I know at least 10 people who have been victims of domestic violence; six women, four men; two older, three younger, five the same age as me.

So I wasn't surprised to learn that nearly one in four women are beaten or raped by a partner during their adult life. But I was surprised to learn that during this month of domestic violence awareness, a New York state Senator, Hiram Monserrate, was acquitted of slashing his girlfriend in the face. She gets emotional and physical scars and he gets to keep his Senate seat.

Last December, Monserrate allegedly hit his girlfriend in the face with a drinking glass, roughing her up after and prolonging medical attention by driving her to a hospital 30 minutes further from his home when a local hospital was just five minutes away. Nearly a year later, the same woman retracted her accusation and Monserrate gets off with a felony conviction.

This begs the questions: What standards/moral values are public officials held to? Should they be stricter? Should behavior in your personal life hold any weight on your position?

If we're going to crucify others for how they have sex, where they choose to do it and with who (which in reality is no one's business) why aren't we more outraged when incidents like this are brought to light? And I say brought to light because many domestic violence incidents are not even reported or made public.

It also leads to the thought....what societal norms are in play where a woman will recant her story? How entrenched in the situation is she? How long has it gone on? And is this a "norm" for her?

Disturbed doesn't convey how astounded or shocked I am by the acquittal. This further perpetuates the idea that men can treat women however they choose and not be held responsible for their actions. Thanks Judge William Erlbaum. Batterers just got another point on the scoreboard.

Latino AIDS Day

Did you know...

*Latinos are 15% of the U.S. population but account for 18% of all new HIV infections

*Latinos born in Puerto Rico are at the greatest risk of contracting HIV through IV drug use and high risk heterosexual sexual behavior

*Latino men are three times more likely to be diagnosed with AIDS than white men

*Latina women are 5 times more likely to be diagnosed with AIDS than white women

*In 2006 HIV/AIDS was the In 2006, HIV/AIDS was the 4th leading cause of death among Latinos, 35–44 years old


For those whose lives have been lost: Light a candle, say a prayer, let them know their lives were not in vain.

For those fighting this illness: Remind them their lives are still valued and their illness does not define them.

For those whose lives have been touched, because in reality, all of us have been: don't consider yourself immune, respect the hard-learned lessons of those who have come before. Practice safe(r) sex, get tested, communicate with your partners. Your lives are in each other's hands.

*Photo provided by Elena from Flickr
**Facts provided by Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Read more here.

Pears, Pears Everywhere!

Pears aren't sexy. And for the first half of my life, that's what I was. Shaped like that is. I had thick thighs, wide hips and an ample bum that were and remain simultaneously, my 'Wow Factor' and bane of my existence.

I battled my body for years because it didn't fit: into clothes, into my imagined ideal (whatever that was), into my life. When I danced ballet my big butt was a pain in one; it never tucked in the way it was supposed to, my back's natural arch made it stick out more. I favored long sweaters and loose pants over fitted tops and tight jeans because I cringed at the unwanted attention my booty brought me. Once I hit 17 (and college) I stopped caring and started the long process of embracing my body and living in my skin.

So I gasped when Glamour, my favorite women's magazine, did the most daring thing ever. They printed this article and ran the picture above in their October '09 issue. There are pears everywhere! I'm thrilled to bits that women with tits, ass and hips--and those without--are finalyl allowed to be themselves and not reimagined.

Thanks Glamour! For being Sassy. Fierce. Daring. Finally.

Que Descanze en Paz, Michael Jackson

San Juan, Puerto Rico, the NAHJ conference at the Puerto Rico Convention Center; standing at a table of colleagues sipping white wine, trading niceties. That's where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news that Michael Jackson had died. It crystallized in a moment that I would always refer back to that moment when asked in the future.

"That can't be true!" I exclaimed as my colleague stood reading a text message from his friend back home in Texas. I couldn't believe it! It had to be some sort of a joke. First Farrah Fawcet...now this? He hadn't been sick, he was getting ready to go on tour. What happened? I took my skepticism and immediately checked my own mobile device to verify what I believed to be a terrible internet rumor. But as I checked CNN, the NY Times I finally knew it was true after checking my Facebook and reading all of my friend's status messages.

Finally it was confirmed and I couldn't help but wince. It was the end of an era. Michael Jackson and his music punctuated numerous memories in my life. MJ's Thriller was the first album I brought for a holiday party in kindergarten. "Billie Jean" was one of the first songs I remember singing to verbatim. I was mesmerized by his dancing and singing and kept torn out magazine pictures tucked between my Menudo scrapbook of the cute boy who sang songs I sang along to. I kept an MJ doll (sparkly white glove and all) with my precious Barbies. As I got older I admit, his music didn't "do it for me" the way it once had. I actually found myself reverting to his older work: PYT became my personal dance anthem while the Best of the Jackson 5 played on repeat during my college study sessions. I relished 'old Michael' and became excited when new songs caught my attention in the same way: Butterflies, Human Nature, Remember the Time, Bad, etc. etc. How could so much emotion and talent be in one individual? I didn't know but was incredibly grateful that it did.

I say all this to say, I can separate the man from the artist. I appreciate his talent and work and even his humanity. I don't discount other people's truths, perspectives or experiences: he was a human and innately flawed as we all are. But I can't and won't dispel an entire life, body of work or magnanimous soul based on it. Nor will I "dance on his grave". It's too simple.

So on the day of his memorial, I recall where I watched: New York, NY; my office conference room, surrounded by coworkers all silent as we watched and collectively mourned for someone's son, brother, father, uncle. His memorial seemed to reflect his life: a spectacular show that people couldn't tear their eyes away from. And I shed some tears for his humanity and hope that Oya has accompanied on his journey and pray he has found a peace that alluded him in life. R.I.P. MJ.

Sotomayor Shatters Another Ceiling

History was made today. I was so happy I cried as the hairs on the back of my arms stood on end.

Sonia Sotomayor - a Latina, a Boricua/Nuyoriquena from the South Bronx -- was nominated to the Supreme Court of the United States of America.

She "stands on the shoulders of all who supported" her. What she doesn't know is that her achievement is also ours, those nameless, faceless women of color, Latinas, puertoriquenas, who have dreams we don't always think are reachable.

Thank you Sonia for standing where you stand, doing what you've done and being where you are so that those of us watching can walk through the door you've opened. =) Another ceiling shattered, another statement made true, that you really canbe anything you want to be. And even if she doesn't for whatever reason get confirmed, she has still taken a place in history.


Love,
A proud, passionate and dream weaving Latina

Rape: It's really that serious.

I got a link to this opinion piece, Is Rape Serious?, from my friend Priscilla ('sup Extra P!). I thought it was an interesting piece considering my previous post about good samaritans and where society's moral compass is pointed (or not).

I realize in reading this, that the issues of women's safety and violation (in whatever form it takes) is a top-down, institutional problem. The way to go about resolving it is to work from both directions to eradicate it. If more people were aware of how things actually go down, perhaps they would demand a change.

ps-I don't "enjoy" writing about these things but feel a compelling obligation to put the ideas in the air and catalyze some kind of thought and hopefully emotion. They're too important not to.

Etiquette 101

I've always been big on etiquette and manners (aka home training). I was taught to say 'please' and 'thank you', apologize when I did something accidently, cover my mouth when I burped, well you get the idea...I've also always been big on reciprocity. Fighting fair, treating others how you want to be treated, giving people the benefit of the doubt, etc. But I can't for the life of me figure out how or why, I saw proper etiquette=an eye for an eye on my way home from work today.

My office happens to be located in the bustling streets of midtown Manhattan. Somewhere between the city's most beautiful sites like Grand Central Station and the New York Public Library and the tourists traps, garment factories and overpriced restaurants I ply my trade. With the hustle comes tons of people coming at you from every which direction. Courteousness, consideration and etiquette daily get tossed to the curb as people scatter to get to offices, showrooms and the next attraction. So I don't often take it personally when I catch an elbow or some other flailing body part when I'm on my way to and from the office.

Today I happen to be on the giving end thanks to my feeling under the weather. All I could think about was getting home. I got stuck in pedestrian foot traffic behind a group of slow moving, lip smacking, cell phone talking cats whose pronounced limps were more for show than anything else. As I (admittedly) blew past one of them, my very large purse (I'm a woman with lots of stuff, it's gotta go somewhere) knocked into said dude. I didn't stop to say sorry or anything else since home was all I had on my mind. But apparently my rudeness justified getting knocked in the shoulder by this same cat. I was compuzzled. What had just happened? As I turned and said "Excuse me!" he YELLED (what's with the yellers I keep running into?) "EXACTLY! THAT's WHAT I WAS WAITING FOR!" I was stunned. This dude had truly KNOCKED into me as I walked past to make a point about my etiquette or lack there of.

Now, I'm all for making a point but was that really necessary? Am I going to "learn my lesson" because some big dude knocked into me on the street? Since the entire thing was accidental in the first place, I think not.

After sizing him up and realizing this guy had no problem hitting a random person on the street, I resisted the urge to flip him the bird (my hand was already clenched and in position) or yell profanities at him. Someone who doesn't care about hitting a stranger isn't gonna care about doing something worse in public either. So I turned around, kept up my stride and walked away. But was baffled and upset none the less. Guess the boo is right, it's time to invest in some pepper spray for my purse...

U-N-I-T-Y: Have good Samaritans gone out of style?

This is a photo of a sign on my old block in the B-k. It was an homage to a woman who was raped. I was alarmed, but not surprised, that it existed. Says alot about the state of the world today, don't ya think?


"...and you shall love your neighbor as you love yourself."


It was the worst way to start my day. I walked to my office, excited about the warm weather ahead, happy I wasn't swathed in layers, so sunny I was wearing sunglasses.

That's when, steps away from the door of my office building,a young man accosted me.

"DAMN MA!," he screamed as he looked me up and down. "THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! I GOT THAT NEW SHIT! COME HERE MA, LET ME TALK TO YOU..."


Yelling, swaggering, putting on a show for sidewalk spectators, cajoling me into a reaction. He screamed as though blocks separated us when in reality he was two feet away. I was relieved that my sunglasses hid my startled response and shielded me from making eye contact at all. I was used to catcalling and commentary, even getting my hand grabbed. But screamed on at 9am? Not so much. I was still half asleep and mentally preparing for my day. So, needless to say my defenses were down and I was unprepared.

I thought it would end when I stepped inside and he continued his show (without my guest role) without me. Negative. He stepped inside behind me as I walked through the front doors, continuing his tirade, which I had this point stopped paying attention to, as I deliberately ignored his hollering and hooting. Maybe he was delivering a package (he had a box in hand) or he had a meeting, it didn't matter. All that ran through my mind was the thought of enduring his unwanted advances as I stood waiting for the elevator to my floor.

The incident ended as quickly as it had begun. Just as I thought I was mentally ticking off a list of things to say, an elevator 'pinged' and doors slid open, and I stepped inside leaving behind the idiota that was still yelling comments as the doors slid closed. All I could mutter to the tense passengers, one being my coworker, was 'what a hell of a way to start a morning.' A quick chuckle and averted glances and it was done.

But the whole incident bugged me. Aside from the situation itself setting a tense tone for my morning, how was it that, no one, not even my coworker who was also waiting for the elevator or the security guard who greeted me as I walked in, said a thing. Boo,nada, mudos. Was it because they thought I could handle myself? Was it because I walked by pretending that the whole scene hadn’t happened? Were they silent assuming that his arbitrary rant was just that and that my safety was not in jeopardy?

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to scream! I wasn't expecting anyone to be Superman and "save me" but how do you just stand by and not somehow, in someway, become involved? I was baffled that no one had said or done anything. I was visibly shaken, scared almost, that it had happened and while I may not have outwardly expressed my fear (that's just like blood for sharks) isn't there some sort of moral obligation that people, not necessarily male or female, have to help their fellow (wo)man?

This incident reminded me of how easily we as people walk through life oblivious, taking no charge or responsibility for each other. It further illuminated a question I had after reading a story in the paper a few weeks prior. In 2005, a young Queens woman, Maria Besdin, was attacked and raped on a subway platform while waiting to go to her boyfriend's home. She cried for help and although two transit workers were present (one was in a token booth, the other a conductor) neither did anything. The woman brought a suit against the New York City MTA for negligence. Although both men alerted transit command, neither left their stations, didn't call 911 or did anything additional to stop or aid Maria. The article reported that recently, a Queens court dismissed her suit against the MTA and its workers. The judge noted: "[the transit worker] pressed an emergency button in his booth and ruled the men had no responsibility to intervene and were following work rules."

I was jaw dropping-ly stunned. It made me ponder: What kind of moral standards or moral compass do we as a society, a global community, have? Do they exist? Do we as people not have the obligation to help our fellow man? Do you allow someone to be harmed, or God forbid killed, while you stand by and watch? Or worse yet, as you see and walk away? What kind of message does this action send to women about their safety in public places and spaces?

While I was far from being physically assaulted or violated, I realized, today’s cat calls could be tomorrow’s rape cases.

Readers, I have to ask...What would you do? What do you think that people’s threshold or tolerance for potentially harmful behavior should be? Where is your own moral compass? How do you think you would react in either situation? If you have encountered this dilemna what have you done?

Grita...

Nuyorican...Not So Much

I happen to come from a group of people that have a ton of synonymns for their cultural identity. Puerto Rican/U.S. Puerto Rican/Boricua/Borinqueno/puertoriqueno/(and yes) Nuyorican.

So I've never claimed this moniker mostly because its not my fave one and because it didn't wholly fit my identity. BUT I accept that it's a derivative that is often a synonym. For those that don't know its history it's a term that evolved in the late '60's and early '70's to identify second, third and now fourth generation Puerto Ricans born and/or raised in New York City whose parents, grandparents and great grandparents who migrated to New York during the wave of the Great Migration during the 1930s and 1940s. It later became a pejorative term island Puerto Ricans utizlied to describe non-island born Puerto Ricans. It would become a badge of pride as well as identification for those born stateside regardless of geography. In short: I own it whether or not I readily utilize it. So why bring it up at all?

Because I'm just appalled by MTV's recent True Life episode, "I'm A Nuyorican." But probably not for the reasons you think.

I don't theoretically take issue with the people they chose to highlight. Why? Because ...

a)Who on the Lord's green earth knows who showed up for that casting call. You tend to choose from the pool you have access to. Were these three young people ideal or optimal? Likely not. And lest we forget, this is afterall, a show for an entertainment network so whatever or rather whoever is going to make good TV will be what/who will get chosen.

b) These kids realities were the realities of their Nuyorican lives-you can't deny it, you can't erase it or conceal it. It simply is. But note the major and really key difference: it represents THEIR individual lives, experiences and issues. Whether we as a community want to acknowledge or support those lives is a whole other issue all together.

c) While some of these kids represent and reify stereotypes about our people and community (loud and obnoxious, hostile attitudes, ignorant, uneducated, etc.) remember people: stereotypes exist because there are people and experiences like them that exist. And we (individually and/or collectively but certainly not always intentionally) perpetuate those stereotypes each time we don't heighten expectations or don't present an alternative narrative.

Which in short leads to my actual beef...

Don't call this show "I'm A Nuyorican." Call it, "My P.R. Family Is Smothering Me" OR or "I'm Trying Not To Be Stereotype." This did NOT represent what ALL stateside born Puerto Ricans, Nuyoricans, etc. live like. It's a story of individual identity experiences. And speaking of that horrific title...would they call a show: "I'm an Indian," "I'm A Black" or "I'm a Guido" ? Get it together MTV. I'm not the only one who feels/thinks this way either. Check out this article in New York's Daily News.

I'm also disappointed that what is usually a quality doc series I've been a fan of for years missed the boat in a big way. Nuyoricans have such a rich history in New York and the network gave it a terrificly bad misnomer. In truth, I was waiting the whole time to understand how these kids "culture" was keeping them back (as their promo advertised), how they juggled it or how they struggled as a result. I'm still waiting...

As a story telling medium, the show failed failed to provide the audience with context the way other shows have. As I sat and watched it, I was bothered that none of these kids were asked to speak on anything but their personal histories. I thought: "Wow! Either they weren't asked or these kids don't know ANYTHING about their culture besides food, music, dancing and sports." As a journalist I realize that stories often times present themselves differently than originally planned. But appropriate and accurate language should be utilized as a result.

And the other alarms? These kids each in some way, shape or form had serious identity crisis. "I do my best JLo" or "All Puerto Ricans dance salsa and I hate it" or "All Puerto Ricans are loud and have attitude." Really? Then clearly you haven't left your hood or your building or your block for that matter. I know plenty of non-rhythm, classic rock loving, uncoordinated Nuyoricans and then some.

What I saw were three young people struggling with issues of their cultural identity, violence, familial dynamics, self-hate and esteem. But it was all disaplyed under a singular banner" I'm a Nuyorican. Oh pop culture/mainstream media...when are you ever gonna get it together? And better yet get someone (directors, producers, writers, etc.) in those creative meetings and casting calls with better judgement than to deliver this and expect it to get the pass. *Tsk, Tsk*