Since I turned 14 I’ve been traveling alone between the States and Mexico, either because it was summer and I had to go join my parents in the field work or it was time to start another school year in Guadalajara. I remember the first time I traveled by myself. At fourteen, I was going back to Guadalajara to start another middle school year. My parents decided I was old enough to take the family’s monies earned in the fields and orchards that year, so my mami improvised with a remnant of fabric and sewed me a little sac to hang from my neck and hide it in my bra with whatever amount they had been able to save that season(I imagine any amount between three and six thousand dollars). Once I got home I went to the bank, deposited the money and withdrew from there for my every day expenses when needed.
This past Wednesday, after two days of feeling sick to my stomach and having missed half a day at work, I decided to go to lunch. I chose to go eat sushi at my favorite sushi place in Dallas. I didn’t feel like having anything from the cafeteria at the building where I work, so off I went on my own, having not been able to find anyone with the whom to go. This is often the case with me, since I do not have an excess of “lunch” buddies. But I’m used to eating on my own. It’s the same thing with the movies. Most of the time I go alone, a tradition I also started in my teenage years.
I’m not a “normal” woman. I favor going to the public restrooms by myself in spite of knowing that most women go in packs. Being a lonely teenager, I had to face all this by myself. It was “dare on my own” or pee in public.
So there I was eating my Alaska Roll and soda and practicing my favorite activity when out in public spaces: people-watching. I love that. I love our diversity. Our beauty, our strength. So I watch how people eat, how they dress, how they interact. Anything and everything that occupies us, I love to observe. After all, my personal motto is “All things human.”
A table nearby was occupied with six adults finishing off their meal and I noticed a baby infant being passed between them. I assume it was a baby girl, since she was dressed in pink. All white and rosy, tiny, I guessed she was about two months old.
At some point the baby seemed about ready to start wailing and she ended with her mommy, who gave her a tender kiss on her forehead. The baby wiggled and after some seconds “somehow” calmed down and found her nook at her mother’s neck.
I imagined that I was sharing my lunch with my boss Laura (since she had been unable to join me) and telling her, “I know what that baby is thinking.” I imagined her asking me with that wit that characterizes her, “The baby is thinking, Margarita?”, so I corrected my comment, “If that baby could express herself in words I think I know what she would say. Something like this…
“People, please return me to that woman you call my Mommy. Remember that I just came out of a very safe and protected world of darkness and warmth, all my needs met. You are strangers to me and I don’t appreciate all this commotion. I want Mommy now. (She finally makes it “home”) Okay, here’s her heartbeat and her warmth, her laughter and her voice. And most of all, here’s her smell. Now if I could only find my way to her skin. Wait, let me follow her voice, okay, I think it’s that way. Bunk! I just found her. Yay! All better now.”
And then I remembered that it’s been twelve years since I held my Valentina like that, happy in the knowledge that I was hers and she was mine, that it was my nearness, and my smell she craved and needed. And I almost let myself go into my DM (Depression Mode), one of which I’m just pulling myself out after feeling ick. With my stroke-affected body (weakened left limbs) I do not know when or if I will be able to hold a baby again, since I can’t use my left arm to cradle an infant. “What if,” I asked myself, “What if it never comes to be that I will heal enough to feel that a baby will be safe in my arms? What if I die and it’s something that I will never be able to do, the humbling honor of holding a human infant?" This is a big one for me. Babies make me happy as few things do.
I admit I do envy women able to carry their lunch bags in their left hand; lug two or three bags on their left shoulder; pass me by in quick strides just like I used to almost three years ago, but I usually just make my prayers stronger and higher. Dear God, Dear God…
So I paid for my meal, grabbed my purple-flowered cane and limped my way to my car and DROVE myself (LOOK PA, ONE HAND!) back to work having convinced myself that I will definitely heal, and in this manner comforted myself with by my own hope-full thoughts.
Oh, may your life be blessed, beautiful baby girl I saw at The Blue Fish this past Wednesday.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Post #3 Am I a Tiger Mother?
I read Amy Chua's article about the alleged superiority of Chinese mothers versus Western moms. And yes, her book is next in line in my Nook to read (as soon as I finish The Memory Palace). My twelve-year-old daughter Valentina, the reason I ask myself if I'm a Tiger Mom, finished reading it two days ago.
I was raised by two Mexican peasants, with whom my younger sister and I worked the California fields and orchards, work we started doing at six and seven years of age. Both of them were truly loving and caring. But, my Papi, especially, was strict and demanding--"Chinese style" as defined by Chua, maybe less, when it came to education. He demanded A's and B's, though he would tell me he didn't "understand" B's, given that all my material needs such as food, shelter, clothing and health were taken care of. When said like that, I tell Valentina, I don't understand B's either.
I do expect academic excellence, and I expect her to expect it of herself, reason why I allowed her to read Chua's book. I tell myself that as she sees that other moms out there in the big real world can be tougher and meaner than me, maybe she will appreciate me and my parenting style a bit more.
Another thing. I want her to have fun, just not in class. I tell her going to school is her "going to work" like her mami and papi. Though both her parents love their jobs and are blessed for having them, getting up before seven to take a shower and showing up to work is not always fun, but you just never question if you should play hooky and skip going to work. In my mind such is the same for kids in school. A lot of brain work goes on during each class period (or should), and I don't believe it should be fun; challenging and engrossing, yes, but maybe fun is too extreme. I tell her to have fun during lunch or when she meets with her friends. Socializing is a vital aspect of life and that can only happen with your peers. So I do allow Valentina the sleepovers and the theater class (her passion).
Now does Valentina excell? She gets the A's and the B's, though she knows perfectly well she is expected to make the A Honor Roll. She lives a life of privilege and has the sufficient intelligence to minimally achieve this. She's a kind-hearted kid, she's healthy and most of the time she seems happy (though we're beginning to see the pre-adolescent emotional ups and downs). She's beginning to show that sass that I hope will serve her well in her adult life, bur for now makes my role as a mother, tougher. But piano and Kumon Math will continue to stay as a fixture in our lives. Maybe I'll go all Chinese on her and demand (oh the joy) a 30-minute practice at the piano. That would make me one happy Chinese/Mexican/Western mom.
I was raised by two Mexican peasants, with whom my younger sister and I worked the California fields and orchards, work we started doing at six and seven years of age. Both of them were truly loving and caring. But, my Papi, especially, was strict and demanding--"Chinese style" as defined by Chua, maybe less, when it came to education. He demanded A's and B's, though he would tell me he didn't "understand" B's, given that all my material needs such as food, shelter, clothing and health were taken care of. When said like that, I tell Valentina, I don't understand B's either.
I do expect academic excellence, and I expect her to expect it of herself, reason why I allowed her to read Chua's book. I tell myself that as she sees that other moms out there in the big real world can be tougher and meaner than me, maybe she will appreciate me and my parenting style a bit more.
Another thing. I want her to have fun, just not in class. I tell her going to school is her "going to work" like her mami and papi. Though both her parents love their jobs and are blessed for having them, getting up before seven to take a shower and showing up to work is not always fun, but you just never question if you should play hooky and skip going to work. In my mind such is the same for kids in school. A lot of brain work goes on during each class period (or should), and I don't believe it should be fun; challenging and engrossing, yes, but maybe fun is too extreme. I tell her to have fun during lunch or when she meets with her friends. Socializing is a vital aspect of life and that can only happen with your peers. So I do allow Valentina the sleepovers and the theater class (her passion).
Now does Valentina excell? She gets the A's and the B's, though she knows perfectly well she is expected to make the A Honor Roll. She lives a life of privilege and has the sufficient intelligence to minimally achieve this. She's a kind-hearted kid, she's healthy and most of the time she seems happy (though we're beginning to see the pre-adolescent emotional ups and downs). She's beginning to show that sass that I hope will serve her well in her adult life, bur for now makes my role as a mother, tougher. But piano and Kumon Math will continue to stay as a fixture in our lives. Maybe I'll go all Chinese on her and demand (oh the joy) a 30-minute practice at the piano. That would make me one happy Chinese/Mexican/Western mom.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Post #2 Black Swan
When I saw this movie a couple of weeks ago, I remember walking back to my car thinking what a great reason to have a blog-- the opportunity to talk about Black Swan. I mentally asked myself how such a post would start ... Here goes that first thought.
No I am not crazy, but "I get" crazy. That's how Black swan made me feel. No, it's not about ballet or art, though it relates to them in the sense of how we associate their expression with our concept of perfection.
If you've ever "observed'' yourself on the verge of a meltdown or a break from your "normal" you, you might be able to understand Natalie Portman's character's frail grip to reality. I've had many such experiences, not now but as a teenager and young adult. Going into psychoanalysis that first time was not just for the heck of it. I was in dire need of it. Like Natalie's young ballerina, we tend to be so secretive and we have a highly developed sense of what we think is shameful that --at least I never did-- we never dare step out of our tortured psyches.
Natalie's Nina is so intense, hypervigilant and hypercritical that it's truly painful to watch her go through so much that just might be resolved with a good talk. But all around her are all so self-involved that they have no eyes but for their own needs, that it seems evident we will not witness a happy ending. I realized that Portman truly embodied Nina's tormented soul when I saw her become the Black Swan-- her body needed no words to let us know what perfection in art can look like, even if we have to lose ouselves to achieve it. As I said, no I ain't crazy, but I get crazy.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Trust Me!: Post #1Okay, so why Trust Me!?First, because I'm...
Trust Me!: Post #1
Okay, so why Trust Me!?
First, because I'm...: "Post #1 Okay, so why Trust Me!? First, because I'm a woman, wife and mother. And I think we really are one of the most valuable elements of ..."
Okay, so why Trust Me!?
First, because I'm...: "Post #1 Okay, so why Trust Me!? First, because I'm a woman, wife and mother. And I think we really are one of the most valuable elements of ..."
Post #1
Okay, so why Trust Me!?
First, because I'm a woman, wife and mother. And I think we really are one of the most valuable elements of our planet.
I do have a problem you should know about: no topic of our nature as human beings is off the table for me. In my personal life I'm pretty square: maybe traditional and conformist, conventional. But in my heart I question everything--our values, our morals, our politics, our religions, our sexuality, our dedication to monotheism and monogamy, even if at the end of the day, Iwill opt to stay as a monotheist and monogamist, and pretty "normal" as you.
Another of my issues, is that I ask a lot of questions. Some pretty evident, and mostly unnecessary, but others hopefully not that stupid.
Okay, what else? I love to do things fast and as efficiently as possible, in my life at home and as a worker of the world.
No, I don't have a lot of friends. My few true friends are my soul mates and I tend to talk about everything under the sun with them. I love sitting at a table and listening to people talk about themselves, which tells you I am a good listener.
Through the years I've come to accept that you have the friends you deserve. In my five decades I've lost people I've loved dearly and had to accept that I did not deserve them, or maybe, they were not worthy of my love. So I lick my wounds and try in my pain to move on.
Something else. I'm one of those weirdos that thinks any silent pause is my fault, and therefore I somehow think I'm responsible to keep people at ease and talking, so there I go and ask more stuff, and sometimes this makes others feel uncomfortable if, say I ask about someone's sexual orientation, becaue in my book, there is nothing wrong with this question, it's just another aspect of our humanity.
Oh-oh. I apologize if I already said more than I should have.
Let us welcome silence, but I'm trustworthy, so trust me!
Margarita
Okay, so why Trust Me!?
First, because I'm a woman, wife and mother. And I think we really are one of the most valuable elements of our planet.
I do have a problem you should know about: no topic of our nature as human beings is off the table for me. In my personal life I'm pretty square: maybe traditional and conformist, conventional. But in my heart I question everything--our values, our morals, our politics, our religions, our sexuality, our dedication to monotheism and monogamy, even if at the end of the day, Iwill opt to stay as a monotheist and monogamist, and pretty "normal" as you.
Another of my issues, is that I ask a lot of questions. Some pretty evident, and mostly unnecessary, but others hopefully not that stupid.
Okay, what else? I love to do things fast and as efficiently as possible, in my life at home and as a worker of the world.
No, I don't have a lot of friends. My few true friends are my soul mates and I tend to talk about everything under the sun with them. I love sitting at a table and listening to people talk about themselves, which tells you I am a good listener.
Through the years I've come to accept that you have the friends you deserve. In my five decades I've lost people I've loved dearly and had to accept that I did not deserve them, or maybe, they were not worthy of my love. So I lick my wounds and try in my pain to move on.
Something else. I'm one of those weirdos that thinks any silent pause is my fault, and therefore I somehow think I'm responsible to keep people at ease and talking, so there I go and ask more stuff, and sometimes this makes others feel uncomfortable if, say I ask about someone's sexual orientation, becaue in my book, there is nothing wrong with this question, it's just another aspect of our humanity.
Oh-oh. I apologize if I already said more than I should have.
Let us welcome silence, but I'm trustworthy, so trust me!
Margarita
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