More to the "story." You know I am just throwing up little excerpts/passages up here. If anyone (my friends) are interested in reading the complete story, just let me know - shoot me an e-mail.
All these thoughts/memories of my dad and family are inspiring, reminding me of my 'characterization' in my "story."
********************************************************
"Have you showed your dad your grades?" Xandra asked Alondra, looking at her grade report on the flat computer monitor. Three A's and one C. She scrolled down and looked at the C. A C in English? No way, I must be dreaming! I'm an English major; I can't make a C in English. What happened? Is Professor Garcia smoking some bad stuff? I need to go to his office, right now! Anger crossed Xandra's round face. Her eyebrows rose in bewilderment. She became so involved in her own thoughts that she forgot she had asked Alondra a question.
"No. Of course not. He does not care. I hardly talk to my dad. He just deposits money in my checking account as long as I am in college." Alondra shrugged and picked at the fading purple nail polish on her oval fingernails. She brought her hand to her mouth and started to chew. Noticing the look of anger on Xandra's face, she slid her computer chair next to hers. She leaned forward and stared at the screen.
"What's wrong Xan?" She saw them then. Tears forming in Xandra's bright brown eyes. Her eyes changed from the usual glowing candle lights to glassy and shimmering with tears.
"I'm sorry. Ok, so you still hate your dad. Look at this! I don't believe this." Xandra changed subjects as fast she changed lanes while driving, quickly and without a pause. She pointed a creamy ivory fingernail at the monitor. Alondra leaned closer, adjusting her vision.
"Ok, I see A's. You did better than me. Ohhhh...is that a C?" Alondra's eyes stopped at the C and scrolled over to the right. Professor Garcia? But he LOVES Xandra. I even thought he was crushing on her because of the way he looks at her bust. Xandra sighed repeatedly.
"Ugh! I'm so angry!" She shouted loudly, her voice rising several decibels.
"Hey, calmate hita!" (calm down daughter) Alondra used Xandra's words in an attempt to make her laugh. Xandra rolled her eyes and wiped the tears off the side of her face and wondered why she was being so emotional. Must be time for my visitor this month, she thought to herself.
"Well, let's go talk to him. I made a C, too. But then I didn't even meet the page requirement on the essays. They were too 'vague and general.'" Alondra imitated Professor Garcia's monotone voice when he critiqued their essays. Xandra xed out the grade report window and stood up, grabbing her denim totebag and stomping away.
"Vamonos, hermana. Let's go talk to that a**hole!" She marched up the stairway with Alondra on her heels, as if on a mission.
"You said a bad word. Oh my god, you must really be angry!" Alondra teased her.
"I am! This is bullsh*t! I did better. I wrote long and thorough essays." Xandra continued to justify why she deserved a better grade. They entered the long corridor to Professor Garcia's office. He greeted them happily at the door with that thick wide smile of porcelain.
"Girls! I was just on my way out. Do you have a question? Ahh, you came to wish me a Merry Christmas. How sweet of you two. My Latinas from my eight o'clock." His face reflected so much cheer that Xandra felt her stomach tighten. I'm going to vomit; I'm going to scream. She threatened inside.
She let her heavy tote bag fall on the floor, books spilling in a domino effect.
"I want to know why I made a C. You said I had writing talent. You said you understood why I wanted to be a writer. You said I did well on the essays. You said I was doing well in my first college English course. You said I was doing BETTER than the other students." She refused to sit down. Her hand landed on her hip. Her shoulders were stiff with anger, her brown eyes crinkled till they nearly shut.
"Yeah, Professor. You even told me to get help from her." Alondra chimed in with her fifty cents worth.
"Girls, sit down. Sit down." He pointed to the black chairs in front of his cherrywood desk. He rolled over to his computer, pulling up the grade reports. Alondra flopped down on one of the chairs and tugged at Xandra's arm. She pointed to the other chair.
"Alright. Fine." Xandra flopped down similar to Alondra. She crossed her arms across her chest in disappointment.
"It was the Final. You made a C on the essay and a C on the comprehensive part." He clicked over to the calculator application and plugged in some numbers.
"That brought your average to a 78." He turned to meet her eyes. She looked over at the computer screen.
"May I see my paper? What did I do wrong? I need to know. Professor Garcia, as you well know I am an English major. I have never made below an A." She stated with confidence.
"Okay, the papers are in the files. You cannot see them because the dean has to look over them. Let me tell you something Alejandra. I asked for a comparitive essay. You gave me a personal memoir. You gave me a story. I enjoyed reading about your family and your memories but I did not ask for that. I asked you to compare two pieces of literature and to state your opinion. You are an excellent writer, very capable of being the next Sandra Cisneros. I can hear myself lecturing about you, now Rodriguez wrote this." He said with a wink. Xandra's interest poked up when he addressed her by the Spanish form of her name. To her, that always indicated sincerity. She softened inside a bit. She realized what she did wrong. It was an analytical essay, not a reflective essay! She realized. She could not stay away from stories. Stories were her life, what made her who she was. She was destinied to be a storyteller, a fiction writer, a writer of novels.
"The next Cisneros? Really?"
"Yes. You did quite well on the comprehensive except you said Faulkner wrote 'The Geraniums' and that Steinbeck wrote 'Young Goodman Brown." You also were a little lost with the events. You said "Calvinism was evident in Alice Walker's piece.' This is all I remember. Did you prepare for this?" Xandra felt her cheeks burn. She had made horrible mistakes, stupid mistakes, embarassing mistakes.
"What? You got the authors confused?" Alondra looked at Xandra in surprise. Man, she must not have studied, Alondra concluded.
"I studied. But, I was short on time so I could not study as much as I'd like to. You gotta understand. I had to work the night before and I had a history exam to prepare for. I made an A in history." She bragged. Professor Garcia chuckled and winked.
"I bet you knew that material real well. Look, you do have talent. You can write ANYTHING. This is college; you must adjust to our standards. You are capable of it. I know you are." He encouraged her. Xandra felt her anger slowly decrease with his kind words. She had a tiny bit of insecurity when it came to writing analytical essays. She had did fairly well in high school. She made a ten out of ten on the college entrance exam. She was confused, so used to writing creatively that writing in an analytical manner was an adjustment.
"Thank you, Professor Garcia. I do appreciate that." She said softly. She reached forward and picked up her books. He turned to Alondra. Alondra's body stiffened as he pulled up her grades.
"You can communicate very well, Alondra. But, you write like you talk which is okay in some situations, but not in an English course. A word of advice: next time, do not say "Young Goodman Brown had a fight with the devil, I would have kicked the devil's butt." Professor Garcia roared with laughter as Alondra's cheeks turned crismon.
"Laugh. You know you want to." He commanded. Xandra let a loud giggle escape from her mouth and elbowed Alondra. She's so defensive, this huerca!
"Well I would have! And, I'm going to kick YOUR butt if you give MY girl Xandra a C again!" Alondra said jokingly and started laughing.
"I can assure that I won't because Xandra and yourself will become much better writers and learn to analyze. See you next semester?" He questioned while assuring them.
"Unfortunately, you are the only instructor available at 8 o'clock." Xandra stated.
"Oh?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I like you. I like your lectures." Xandra admitted.
"Yeah, and you're Latino!" Alondra reached forward and gave him a high five.
The first of many lessons in college.
Friday, August 05, 2005
I Was Feeling Nostalgic Yesterday
Yesterday when I was writing that blog entry "I Went Home for Lunch," I was feeling incredibly nostalgic. On one hand, I was dreaming of dancing with a wonderful gentleman. However, anyone who knows me well will know that "dancing with a wonderful gentleman does not complete my life nor my happiness." Writing does. On the other hand, I was thinking about my family and the atmosphere I've grown up. I was focusing on my parents and how they look when they dance together. Thirty-five years of marriage and they're still together. With the divorce statistics, I am proud to say that my parents are still married.
Last night, my daddy was feeling ill, chest and neck pain, pain in the arms, so my mom had to take him into the ER. I stayed behind to babysit those bratty active twin nieces of mine. I would've went if I could've. My daddy is still in the hospital; they admitted him to monitor his heart and to run further tests. I've prayed but I must find my inner comfort. My therapy of writing. So that's why I am here.
Someone may be thinking why I am here at work? Instead of at the hospital? Well, my mom said it was not necessary for me to be there right now because they are just waiting for the doctors. I will go on my lunch break and if things worsen which I hope they do not.
Last night, my sister-in-law and I were talking about my family, mainly parents. Particulary how my mom and dad worry about each other so much. My dad's away working, driving on average about fifteen hours a day and thinking/worrying about my mom at home, while my mom is at home praying for my dad that God will continue to give him the strength to work. Let me add that my mom is also worrying about everyone else. What I admire about my parent's marriage is the bonding. They have their ups an downs; what marriage does not? What I have witnessed though is dedication and commitment. I like to see married people and learn about their marriages because I'm a strong believer that when you take vows, you stick to them. It's not like a promise because "promises are meant to be broken." It's more than that, vows, oaths, commitment. My mother is a strong woman; she is not a quitter. She's passed this onto me. I like to hear her say "I'm a one man woman." Even though she has some old-fashioned ideas I do not always agree with, I value her lessons. I look forward to a marriage of commitment.
Deep down inside, you know where all my inner hopes and dreams sleep quietly, dozing in silent slumber. I'm a Cancer sign, my phrase is "I feel" and my expectations include: being a wife and a mother. Of course, I have these hopes/dreams. Something went wrong with my birth chart because I have influence of other planets. Instead of meeting guys and fantasizing on what type of husband they will be, I just enjoy the moment. Not a Cancer trait.
I had trouble sleeping last night. First of all, my sis-in-law installed a lock on the front door and made a lot of racket with the hammer and nails. The two little boys were running around, making noise. Noise. That kept me awake. Secondly, I was reading Playing with Boys while listening to the noise since I could not sleep. I got into it, I did not want to put it down. Lastly, when I finally shut the book because my eyes were twitching with sleep, I started thinking!
Why did I have to start thinking? That keeps me awake at night. I have to have some Gemini traits because sometimes, my mind is just going - 100 miles a minute. Thoughts racing around in my head like a fast race car in a blurred image. I was feeling nostalgic again. Thinking about my family, my daddy. You see, I'm Daddy's little girl, anyone could see that. My ex was half blind and could see that. We have the same face with the dimples, the same social attitude, the same ugly "modos." My dad's cousin told me once that I should've been named "Basilia;" he also called me "Walla - Walla," after my daddy. What I admire about my dad is also his determination. He just keeps going and going. He keeps driving his 18-wheeler, even though he's sleepy and tired. I am the same way. For instance, when I am studying, I just continue studying and working out those problems. I keep going and going.
I heard my dad say once, "I gotta keep going. If I slow down, I could mess around and get sick. I can't slow down." Sabes que? That sounds like me. Being the crazy college addict, I am. I've been going to college full-time since I started. I am a member of all these organizations; I work two jobs. I keep going and going. I don't like to slow down either. I remember working retail and my family hardly seeing me. Going straight home to a cup of hot cocoa/coffee and my laptop. Online courses. Novels to read for my Literature course. Stories to write - I loved those nights. My daddy would worry about me, tell me, "Mija, why don't you slow down? Take a break?" No way, I am determined. I wonder if he realizes that, hey I've learned from him. A lot of things. I do take after my daddy more than my mother (in some ways).
I do get sick though. Always around Finals or when I have like three papers due in one week. My body weakens and without realizing, I start to stress. My tummy ends up in knots; I can't eat right. The food will go right through me like water. I do. I get weak. I get head-aches; I get grouchy. This is my body teling me, "hey I need sleep. I need rest." I hate the way bags look under my eyes and the dark shadows of circles.
I think right now, my dad's body is tired. Telling him he needs to rest. My uncle Rudy used to tell him, "You need to slow down. Your mind can be telling your body to keep going but your body will be telling you that you're tired and it needs to 'shut down'" Being the stubborn, hard-headed, macho man, my daddy would only listen to Uncle Rudy. Sadly, my Uncle Rudy is no longer here; he went quickly. Liver problem and cancer. My thoughts are filled with prayer and memories right now.
Another lesson I've inherited/learned from my dad is socializing. As a little girl, I was always riding with Daddy in his truck, going to town, hearing him brag about me to his friends, "this is my little girl. Straight A student." Everywhere we went, he knew someone. He'd walk up to them and shake their hands and talk about work on the ranch, the farm, latest gossip. I learned from my daddy that men like to gossip just as much as women do. He talked to everybody; he taught me how to network with his example. Times came when people would yell out his name in the parking lot because they recongized him. I am the same way now. My mom keeps to herself, good trait because she is not seen as one of those "gossipy Latinas who has no life so she gossips." No, that's no my mama. I like to be social like my daddy. I am the same now. Whenever I go somewhere, I know someone. People recognize me like they recongize my dad. Some people will tell me "you're the last Contreras girl, right?" Daddy has taught me pride. Reminds me that everything I do, I'm representing my family and the family name.
We used to go visit with this one family a lot. They had the reputation of being drug dealers and always being in trouble with the law. But they were a tight family; they had strong family values. I was friends with the kids of course and Daddy was friends with the parents and all the tios. We'd go visit them; I'd sit inside with my "homegirl" and listen to rap music, watch her brothers lift weights. I saw nothing wrong with this family despite their reputation. Sure, they had a few uncles in the "pinta," but damn who doesn't have skeletons rattling in the closet? What I loved about this family was the "sin verguenza" attitude. Daddy sat outside with Mr._____ (won't say any names). They talked for hours, my dad drinking Diet Coke and the man drinking beer. My daddy quit drinking when I was a little girl. He quit smoking, too. Just quit - cold turkey. I admire how he did that, and I am fortunate that I never had to see my dad drunk. He was concerned about his health so he did this "lifestyle change." He's a diabetc like most Mexican-Americans verdad? We visited this family all the time and my dad told me "indirectly:" mija, you can hang out with them, be their friend, but you don't have to join them. My homegirl and I watched our daddies outside, talking and visiting. She told me once, "your dad takes better care of himself. My dad's a diabetic and he still drinks beer." I shrugged; I was thirteen at the time, didn't know what to say. They'd come inside and eat hot food right off the stove and she told me "my dad doesn't eat sweet-in-low because it causes cancer. He fears cancer more than diabetes." We had a connetion here with our diabetic daddies.
I still see my dad stand outside with the other men and talk, bullshit. You know what I'm talking about. They can be drinking, smoking cigarettes, and my dad just stands there drinking Diet Coke. I remember telling one of my good friends about this. This friend of mine, let's call him Anthony. Well Anthony drinks heavily, smokes cigarettes but still has a good character. He likes to hear about my family; he constantly tells me "I wish my family did things like your family." When I told him about my dad's social attitude, he was amazed. "Really?" I nodded and he's telling me, "you see i wish I could do that. Just quit drinking and smoking. I know it's bad for my health. i got high blood pressure. Your dad's a strong man. You have a good family." I am glad that we have this tightness in our family, this bonding. Family values.
Like that other family I told you about, they are so close. They stick together. Must be a Latino trait or something.
I wrote a poem for my dad once. And, you know what? It's sad but I forgot to give him to him for Father's Day. I think I will edit it and print it out. I wish I had my laptop here at work so I could work on my stories and poems and bring all together.
I did this photo collage of my daddy and me. Real beautiful with a background of Lake Texana and the sun's rays reflected in the water. A photo of me as a little girl on my daddy's lap. I can't do that no more. He's not a big fat bear of a man anymore; I'm not a little girl anymore. I'd probably break someone's lap if I tried to sit on it with my fat ass! I threw photos on there of my dad dancing with me when I was crowned senorita. Those special occasion moments when we were dressed up. I don't know if I ever told anyone but my dad knows how to dress like a Tejano. And, no I am not talking about some white boots and a white cowboy hat. Nu uh, he dresses like a "gringo" in some ways. He knows how to dress and he loves to get dressed up. Sounds like me, verdad? He wore a gray sportscoat over a white dress shirt with starched Wranglers (slim fit), black leather shiny botas. Okay, they went to garage sales and resale shopes that day and he dressed like that! He loves cologne, all different kinds. He has a shelf full of different bottles from Avon, Wal-Mart, and Dillards. Look at my bedroom and the top counter of my chest of drawers is full of perfume bottles. Fruity body sprays. Musky scents. Provocative Woman. Lotions galore. I wonder who I get that from?
Last night, my daddy was feeling ill, chest and neck pain, pain in the arms, so my mom had to take him into the ER. I stayed behind to babysit those bratty active twin nieces of mine. I would've went if I could've. My daddy is still in the hospital; they admitted him to monitor his heart and to run further tests. I've prayed but I must find my inner comfort. My therapy of writing. So that's why I am here.
Someone may be thinking why I am here at work? Instead of at the hospital? Well, my mom said it was not necessary for me to be there right now because they are just waiting for the doctors. I will go on my lunch break and if things worsen which I hope they do not.
Last night, my sister-in-law and I were talking about my family, mainly parents. Particulary how my mom and dad worry about each other so much. My dad's away working, driving on average about fifteen hours a day and thinking/worrying about my mom at home, while my mom is at home praying for my dad that God will continue to give him the strength to work. Let me add that my mom is also worrying about everyone else. What I admire about my parent's marriage is the bonding. They have their ups an downs; what marriage does not? What I have witnessed though is dedication and commitment. I like to see married people and learn about their marriages because I'm a strong believer that when you take vows, you stick to them. It's not like a promise because "promises are meant to be broken." It's more than that, vows, oaths, commitment. My mother is a strong woman; she is not a quitter. She's passed this onto me. I like to hear her say "I'm a one man woman." Even though she has some old-fashioned ideas I do not always agree with, I value her lessons. I look forward to a marriage of commitment.
Deep down inside, you know where all my inner hopes and dreams sleep quietly, dozing in silent slumber. I'm a Cancer sign, my phrase is "I feel" and my expectations include: being a wife and a mother. Of course, I have these hopes/dreams. Something went wrong with my birth chart because I have influence of other planets. Instead of meeting guys and fantasizing on what type of husband they will be, I just enjoy the moment. Not a Cancer trait.
I had trouble sleeping last night. First of all, my sis-in-law installed a lock on the front door and made a lot of racket with the hammer and nails. The two little boys were running around, making noise. Noise. That kept me awake. Secondly, I was reading Playing with Boys while listening to the noise since I could not sleep. I got into it, I did not want to put it down. Lastly, when I finally shut the book because my eyes were twitching with sleep, I started thinking!
Why did I have to start thinking? That keeps me awake at night. I have to have some Gemini traits because sometimes, my mind is just going - 100 miles a minute. Thoughts racing around in my head like a fast race car in a blurred image. I was feeling nostalgic again. Thinking about my family, my daddy. You see, I'm Daddy's little girl, anyone could see that. My ex was half blind and could see that. We have the same face with the dimples, the same social attitude, the same ugly "modos." My dad's cousin told me once that I should've been named "Basilia;" he also called me "Walla - Walla," after my daddy. What I admire about my dad is also his determination. He just keeps going and going. He keeps driving his 18-wheeler, even though he's sleepy and tired. I am the same way. For instance, when I am studying, I just continue studying and working out those problems. I keep going and going.
I heard my dad say once, "I gotta keep going. If I slow down, I could mess around and get sick. I can't slow down." Sabes que? That sounds like me. Being the crazy college addict, I am. I've been going to college full-time since I started. I am a member of all these organizations; I work two jobs. I keep going and going. I don't like to slow down either. I remember working retail and my family hardly seeing me. Going straight home to a cup of hot cocoa/coffee and my laptop. Online courses. Novels to read for my Literature course. Stories to write - I loved those nights. My daddy would worry about me, tell me, "Mija, why don't you slow down? Take a break?" No way, I am determined. I wonder if he realizes that, hey I've learned from him. A lot of things. I do take after my daddy more than my mother (in some ways).
I do get sick though. Always around Finals or when I have like three papers due in one week. My body weakens and without realizing, I start to stress. My tummy ends up in knots; I can't eat right. The food will go right through me like water. I do. I get weak. I get head-aches; I get grouchy. This is my body teling me, "hey I need sleep. I need rest." I hate the way bags look under my eyes and the dark shadows of circles.
I think right now, my dad's body is tired. Telling him he needs to rest. My uncle Rudy used to tell him, "You need to slow down. Your mind can be telling your body to keep going but your body will be telling you that you're tired and it needs to 'shut down'" Being the stubborn, hard-headed, macho man, my daddy would only listen to Uncle Rudy. Sadly, my Uncle Rudy is no longer here; he went quickly. Liver problem and cancer. My thoughts are filled with prayer and memories right now.
Another lesson I've inherited/learned from my dad is socializing. As a little girl, I was always riding with Daddy in his truck, going to town, hearing him brag about me to his friends, "this is my little girl. Straight A student." Everywhere we went, he knew someone. He'd walk up to them and shake their hands and talk about work on the ranch, the farm, latest gossip. I learned from my daddy that men like to gossip just as much as women do. He talked to everybody; he taught me how to network with his example. Times came when people would yell out his name in the parking lot because they recongized him. I am the same way now. My mom keeps to herself, good trait because she is not seen as one of those "gossipy Latinas who has no life so she gossips." No, that's no my mama. I like to be social like my daddy. I am the same now. Whenever I go somewhere, I know someone. People recognize me like they recongize my dad. Some people will tell me "you're the last Contreras girl, right?" Daddy has taught me pride. Reminds me that everything I do, I'm representing my family and the family name.
We used to go visit with this one family a lot. They had the reputation of being drug dealers and always being in trouble with the law. But they were a tight family; they had strong family values. I was friends with the kids of course and Daddy was friends with the parents and all the tios. We'd go visit them; I'd sit inside with my "homegirl" and listen to rap music, watch her brothers lift weights. I saw nothing wrong with this family despite their reputation. Sure, they had a few uncles in the "pinta," but damn who doesn't have skeletons rattling in the closet? What I loved about this family was the "sin verguenza" attitude. Daddy sat outside with Mr._____ (won't say any names). They talked for hours, my dad drinking Diet Coke and the man drinking beer. My daddy quit drinking when I was a little girl. He quit smoking, too. Just quit - cold turkey. I admire how he did that, and I am fortunate that I never had to see my dad drunk. He was concerned about his health so he did this "lifestyle change." He's a diabetc like most Mexican-Americans verdad? We visited this family all the time and my dad told me "indirectly:" mija, you can hang out with them, be their friend, but you don't have to join them. My homegirl and I watched our daddies outside, talking and visiting. She told me once, "your dad takes better care of himself. My dad's a diabetic and he still drinks beer." I shrugged; I was thirteen at the time, didn't know what to say. They'd come inside and eat hot food right off the stove and she told me "my dad doesn't eat sweet-in-low because it causes cancer. He fears cancer more than diabetes." We had a connetion here with our diabetic daddies.
I still see my dad stand outside with the other men and talk, bullshit. You know what I'm talking about. They can be drinking, smoking cigarettes, and my dad just stands there drinking Diet Coke. I remember telling one of my good friends about this. This friend of mine, let's call him Anthony. Well Anthony drinks heavily, smokes cigarettes but still has a good character. He likes to hear about my family; he constantly tells me "I wish my family did things like your family." When I told him about my dad's social attitude, he was amazed. "Really?" I nodded and he's telling me, "you see i wish I could do that. Just quit drinking and smoking. I know it's bad for my health. i got high blood pressure. Your dad's a strong man. You have a good family." I am glad that we have this tightness in our family, this bonding. Family values.
Like that other family I told you about, they are so close. They stick together. Must be a Latino trait or something.
I wrote a poem for my dad once. And, you know what? It's sad but I forgot to give him to him for Father's Day. I think I will edit it and print it out. I wish I had my laptop here at work so I could work on my stories and poems and bring all together.
I did this photo collage of my daddy and me. Real beautiful with a background of Lake Texana and the sun's rays reflected in the water. A photo of me as a little girl on my daddy's lap. I can't do that no more. He's not a big fat bear of a man anymore; I'm not a little girl anymore. I'd probably break someone's lap if I tried to sit on it with my fat ass! I threw photos on there of my dad dancing with me when I was crowned senorita. Those special occasion moments when we were dressed up. I don't know if I ever told anyone but my dad knows how to dress like a Tejano. And, no I am not talking about some white boots and a white cowboy hat. Nu uh, he dresses like a "gringo" in some ways. He knows how to dress and he loves to get dressed up. Sounds like me, verdad? He wore a gray sportscoat over a white dress shirt with starched Wranglers (slim fit), black leather shiny botas. Okay, they went to garage sales and resale shopes that day and he dressed like that! He loves cologne, all different kinds. He has a shelf full of different bottles from Avon, Wal-Mart, and Dillards. Look at my bedroom and the top counter of my chest of drawers is full of perfume bottles. Fruity body sprays. Musky scents. Provocative Woman. Lotions galore. I wonder who I get that from?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Sipping Chai Tea & Writing
Alright people: I have some ideas; I'm gonna write on here and later copy and paste into the story. Here's a sneak preview. Ok, fingers ready, here I go!!!!!!
Alondra stood there in a mixture of suprise and shock, looking at Xandra as she drove away. Her long curly hair flew out the open window.
This isn't happening; where is she going? She felt helpless, alone, lost. She looked down at the hunter green carpet and the top of her toenails. I need to repaint them. That burgundy has paled to a chili red.
"Are you here for the meeting?" The Anglo girl approached her with a metal smile of braces. She tossed her straight dirty blonde hair to the side and moved her brown framed glasses up. Why did she leave me here with these nerdy white girl? I know she didn't.
"The SGA meeting?" Alondra said, cocking her brown eyebrow. The girl nodded and smiled again. Alondra nodded and looked around as more people started to arrive. Other college students. Different faces. Different races.
"I'm Sandy. Are you a freshman?" She extended her hand toward Alondra. Alondra touched it lightly and then stepped back.
"Yes, I am a freshman here. My friend just left. She is supposed to be joining."
"Oh Xandra? She's not joining. She's part of the LAC, Latin American Club." Huh? Xandra lied to me? Alondra thought angrily. She started to fiddle in her Fendi bag for her keys. I'm leaving this place; there is no way I am going to hang out with these white people.
"You aren't leaving? It's going to be a fun organization. Stay with me." Sandy pleaded with her brown eyes, looking at Alondra. Alondra stopped looking for her keys, looked at Sandy with compassion. I guess I can stay, she thought reluctantly.
"Okay. It's for 'leaders.' You know, I'm a leader; That's why Xandra told me to come here. I don't know where she went."
"Didn't you know it's club week? She has to go represent LAC. This is a big day at college. All the clubs get together and try to recruit members."
"I know that." Alondra snapped. She saw Sandy's face change with hurt. She patted her on her arm.
"I'm sorry. It's just - I didn't expect Xandra to walk out on me like that." Alondra felt betrayed that Xandra would say "be right back" and not return. Just drive off in her red Ford Escape with the windows down, Tejano music blaring out.
"Let's go inside the room. So we can get good seats." Sandy urged Alondra. Alondra tried to hide her annoyment. How am I going to relate to this girl? She's white. She thought to herself.
They flopped down on a comfy couch in the student organization room. Sandy started asking her questions after questions.
"What's your major? Are you transferring? Is Xandra your cousin?"
"One question at a time." Alondra pleaded.
"Please. I don't know my major. I'm just here." She shrugged and looked around the room at all the photos. There were photos of different events at the college.
Alondra stood there in a mixture of suprise and shock, looking at Xandra as she drove away. Her long curly hair flew out the open window.
This isn't happening; where is she going? She felt helpless, alone, lost. She looked down at the hunter green carpet and the top of her toenails. I need to repaint them. That burgundy has paled to a chili red.
"Are you here for the meeting?" The Anglo girl approached her with a metal smile of braces. She tossed her straight dirty blonde hair to the side and moved her brown framed glasses up. Why did she leave me here with these nerdy white girl? I know she didn't.
"The SGA meeting?" Alondra said, cocking her brown eyebrow. The girl nodded and smiled again. Alondra nodded and looked around as more people started to arrive. Other college students. Different faces. Different races.
"I'm Sandy. Are you a freshman?" She extended her hand toward Alondra. Alondra touched it lightly and then stepped back.
"Yes, I am a freshman here. My friend just left. She is supposed to be joining."
"Oh Xandra? She's not joining. She's part of the LAC, Latin American Club." Huh? Xandra lied to me? Alondra thought angrily. She started to fiddle in her Fendi bag for her keys. I'm leaving this place; there is no way I am going to hang out with these white people.
"You aren't leaving? It's going to be a fun organization. Stay with me." Sandy pleaded with her brown eyes, looking at Alondra. Alondra stopped looking for her keys, looked at Sandy with compassion. I guess I can stay, she thought reluctantly.
"Okay. It's for 'leaders.' You know, I'm a leader; That's why Xandra told me to come here. I don't know where she went."
"Didn't you know it's club week? She has to go represent LAC. This is a big day at college. All the clubs get together and try to recruit members."
"I know that." Alondra snapped. She saw Sandy's face change with hurt. She patted her on her arm.
"I'm sorry. It's just - I didn't expect Xandra to walk out on me like that." Alondra felt betrayed that Xandra would say "be right back" and not return. Just drive off in her red Ford Escape with the windows down, Tejano music blaring out.
"Let's go inside the room. So we can get good seats." Sandy urged Alondra. Alondra tried to hide her annoyment. How am I going to relate to this girl? She's white. She thought to herself.
They flopped down on a comfy couch in the student organization room. Sandy started asking her questions after questions.
"What's your major? Are you transferring? Is Xandra your cousin?"
"One question at a time." Alondra pleaded.
"Please. I don't know my major. I'm just here." She shrugged and looked around the room at all the photos. There were photos of different events at the college.
I Went Home for Lunch
Technically I did not go home @ lunch, but I definitely "felt" @ home.
I did not know what I was going to do for lunch; I just hopped in my Ranger and drove to Wendy's. I knew I wanted chicken nuggets crumbled on top of a garden salad with crunchy croutons. I ordered this @ the drive thru and added some juicy Mandarin oranges.
I pulled up to the drive thru; I see a good friend. He's younger than me; I'm so proud of him. I met him during my JcPenney days at the men's department. He was a senior in high school then, respectful guy. I told him that he had the potential to go to college, guess where he is today? In college, still working at Wendy's, dedicated and determined student. He's matured so much; his hair is spiked up and shorter; his skin is darker; his smile is bigger; he's not as shy as he was when I approached him three years ago. His acne has cleared up; this boy has grown into a man! I was glad to see him, still working @ the same Wendy's on the south side. I saw his black Talon parked to my right with beautiful shiny spinners on it. The paint job looked fantastic. Black. Not plan black though, a shiny metallic black. Of course, I was happy to see him; he was happy to see me. Young, but mature. He grinned at me and I told him how proud I was that he was going to be going back to college in the Fall. I remember helping him with financial aid forms and registration. And, he stuck with it. As soon as I started college, this became one of my goals - to get more Hispanics in college. I was glad that I had made it; I wanted others to make it. No wonder I am a LEAD ambassador for UHV now!
We made small talk; I could not help beaming. This guy is on target, why couldn't he be a few years older? Hell, I'd date him. He has "it together." Wow, I feel glad that - hey I talked to someone about college, and he's going to college.
I took my lunch to a quiet park on the south side. I sat there surrounded my buildings and bits of greenery and munched, sippig my sparking wild cherry water. I listened to the Tejano radio station, and I was at home again. Selena sang her fast cumbias. Mazz came on with a romantic ballada. I leaned back my head as I tasted the juice from the orange, shut my eyes. Mmmmmmm...
I read Playing with Boys by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez. I am so glad to be an "acquiantance" of hers; she's an awesome writer. I read about the Mexican character and could not help but laugh to myself, because it sounded familiar. I listened to the music some more. Reached forward to my CD visor, and pulled out the pink MP3 CD. This music takes me home, back to high school, back to el rancho, back to home. Period.
I jammed up Little Joe as he sang about "Las Nubes." Memories rolled through my mind like a film projector casting forward new images. I leaned back and thought about dancing. I love to dance to Tejano music. I pictured my sisters dancing with their boyfriends, then their husbands. My parents dancing. My dad's tall figure in a Stetson hat embracing my mother's short figure as they held each other close. My brother spinning his wife around. Music vibrating from a dj or a band. I like bands better. I'm the crazy Tejana throwing herself at the stage despite the security guards "pushes back."
I heard him then...my lover Ruben Ramos. I call him my lover because it goes way back...one of these days, I'll tell you ;). No, I never slept with him; he's old enough to be my grand dad! Ahhh...but he's a silver fox. I heard his voice come on, so deep and mature, singing right to my heart. Then I started to think...realize. I've never danced with a man! Ok that statement was far too vague. I mean to Tejano music. The spins, the turns, the closeness. the leading. I have danced with my close friends. Like when RKF and I went to see Michael Salgado and we are trying our best to hold onto each other and dance. Nombre, I'm bumping booties with everyone. We're swingig and swaying in all directions. But, hell yeah, we were having fun!
The same applies to Abe - we're trying to dance - not sure, who should lead? We're having fun though. We're better @ cumbias or reggaeton, bumping up against each other. Dropping down to hip hop music.
But Tejano music? Ok that takes me home. That's memories of my family, quinceneras, and weddings. Ignoring the cigarette smoke and the scent of beer. Sitting there watching the happily married couples dance together. The man's leading and the woman is following gracefully. The cowboy wear and the pretty dresses with pointy high heels. Long hair swaying. Or short hair fluffed up. When we have a big "baile," everyone gets all dressed up. Sometimes, the men even wear suits, like someone I know. He'll be the only one at a country dance wearing a suit, but hey like I say "whatever floats your boat." I love to sit there and watch people dance together. Those happy couples who I know may have had some more downs then ups, but are still together, strong. Commitment. Don't give up. I like that. Or the elderly people who complain of arthritis during the day and then once night arrives, they're kicking up their heels dancing to a pachanga.
Now that I have my photography business, I'm on the dance floor with my camera or on the sidelines shooting them with that bright flash. Right up in front of them, trying to capture that moment. I got some great shots last time I "danced" with the camera. I like to sit there and watch these people dancing. It's a warm feeling. Then again, it's a chill. Because I can't relate. I think of how wonderful it would be to dance with someone who's slightly taller than me, warm and comforting, and mature - oh man, I cannot stress that enough. He must be mature. I think of all those pretty dresses I have with ruffles, made of the softest materials. I stopped wearing them to dances because, well I need to be prepared in capris because of the pockets for money and camera discs.
I dream of how wonderful it would be - to wear one of my pretty dresses, throw a silk wrap around my shoulders, curl my hair till it bounces, slip into my heels, and DANCE. Walk into the dance hall on a mature man's arm, with a little evening bag on my arm, and of course, I'd be smiling. It would be blissful. I wrote about this once for a writing assignment. It's a short paragraph. I was "dreaming" of someone when I wrote it. Wondering how great he looks in his classy dark colors. Wondering how fun he is to be around...wishful thinking - that's all.
That's what I'd like - to go dancing with a man. In the meantime, the club scene is fun. Maybe, I like that commitment that people have when they are dancing. You know, those married people. Like my sister and her goofy husband, they're a great couple. He stands by her. I like that. Maybe, one day I'll have that.....
I did not know what I was going to do for lunch; I just hopped in my Ranger and drove to Wendy's. I knew I wanted chicken nuggets crumbled on top of a garden salad with crunchy croutons. I ordered this @ the drive thru and added some juicy Mandarin oranges.
I pulled up to the drive thru; I see a good friend. He's younger than me; I'm so proud of him. I met him during my JcPenney days at the men's department. He was a senior in high school then, respectful guy. I told him that he had the potential to go to college, guess where he is today? In college, still working at Wendy's, dedicated and determined student. He's matured so much; his hair is spiked up and shorter; his skin is darker; his smile is bigger; he's not as shy as he was when I approached him three years ago. His acne has cleared up; this boy has grown into a man! I was glad to see him, still working @ the same Wendy's on the south side. I saw his black Talon parked to my right with beautiful shiny spinners on it. The paint job looked fantastic. Black. Not plan black though, a shiny metallic black. Of course, I was happy to see him; he was happy to see me. Young, but mature. He grinned at me and I told him how proud I was that he was going to be going back to college in the Fall. I remember helping him with financial aid forms and registration. And, he stuck with it. As soon as I started college, this became one of my goals - to get more Hispanics in college. I was glad that I had made it; I wanted others to make it. No wonder I am a LEAD ambassador for UHV now!
We made small talk; I could not help beaming. This guy is on target, why couldn't he be a few years older? Hell, I'd date him. He has "it together." Wow, I feel glad that - hey I talked to someone about college, and he's going to college.
I took my lunch to a quiet park on the south side. I sat there surrounded my buildings and bits of greenery and munched, sippig my sparking wild cherry water. I listened to the Tejano radio station, and I was at home again. Selena sang her fast cumbias. Mazz came on with a romantic ballada. I leaned back my head as I tasted the juice from the orange, shut my eyes. Mmmmmmm...
I read Playing with Boys by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez. I am so glad to be an "acquiantance" of hers; she's an awesome writer. I read about the Mexican character and could not help but laugh to myself, because it sounded familiar. I listened to the music some more. Reached forward to my CD visor, and pulled out the pink MP3 CD. This music takes me home, back to high school, back to el rancho, back to home. Period.
I jammed up Little Joe as he sang about "Las Nubes." Memories rolled through my mind like a film projector casting forward new images. I leaned back and thought about dancing. I love to dance to Tejano music. I pictured my sisters dancing with their boyfriends, then their husbands. My parents dancing. My dad's tall figure in a Stetson hat embracing my mother's short figure as they held each other close. My brother spinning his wife around. Music vibrating from a dj or a band. I like bands better. I'm the crazy Tejana throwing herself at the stage despite the security guards "pushes back."
I heard him then...my lover Ruben Ramos. I call him my lover because it goes way back...one of these days, I'll tell you ;). No, I never slept with him; he's old enough to be my grand dad! Ahhh...but he's a silver fox. I heard his voice come on, so deep and mature, singing right to my heart. Then I started to think...realize. I've never danced with a man! Ok that statement was far too vague. I mean to Tejano music. The spins, the turns, the closeness. the leading. I have danced with my close friends. Like when RKF and I went to see Michael Salgado and we are trying our best to hold onto each other and dance. Nombre, I'm bumping booties with everyone. We're swingig and swaying in all directions. But, hell yeah, we were having fun!
The same applies to Abe - we're trying to dance - not sure, who should lead? We're having fun though. We're better @ cumbias or reggaeton, bumping up against each other. Dropping down to hip hop music.
But Tejano music? Ok that takes me home. That's memories of my family, quinceneras, and weddings. Ignoring the cigarette smoke and the scent of beer. Sitting there watching the happily married couples dance together. The man's leading and the woman is following gracefully. The cowboy wear and the pretty dresses with pointy high heels. Long hair swaying. Or short hair fluffed up. When we have a big "baile," everyone gets all dressed up. Sometimes, the men even wear suits, like someone I know. He'll be the only one at a country dance wearing a suit, but hey like I say "whatever floats your boat." I love to sit there and watch people dance together. Those happy couples who I know may have had some more downs then ups, but are still together, strong. Commitment. Don't give up. I like that. Or the elderly people who complain of arthritis during the day and then once night arrives, they're kicking up their heels dancing to a pachanga.
Now that I have my photography business, I'm on the dance floor with my camera or on the sidelines shooting them with that bright flash. Right up in front of them, trying to capture that moment. I got some great shots last time I "danced" with the camera. I like to sit there and watch these people dancing. It's a warm feeling. Then again, it's a chill. Because I can't relate. I think of how wonderful it would be to dance with someone who's slightly taller than me, warm and comforting, and mature - oh man, I cannot stress that enough. He must be mature. I think of all those pretty dresses I have with ruffles, made of the softest materials. I stopped wearing them to dances because, well I need to be prepared in capris because of the pockets for money and camera discs.
I dream of how wonderful it would be - to wear one of my pretty dresses, throw a silk wrap around my shoulders, curl my hair till it bounces, slip into my heels, and DANCE. Walk into the dance hall on a mature man's arm, with a little evening bag on my arm, and of course, I'd be smiling. It would be blissful. I wrote about this once for a writing assignment. It's a short paragraph. I was "dreaming" of someone when I wrote it. Wondering how great he looks in his classy dark colors. Wondering how fun he is to be around...wishful thinking - that's all.
That's what I'd like - to go dancing with a man. In the meantime, the club scene is fun. Maybe, I like that commitment that people have when they are dancing. You know, those married people. Like my sister and her goofy husband, they're a great couple. He stands by her. I like that. Maybe, one day I'll have that.....
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Let Me Cater to You?
I was on my way to work this morning when this song came on; I think Destiny's Child is the artist. I could be wrong though. It has a nice flow to it; I was just listening to it, not really paying attention to the words. Then, all of a sudden it hit me - the words. I listened to them. She's singing about catering to some man! Okay...call me a selfish b*tch, but I don't believe in catering to nobody but myself.
I am not about to run no bath water or tie no shoes. Hell no! Sure, I believe in helping a guy out, being supportive and encouraging, but catering? I am all about 50/50. You do something for me; I'll do something for you. Maybe, I'm too independent...but I just couldn't do that - cater to a man's needs.
I admire independence in a man. Like my poem "Boyfriend Prayer." I want him to iron his own shirts, wash his own clothes, heat his own tortillas (I got that from an excerpt from Sandra Cisneros - gotta give my idol credit). I guess since I believe in being a girlfriend, not a mama to a man. He already has his mama, I hope. I don't want to come up as some replacement or threat to their relationship.
I just admire independence in people. I see nothing wrong with a couple helping each other out, but nombre, when it's running the bath water, that's too much in my opinion. Someone reading this may be thinking "no wonder she's single." Oh well, I set my standards and my expectations; I've learned something important "don't settle."
Maybe, I'm still bitter from my past relationship. My friends think I'm healing, making progress, and opening myself up "to love" again. I think back to that relationship...you know, Juan....In some ways, I did cater to him. I did. I wanted to make him happy every time he was here with me. I wanted to hug him and comfort him. Yes, I have that nurturing instinct. He had his independent traits; there were times that he pushed me away. I understood this during those times. Then there were those times that I wanted to comfort him, wanted him to talk about his problems, wanted him to seek my help, wanted him to freakin' call me! And, he didn't... Sometimes, I feel that I tried being that "catering, nurturing girlfriend" and I failed. Something went wrong; not completely my fault. Actually, I do not think it's my fault at all. Like my friends tell me : Juan couldn't be a man and talk to me the right way so he lost me. I dreaded breaking up with him; I did. I kept thinking I'm going to break Juan's heart. He's going through a tough time; he needs some time alone. I kept thinking about him and his feelings then something inside me snapped. My family and my friends kept talking to me. They kept seeing me crying. Yes, unfortunately I've cried over men before. And, I don't mean like little soft sniffles. I mean, CRY. Lay my head on my pillow and bawl. Look around my bedroom and everything reminds me of him. I lay in bed and the moment my head touches the softness of my pillow, I remember....So, the tears came, falling uncontrollably. My sadness, loneliness, and longing exploding like a bomb of tears and pain.
I was in the middle of a research paper, the topic: finding true love. I used to think Juan was my soul mate; I was happy that I found that person who fit so well into my life. I knew the paper was due on Friday and this was the weekend before. I am a good student, dedicated student. I take my time on research. That Saturday night of Easter weekend, I read through my green folder of research, got annoyed with all the discussion on love and tossed it aside. Held my pillow against me and cried some more. Turned to another story about voodoo. I'm a nut - I have a VARIETY of interests. I'm reading about how the author may have gotten poisoned by voodoo; I'm thinking - man, that's too sad; she had to die so young. Yes, in your forties is young to me. My cell phone rings for the first time that night. I answer it and there he is: no, not Juan. But a good friend. He notices my voice, it's weak, it's softer than usual, it's hurting. I sniffle and take a deep breath, trying to hold my emotions. Then my good friend says, "I'm not going to say poor Juan anymore. I am going to say poor Elsie because you are HURTING!" I exhaled slowly. "You know what? You're right." I said to him. Then, he told me something very important, ahh this friend is full of lessons I tell you. "Elsie, what about YOUR feelings? You need to think about yourself. You shouldn't be worried about some boyfriend who isn't even worried about you." I sighed heavily, letting out more pain with each exhale. And, he changed the subject, refusing to allow me to dwell on my pain.
Although Easter weekend was a little lonely, I wised up that weekend. I was embarassed when my family asked for "my nice boyfriend," espeically my nephew who was so close to Juan. I had to blink away the tears and smile, find my strength to be single again. Thank goodness, I went to church because without God I wouldn't be here today. He's always there for me in my life experiences, helping me, guiding me, leading me. I decided then that I needed to think about myself more and my feelings and give Juan that freedom to do so. Release him..let him be alone as he chose. with hope though. Hope that he would return to me and toss his pride aside and have "it together," you know what I mean? That hope died. The candle flame blew out in May. And, that's the end of the story of Elsie and Juan. Forever shut. What is left but a lesson and tiny pain that is healing, yes I'm healing. I am glad my family has stopped mentioning his name and throwing my mistakes in my face. Glad that I am able to talk to other guys and not compare them to Juan. Glad that I can smile brightly as I did that first day out to "lunch" with my friend as a single woman. Glad I can refer back to my poem "Boyfriend Prayer" and say "I may be ALONE, but I'm ALIVE." And, damn I'm going to live this life. Life is short, too damn short to be crying over some man.
I did not expect Juan to be real open about his emotions or whatever the hell was happening. I know men aren't emotional; they don't discuss feelings. I am not stupid; I know this. I have plenty of male friends who emphasize certain differences between men and women. But c'mon now, when you promise to be my support and how we are each other's backbones, at least do it, even if it's a half-ass job. I shouldn't be writing about Juan on here since it is "the Internet." I use our relationship as an example of how I tried the "catering, nurturing" already.
Maybe, I'll try again to "nurturing." Life is full of risks after all. I won't be catering though. I won't spend my money on a guy until he spends money on me. Money is just money. I don't give a damn about money or materialistic things. I'll buy my own things, but I am not going to go out of my way to buy Christmas gifts for someone and he doesn't even show up for Christmas!
Note to reader: That's the first time I write about the "break-up." I never had the time, before. Never made the time before. Never wanted to waste words on some man. But you know what? As I've said before, writing is my release. I feel good now that I've written about it. I feel that the healing process is making progress. My wounds are being covered with a scab, not a scar. That scab will disappear; I know it will.
I am not about to run no bath water or tie no shoes. Hell no! Sure, I believe in helping a guy out, being supportive and encouraging, but catering? I am all about 50/50. You do something for me; I'll do something for you. Maybe, I'm too independent...but I just couldn't do that - cater to a man's needs.
I admire independence in a man. Like my poem "Boyfriend Prayer." I want him to iron his own shirts, wash his own clothes, heat his own tortillas (I got that from an excerpt from Sandra Cisneros - gotta give my idol credit). I guess since I believe in being a girlfriend, not a mama to a man. He already has his mama, I hope. I don't want to come up as some replacement or threat to their relationship.
I just admire independence in people. I see nothing wrong with a couple helping each other out, but nombre, when it's running the bath water, that's too much in my opinion. Someone reading this may be thinking "no wonder she's single." Oh well, I set my standards and my expectations; I've learned something important "don't settle."
Maybe, I'm still bitter from my past relationship. My friends think I'm healing, making progress, and opening myself up "to love" again. I think back to that relationship...you know, Juan....In some ways, I did cater to him. I did. I wanted to make him happy every time he was here with me. I wanted to hug him and comfort him. Yes, I have that nurturing instinct. He had his independent traits; there were times that he pushed me away. I understood this during those times. Then there were those times that I wanted to comfort him, wanted him to talk about his problems, wanted him to seek my help, wanted him to freakin' call me! And, he didn't... Sometimes, I feel that I tried being that "catering, nurturing girlfriend" and I failed. Something went wrong; not completely my fault. Actually, I do not think it's my fault at all. Like my friends tell me : Juan couldn't be a man and talk to me the right way so he lost me. I dreaded breaking up with him; I did. I kept thinking I'm going to break Juan's heart. He's going through a tough time; he needs some time alone. I kept thinking about him and his feelings then something inside me snapped. My family and my friends kept talking to me. They kept seeing me crying. Yes, unfortunately I've cried over men before. And, I don't mean like little soft sniffles. I mean, CRY. Lay my head on my pillow and bawl. Look around my bedroom and everything reminds me of him. I lay in bed and the moment my head touches the softness of my pillow, I remember....So, the tears came, falling uncontrollably. My sadness, loneliness, and longing exploding like a bomb of tears and pain.
I was in the middle of a research paper, the topic: finding true love. I used to think Juan was my soul mate; I was happy that I found that person who fit so well into my life. I knew the paper was due on Friday and this was the weekend before. I am a good student, dedicated student. I take my time on research. That Saturday night of Easter weekend, I read through my green folder of research, got annoyed with all the discussion on love and tossed it aside. Held my pillow against me and cried some more. Turned to another story about voodoo. I'm a nut - I have a VARIETY of interests. I'm reading about how the author may have gotten poisoned by voodoo; I'm thinking - man, that's too sad; she had to die so young. Yes, in your forties is young to me. My cell phone rings for the first time that night. I answer it and there he is: no, not Juan. But a good friend. He notices my voice, it's weak, it's softer than usual, it's hurting. I sniffle and take a deep breath, trying to hold my emotions. Then my good friend says, "I'm not going to say poor Juan anymore. I am going to say poor Elsie because you are HURTING!" I exhaled slowly. "You know what? You're right." I said to him. Then, he told me something very important, ahh this friend is full of lessons I tell you. "Elsie, what about YOUR feelings? You need to think about yourself. You shouldn't be worried about some boyfriend who isn't even worried about you." I sighed heavily, letting out more pain with each exhale. And, he changed the subject, refusing to allow me to dwell on my pain.
Although Easter weekend was a little lonely, I wised up that weekend. I was embarassed when my family asked for "my nice boyfriend," espeically my nephew who was so close to Juan. I had to blink away the tears and smile, find my strength to be single again. Thank goodness, I went to church because without God I wouldn't be here today. He's always there for me in my life experiences, helping me, guiding me, leading me. I decided then that I needed to think about myself more and my feelings and give Juan that freedom to do so. Release him..let him be alone as he chose. with hope though. Hope that he would return to me and toss his pride aside and have "it together," you know what I mean? That hope died. The candle flame blew out in May. And, that's the end of the story of Elsie and Juan. Forever shut. What is left but a lesson and tiny pain that is healing, yes I'm healing. I am glad my family has stopped mentioning his name and throwing my mistakes in my face. Glad that I am able to talk to other guys and not compare them to Juan. Glad that I can smile brightly as I did that first day out to "lunch" with my friend as a single woman. Glad I can refer back to my poem "Boyfriend Prayer" and say "I may be ALONE, but I'm ALIVE." And, damn I'm going to live this life. Life is short, too damn short to be crying over some man.
I did not expect Juan to be real open about his emotions or whatever the hell was happening. I know men aren't emotional; they don't discuss feelings. I am not stupid; I know this. I have plenty of male friends who emphasize certain differences between men and women. But c'mon now, when you promise to be my support and how we are each other's backbones, at least do it, even if it's a half-ass job. I shouldn't be writing about Juan on here since it is "the Internet." I use our relationship as an example of how I tried the "catering, nurturing" already.
Maybe, I'll try again to "nurturing." Life is full of risks after all. I won't be catering though. I won't spend my money on a guy until he spends money on me. Money is just money. I don't give a damn about money or materialistic things. I'll buy my own things, but I am not going to go out of my way to buy Christmas gifts for someone and he doesn't even show up for Christmas!
Note to reader: That's the first time I write about the "break-up." I never had the time, before. Never made the time before. Never wanted to waste words on some man. But you know what? As I've said before, writing is my release. I feel good now that I've written about it. I feel that the healing process is making progress. My wounds are being covered with a scab, not a scar. That scab will disappear; I know it will.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
What I Should be Doing
I should be studying right now. Reading more about the History of Education, but you know what? I'm bored with reading history. My brain needs to rest. The past three years have been study, study, and study mas. I miss those evenings when I could just go home and you know, WRITE. Relax. Sit outside with my notebook and the warmth of the sunshine and "just do it - WRITE." You know the way I keep repeating "Just do it," I am starting to sound like that old Nike commercial I haven't seen in forever. You already know (from previous post) about how stressed out and beneficial my college career has been. I have this evening and manana left in the summer session and then I can rest for a couple of weeks. Actually, I have to prepare/study for the GRE. So, of course it's not a real "rest" for my brain.
Today there have been about 100 thoughts/ideas just running around my head like bubbling suds in a coke bottle, foaming and then resting, foaming again. I gotta spill 'em out. Let out those ideas. I already let out one dedicated to my best friend, RKF. He's the first best friend I've had, no offense to my other best friends ;). I like that poem I wrote; now, just reaching a title is the task. I'll edit it some. Save it to a file in my laptop and work on it. You know, when I have time. I know how that goes. I'll save it and forget about. I need to stop being so forgetful. If I had kids, poor babies, they'd probably stay at Abuela's house because I'd get so wrapped up in doing something that I'd forget. Hijole, I hope not!!
Ok, it's 5 p.m. That means I can leave the office and go outside!!! YEAH!!
Today there have been about 100 thoughts/ideas just running around my head like bubbling suds in a coke bottle, foaming and then resting, foaming again. I gotta spill 'em out. Let out those ideas. I already let out one dedicated to my best friend, RKF. He's the first best friend I've had, no offense to my other best friends ;). I like that poem I wrote; now, just reaching a title is the task. I'll edit it some. Save it to a file in my laptop and work on it. You know, when I have time. I know how that goes. I'll save it and forget about. I need to stop being so forgetful. If I had kids, poor babies, they'd probably stay at Abuela's house because I'd get so wrapped up in doing something that I'd forget. Hijole, I hope not!!
Ok, it's 5 p.m. That means I can leave the office and go outside!!! YEAH!!
Here's to You - RKF
With my sucia friends, we were discussing friendships. The words started rushing through my mind - I better get 'em out huh? I thought of one of the bestest friends I've had in my whole lifetime - here's to you....
He knew me back when we weren't all that,
my long hair parted in the middle,
black berry lipstick smeared out of line,
polo shirts with jeans,
- no style whatsoever.
A closed mouth with a tight grin
He was....
1940's hairstyle combed to the side
glasses and braces,
polo shirts and jeans,
same Dallas Cowboys jacket
an open mouth showing his big smile
As we grew, we changed
I wore
hip hugger jeans
dressier blouses
big black boots
a redder lipstick in line
a dimple showed on my smile
He did a makeover
highlights in his brown hair
spiked up toward the sky
clear contacts replaced the glasses
dress pants and dress shirts
-ironed and starched
He drove
88 big brown Buick
pitch dark tinted windows
-creeping slowly
looking like drug dealers doing a run
because he didn't have his license yet
90 Corolla, white with a broken trunk
-that stayed full of water when he sold it
the door almost flew off once
I asked "what are you doing? trying to give us instant a/c?"
99 Malibu, silver with a CD player
good sound system
for hip hop music and old Tejano songs
and vibrations of techno dance music
04 Jetta, silver
with the rainbow Texas pride sticker
comfy and roomy
05 Corolla, silver
decorated with Spurs pride
class and a high car payment
bringing him back and forth from H-Town
while he changed cars
he helped change me
stole a gift certificate
from a family member
to a beauty salon
so i could have curly hair for a year
we started college
started approaching people
started to relate to other people
I started to drive
after he helped show me
on the way to school
or
when we skipped school & work
down those hilly slopes of country roads
I bought my Ford Ranger
wanted to drive up high
we drove our seperate ways
for awhile
came back
with reminscence
with memories
We reflect back on
when we missed Prom
to go to Houston
to shop @ the Galleria
listen to Little Joe
in the parking lot of Michelle's Night Club
we were not of age to enter that club
when we ran off to Houston
to have the car "detailed"
took pictures @ a photo studio
so we could remember that special time
"detailed" the Malibu
with Armor All and napkins
at the drive-thru of Jack in the Box
when we got lost in Houston
searching for "soul food"
finding Chinatown
Memorial Park
Art Show
everything but soul food
when we were crowned
"senorita & cabellero"
@ the Cinco de Mayo dance
dancing together
me falling over my black cha-cha heels
still proud
of our senior year accomplishments
when he had that one special crush
going to Wal-Mart frequently to see that guy
I had several
that came and went
as I tossed them aside
who they were
what happened to them?
He reminds me of a mistake
only if I am
in danger of committing it again
makes me feel appreciated and cared for
seeks my advice and guidance
We keep growing up actually
trying to find ourselves
recognize ourselves
when we look at each other
we see those cheeks
that hang
when we're mad
rise
when we smile
those familiar brown eyes
that stare
look away
twinkle
We laugh
because we speak the same
loud shouts
in Spanish and English
we wink @ each other
because
we know
we still cover "con la misma colcha" (with the same blanket) - don't know the correct spelling.
Alright, that's for RKF, my best friend from way back then.......No one knows me the way he does; I swear he's one of my "soul mates."
;)
Monday, August 01, 2005
Blogging as a Hobby
After reading Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez's final blog for the meantime, I realized several things. I just recently started blogging on a regular basis; it's not something I would do like in an addictive manner; I don't have the time for that. I do have several thoughts, floating through my mind, waiting to be released so that's why I blogg on here. I know someone out there is gonna read em' and maybe comment. I like to record my thoughts on here. I am not showing every side of myself, like stripping naked in front of one hundred million people. I don't see it as that. Although, I'm an open book shouting in your face about who I am (in person sometimes,) I am not this way as a blogger? I hope not!
To me, it's like an online journal where I share what I want to share with a boundary. Boundaries are great to have in life - they help create those lines we should not cross. I am hesitant about crossing lines, afraid to put my big toe out there - that's how hesitant and chicken sh*t I can be.
I like blogging and reading other people's blogs. It's interesting to see what happens in the lives of other people. It's not addicting to the point I am going to keep reading blogs instead of my school work or I'd rather sit and read blogs instead of gardening or riding through the country. Oh hell no! Being out there in the "real world," is so much more fulfilling than sitting in front of a computer all day. I sit in front of a computer all day for about seven hours a day, five days a week, because of my job. This is why I have free-time to post on Yahoo groups and blog. If I had a different job, I probably wouldn't be so active online.
I have such an important life out there - outside that glass door of the office. I am the type of person that loves to be out there - living, talking, hanging out, just taking joy in being alive. This is why I love that my desk @ home is near a window. I find myself glancing outside frequently to see the greenery of the yard and the moving shadows of the big oak tree. Before I know it, if I am not in a rush writing something, you know on a roll where I don't want to stop. I'm going to go outside and enjoy that natural environment. I am gonna water my plants, miss my dog I used to play with before he died, and enjoy being outside.
These are reasons I know I want to be a college professor. I want to stand up in front a class, I don't care what size, and talk, lecture, and teach. This is my goal. Then for those days I want to sit @ home and write, write those stories that are budding my head like tiny flowers waiting to grow larger.
Blogging is fun; a great way to let those emotions out. Just a great way of expressing myself. Blogging is a form of writing. Since I love writing, I love blogging. As mentioned earlier, it's not a form of exposing mysef so that people will take advantage of that and hold it against me, but it's just a form of writing. That's it. And...if you don't like it, you don't have to read it!
Sometimes, I think I am more outspoken on-line lol. Look at that last sentence; nombre, I am never that forward. I'm an indirect person - I like people to read between the lines. Sometimes, though I don't want to beat around the bush, I just want to say it. Throw it out there...and that's it!
To me, it's like an online journal where I share what I want to share with a boundary. Boundaries are great to have in life - they help create those lines we should not cross. I am hesitant about crossing lines, afraid to put my big toe out there - that's how hesitant and chicken sh*t I can be.
I like blogging and reading other people's blogs. It's interesting to see what happens in the lives of other people. It's not addicting to the point I am going to keep reading blogs instead of my school work or I'd rather sit and read blogs instead of gardening or riding through the country. Oh hell no! Being out there in the "real world," is so much more fulfilling than sitting in front of a computer all day. I sit in front of a computer all day for about seven hours a day, five days a week, because of my job. This is why I have free-time to post on Yahoo groups and blog. If I had a different job, I probably wouldn't be so active online.
I have such an important life out there - outside that glass door of the office. I am the type of person that loves to be out there - living, talking, hanging out, just taking joy in being alive. This is why I love that my desk @ home is near a window. I find myself glancing outside frequently to see the greenery of the yard and the moving shadows of the big oak tree. Before I know it, if I am not in a rush writing something, you know on a roll where I don't want to stop. I'm going to go outside and enjoy that natural environment. I am gonna water my plants, miss my dog I used to play with before he died, and enjoy being outside.
These are reasons I know I want to be a college professor. I want to stand up in front a class, I don't care what size, and talk, lecture, and teach. This is my goal. Then for those days I want to sit @ home and write, write those stories that are budding my head like tiny flowers waiting to grow larger.
Blogging is fun; a great way to let those emotions out. Just a great way of expressing myself. Blogging is a form of writing. Since I love writing, I love blogging. As mentioned earlier, it's not a form of exposing mysef so that people will take advantage of that and hold it against me, but it's just a form of writing. That's it. And...if you don't like it, you don't have to read it!
Sometimes, I think I am more outspoken on-line lol. Look at that last sentence; nombre, I am never that forward. I'm an indirect person - I like people to read between the lines. Sometimes, though I don't want to beat around the bush, I just want to say it. Throw it out there...and that's it!
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Something I Love Doing
The pic above represents something I love doing. No, tonta/o not taking pictures with my amigas! But, hey aren't we all photogenic? Especially, that Shauna girl!
Community Activities - Volunteering. Being with people. Helping people. Smiling with people. Just loving life with people. Spreading that aura. People tell me I'm like a "glowing" light bulb that lights up a dark room as soon as I enter it.
Being part of the Latina Forum is important to me. It's important for me to try my best and help these young girls who need guidance. Make them laugh. Give them some advice. Relate my personal experiences. The feeling I receive from doing this is - priceless. Like someone handing me a million dollars - that's how fulfilled I feel.
I felt satisified when I met up this fifteen year old girl I had talked to last year at our first annual event "New School, New Year, New You." As an organization, the Latina Forum decided to host a program that would target incoming freshmen girls. Give them some guidance. Present successful role models. Let them have some fun. Only about fifteen girls showed up. This small number did not reflect our tremendous success. We've stayed in touch with these fifteen original girls, had them that Christmas Party back in December of 04. We show we care about what happens to them. We want to address any concerns they may have. We want to be there for them....
This one young girl I had talked is such a success now. I felt so proud of her when SHE gave advice to the freshman girls. She was there a year ago - who could better relate? Some advice she gave them stood out to me because I had given her similar advice previously. That advice I've taken myself, not always but tried my best to...you know smile through the tears. She told them "to always look ahead, don't look down. The world is in front of you. Smile." Wow, you'd think I was saying that. My version of this is "shoulders back, chin up, smiling." That's how I walk. With confidence. With a positive attitude. A face that says "Hello, nice to meet you." without even saying anything. I like to pass this on to people.
Myself and a good friend of mine always discusses people's character - that vibe they give us. We like people who are positive characters. We don't like negative people, you know the kind. The ones that are always gossiping about everyone else and they think they are perfect when they are far from it. The ones who talk down on someone just because he got locked up for driving without a license when they've been locked up for far worse acts like stealing.
I've noticed that by looking at people's character, we learn a lot about their personality. I felt glad that this fifteen year old girl is displaying a positive attitude already. She's matured so much in the past year. I am proud of her. I expect her to go far. She's a writer, too. No wonder we can relate so well. She says her last name in Spanish, the way it's supposed to be said. She's changed from quiet and withdrawn to outspoken and bubbly. Beautiful long hair. Beautiful smile. She's growing up. I'm proud of her. She's accomplished so much for herself. Her interest in drama and writing will continue to guide her in her endeavors. I know it. I cannot emphasize how PROUD I feel that I've been able to influence this young girl as she began high school a year ago.
These are my passions - teaching people, guiding people, leading people. Through my words as a writer, I hope to write POWERFUL stories that will touch people "right to the core." Thought I'd share that wonderful experience from today before I lay my head down and rest for the night. My feel my life has a purpose and that purpose is to help people through my creative abilities.
Last LEAD training, we talked about the different personalities we have. These "ideas" go back to Native American roles of leadership. I do not know the exact origin; I'll have to double-check.
North people like to take charge and do like to plan before acting; they prefer action. Usually, north people do not think before they act; they just do it.
South people are caring people who love to help people; they have BIG hearts. South people are often so concerned about other people that they do not think of their own needs. (That's my mama, always worried about everyone else and their needs)
West people are Math people; they like to anaylze and use numbers/statistics; they are realists.
East people like to use their creative abilities to help people. A vice of this is that we spend so much time "thinking/planning" what we are going to do that we do not accomplish much. We have an idealistic approach to life.
I am a mixture of a South and East person. I like to say I am more East since I'm such a dreamer, always daydreaming and thinking about that next story/poem I am going to write.
To the reader: What kind of "person" are you?
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