Unfinished Portrait

A few days ago, my Hermana Luivette Resto, released her first collection of poetry, Unfinished Portrait. It is a collection seven years in the making and documents her evolution, literary and personal. Lu and I met as pre-frosh at Cornell University in the summer of 1995. After a fight in '96 (*wink*) we were bonded for life.  

She is one of my greatest cheerleaders, critics and fellow writers. I am immensely proud of the words she has put out into the world. It's just the beginning but I encourage you to check out her work, her site, and get a copy of the book. 

Cheers to you Ms. Ilanisiw, I can't wait to join you on the shelf. But you'll always be "The Illest." =)

Sarah Palin was soooo NOT journalism major

I haven't sounded off on my opinions about Election '08 because I've been waiting for something to strike a chord in me but I felt like this one just took the cake. 

Aside from thinking that Sarah Palin as a VP nomination on the Republican ticket is an afront to women....

Aside from thinking that her choice to belittle Obama's community organizing roots (which are in fact the factors that clinched my support for him) 

Aside thinking that she's just an attractive window dressing with little substance or record to speak of...

Aside from thinking that she's in articulate (I listened to the audio from her interview with Katie Couric where she couldn't answer a single question with a legible response)...

This little diddy right here, takes the cake. The woman who was allegedly a journalism major in college, can't even name a news outlet where she gets her information from.....poor. 

Yes I Can

Shiftless. Lethargic. Sluggish. Lazy bones.

On just about any day, you could utilize any of the above words to describe me, especially in the mornings. I love sleep – napping is a hobby and I’m addicted to the artful joy of closing my eyes. I am also a nocturnal creature (I’ve recently been described as an owl, but that’s a post for another time) who prefers the twilight of the moon and finds herself in peak performance in the dead of night. So for as much as much as I enjoy sunshine, come the break of day, I will stay immobilized in bed, drunk with sleep, unable to shake the comatose state that I’ve been in for hours. And once I am physically up (but still not mentally awake) I will lollygag, linger, lounge in my little bed until I feel fully prepared to face the day.

I’m not saying I always lack motivation. I couldn’t have come as far as I have professionally or personally if I didn’t have some kind of fire in my belly. So for big things, I got it under control (most of the time). But for little things like doing laundry or going grocery shopping or exercising, my lazy bottomed alter ego often makes long, guest appearances.

So you can understand how much to my surprise, the last month or so, I’ve been rising from my bed, shockingly with little resistance, to dress and go running. Huh?

My boyfriend who recently heard me bemoaning how my clothes weren’t fitting right, that I needed more endurance and how I was unhappy with how I was feeling with my body gave me a much needed, swift kick in the ass. Understand, he’s an athlete who’s been into fitness his entire life and is used to pushing his body’s physical limitations. Oh and did I mention that he’s training for a triathalon? Yeah, he’s one of those. So during one of our many conversations, he suggested that I start running again.

Again. As in that it had happened previously, although sporadically and never seriously. I took my first stab at vertical motion in 2004 when I moved back to New York with a badly healed sprained ankle and an extra 15 pounds as a result. Regaining strength and dropping the extra weight I had packed on due to my immobility were enough to get me walking, jogging and eventually running to get my legs and butt back into shape.

My second stab came when I joined a gym in 2005 and I realized I couldn’t climb a few flights of stairs without seriously gasping for breath and causing pain to shoot up my once muscular thighs. So the treadmill and I got tight. Like, running (although painfully slow) for an hour, tight. That great habit lasted, on and off, for a few years until my workaholic tendencies took over and I put closing an issue or finishing a presentation above my own health.

But since I started working from home, I realized I had no excuse. My workday is mine to craft. So what was I waiting for? I agreed and let him take me out for my first run on an unusually brisk August Saturday morning. After running till my head hurt and my stomach turned, I agreed that I would keep it up, because I knew that I owed it to myself.

That’s not to say that it’s been an easy habit to form. It started with my boo calling in the mornings on his way to work to inquire if I’d gone running yet or was planning to later. The idea of saying no just didn’t feel like an option. There’s something to be said about being held to your word. But something changed. After the first few weeks, before he would even call, I was rising from my bed, with little resistance, to dress and go running.

So while my boyfriend still calls every other morning on his way to work to motivate me (God bless his heart) I know that the onus really falls on me. He can call all he wants, throw me outta bed when he’s here, but ultimately it’s my own self- determination that has to rear its head and make my feet move.

So while I am immensely grateful to the man for being a catalyst (*thanks babe*) I’m pretty damn proud of myself for actually following through. I’ve been talking about running and taking better care of myself for forever. But have allowed everything else to take precedence. There’s a lot to be said about self-motivation- that something inside of you that forces you to think and realize that you control what you want to do and that things are actually in your hands. And so waking up and putting on my running shoes and walking out of the door was a major reminder that I am capable of shaping things: my body, my mind, my life. I own agency and I can make things happen. I simply have to want to. And I do.

Seven Years Later

I fell asleep last night distinctly aware of what today's date would be. I was downtown last night and as I made my way to the train looked up and noticed the lights that were shining skyward where the towers had once been. The tangible reminder of what had happened seven years ago jarred me. I thought I would awaken and feel some of the emotions I felt that day and the days that passed after.

I did wake up with a feeling of urgency and desire to hide. I didn't go about my morning routine the way I normally did; I opted to laze around a bit, finish reading a book and clean my home instead. I also opted not to watch the news. I had no desire to be reminded full on of the date-- of 9/11-- and what had happened.

I remember/relive that day in 2001 when this time of year rolls around. The blissful ignorance of boarding a train in Queens for my job in downtown Manhattan, the annoyance of what I believed was a delayed commute, the disbelief when I rose above ground, the fear of being trapped in Manhattan as the towers crumbled, the exodus across the Queensboro Bridge praying I would make it home, watching the gray clouds billow above and out to the sky, the terror of hearing helicopters and planes above, the tearful relief that I was had made it back safely and the grief that so many others had not.

So each year, I do the same thing to remember instead of relive: I say a prayer, thank the higher power and those that guide and protect me that I'm alive to reflect and give thanks and ask that those who were senselessly lost are, as well as their families, remembered today and always.

Question of the Day

When did the N word become a pronoun/noun?

*Conjured while riding the J train back to B-k while sitting next to two teenage boys and trying not to throw up a little in my mouth from their ignorance.*

The Queen of Procrastination

I am, admittedly, a procrastinator.

I'm that person who, for whatever reason, was given the ability to thrive under pressure, to get a rush from doing things and doing them pretty well at the last minute. In college, I could write a 10 page paper overnight (granted I didn't sleep but that was just the way it went). I can throw together a meal an hour before company arrives. The day of a trip, I multitask and do laundry, clean my house and pack just hours before my departure.

But over the last few years my procrastination/laziness/avoidance has bloomed into all out neglect. I've missed deadlines (it wasn't really that drop dead was it?), I've not returned phone calls (no bigz, whoever it is will call back), I've been left putting immense amounts of pressure on myself (kept awake by my anxiety and racing thoughts of what didn't get done immediately followed by guilt) because I've been avoiding something/someone. Television, sleep, food, wine, etc have all been my excusable escapes.

I hate stress, I hate pressure, I hate feeling like I can't accomplish something as well as I want to because of lack of time. Yet the distaste for that emotional nutcracker/vicegrip has only slightly modified my behavior.

I read a fellow samurai's blog - and I'll mention him again because his journey is a captivating one that has catalyzed many thoughts/emotions/questions on my behalf - and I felt my eyes well with tears. He was discussing the concept of time and what we do with it, how once its wasted, its gone. There's no going back, recoop'ing, changing, redoing it. Se termino, escapo. Punto.

I can only relate my physical reaction to the many "lost" moments, experiences that, thanks to procrastination otherwise known as my own doing also known as lack of discipline also known as avoidance, have slipped through my fingers. A job application I purposely sat on for fear I might actually get it. A gym membership I squalored away because I was too lazy to take care of my person and health. Then there are those lost moments I recall for their fleetingness and rapidity that prove time moves and changes your life no matter how you protest: losing my aunt a week after being told of her terminal illness; the friend who was attacked on her way home from a late night class; my cousin's cancer diagnosis.

The swiftness of time can't be controlled or ignored. Simply used as a lesson to fortify our souls and bring gratitude and grace to our lives.

Thanks NWSO for the reminder...

More thank Blank Checks

I have been a fan of Junot Diaz since I was an undergraduate at Cornell University. As an alumn of the Cornell MFA program, Junot had once walked the grassy knolls and snow covered sidewalks of Ithaca that I did. He, like other conscious people of color, had while a graduate student been involved with campus and student issues like financial aid, campus housing, lack of Latino recruitment and retention, et al. I was most impressed and truly became a fan after reading his first book Drown, a collection of short stories, mostly focused on his take of the Latino immigrant experience in the urban New Jersey.

As an aspiring writer I was even more fascinated and impressed that he had survived the Cornell MFA program and written what he had wanted to write rather than compromising or appealing to the “literary canon” aka dead, white men whose words were taken as law or better yet as scripture.

However after reading a Q&A where he discussed his new book, The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao, (a Pulitzer Prize winning work which I loved and highly recommend) I was left wondering how aware he was of the many sides to the Latino college experienced actually existed or if he even cared?

Diaz, like a percent of my contemporaries, immigrated to the U.S. as a child and experienced the poverty, the bullshit and the realities of urban life as a poor person of color in this country. When asked about his experiences at his undergrad alma mater, Rutgers, he responded: “You’ve got to understand, just so that we’re clear…I worked through college…for me college wasn’t just somewhere I showed up and daddy just sent a check.”

Excuse me? Just so that I’M clear I take issue with his statement. The problem you ask? There are a number of us whose parent(s), from every strata of the middle class spectrum, “sent a check.” And guess what? It still wasn’t enough to cover the cost and expense of sending a child to an institution of higher learning. In my situation specifically, I had every form of financial aid known to man: grants, loans, work-study, a required student contribution. Oh yeah, AND my folks pooled together a sizeable chunk of their monthly income to cover my tuition/expenses. Not something you expect from a kid who grew up in the ‘burbs and in a house her parents owned now is it?

My own education was nearly a dream deferred because of its cost. My parents, aware that I was aiming high (private and Ivy League schools dominated my college choices), gently cajoled me to attend my town’s local community college rather than the schools on my list. Why? So that they could actually afford to send their daughter to college rather than just talk about it. Thanks to my own tenacity, I wasn’t willing to set aside a four year experience that I knew would change my life. I insisted that I would take on whatever financial debt necessary to accomplish my goal of getting a college degree from the school of my choice.

So the presumption that those of us whose parents did make a economic contribution to their education were somehow not working or busting ass to pay for a degree that we would continue paying for long after the diploma was hung on our walls or that we took it completely for granted and didn’t appreciate the sacrifice behind our presence on those campuses, is not just factually incorrect, it’s deluded and insulting.

I had a number of friends who despite being “middle class” still struggled to stay in school for financial reasons. The reason? Typically, after students have finished their first year and reapply for aid for subsequent years, their total package is lowered. The hefty financial aid awards they were initially offered are instead diverted and used as a carrot to entice prospective freshman to attend. I remember one friend who after three years discovered her aid had been slashed in half. She took a job as a resident assistant to get free housing and a meal plan. This was just a year shy of graduating. Other people I knew saw their financial awards plummet by a substantial percent year after year, forcing them to get creative with how they did or didn’t spend the money they did or didn’t have: borrowing books instead of buying them, recycling notebooks, applying for food stamps, taking campus jobs during the summer to defer their expected student contribution for the year, etc. Or of course (the devil itself) putting expenses on their credit cards. [SIDENOTE: Whose idea was it to give a 17 or 18 year old a line of credit when they are just learning how to use a bank account? Horrible.] And yes, these were all kids whose parents “sent a check.”

Here’s a concept that Mr. Diaz may be unfamiliar with, not for his own fault but simply being unaware, lots of middle class kids struggle the same as those from poorer backgrounds. It may not be the same kind of struggle, but it doesn’t devalue their experience or mitigate its reality. So the next time you think someone is just “getting by” or “chillin’” or has it “easy” because their parents help them, stop to think about what their parents help means to their entire family and what’s being sacrificed elsewhere so that they can sit where they’re sitting.

Thought of The Day

Mi boca
me deja sin palabras
cuando mis emociones
necesitan escaparse
de mi pecho

No Justice, No Peace

Standing up for other people. Minding your neighbor. But yet in this country, you're treated like a criminal for doing either. Check the video above and the post below:

"South Bronx Rally Calls For Release Of Two Arrested Hip Hop Artists from NY1

South Bronx residents rallied Wednesday night to demand the release of two members of a local hip hop group who were arrested after a confrontation with police.

Rebel Diaz members Rodstarz and G-1, whose real names are Rodrigo and Gonzalo Venegas, were taken into custody in the Bronx Wednesday afternoon.

A press release from Rebel Diaz says the two saw the officers assault a fruit vendor, and when they took out a cell phone to record the incident, the officers approached them.

Authorities say the duo became unruly with the officers, who were helping sanitation and health officials investigate illegal fruit vendors in the Bronx.

But community members say that was not the case.

"They were questioning the police, why they were like taking the fruit from the fruit vendors. They just asked them questions, and they just got beat up,” said Wanda Salaman, executive director of local community activism group Mothers On The Move.

“They asked for the badge information from the police officer, and basically the police just started beating them up," said Teresita Ayala of Rebel Diaz.

The Venegas brothers remained in custody Wednesday night, charged with resisting arrest and obstruction of justice.

One of the officers involved sustained a minor hand injury in the incident."

Puerto Rico Gettin' Politricked

Let me preface this by saying, I believe in democracy, regardless of how flawed it can be and regardless of what version of it we practice here in this country. I also believe in every person's right to self-determination and agency that allows them to choose and direct their own paths. That view, I know, is directly informed and influenced by having been born and raised in the States.

So I post this article below s a public service announcement...

I'm not much for cutting and pasting other people's work on my own blog, but I felt like the only way to do this topic justice was to allow people to read it for themselves. My sister brought this piece to my attention and it touched a serious nerve. Yesterday morning I sat and read various news articles about which way Puerto Rican voters would sway during this weekend's upcoming primary, I immediately thought it was a cruel exercise in futility. How do you allow a group of people to vote on a potential nominee in a contest that they ultimately can not participate in? Although our island-born gente are American citizens by birth, they are not permitted to vote in Presidential elections. So in essence you're telling me that they get to pick who runs, but not ultimately who runs the country they are umbilically tied to? Riiiiiighhhhhhtttt...cuz that makes a whole lot of sense. Check out the commentary below..feel free to share your opinions...can't wait to hear what folks have to say.


May 27, 2008


http://www.counterpunch.org/alarcon05272008.html
An Insulting Spectacle
Puerto Rico's Turn

By RICARDO ALARCÓN de QUESADA

On June 1, primary elections will be held in Puerto Rico. For that reason, politicians and journalists will travel to the island to pay to it an attention they never paid before and to turn their visit into part of the spectacle of marketing of politics that in the United States is called "democracy." In this case, however, the spectacle becomes insulting.

The Democratic candidates will compete there for the favor of voters who are not part of U.S. society and therefore have no vote in the U.S. general elections next November. In theory, Puerto Ricans can decide who the Democratic candidate will be but cannot vote for him, or her, or the Republican rival, or any other candidate to the presidency of the United States.

Once the farce is concluded, politicians and journalists will pack their bags and go away, not to deal again with Puerto Rico for the next four years. Once again, they'll try to ignore the interests and aspirations of its noble and generous people.

This time, however, it won't be so easy. The following week, on June 9, the United Nations' Committee on Decolonization will again discuss Puerto Rico's status, as it has done every year since 1972. Many voices have been raised there, and in other U.N. entities, to demand that the United States put an end to its colonial regime and return to the Puerto Rican people the right to decide their fate, a right that was wrested from them more than a century ago.

It was not necessary to travel to another country to hear that demand. It was repeated, one summer after another, for more than three decades, from the skyscraper on Manhattan's First Avenue, in the heart of New York. But the major U.S. media and its politicians pretended not to notice.

This year, their disdain will be a bit more difficult. Before the Committee will speak representatives from the whole of Puerto Rican society, including representatives of all the parties and political movements on the island, along with the Socialist Internationale and the Conference of Political Parties of Latin America (COPPAL), which brings together the main parties in the continent, including several parties that now are governments.

They will raise a petition for the U.N. General Assembly to discuss in depth the case of Puerto Rico, as we unanimously agreed at the International Conference of Solidarity with Puerto Rican Independence, which we held in Panama in 2006 and reiterated this year in Mexico. In the name of all those who participated in those two events, Dr. Rodrigo Borja, former President of Ecuador, will address the Committee.

This Latin American demand echoes the one made in Havana in 2006 by the chiefs of state and government of the nonaligned countries.

Latin America is living through a new era, and Puerto Rico is not absent from it. Its turn, Puerto Rico's turn, is very near. It is coming much faster than some people in the North, drunk with demagoguery and ignorance, think.

Ricardo Alarcón de Quesada is Cuba's Vice President and President of its National Assembly.

Random Fun Facts

I love history. Whether that's because it allows me to understand myself or the world around me, I find it endlessly intriguing. I get abnormally excited when I pick up a new fact or piece of information about a topic I once knew nothing about or better yet I thought I knew alot about. I especially like sharing the information I've picked up with those around me. So much so that my coworkers and friends have come to call me "The History/Discovery Channel." So in the spirit of sharing knowledge, I'll be posting random fun facts for your reading pleasure about any number of things. I'll start with my favorite topic, mi patria, Puerto Rico.

So...

P.R. Fun Fact #21:

The island of Puerto Rico was colonized by Spain in the 1500s. But due to a push from criollos born on the island for greater independence, Spain gave the island autonomy in 1897. But the Spanish-American War ended their autonomy within months when the U.S. landed in Guanica and installed a military government. The Treaty of Paris made it official when PR was "ceded" to the U.S. All this transpired on an island that was viewed as autonomous by its original colonizers. Thanks Madre Espana!

Oh, Technology

So I need to vent for a minute...something I don't like doing on here. But tell me why it's taken me MONTHS to get back into my own freakin' blog? All of these partnerships that companies create (you can only use our service if you get an email with this company, etc.etc.) Huh? What if I don't want to? What do I do then? I've got enough free emails, memberships to various "free" services (read=I want to use your info to send you more email about services you likely don't need) and password/username combinations to remember without being badgered to remember another one that I'm just gonna forget I have. Grrrrr...

Please feel free to discuss...

30 Things

15 + 15, 10 to the 3rd, 5 to the 6th, 2 to the 15th

I’m 30 years blessed, 30 years breathing, 30 years dreaming. I reached a milestone in my life at the end of last year. I am grateful and appreciate to have had so many days pass and have lived and learned through them all. I do realize that my profession and innate curiosity cause me to question everyone but never answer many of my own ruminations. So…a little random something for those who care or are just bored or actually find off-handed facts about Ms JRod of interest.


1. I’m the most passionate and proud person you’ll ever meet

2. I’m loneliest when I’m surrounded by people

3. My hands and nose are always cold

4. I love potatoes of any kind

5. I burp long and loud

6. My favorite color is purple

7. I can’t stand loud and annoying people probably because I used to be one

8. I’m a realist because it lives on the borderline of pessimism and optimism

9. I hate tardiness but refuse to wear a watch

10. I don’t like whiners but find myself venting all the time

11. I’m double-jointed

12. I have about a 100 beauty marks across my body (yes I’ve counted)

13. I’m a righty but try to do things with my left hand

14. My fingers and toes match

15. I’m thousands of dollars in debt for an education/experiences that are priceless to my life

16. I act self-deprecating because I don’t know how to take a compliment

17. I’ve never broken a bone

18. I’ve lived in 7 cities, 4 states and 2 countries

19. I hate wearing underwear

20. I believe cleaning is therapy

21. I obsessively check my horoscope

22. I fight to stay awake daily even when my body is screaming for rest (who knows what I might miss!)

23. I’m a womanist

24. I can’t live without music

25. I can read sheet music

26. I know how to play the clarinet

27. Ignorance is my greatest dislike

28. I have a collection of “fun” socks (dancing cows, clawing lobsters, lying lions, etc.) that I wear almost everyday.

29. I’ve been in love three times

30. I have an innate ability to memorize random pieces of useless information (especially if it’s pop culture related).

Finally Breathing

So it's been forever (months to be exact and way too long of an absence) since I last blogged. I mean reaaaally blogged. While I love giving shout out's and showing love, it's not the same as getting down about a topic, thought, etc. Consequently, I've decided to share why I've been gone. I purposely avoid writing about my personal life or private experiences in order to utilize this platform to "talk about something." A lot of times folks use blogs as personal journals to vent or throw tirades or talk shit. I'm not one of them. I preferred hiding my journal/diary as a child precisely because I didn't want people to know what I was thinking or doing. So why put it online for the whole world to read? But sometimes you can't avoid it. Or can't escape it. And sometimes you shouldn't.

For several months I was holding my breath. I took a step in my life that required more energy and time and spirit I had ever realized I could give. And in the process I stopped breathing. I stopped creating, I stopped relishing, I stopped pushing forward, I stopped nourishing my self and my soul. And then one day a door opened that let in light and oxygen. But it wasn't the door that allowed me to breathe. It was the mere fact that a door even existed and it reminded me that I had to stop holding my breath. And I'm thankful that I deeply inhaled and then exhaled because I had a hell of a day. Then a hell of a week. Then a hell of a few months. It all came falling down on me before I could realize I was being crushed. But like any experience it held a lesson (or in this case several) that I was meant to learn. The "it" was all of the obligations, responsibilities and committements in my life. To my family, my friends, my jobs, my extras, my home; I was committed to everyone but myself. So after realizing that I wasn't taking care of me, had the sick feeling of not being able to go forward, I stopped. And was lucky enough to learn the following….


Everything is Balance: Nothing in your life should take time away from what really makes you happy or what really makes you, you. Whether that's brunching with friends on Sundays, doing community service, reading a novel curled up in your favorite chair, it's all about finding time for yourself and what makes you a sane, competent and person that you (and maybe others) actually want to be about. Don't believe the hype that you have to give up everything in order to have one or a few things. It isn't true. Learning how to create that balance is what takes time.

Manage Expectations: You think you can do everything, so you say that you can. Once you verbalize and put that intention in the air, it becomes real. But things like time, labor and thought are actually required to do things, not just rapidity. So be real with yourself, and folks around you, about what you can and can't do as well as what you want and don't want to do. No one will hate you, I promise. They might even respect you for your candidness.

Smoke & Mirrors: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Meaning? That if something looks too good to be true, it probably is. Don't let people or things fool you. There's another side that you're not seeing or won't see until you're in it.

Do unto Others: People treat you how you allow them to treat you. This probably sounds like the most insane, thing ever, but it really is true. Carry yourself in a way that implores respect, courtesy and consideration and others will treat you in that way. Act like you don't know what you're doing or saying and they'll think they can do or say anything to get over on you.

These Boots Were Made for Walking: Don't be afraid to walk away. No matter what it's from. A lot of times people stay in situations (relationships, living situations, jobs, etc.) because we think that we don't have a choice or that we'll never find something as good (or as bad?) again. Or we think that circumstances make it impossible to make a change and find something else. Doors, windows and eyes are always being opened by the higher power. We just have to pay attention. And of course—the biggie in the equation—is to have faith that it's for a purpose. Even if you have to prolong your departure, know that it's ok that you want or are going to leave.

Second Guessing: Don't doubt yourself and your gifts. Ever. Self-doubt, lack of confidence and fear, as well as ourselves, are our greatest enemies. Whatever you are good at will carry you and move you through your life with positive rewards if you trust and believe in your gifts.

Be Humble But….: Know that while humility is essential, because no one is ever "better" than anyone else, nothing and no one should make you feel less than the great ness of who you are.


These were all lessons that I had learned before in some way, shape or form. But I needed some serious reminding. The kind of reminder that can only happen when many lessons are rolled into one and you have to later unpack all of them to decipher which was which and why it happened. But I'm better for it all. Cheesy as that might sound, it's real.

So whatever your IT is

(The "it" that is stealing time, thought and energy. Something that follows you, stresses you, keeps you up at night, fills your waking hours or keeps your hours awake)

Let it stop stealing your air and start breathing again.

Mi Accion de Gracias

After all the eating is done, the crumbs are cleared and antacid has calmed your stomach, it's time to get back to the biz of just dealing with the holidays season. The hustle, the bustle, the enormity of it all which seems to engulf you and make you forget why you're hustling and bustling to begin with. I don't think you ever get just one day to be thankful and since I didn't say it aloud on the actual day (to everyone who needed to hear/see it), here is it:

Thanks to my ancestors in whose paths I walk
Thanks to my family for simply being
Thanks to my friends who deal with my insanity and love me anyways
Thanks to my colleagues and coworkers who deal with my insanity and like me (most of the time) anyways
Thanks to the Almighty who has allowed me more time. There is no more taking it for granted.
Thanks to my big bro' whose sage words and humor in dealing with it all, which allow me to get by and not feel bad about it.
Thanks to my spirits and guardians who carry me when I'm not able to walk.
Thanks to those listening for my breath, my gifts and my ability to put both to use daily.
Thanks and blessings to all of my mamitas who brought new life and continue to make it (Sandra, Quipus, Cass, Mercedes, Aixa, Lori, Patti, Manny, and any I've forgotten)
Thanks to you all for reading. If I ever needed motivation to put words on pages (virtual or tangible) it's knowing that someone is looking and digesting what I'm saying and thinking.

Paz

Gone Swimming

This weekend I had the good fortune of reconnecting with a friend; this was someone whom once upon a time was like peanut butter to my jelly. We were part of a larger group that rolled tough to parties, to the beach, to amusement parks, to dinner, to impromptu movie nights at someone's home. What would begin as a hang out session would turn into an entire weekend of debauchery. If this had been my undergrad days when practically living in your friend's rooms/apartments/homes was the norm, I wouldn't have batted an eye. What made this interaction unique is that it was post-grad. We were all in our early to mid 20s, spread across several boroughs, some of us in grad school, others of us working full time. And yet somehow it was no thing to roll from the club to a diner to someone's crib and do it all over again the next day. At the time, I remember the feeling of gratitude and luck to have met such free flowing individuals who were "on the same wave" as me. I was even happier to see that the deep, intense friendships I so valued from my college experience, were not going to be a distant memory simply because I had entered "adulthood."

But unlike college, adulthood definitely got in the way of my socializing and maintaining those relationships the way that I had in the past. This group of friends was no exception.

That's why I was so happy to see this friend because although we'd kept in contact we were not hanging hard the way we once had. In fact, seeing her at our friend's baby shower, reminded me that I couldn't remember the last time we had been in the same room. But yet we found ourselves, essentially, falling into old habits. After the early afternoon gathering we ambled over to a nearby mall to gawk and lazily walk the aisles. After window shopping and snacking we casually made our way back down to the city, each person getting dropped off in kind. When my stop came up, we inevitably wound up chatting longer, from crazy family stories to random observations and then decided food was in order. After an impromptu driving lesson we grabbed some slices and lounged like we had seen each other just the day before.

I was incredibly grateful that although we were no longer PB and J, I didn't feel a need to play "catch up" or ask a thousand questions or get reacquainted or have her fill in the blanks of major life happenings. It all naturally flowed from one conversation to another. From inquiring and learning about common friends to confirming our next play date.

All I could think of once she had left was, how do we lose friendships? When do our priorities shift so drastically that we can't make the time to even share a meal or a phone call or even an email?

I'm learning more and more that the ebbs and flows of life cause us to not always be in synch and often interrupts people, plans and things we're so certain we've got on lock. I couldn't have guessed at 22 that the people I counted as part of my trusted circle would not all necessarily be there almost eight years later. But somehow, faces have changed.

Blame the contemplation on year end ruminations or pending birthday blues. Regardless of what it is, I'm just grateful that she and I are once again swimming together and have caught the same wave.

The Language of Love

In the last several weeks, coincidentally or not, leading up to March (which is International Women’s History Month), I’ve read more and more disturbing stories and statistics about the state of women in the world. First there were three articles in three separate women’s magazines about survivors of rape in the Darfur region of Africa. Then there was the reminder that Nicaragua and Colombia recently ruled to outlaw abortion. Today it was a piece about how in the last 10 years the rate of women infected with HIV/AIDS in Brazil jumped 44%. Those are the big blips on my consciousess’ radar screen. The smaller ones include reading about how 23 women were asked to leave their sorority house supposedly because they didn’t fit a “pretty girl” image. Then there was the conversation I had with my cousin about how she was changing her entire diet because she just had to lose more weight because someone at some point in her life had told her her wide hips and big booty were somehow wrong. Let’s not forget the personal experience of being hassled and then followed on a subway car by a man who felt it was his right--because he has a penis--to invade my personal space causing me to flinch, my heart to race and the fear that I too could become a statistic someone reads about in the paper.

All of these things made me recall why I wrote the prelude I posted several months ago. At the time I couldn’t articulate all of the thoughts and emotions that weighed heavily on my mind so the poem, was a more raw option, something that wouldn’t force me to explain. But in honor of my XX chromosomes, personal and global, I felt like there was no better time to share and fully examine and articulate my feelings as well as the source of them.

“In the recent shootings at an Amish schoolhouse in rural Pennsylvania and a large public high school in Colorado, the killers went out of their way to separate the girls from the boys, and then deliberately attacked only the girls. Ten girls were shot and five killed at the Amish school. One girl was killed and a number of others were molested in the Colorado attack. In the widespread coverage that followed these crimes, very little was made of the fact that only girls were targeted…we have become so accustomed to living in a society saturated with misogyny that violence against females is more or less to be expected.”

--Bob Herbert, The New York Times, October 2006

The words jumped from the page before me. Although I had cringed at the fact that more young people were being affected by violence, I hadn’t been aware of some of the facts behind the cases. How, and why, in the world would you choose to hurt anyone, but specifically young girls? Reading this shook me to the core. How and why has misogyny become an accepted norm? In each situation girls were separated from boys with the intention of molesting and then killing them. There wasn't a single cry of outrage. He pointed out that if the children had been separated based on religion or race, a national uproar would have been made. And up until that moment I hadn’t considered that he was potentially right. Why is it ok for women to be commodified? Why is it ok for us to use language that is violent and degrading, oppressive and belittling to describe women? Worse still, why is it ok to act on those words, to give credence to their existence? Girls are daughters and sisters and mothers and aunts and grandmothers and wives. They are friends and girlfriends and cousins and children.

They—we--are people. Period.

But it was the rest of the editorial that truly made me pause. The author discussed the long standing tradition of misogyny that just can’t seem to be escaped, that seems to loom and grow larger daily. I hear it in songs, I see it on television. I glance at it on billboards. From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep I feel like I’m being invaded by messages that the only thing my person is used/ful for is to be a receptacle, something that receives: anger, dissent, negativity, projected emotions, semen, you name it. And while it sounds harsh, in the literal way, it makes total sense.

Physiologically females are capable of holding, nurturing, nourishing and sustaining life. Their own as well as the children they have the ability to create if they so choose. But somewhere in the thick of that, perhaps because of our power, our strength, our natural ability to aguantar (hold) females have become vessels for everything else that can be thrown our way.

**Even the word aguantar…it literally means "to hold." In Latino culture, or at least how I saw it exemplified around me my whole life, the word meant that women had to tolerate, accept, put up with it, swallow themselves. For men, for image, for family, for every possible reason you could think of. It was something I even bought into for a while. Somehow the ability to "aguantar" is/wasnoble. Like the mujeres who can hold out the longest win some sort of prize. But do they really? And what is it that they get? **

How is it that men are made from women, carried in wombs, invading bodies and nurtured throughout, spend their entire lives trying to get back inside, but are so quick to use ugly words and project their own anger and insecurity? Is it that they see reflections in the women in their lives and can't deal with it? Is it because they have absolutely no one else to take it out on?

On a random note...I informally counted 9 different sexual euphemisms that had violent indications or aggressiveness undertones. Smash, beat, slay, hit, crush, knock, bang, screw, dig, etc. What about this is romantic? What about this derives a connection? Even in the crudest, most animalistic sense, nothing about these words indicates that a woman exists for anything other than to be the receiver of something, to be violently affected by a man’s desires.

Although I am pro-woman, it doesn’t mean that I’m not guilty of, or had my own fair share of, moments. Moments where in anger/frustration/insecurity/fear I have hurled words like bitch, hooch, skank, et.al. towards or about another female. Those moments color my cheeks crimson after for I realize when my emotion has subsided that I’ve bought into the bullshit and denigrated someone else, someone just like me. As a writer I acknowledge and understand the sacredness of words and the ability they have to make things real. I realize that I too have been socialized by this behavior and language that we have incorporated into our vernacular, into our actions. Why? At what point in time did these words become synonyms for girl/lady/female/woman/her/she/me? I’ve lost count and am unable to even rationalize. I just acknowledge that it’s a battle for all of us, even when we try, to not bend to the tidal wave of misogyny.

And for all the men who are reading this, don't get it twisted. I’m not anti-man or bitter or angry or caught up from some past hurt. I am just observing the world around me and find it amazing that although women create life, our own lives and persons are so poorly valued.

Newness

i like new. it has a smell, a feeling, an energy that can not be articulated through words alone. as sentimental as i can be (for places, people, moments in time) i crave newness in all its forms: opportunities, people, flavors, sounds, smells, sights, all of it.

major calendar moments like a new year, birthdays, anniversaries, hell--every day that the sun rises--is an excuse to be like new. to try something again. to do something better. to take a chance. to do something different. to not have regrets. perhaps its the tangibility of knowing there's a definitive marker that start and end that moment in time...

i think it's even possible to make something old, new again. a friendship, a romance, a regular mundane task. it's all in the approach and how wide and open your heart and mind are to it.

with the passage of another 365 days, i want to be like new. to find beauty and intricacies that weren't there before, to go against the grain and find that other side of me that hasn't yet been revealed. to evolve into who i am meant to be, not just what people see or expect, but to truly become she...the one that i don't yet know.

Brain Food

While eavesdropping on convo's I hear on the street, in subway cars and throughout my neighborhood lately, I have gotten confirmation of what I have always known about children: their brains are endless storage spaces for information; they have the capacity to learn anything and everything that comes their way. So what are we feeding their brains? This scary question entered my mind the other evening as I stood waiting for my train headed home to Brooklyn. Coming down the staircase, I heard a single-digit child throw out racial epithets like they were a joke. I winced everytime I heard him repeat the phrase "You're a black b*tch!" like it was a nursery rhyme he had just learned.


I wondered why the "adult" he was with was allowing him to scream this out, and then I wondered where and from whom he had heard them, and what authoritative figure in his life would give him license to use it.



The point is...let's stop and think. Before we utter mindlessly to ourselves, or mumble under our breaths, let's stop and think about the cherubic child sitting next to you who is unintentionally listening, the nephew/niece/cousin/sister/brother/son/daughter who listens to your word as gospel. Let's feed our children something different than what they already get from the world around them. Check the piece below..inspired by the incident above. Grita...







Brain Food



Responsible are we

For what comes

from the mouths of babes



Let us take this responsibility

With more grace and thought

Than previously

Has been



Flying fallacies and

False realities

Are what we teach

Each time we speak

without thinking



Age and comprehension

are irrelevant

to the impressionable sponges

that are a child's brain

they absorb and integrate

each letter, word and phrase

that flies in anger, deceit or hate



Let us nurture, stretch and soothe

Rather than decay, shrink and ooze

With our words and actions.

The Language of Love: A Prelude

I haven't been able to get out the entry I've been trying to write the last few weeks. Too much to say and I've been at a loss for words on the topic itself. So in the meantime... read the piece below to get an idea of what's running through my brain...


Born of woman
Brought to light by she
So..where does the respect get lost?

Verbal violations
Assaulting adjectives that
Burn beyond the surface
Finding her skin and burying themselves deep
into who she is

Hurling insults like knives
That try to break skin
And plunge
Straight to soul
He digs deep for
Anger unfettered
Releasing ugly, scarring words
That drop like bombs
On quiet Sundays mornings.

Defenseless to the one she loves
He whom she's given herself to,
Fed, clothed, soothed,
Loved and would have sacrificed her her for
Unprepared for his attacks
Or anger
She couldn't reign in
She bows her head instead
Hoping to dodge death
And damage.