Guess what? Pig’s fly

April 18, 2007 at 5:28 am (Friends)

I was sitting in class today, waiting to see if my mom showed up on Instant Messenger, when lo and behold, Fred IMd me, asking if I’d gotten his email. So I told him I did and that he was right. I was mad.

Fred: I apologize.
NSLW: What for?
Fred: Oh I don’t know, it’s been such a long time since we’ve talked, I don’t know what I did… Probably not taking time to see you when you were here last.

“I don’t know what I did”? So I told him. Yes, it was that precise thing of not taking time, ignoring me, etc. I let him have it. After a few seconds of silence, he apologized again, told me our friendship was important to him and he hoped “we could pick it up again”.

I didn’t say yes, I didn’t say no. It will take time to be what it was. I’ll see him if he comes to NY and calls. If he doesn’t, I know where he really stands and if he really values our friendship.

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Double standards

April 17, 2007 at 3:08 am (NY)

This past weekend I went to dinner at a friend’s house. It was a light night, so at around 11:30 I was already headed back home. I took the subway, found a seat and settled for a long ride listening to music.

As usual in NYC, midnight on a weekend in the subway is like rush hour during the work week. It was packed. An African-American man -who declared himself as a homeless New Yorker- walked in and struck up a conversation with some of the people standing in the car. I could only hear half of the conversation, as I was listening to my iPod. He was cracking jokes and had the whole car laughing. At some point, though, I heard something along the lines of “everything … acceptable, except …… a Mexican”. Everyone laughed. And I felt enraged.

Just this past week the whole country was outraged about the Don Imus controversy. People accused him of being sexist and racist and we have all seen the consequences. I wonder, if a white man made a racist joke, would people laugh so loudly? Yet there in the subway car, an African-American man made a racist joke against a Hispanic, and everyone around the “funny man” found it funny. Well, everyone who didn’t look Hispanic. I looked around, I wasn’t the only one who looked uncomfortable and offended. There were other Hispanics (and I bet some of them were Mexican) who looked pissed. And this man wasn’t even acting crazy, like the one Arjewtino encountered in his weekend in NY. This guy seemed completely normal. But everyone laughed. And I know, I only heard half of the joke. But it still doesn’t make it OK. I’ve seen it also on TV shows. Apparently racist jokes are bad only when uttered by a white person and different minority ethnicities can trash each other freely.

Yes, this was a homeless man, and people tend not to take them seriously. But still, PEOPLE WERE LAUGHING. It takes the jester and the recipient of the joke to create laughter. You know what this says about our society.

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Owning up to it

April 15, 2007 at 12:54 am (Uncategorized)

This week was one where things come full circle. Funny how that happens.

I’ve been talking to the FrenchMan a little bit, and he seems to be distant. So I guess whatever I felt was there isn’t, or as my male friends say, he’s just busy. Whatever it is, I can’t be hanging on by a thread and wishing for something with a man miles and miles away.

That got me thinking and a few nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night, crying. I didn’t know sadness could be such a strong feeling that it had the power to wake you up in the middle of the night. But it did.

The sadness that woke me up came from the realization that I feel I can’t be happy unless I have a man in my life. I know, even I feel stupid saying it. But that’s what I felt. I realized I feel I cannot be happy while I’m alone and while I don’t have a ’special someone’ waking up with me every morning.

The feeling started on Easter Sunday, when I woke up and felt the weight of my foreign life upon me, because I realized that in both my homes my families would be getting together and having lunch. In home country A, my mom would be cooking for the relatives as grandma and my great-aunts chat up in the yard. In home country B, my whole family was surely at the weekend house since Thursday, all crammed in the little bedrooms, and searching for eggs and candy on Sunday, with grandpa going “eeeehhhh?!!?!!” every time anyone spokes to him, because he can’t hear. Meanwhile, here I was in NY, alone and with period cramps that made me stay in bed. As I dragged myself to the kitchen, I hated being alone. Not having my family next to me and not having a special someone to care for me when I’m feeling like shit. I had to boil my own tea water, make my own breakfast all while doubling over from pain. I know, ‘cry me a river’ you say, ‘we all have crap in our lives’, but hey, this is my crap and it hurts me.

As the week progressed and the conversations with the FrenchMan cooled, I felt even more and more alone. Then I woke up in the middle of the night and had my realization.

And it makes me angry and scares me. First of all, I realize that making someone the source of my happiness is bad because nobody needs that responsibility and because happiness should come from me, not other people. It also scares me because I fear doing what my mom did, which was settling for “not so good” (her words, not mine) with my dad, because she didn’t think that “awesome” was coming to her. All my life swearing I would not be like her, yet here I am, thinking I will never find anyone to love me, pouting because an amazing connection happened with someone who lives away, because the relationship with the person I called the love of my life turned out to be a painful roller coaster that seems to still not end.

Urgh.

There really aren’t words for me to say what I feel. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t like feeling that what really would make me happy is having a man, cooking for him and caring for him. I know I have a caretaker’s heart. I’ve always known it. But I can’t be the sole purpose of my being. I can’t depend on other people’s presence in my life to be happy, to be whole.

I mean, this whole freakin’ blog is called “Pursuit of Wholeness” for that very reason. Because I know my wholeness has to come from within from me, not from other’s love, opinions, presence, etc. I know. There was a point in my life when I was happy, even when there was no man and my family was away. I’ve had it, I know it can be done.

Yet I can’t help but feel sad. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever have a turn on the love ride.

I see my friends with their wonderful relationships and think “when’s my turn?”. I see the ones without anyone, going about their lives happily and think “OK. If this is possible, how come I can’t do it either?”

I feel everything’s my fault. I feel I’m too hard on myself, I’m too impatient, I’m too whatever. I feel paralyzed by my sadness and scared that very fear is what will render me alone all my life. And it’s not like there’s no people interested in me (there is someone, but I’m either not interested or too scared to take a step… and the FrenchMan, who inspired me to take the step… well, we know the story). It’s not like there’s nothing in my life. I have school, the pooches, the friends, the city and all it has to offer. Yet I feel this way. I feel I’m a big, weird mess.

Yet there’s nothing more to do but carry on. And hope thinks will work out. That I’ll figure this out, get out of my rut and be able to be happy again.

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Tying up lose ends

April 12, 2007 at 9:15 am (Uncategorized)

I realize there are a couple of things I started talking about, but then stopped cold. This happens a lot to me. My mind wonders to something else and then a friend asks “what happened with X topic?” So here’s a little closure on some matters I’ve posted about

The “F-word” posts: I don’t feel like writing the last chapter on that one right now. As things are, I’ve come to some sense of peace regarding my step dad and the infamous cheese incident. I also have talked to my mom about it and that has helped. I’m sure that at some point I will once again talk about this, but for now I’m OK and don’t really want to stir the pot too much.

Fred: The vote is split 50-50 between my friends and you guys giving support. “Talk it out” some say. “Fuck him” say others. I haven’t done either. I feel like talking to him is like saying it’s OK to hurt me and then pretend you never did it. I also think that writing to say “f-you” is work too. So for now, I’m quiet. We’ll see what I do. I’m still angry and as such, I’m closing doors.

The FrenchMan: He never called. But we IMd and I was fine with that. Then he went on holiday and when he returned we had an IM chat, but it somewhat cold on his side. Was it because he was busy (his first day back at work) or because it’s just not the same? Lord knows. I’m a bit sad about it, but I think I’m going to have to file him under “friend”. After all, he does live way far away, so it’s not realistic to have high hopes, if any at all.

The Ex: He flew home last week. Called to say bye and we had a little tension, as he pouted about something and I reminded him that pouts like those, unwarranted and selfish were why I’d said no to his wanting to be together. He still holds, however, that he will fight for me. In talking to one of my great friends from home, The Teacher, she said that I should follow my heart and if in the end he won me over, I should get back together with him. Then I confessed a truth: Not only am I afraid of that because he’s hurt me so much I don’t want to fall again, but I’m afraid of falling not out of love but out of sheer…. “Well, he loves me and I’ve always wanted to be loved” mode and because there is nobody else. I don’t want him to win by default.

That’s where things are at. We’ll see what happens. I still struggle with my inner feelings of loneliness and the nagging feeling that having a man will make me happy. I hate that I feel that way. But I’m trying to work through that. * Sigh *

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The tale of my two BMFs. Today: Fred

April 5, 2007 at 4:57 am (Friends)

As I’ve mentioned here before, for some reason I tend to make good friends with guys. It started in High School, where I found my two BMFs. We’ll call one Fred, and the other one Gus. I know, the names suck, but I really don’t care. And today, I want to write about Fred.

So. Fred had been in school with me since I moved to country A, which was when I was 10. He was a shy guy, short and kinda chubby. Never really paid attention to him, until High School, when somehow we got to be friendly. The friendship grew and by Senior year, we were tight. Also by Senior year, he had gone in exchange to Europe and come back tall, thin and no longer looking boyish. He became a ‘hot item’ in school and while there were some sparks, they never got to be anything, so I was just the best friend of a hot guy, whose girlfriends sorta hated.

Fast forward to the last years. Fred and I are still super friends. He still comes to see me when I fly in for vacations, eating all the brownies I made for him. One day my mom tells me -in front of him- that she doesn’t get why we’re not a couple. I say it’s because we’re not like that. Later he tells me it’s because I’ve ‘not let him woo me’. Shocked, I tell him I know that’s not true, as I know we would not work out. It gets kind of uncomfortable for a couple of weeks, but then we get over it. He eventually gets back together with one of his ex-girlfriends, a girl I’d already met and I think is fabulous. We still hang out on vacations, and when she gets jealous of me, he calmly explains we’re just buddies and she has nothing to worry. Later, all issues get resolved because I start dating the Ex, who’s friends with her, so we’re all a happy family.

In 2005, Fred and his girl get engaged. I’m overjoyed, but I ask him one thing: To not change and still be my best friend. He promises to do so.

In the summer of 2006, I go home for a visit. I call Fred, who’s been marriage for 2 months, and tell him I’m there for a visit. He gets all excited, tells me to call him after my weekend out of town (I went to visit another city) and ‘we’ll definitely get together’. I called him and… I’m still waiting for his call. I was home for almost 2 months and not a peep from him. When my friends threw me a going away party, he never showed. Everyone told me he’d become a recluse since his marriage and that he never did anything with anyone but his wife and her family. It hurt more than I can explain. I know people change when they marry, but this was a huge betrayal. So I stopped talking to him. No emails, no IMs, nothing. He didn’t initiate any communication either. Never wrote to say I’m sorry, nothing.

Then today, this (translated from the Spanish original):

“Hi [my nickname] What’s up? It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from you. Are you angry with me? I hope not…

Guess what? [Wife's name] and I decided to go to NY in June for vacations. I have to go for business, but I’m taking her with me so we can have a mini-holiday. We’re staying with H & K in New Jersey.

I hope we can see each other and get up to speed in what’s been going on. Big kiss.“

Am I mad at him??? Uh. Yeah. And if he’d been paying attention, he’d know why. But he hasn’t. Which makes me even angrier. He ignores me, disses me, but now wants to see me. I don’t think so.

Now, the thing with me is that I am very patient with the people I love. I forgive a lot. A LOT. But I’m fierce about loyalty. There are certain people that I expect to be there for me just like I’d be there for them. Not out of a tantrum, but out of the idea that we’ve been friends for ages, gone through a lot and we mean something to each other. It’s what my friend Annie calls “the contract”. Fred violated that contract by ignoring me and not even noticing he did something wrong. I wasn’t asking for a lot. I’d have settled with a phone call or email that said “NSLW, I’m busy/my wife kinda won’t let me see you/whatever other reason. But I’m glad you called.” I can be talked to. I understand, I listen and while I may not agree, I am there. But I felt chucked, like he broke the contract. So now that he’s all sweetness and love and wonders if I’m mad at him…. He can shove it up his ass. He was my BF for 11 years. He should know that I’m angry an surmise why. Maybe he’s forgotten all about our friendship, or maybe it didn’t mean anything to him at all. Whatever.

Oh, and the email? He didn’t even sign it “Fred” or any of his nicknames. He let the machine just fill in his full-name, phone numbers, etc, automated signature. Idiot.

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Spanish spoken here

April 4, 2007 at 7:21 am (Uncategorized)

I try to stay out of politics, as they usually give me a headache and leave me frustrated.

But this piece of news, though by now somewhat old, has me furious: For Newt Gingrich, bilingual education is the same as “the language of living in a ghetto“.

Gee, I didn’t know that I came from the ghetto! Because apparently, people who speak Spanish come from there. It enrages me. Not only are his comments hateful and racist, they are ignorant as to the reality of the Spanish-speaking population in this country. Yes, there are plenty Spanish-speaking people who live in a “ghetto” (a term with which I have problems as it is), but there are plenty more who don’t. And all of us, wherever we live or come from, whether immigrant or born here, are hard working, smart individuals. Speaking another language is part of our culture and not a threat to the US. Heck, pretty much every Spanish-speaking person I know is bilingual or -as in the case of the 60 year-old grandma who lives here with her daughter and grand kids- convinced that if you live here you need to learn English. I mean, look at me. My native language is Spanish, but here I am, writing in English.

Yet, apparently Mr. Gingrich finds us Spanish speakers so dangerous, and the language and culture we bring, that he forgot this country was built on the work and cultural influence of immigrants. Does he know that without Italian immigrants settling in NY and bringing their favorite snack to the US we wouldn’t have “Brooklyn-style pizza” ? And the next time he eats a bowl of nachos, will he remember that tortilla chips come from Mexico?

Eliminating cultural expressions and mandating only one language for a country is a bad idea. Even nature knows that variety is healthy. Plus, I know of at least one other politician that once decided that minority cultures could not speak their own language. His name was Franco, and he decided that the Catalan, Basque and Galician people could not speak their local languages. I also know what other horrid ideas he had and how close-minded his views were. Not good.

I think what Mr. Gingrich needs to do is get an education.

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