Sigh

October 23, 2009 at 8:01 am (Life as an Immigrant)

I love this country.  I have made it my home for 14 years.

But it gets frustrating that the immigration process is SO HARD. I work, I pay my taxes, I get my shit done. And my visa application is put on hold because of bureaucracy.

So now I’m on a waiting pattern again. Every time this happens, it makes me want to move back home where I do not need to prove that I am good enough to be allowed to stay.

Grrr.

Update: After teaching one class and hanging out with my homeroom teenagers, I feel better. Nothing like caffeine, distraction and the joy of youth to make one forget one’s troubles. And chocolate helps too.

2 Comments

See spot, panic

October 12, 2009 at 8:10 am (Health)

Last year I had a spot remove from my head. The doctor told me it was “abnormal” which a new doctor told me was code for “pre-cancerous”. New doctor told me to not sunbathe, apply sunscreen and be smart. I cancelled a trip to the beah in Costa Rica. I now wear baseball hats. But I never figured out how to put on sunscreen on my head. So I just tried to stay indoors and out if the sun as much as possible.

Then last night I discovered a new spot in my head. And promptly panicked. At the suggestion if a very smart friend, who said they might be open even though it’s a holiday. I did, thy were, and I’m going in at 10:30 to have it looked at and most likely removed. And tested.

I’m scared. Being freckled is fun, but dangerous, apparently. Please pray it’s nothing. Please. Sigh.

1 Comment

Happy Anniversary/Birthday

October 9, 2009 at 6:01 pm (Basil)

You came into my life on October 9, 2002. Since you were a rescue from the streets, the nice people from the shelter didn’t know your birthday. So I decided that your adoption day would be your birthday too.

That means that – at least according to us – you would’ve turned 9. Or 8, if we believe the vets who insisted that your teeth were young enough to make you a year younger. Whatever your true age, you were always my baby and I got you a special treat on your birthday. Or we went to get you a toy, remember?

I thought about what I should do today. You don’t have a grave, so much as I’d love to, I can’t bring you flowers. I thought of going to your favorite spot, but I’m being selfish and I don’t want to sit on that bench and get sad thinking of you (plus, I’d like to beleve that your favorite spot was on my bed, snuggled up to me). So I’ve put your urn across from me and I’ve talked to it a bit. Silly, I know, but it’s what I can do.

So Happy Birthday, pooper. I’m sure the party up in heaven is rockin’. Make sure you chase those squirrels good and you run around chasing balls bouncing on clouds. I love you.

P.S. Fabulous just told me today is World Dog Day. How’s that for a b-day present?

1 Comment

Here or there

October 7, 2009 at 11:22 am (Basil, Family, Friends, Life)

Today my awesome friend Fabulous wrote about where she is and, actually where she is and what she thinks about it.

Her post reflected on her choice of living in the US and how she has realized why she is still here.

After reading it, I thought “well, it’s bound to happen that we sometimes review the decision.” And it dawned on me that I’ve been reviewing my decision for a while now. This means that I’m not really going through a temporary doubt. It is deep-seated. And that gave me pause. Because it truly reflects that I am not where I need to be.

You guys know that. I’ve been writing about it for a while. It is aconstant theme in my life. But Fabulous’ post just hit something. I keep coming back to the topic and I can’t not listen to it. And I guess the challenge is to put that thought in the “I will not be afraid” anymore bag. I feel that the “here” where I am (VA) is not fulfilling me. I constantly miss the “there” of NY and Mexico.

In reviewing the whys of missing “there” it has become obvious that it is a deep-seated sense of loneliness. Heightened by the fact that I’ve been separated from the Ex for 8 months now, that it’s been 6 months since Basil’s death and that making new friends in this area has been tough. I don’t have a “family” to make this place home. I had that in Texas and in NY. If I think of what I do every evening, I know my roots are not here. The people I love in this country are in Boston, Atlanta, Texas, NY. So I spend my evenings on the phone with them or with people in Colombia and Mexico.

I have started to work on making this place a new home. On making new friends and on building relationships. On not spending all of my free time on the phone but rather out and about.

However. If that still does not fill the void, I am going to have to go back to one of my “theres”.  Because while I am an only child and I know how to be alone (in fact, I like being alone), I do not like feeling lonely. And I am tired of feeling sad about it.

2 Comments

All grown up

October 1, 2009 at 9:59 pm (Family)

If you’re my friend, or you’ve read this blog enough, you know my parents are divorced and do not get along. AT ALL.

Long ago I got used to the fact that I was stuck in between them and that they can’t or won’t get past it. I think it’s both.

At any rate, thanks to my wonderful therapist in NY, a few years ago I was able to not only pull my mom off her pedestal and raise my dad from the gutter, placing them both on the same level (or at least closer). I also figured out that they will still put me in the middle, but I have control over that affects me or not.

In the last few years, my dad and I have made amazing strides in our relationship. While it’s hard for me to not defend my mom whenever he starts going on about her, it makes my life easier. I know he’ll never change, no matter what or how much I say, and I have to confess he sometimes does say things that are true. But we can talk about pretty  much everything and although he’s not the best advice-giver, I know he loves me dearly and would give his life for me.

I have also had great improvement with my mom. While it’s painful for both of us to have the talks we sometimes have about my stepdad and his particular personality (charming one moment, very angry the next) and their relationship, it has made for a more honest relationship between her and I.  I have also been able to openly talk about my dad with her and – while I’m sure it’s hard for her- she has told me she likes that I still share my feelings with her.

Still, big traumas die hard, and when it comes to talking about certain things with my parents, I choke and stress. Like money. Enter last Tuesday, when I did the math, talked to the credit card company and realized I couldn’t afford to pay for  a bill I received. After talking to Fabulous, I grew a pair and called my dad and asked to borrow money from him. He not only agreed to give it, but said it wasn’t a loan, but a gift. I told him that mom was also helping out. He didn’t believe it and I didn’t press it. What mattered is that he not only was helping but he said that wonderful line: “It’s not a loan, it’s a gift, I’m your father”. The man from 6, 7 years ago would’ve never said that.

Years ago if you you’d told me my dad would one day act this way, I would’ve laughed. Now I am thankful for the blessing of not having to worry about that payment because my parents are helping me, but also because after many, many years of trying to find a balance,  I am finally able to have a relationship with both of my parents without feeling guilty about it.

The three of us have grown up, it seems, and I am so happy about it!

2 Comments

Protected: Contradictions

September 14, 2009 at 10:40 pm (Life, Love)

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:


Enter your password to view comments

I miss you

September 7, 2009 at 2:29 pm (Basil)

Yesterday I realized why I never minded long weekends alone. You were with me and we had fun. We went for walks, played around the house, took naps and you snuggled next to me whenever I was working, reading or watching TV.

And today, a few minutes ago, it dawned on me that yesterday was six months since you’ve been gone.  It feels both like it was yesterday and a million years ago.  And though I don’t cry every time I think of you, or even every time I see a fellow who looks like you, I know there’s a piece missing from my heart.

Here’s to you, my beautiful boy. I miss you, more than you will ever know.

Perfection in red

1 Comment

Lima

August 29, 2009 at 1:23 pm (Life)

Originally written June 25, 2009 on my iPhone notepad

5:05PM. Sitting at the Lima airport, waiting to go to Bolivia, formerly known as “Home Country A”. Times like these is when I can’t help to feel, very close to my skin, my gypsy nature. As I walk down the halls and through the duty-free shop, I giggle and jump slightly at the sight of turrones de Doña Pepa (which I hate, but remind me of my mom), Spanish turrones de Almendra, bags of Peruvian “cancha“. At the same time, when I listen to sayas on the loudspeakers, I have to ask, in a pretend-curious way, if that is Peruvian music. You know, just to check if this is yet another thing that has been stolen from Bolivia. Upon hearing “yes”, it is Peruvian, I can only think “pinches ladrones, ¿la saya no es boliviana?” (fucking thieves, isn’t saya Bolivian?). Right then I know I’ve had a moment of national pride. It’s only now, minutes later, that I realize that my defense of what I hold dearly as Bolivian, came out in my Mexican slang.

Nationalism defense indeed.

Because here I am again. A traveler, a citizen of two countries, a resident of none, an immigrant, a soul with a heart that calls five places “home”.

A part of me wants to settle down. Yet the idea of doing so with a career that would not allow me to travel, chokes me. I’m still searching for that career path which will enthrall me, fill me with passion and purpose, give me an excuse to go places. I know that for all that settling desire, I do not want to become static. I part fear, part love, the fact that I may never find a true and permanent “home”. That it is my destiny to just wander, to be a citizen of the world, to crave many cuisines, to burst at the rims at the thought of a place, their people, their culture and arts. And though sometimes -too many times- in this wandering I feel lost (and therefore cannot join the ranks of Tolkien’s quoted ones) I’m beginning to think that perhaps, though it scares me and puzzles me, I’ve chosen my path; this is me, and this is my life.

Leave a Comment

Kiss my ass, Mr. Metus*

August 28, 2009 at 2:13 pm (Life)

* fear in Latin.

Over the course of the summer, I had a distinct realization. One that had been in the making for months, but that, because of being what it is, I did not want to face.

In doing soul searching and thinking (at times way too much) about the stuff that has happened in the last year, I finally accepted something I’d been feeling for a long, long time: The knowledge that for at least three years, I have been operating out of fear. Every major decision, every thought about myself, every big step I took, was guided by fear. It took my going away for two months, crying for what seemed endless minutes on my mother’s shoulder, and sliding down a zip line in Costa Rica, but I finally faced it: I had been living in fear, I had allowed it to paralyze me and to control me. And I had had enough.

So instead of running, as I had been doing, I turned around and looked at my fear. I told him (in Spanish fear has a male article) he was no longer the boss. I was. If he was going to live in my heart, he better start budging over and making his bags, because, God help me, I was going to kick him out.

Part of that process is my starting to write here again. I had been wanting to write for a long time, but didn’t do so out of fear.

Fear of many things. Fear of putting in writing the stuff and then it biting me in the ass.

Fear of certain people finding the blog and knowing too much about my life, and using it against me.

Fear of my writings becoming a problem in other aspects of my life (work, immigration, etc)

But I’m done with that. I must write. I need to write. I almost cannot stand not to write. Writing is my outlet, my therapy and the best mirror I can hold to myself.

There’s so much going on in my life that I need to write about, and I no longer want to keep it inside. Mr. Fear continues to try and be sneaky, but God willing I’ll keep on conquering it, because even if it kills me, in the end of all of this I want to be able to look back and know that I didn’t let him win and that I was the champion and I conquered him.

So kiss my ass, Mr. Metus. I am back in charge now and you’re leaving.

5 Comments

Growing Pains

July 22, 2009 at 12:28 am (Family)

I am an only child, you know. And as such, I’ve always been told by my family that I’m too spoiled.

They’re probably right. But then again it’s not like I had a choice in the matter. You grow up alone, don’t really have to share a room, a book, an anything with anyone… How the heck are you not to grow up and be spoiled, selfish?

As such, and as the perfectionistic little thing that I am, I am used to getting the things I want. Like tonight. I really wanted to go to a speech given by one of my favorite authors. I’m visiting mom in Ecuador and the author happened to be here to promote his latest novel (which I loooove). It also happened that tonight was the presentation of a book about a coworker and mentor of my mom’s and dad’s. Since he was so important to dad, he asked me to go. Both things at roughly the same time. I of course attended the mentor thing, to make sure I paid my dad’s respects and because said mentor had always been sweet with me. I could’ve left early and gotten to the novelist’s speech, but I don’t know the city, didn’t feel safe going to the other place on my own and thought I would arrive too late anyways.

Later in the night, I realized I was a fool and should’ve tried to attend anyway. In the end my going to the mentor thing was almost worthless. Yes, I hugged his widow and told her about my dad sending his love. She got happy to see me after all these years. That’s about it.

So I was pouty when we left the event.

Meanwhile, my mom and stepdad got into a tussle. As we were leaving, I tried to take a picture and could not, because he wanted to leave right then. I got more pissy. I wonder if he noticed my angry attitude and maybe that contributed to his own bad mood (from the tussle with my mom) to get worse. As we walked down the streets, he was bitchy to my mom. He eventually yelled at her in the street because she wouldn’t take her camera out for a picture (we were told not to, the street is not that safe). I didn’t hear it, I was in a store, buying some handicrafts. It’s a good thing I didn’t hear it. But someone else in the street did, he told my stepdad that that was no way to talk to his wife, my stepdad answered… Nothing happened, but things got tense. My mom was OK with it. She didnt’t let it bother her, or so she said.

But it bothers ME. One thing is for your parents to fight. Another is for me to hear my stepdad, a man that has not one drop of blood in common with me, nothing tying me to him, treat my mom the way he does. I’ve blogged about this before. It’s no news. I just cannot get used to it. Nor to the fact that I know I am not to get in the way, because then it would be a bad fight. But I hate it. My mom has her flaws, of course. She’s human. But she is a JEWEL who deserves to be treated well, to be loved. And I hate that everyone walks on eggshells around my stepdad because they’re so afraid of making him mad…

I also wonder if it was my being in a bad mood that got him to  his worse and to eventually yell at her. I didn’t make an effort to be patient. I was making -in my own way- a tantrum. Which I am too old and too grown up to do. But I let him get to me. I lose my patience. I just get tired of always doing what he wants, of him being bitcy whenever he wants to. Maybe we are both spoiled. Who knows.

Mostly, I hate that he gets me this mad. I am filled with hatred when he does these things. That’s not good.

And I hate that this clouds my time with my mom. Because it makes me want to leave. She wants me to change my ticket and stay an extra day with her. Because of him I don’t want to.

Mom knows I’m sad about this. She knows me too well for me to try to even hide it. It breaks my heart because it breaks hers. Which makes me even angrier at him. Which is bad for me because it stresses me.

See? I am a perfectionist. I wish I had a normal step dad. I wish I had gone to see the novelist. I wish I had made different decisions tonight, I probably wouldn’t be sad right now. I wish I could not be so hard on myself. I wish I could shake this sadness that’s been following me for a week.  I wish I could be normal. Just for a little while, just once. And I am very much aware that this is a tantrum, that I’m being immature, when I know better; when I know I’m too grownup for all this.

P.S. Sorry if this is rambly. It’s hard for me to write coherently when I’m full of emotions.

2 Comments

« Older entries