Goodbye 2011

As 2011 draws to an end, I have sat down to assess this year: my mistakes, my successes, my growth...
This year has been incredible in many ways and it has also been full of challenges and surprises.
I have been very blessed with health and the love and support of many people who have also lived to see another year. I have grown much closer to God, which I can say with all honesty is the best feeling in the world. I am officially engaged to the love of my life. My cousin and his family have finally moved to the US and the prospects of reunification with the rest of the family that I have left in Cuba are very encouraging.
My first semester as a philosophy major was also my hardest. I had never in my life studied so much or dedicated so much time to school. I had almost no free weekends, practically lived at the library and had so many all-nighters that I can't even remember how many they were. However, it was my most rewarding semester at FIU and for that I am grateful.
I changed my hair color to what, apparently, suits me best. I was constant and determined in my diet, which along with the support from my fiance, led me to success.
I was more adventurous, took more risks, had more fun, lived bigger and louder...
Finally, I grew closer to some people who have become very important in my life and, for one reason or another, grew apart from others that I still love very much. The latter situation I highly regret and hope to fix in 2012.

Well, what else can I say? I just can't wait for 2012: my wedding, graduation, family reunification, my 6th birthday (yes, there will be February 29th)... I know it is going to be my best year yet. :) 

Happy New Year!!!

Beautifully Flawed

SOMETIMES WE MUST LEARN THAT BEAUTY CONSISTS NOT IN AESTHETICS, BUT IN FUNCTION. LOVE YOUR EVERY FLAW, THERE'S A REASON YOU HAVE IT: IT'S THERE TO SERVE YOU!

I love my big eyes that let me appreciate the purple hues of sunset, the vibrant greens of the forest and the depth of the sea.
I love my feet and their high arches that bring me pain at night because the soreness is a reminder of the places that I’ve been to and a lesson of humility that makes me understand how critical the support of others is in everything I do.
I love my bony knees and robust thighs because they allow me to run to my destination.
I love the scars on my skin because they tell stories of days that will never come back.
I love the expression lines that have begun forming in my face because they are witness to my humanity.
I love my heavy breasts—which will one day feed my children—because when they bring me pain they also talk about the mysteries of motherhood and the joy in sacrificing everything for the most sublime of loves.
I love my broad back and shoulders because they are willing to carry the weight of the world.
I love my strong jaw because it shows my determined character.
I love my small hands because they keep me in check by never letting me grab more than I need, while being soft enough to transmit love in just one touch.

I love my body because it’s a product of God’s design, a house for my soul and a shrine for Him. Yes, it might be imperfect, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Great Expectations

Buddhists say that human suffering is pretty easy to explain: people suffer because they ignore that everything is impermanent and because they want things. I'd say that people suffer because they expect too much.

We expect to be recognized for the great job we did on an assignment. We expect to be reciprocated in our affections, or simply, even if we don't do things implicitly expecting to receive something in return, we would at least like it if someone showed some gratitude or at least satisfaction with what we have done for them. But life acts in curious ways and usually the people that you expect the most from are from whom you should expect the least.
Prepare yourself for disappointment, because in life that is what we are all set for. And if you should expect something, just expect the unexpected.

C'est la vie

Sometimes I think about the many things that I want and sometimes expect and demand out of life. Sometimes I even have the courage to weave my plans into prayers, in hopes that God will one day decide to grant at least one of my countless wishes; but now that I sit down to assess what I have, I realize that I need nothing else and that God, in His infinite love, has always answered.
I am not only fortunate for having so much, but especially because I am so undeserving of everything. What have I given? What have I done for others? I have spent a self-centered lifetime worrying about a future that hasn't come--and might never come. I have repeatedly let the empty promise of tomorrow dictate the course of today. Why do I worry so much about life? It has always been me making it hard to live all along.
It has been in my quickness to judge myself and in the harshness of my self-critique that I have become bitter and hard on others. I've had a tendency to make radical statements that I will later regret, because in spite of my not-so-positive view of myself, I've always considered myself superior in one department.
I thought that it would be impossible for me to give up on my dreams and my plans of future success; all this based on the solid belief that my human dignity depended on my capacity to stand by my word and to demonstrate tenacity in the face of adversity. "I am not like them", I thought, whenever I saw that old classmate who "ruined" her or his chances in life by dropping out of college or having a child "too early" by societal standards. I would judge those who bailed out on their families or their relationships or who simply wasted their talents and led "mediocre" lives. But I wasn't any different from any of them. In fact, I'm not. I have my fair share of unfinished business: the words that were never said and were left hanging to dry in midair, the ideas that never materialized, the helping hand that was never offered, the book that was never finished, the life that started 22 years ago but was only occasionally lived.  There is no use in trying to differentiate the fool that I am from the rest of the fools. It will not make me any better, just an ignorant fool who cannot comprehend this universal struggle to become. "To become what?", I think, but I have no answer. There's no need for an answer, at least not until we are ready to meet the end of it all.
Today I am stepping down from this sickening treadmill that kept my eyes so glued to the finish line to let me realize that I had become a prisoner of the road. I have realized that for every person--for you, for me--there will come a time when he/she'll be too tired to fold the laundry or to do the dishes. Eventually, we'll forget to charge our phones and to go to meetings,and we'll purposely get drunk the night before exams.And it will be then,in the midst of apathy,that we'll wonder if this is what growing old is all about or if we have simply lost the will to live. It will be then that you'll realize that those things don't matter anymore,simply because--as I have already figured out-- they truly never did.

Turn right! No! Turn left! Will you finally make up your mind?

After a Spring semester swimming in hopelessness, I finally found the light at the end of the tunnel. No, I did not die and I am not using Hades' UnderNet to post this. I did, however, go through hell a couple of times in deciding my future.
Remember all that BS I wrote a few months ago about the importance of becoming a journalist? The truth is I was trying to channel my own dissatisfaction with my decision and attempting to add some meaning to an otherwise frustrating career. I thought I would be able to convince myself that I had made the right choice, but I could not. While it is true that I chose to become a journalist--in part because I enjoy writing--the idea of dealing with pointless assignments and bossy editors for the rest of my days did not come across with even one hint of appeal. My wish was to transform a profession that starves those who speak the truth and rewards flawed "fact-giving" and repetition into a platform for social transformation. I wanted to turn what I thought of as my only talent into the way of fulfilling my life mission: to serve. Journalism, however, is not the right front to fight that battle, at least not for me.
For months I stalled as much as I could to take the Grammar Exam that would grant me full admission to the School of Communications. When I reached 60 credits, the dreaded day when I had to declare my major, I chose to wait, and here I am, at 74 credits with no declared major, YET. I realized that two things could be going wrong: either journalism was not my passion or I was naturally anxious as I faced the imminent decision that would affect "the rest of my life". When I told my father that I was struggling with my decision, he thought my dilemma was related to the latter and turned down every possible career I brought to his attention.
Every week, the dinner table would become a range where my father gunned my every proposal down, and no one ever turned out victorious. All of a sudden, everyone in my family got involved in the debates. I heard opinions from everyone. My boyfriend and my sister showed unconditional support for any decision, whereas everyone else wanted me to be a doctor, a dentist and everything in between that I never had an inclination to be. It's as if money was all they ever thought about. What about personal satisfaction? I was even more confused than at the beginning. I had always known what I wanted and was overcome by a sense of failure. I had to tell everyone to stay out of it until I finally worked it out.
After some thought, I am able to wear a smile on my face again. I have finally communicated my decision: I'm going back to what I wanted to be before my mom made me believe that I would not be successful at it, simply because she wanted me to defend her when she was unmistakably wrong. Sixteen courses away from graduation, I am changing my major to Criminal Justice and pursuing a degree as a Juris Doctor as soon as I graduate in Fall '11. Harvard Law School, here I come!

Departures

I've always been the kind of girl whose life you can predict: nice house, three children, a quiet marriage, a successful professional life until the day she has kids. Why people could possibly find me to be predictable is no surprise to me. I have made myself look like I have everything planned and under control right from the start; but recently I have discovered that those were not really my plans. Maybe they were expectations; everyone's but mine. I wanted to make my parents proud, regardless of my constant use of the line, "I don't care what anyone thinks." Well, apparently, I do.
I think back, probably a good eighteen years, to when I was a little kid growing up in Cuba, promising my dad that one day I would run down the steps of Havana University and hand him my diploma, his diploma. Why? Honestly, I do not know why. My dad already went to college, twice. He doesn't need a third diploma.

Don't get me wrong: I love learning. If I could stay in school until I died, I would. I'd gladly be an educated corpse; but I have always tied myself down to expectations and certain standards that had to be met. My career choice was far from my passions in life, and the prospect of getting married, settling down, paying bills, having two weeks of vacation every year, raising kids to see them go off to college and get married, and having a miserable "rest of my life", does not sound very appealing to me. Actually, my entire life up to this point, or at least what I thought would have nicely played out as my "future life", turned out to be a lie and the epitome of everything I do not want to become.

I want to wake up in Madrid one morning and in Jakarta the next. I want to be free to travel, to experience life, to taste the flavors of the world, to not be tied down by anything or anyone. I want to go to bed at night, or maybe at noon, and still know that I am doing what I want to do and that I am where I want to be; no regrets, no "what ifs." I want to be that 87-year-old lady bungee jumping in India and dying on the back of an elephant while refusing to receive medical care because she knows better and she can dance it away. I want to dance in the rain and not worry about catching a cold and having to pay a medical bill the size of the Empire State. I want to be a personal trainer, a photographer, a marine biologist, a historian, a detective, a mother, a wife, a lover, a companion, a friend, a history professor, a Red Cross volunteer, an adventurer, a writer, and I want to do it without having to ask for permission, without having to give any reasons.

I want to know that my father is proud of the woman I am, not of what society has deemed as "accomplishments". I do not want him to be embarrassed to say that his daughter is a bohemian who makes a living out of random freelancing. I don't want him to be afraid to say that his daughter did not climb up the corporate ladder, that she was not a lawyer or a famous person, but that she refused to bow down to a boss, to have a miserable job doing something she hates and obeying a structure of oppression and rules that she doesn't believe in. I don't want my unborn babies to dictate the course of my life. I want to satisfy my wander lust and to feed my curiosity. I want to quench this insatiable thirst. I want to answer my call to serve.

I want to be myself without excuses, and that should be good enough; but there is a problem: I am a coward. I could walk away from this nightmare right now before it is too late to do so, before I get tangled up in a miserable existence that people choose to call "life." It's not too late yet to save the world, but I am a coward. I am afraid to hurt, to disappoint. I tell myself that two years down the road, when I finally have my blessed degree, I can walk away from all this and start over; but I know it's not true. If it were true I wouldn't have to wait. I would just do it now. If it were true I would be in Haiti building houses and feeding orphans; but I am here, in the comfort of a suburban home, just dreaming of that moment when I can finally depart.

Finally!

I don't have much to say today, but I had to point out Joaquin Phoenix's transformation. The man finally shaved the nasty beard off. Good-bye hobo, hello sexy!