Monday, October 27, 2014
While I can't help be melancholy, I do look at the positive and the growth I have made for myself. What would have taken months to realize now only takes weeks. I'm a better communicator, I do what I can to be mindful of the other person and make sure there is a balance in how things are split and shared going into something. Above everything else, I've had to work through a lot of issues that dug into me and were tied with being undocumented.
I don't think that'll ever stop being an issue, for different reasons, but I'm in a better place with than I've ever been. It's not so much about being able to access services, the system, and all that jazz, but more with my past experiences and how those turned out for the worst because I didn't have both the mental and emotional maturity to process those experiences in a healthy fashion. Just thinking back on how I use to deal with dating and set backs and I can't help but laugh.
However my experiences dating come to an end, I'm in a place where it doesn't throw me in a loop or sidetrack me like it would have once. I like that, yet I'm still left with a sort of longing for companionship above anything else. I do so much that I eventually get to a point in which I wanna share it with someone else. Whether it's going to the movies, museum, art show or even a gala event, I want to share that with someone else who can appreciate it as much as I do or is willing to learn about it with me. I enjoy doing all this stuff by myself, but the experience of sharing with someone else makes it even more special.
But I think that has been an underlying issue with me all this time. Past relationships I've been in, I've been doing the same thing. I'm the one getting invited to cool art shows, parties, movies etc. I'm the one that's like: let's check this out, you know. Whether it's something subconscious or just how things turns out, I have yet to date someone who gives me a run for my money. And it's not like I'm looking for someone that knows about more events or things to do, but someone that'll compliment that. And vice versa. I dunno, it's complicated and the fact I can't define it for myself only adds to the frustration.
At the end of the day, I want what anyone else wants out of a romantic relationship: to be with someone they can connect to one a deeper emotional, metal, spiritual level. To be with someone that will compliment you and vice versa. Someone you can growth with. Learn from each other and try new things. Someone I can cuddle with while watching netflix, you know. Seems like the solution to my problems would be to adopt a cat/dog, but I'm gonna avoid that route altogether and just stick it out. When it comes to matters of the heart, I have endless patience.
Tuesday, October 07, 2014
Of all the sounds I remember growing up around as a kid, the music my father played in his drunken stuper's late into the night. Most Latinos/as and working class folks know what I'm talking about. Unless you didn't have a father figure in your life, which just makes this post awkward. Anyway, drunken father figures playing music really loud, yeah.
Growing up I wondered what the hell was going and why he needed 4 ft tall speakers to blast music I had no comprehension of, till now. Acting like a delayed recording that is only now kick in for various reasons, I find myself latching on to anything that plucks the strings of nostalgia. However, a lot of those romanticized memories come with the kind of emotional baggage and trauma that can slap you out of no where.
As a kid, I knew that my father getting drunk meant a few different things. It meant that random people would be over to the house, there would be barbecue on deck, a beer run to a store that also mean getting to buy a bunch of junk food and soda. That they would go late into the night talking about all sorts of random things while simultaneously playing music so loud that you can't hear anyone talk. And no matter how hard we pleaded with him to turn the music down or to go to sleep, it would just make it worse.
While I'm able to comprehend the situations I was in growing up with an alcoholic father, I find myself mirroring his behavior, for better or for worst. While I don't have kids to emotionally scar nor four foot speakers to blast music from when I'm drunk. I only have four inch speakers attached to a back pack, but some of the music is the same though. Sort of.
Rediscovering those tunes I heard in the middle of night as I tried to go to sleep have a different meaning now that I'm older and sober. I have a choice in how I can remember this music and I chose to enjoy it for what it is, music about heart-break and romance. Needless to say that my current binge of musical taste was inspired by real life events, but that's for another time.
Music today doesn't hold a candle to oldies and classics like Los Angeles Negros. It was another time and era, but their music is timeless. I literally spend hours listening to albums and playlist to rediscover as many bands as possible. And while my current obsession I'll eventually give way to heavy metal or wu-tang, I'll continue basking in them.
Saturday, October 04, 2014
That kind of stuff comes to my mind not only because I'm observant of my surroundings, but because I've recently been dwelling on the fact that I am a college drop out. When I started out in school, I wanted to get a journalism degree and graduate with that. For all those years I've spent at my community college and then getting politically active with the DREAMER/undocumented student movement, I reassessed those journalistic endeavors and decided to focus those skills somewhere else.
So what does it say when I find myself in spaces that celebrate institutional success in academia, politics, and other high end professions? I like to think that it's a combination of the work I do mixed with those I know and sprinkled with a little bit of actively putting myself in these spaces. Comparisons and wondering what if can't be helped in terms of self reflection. I goes along with the territory. But it's something I don't dwell on much.
For everything that could have been and is yet to be, I'm proud of who I am and how I got here. I respect friends who put in their time in academia for years and they work hard for their hustle. Game recognize game if you will. I like dwelling in these moments every once in a while because they provide an opportunity to continue to analyze my own personal growth and to keep it at 100.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Recently, upworthy, a click-bait wed site, decided to highlight an old-ish documentary I was a part of, Limbo. I for one thought it was hilarious how they dug it up and got some clicks out of it. There was a cool minute of folks seeing it for the first time and recognizing me. I'm proud to have done this documentary and I'm always happy to share it when appropriate with others, but something about Upworthy just bugs me the wrong way. It feels like my work is being taken for someone else's purposes, as if they're not sharing it correctly, that make sense? Nother thing I started to think about was how I never told the same story twice. I catered to different crowds, but more than anything I just got at "telling my story." I've practiced it so many times that I knew which points to hit and at what crowds to not only engage the audience, but to fuck with people too. They expect you to be all sob story and inspirational because you've over come adversity, but I'd be up there telling jokes and being all casual about it, because that's how I am. For example.....
In this video, which was made a year ago, I am completely being myself and purposely doing what you see me doing in those pics. Why? cause fuck it, that's why. I'm not trying to look "cool" or show off, nah. At that point I was just tired of the same old rhetoric that is that of the "DREAMERS" movement. I've since long stopped identifying that way and have moved beyond it because of the complexities of the human experience. But I ain't gonna lie, I ham that shit up hahaha
Monday, September 01, 2014
I was beginning to connect with friends and spaces that used bicycles as a point to connect to larger, systematic issues of in equality, harassment, lack of equal representation and advocacy. I never heard the phrase 'accidental environmentalist' until I started becoming part of those spaces and I realized how just riding my bike was another tool to organize with.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Every time I visit my family I notice how I'm taller than my parents, aunts, and uncles and my nieces, nephews, and cousins keep getting taller than I am. My immediate family, along with most of my extended family from my moms side, have been living in the state of Utah for the last seven years. Cheaper cost of living. I use to visit every summer, but over the years I've stopped going all together. I've seen my family here and there when they come to Los Angeles to visit, and this weekend was the first time in a long time that I've made the trip over there.
Before, I would make a summer trip out of it. I'd take a week off from what I'm doing and take Amtrak over there. This time around though, I'm better off financially than I've ever been and I can afford to fly over taking the bus or train. While I only spent two days over there, it was more than enough for me. While the more things change, the more they stay the same for the good and the bad.
I've missed out on a lot of things in terms of my family and I've been ok with that. When I decided to leave I knew it was for the better and what I needed. Standing here now and being able to tell them how good I'm doing puts all those sacrifices in perspective. I've missed seeing my sisters grow into young women and into mothers. As much as I wanna pick up and hug my nieces, they're still to young to understand that they have an uncle who cares about them. Seeing them turn away and cry when I reach out to them sums it up nicely.
In the past, it was distance and time that kept me away from visiting. Now a days, what keeps me away is more of a cultural divide. My parents have always know I was going to be different from what they expected, if they expected anything at all. They thrusted me into American culture without hesitation that there's no way for me to be anything else but Mexican American. Here in LA, I cherish and protect that which reminds me of the home I shared with my family growing up and the one I left at seven years old to come to the US.
I'll go out of my way just to reminisce about something because I look through a romanticized lens. I think back on how good it was the first and no matter how hard I try, it's just not the same. That's how I am with my family. I've grown and changed dramatically from how my family pictures me. I know this cause they were surprised to see me karaoking to Selena and dancing cumbias. They've never known me to do any of that kind of stuff, let alone bask in it.
My family ask how I'm doing, and me saying "good" is enough for them. Being there again for my least favorite sisters' wedding felt like being in a bubble, mostly because that's how things are over there for them. My sisters may be moms now and are moving out to live with their partners, my parents keep getting shorter the older they get because they're from the old world like that, along with all those aunts, uncles, and cousins who suddenly have a hard time remembering me because of my facial hair.
During the party on Saturday night, it hit me on what I was missing out on by not being there. I shared my first dance with my mom, along with one of my nieces. I shared drinks with men who I use to literally look up to. I saw how through years of family drama, almost everyone was still keeping it together and supporting each other. All those familiar faces from parties of yesteryear were still there and it seemed like I never left in the place. Kids are running around everywhere, boy and girls separating to do their own thing while the teens try and look all cool and grown up with each other.
I really wonder what idea and/or image they have of me. I rarely talk about the kind of work I do, let alone that I'm active in organizing and social justice spaces. But I know they've seen or heard something or other cause my parents would probably say something when asked about me. That and the fact that I use to be on spanish news segments every once in a while back in the day. Those are the kinds of conversations I use to be around as a kid. I always hated them because despite being right there in front of them, they would talk about you in the third person.
Then there's inkling in me to want to talk to my older cousins, nieces, and nephews about what they're doing and what they might have planned. I wanna ask them how they're doing in school and if they are even thinking about college. To offer myself and all of my resources to help them get to where they wanna get. To leave the family behind for a while and go do their own thing. But I don't know them like to be asking anything other than if they remember me.
There's a lot of lamenting on my part for what could have been and for what isn't. I move forward knowing the choices I made can't be change, but they can be mended. Once my nieces get older and can speak in full sentences, then maybe that's when I'll start visiting on a more regular basis.