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!

Tales of Mere Existence

Tonight, as I was chilling out with my 10-year-old sister in the wee hours of the night, we came across a really funny video on YouTube. The video was linked to several other videos by the same author. It just so happened to be part of a series named "Tales of Mere Existence" by Lev Yilmaz.
The reason I mention this is because I utterly recommend watching the small clips. They consist of hand-drawn animations and the author's--in my opinion, sexy--voice in the background.
The humor is priceless, at least from my sarcastic point of view. What makes the videos comical is how they suddenly play out to be a  reflection of reality. They actually made me think a little about my own attitudes in life and how I treat others. I suddenly realized how annoying and complicated I can be. I'm glad I still have David by my side. For those who don't know him, at least God and I know the man is a hero.
For now, I bid you farewell. The time is: "very late!" I should be going to bed, and if you are reading this now, maybe you should, too.

Here's a link to the video that got me hooked! :D TALES OF MERE EXISTENCE

MONEY PROBLEM$

Have you ever stopped to look at your bank account and found it virtually empty?


In our virtual reality of online banking, money is anything but real. I have found that in my life it certainly isn't anymore. Rarely ever do I touch money, which has probably brought up my immunodeficiency by a good percentage. Bills and coins are a thing of the past. I have only to take out my magic card which will, with the speed of a swipe, solve all my problems. Even the bus fare is paid via an electronic card. Parking meters are now easily paid by phone when you provide the wonderful digits that some bank has assigned to you. For Pete's sake, I know one good day even the people who sell you water while you speed your way down Calle 8 will only take plastic.

I can see money die down for the sake of our convenience, the same way it once replaced the exchange of goods. Actually, at one point I even thought it was more convenient to have a credit or debit card than to have cash in my wallet, because it would stop me from spending it all. All I had to worry about was keeping up with a small numbers game and some basic math. I had to remember how much I had and how much I owed; but when how much you have is not tangible, you tend to disregard the value of money and even forget how much you truly own. That said, plastic is the first step to incurring in excessive overdraft and bank fees, and it is an excellent highway to bankruptcy.

I also remember the good old days when I used to carry only the cash I needed, maybe while running the risk of having my wallet stolen or forgotten somewhere, but never with the worry of having my identity stolen by someone in Georgia while I work my butt off in Miami to fill up their gas tank.

Unfortunately, many people think that the number of cards they have is equivalent to their worth as persons. They flash them like badges that reveal socioeconomic status. I truly concur with the badge analogy: you simply flash your status as a slave to a banking institution. You would think that to a bank you are a valuable client until the day you stop paying. Believe me, the day you stop paying you are more of an asset than a liability. You are valuable because you will end up paying them three times your debt by the time you are done paying it off, if you ever do. That is why they will give you more spending credit when you pay in a timely fashion: they want you to get carried away and hopefully fall into their trap. It is a diabolic scheme, to say the least.

I think one day we will understand the dangers of plastic. Yes, it is convenient and fast, but dangerous and potentially destructive even for those who consider themselves financially responsible. Most people will learn this very late and in the worst way possible. Some will end up cutting up their cards or freezing them next to their packages of Purdue chicken in fear that their $100,000 debt will escalate even further. All I know is that only with time do human beings see the effects of "development and progress." Maybe fifty years from now, in the same way that we are bringing back canvas bags as “ecobags” to replace polyethylene, we'll be bringing back paper and metal to replace plastic.

A Hand for Haiti

I usually try to make my blog a reflection of my thoughts instead of a reflection of my day; but today my reflection will be anything but poetic and philosophical. Today's entry--more like a missive-- is about real life, and not just the crazy thoughts of this bohemian's love for life and righteousness.

Two days ago I was bored out of my mind on my way home from a beautiful afternoon spent by my love's side. Such a perfect day ended up being clouded by calamity and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness as soon as I read on CNN Mobile the terrible news about the earthquake in Haiti.

I'm usually a sympathetic person, but my feelings are more than sympathetic. On that day, and the ones that have followed, I have been emotionally devastated. I cry every time I see the news on TV, the hopeless faces, the crying children, the destruction and the chaos that the good people of Haiti have yet to overcome. My eyes still overflow at the mere thought of the tragedy.

I've been wondering why such things happen, and as a Christian and a person of faith I have no answer. Hurricane Katrina, the 2004 tsunami, world hunger and so many other catastrophes that we have no control over, but expect God to control. Actually, many people see it as though it is His will for these things to happen; but I cannot accept it. I refuse to believe that a loving God, the one that I know and whose work in my life I am living proof of, could have brought so much misery upon the already poor and weak of the earth. I have no doubt that God's involvement in this terrible earthquake is only limited to helping us heal and cope, and sending out a call to help our neighbors and brothers in this hour of need.

I know how much Haiti needs our help to reconstruct the country, but especially to put back together their shattered hope and faith. Thus, as a Christian, as a citizen of the world, as a member of the one and only race--the human race--I invite you and beg you to help our Haitian brothers and sisters with your time, money or at least your prayers. It is in times like this that our humanity—that which we claim makes us different from animals—is challenged. I know that there is a difference between being a human being and being human. Only with global cooperation will we hold this world together. Let's lend a helping hand.

Thank you for your support. God bless you.

Untangling life

Life is complicated. Life is not fair. How many times have I heard those same lines from all kinds of people? How many times have I said those lines myself? How many times until I stop hearing them play again and again in my head like a cheesy Mexican telenovela?
Indeed, life is complicated and not fair, at least for those who do not understand it; for those who do, life can play out to be quite simple. It is a matter of understanding that, whereas the expected relationship should be that of sowing what you have planted, the secret of good farming lies in being mindful of the possibility that sometimes the seeds can be good, the soil can be perfect and the care might be the best, but there might be no fruits. Factors that the farmer cannot control will inevitably affect his crops. All that there is to do is to work hard and to hope for the best.
We must recognize that sometimes our efforts are not enough. We must have faith. We must be diligent, tenacious and determined, but most of all, we must trust, not in the fruits of our work, but in our capacity to start over. Let us then reconsider our role and concentrate not in worldly success or status, nor in the collection of goods or the growth of fortunes, but in the only growth that should matter: that of our soul.