Three years ago today, I was in excruciating labor ... waiting anxiously and admittedly not so patiently for my daughter to enter the world ... I never imagined it would be like this. That I would be raising her as a single parent ... I just never pictured it this way. Perhaps that's why I put up with her father as long as I did ... It pains me that it is the way it is but I know that it couldn't be any other way ... I couldn't be with that man, couldn't raise her in that ... Still, to this day, a year and a half after it ended, I'm still picking up the pieces ... I know I'm doing the best that I can but I'm starting to realize that in trying to be a good mom while pursuing my dreams and enduring the daily struggle that often is life, I've negated myself and my needs ... I'm lonely ... and it's starting to eat at me ...
I'm a picky person across the board but particularly with people I let into my circle ... but I've noticed that I've become more so since having my nena ... and since my relationship with her father failed ... I've been so cautious and hesitant to introduce another man into her life that I've forgotten that I also exist in the equation ... It's human to want companionship, creature comfort, but I often demand superhuman things from myself ... and more often than not, that keeps me going and doing amazing things ... but in this situation, I'm not sure what purpose it's served ... Perhaps I used it as an excuse to hide ... to "protect" my heart ... to build a wall ... And what most kills me is that now that I've found someone that I feel that I can and want to open up to, he isn't ready ... needs his own time to take care of himself and lick his own wounds ... and I'm left in the same space I was before, alone and wondering when it will happen to me ...
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
It's just all so much
That was the most appropriate blog title I could think of 'cause right now that's how I feel - it's just all so much ...
My nena turns three tomorrow and I celebrated with a party yesterday. It took a whole lot of planning, organizing and money ... and all her dad contributed was the cake ... but whatever, I still did it 'cause I'm her mom and that's what I do. She had a blast and me ... well, I was overcome by so many emotions ... which I'm sure were exacerbated by the fact that I'm in the midst of my "woman cycle" ...
So, a few weeks ago, I walked out of a shoe store and saw my baby daddy's girlfriend. I went up to her and introduced myself. I've been wanting to meet her simply because she is in my daughter's life. Her energy was surprisingly cool thus any misgivings I may have had were assuaged. I invited her to Vasialys's birthday party because, again, she is in my nena's life and no matter what, it all comes down to my nena and giving her some semblance of a functional relationship between her dad and I. I didn't expect the whirl of emotions that ensued when they arrived to my nena's party.
I was so busy that I didn't notice (until my sister brought it to my attention) that baby daddy's girl had a ring on her engagement finger. Wow! Let me be clear, I do not in any way, shape or form want that man back. He turned out to be a malicious, jealous, insensitive, controlling man that was completely at odds with my personality and ambitions ... hence we fell apart. Still, finding out that he not only has someone else in his life but is also planning on marrying her stirred emotions in me I am still grappling with.
When I told him that I was planning a party, he insisted that he didn't have any money and could not be a part of it. Even getting him to get the cake was a mission ... so to see a ring on her finger after finding out just a month or so ago that he bought a house with the chick sent me reeling. I mean, you couldn't help me organize OUR daughter's party, contributed in a miniscule way because you were allegedly short on cash, yet you put a ring on someone's finger! Where are your priorities?!
And while it's not jealousy, I guess I'm also at a loss as to why and how someone so not nice and often meanspiritied can possibly have found someone while I am still alone ... and the one I do want, right now isn't in the state of mind or heart to want me back ... So my feelings of being alone were amplified ... I wonder when it's going to happen to me. When am I going to find that someone to make me feel ready to share my life after all this time ... Why is it so easy for men to move on while we are far too often left dealing with the remnants of a damaged heart? With everything that I have going on, I barely have time for me but I still want someone to share that with ... to talk to ... to soothe me ... *sighs*
I started a tradition on Vasialys's first birthday - I created a hopes and dreams box where people write their name, relation to Vasia and a wish or dream they have for her. I read them a while ago and saw that baby daddy's girl entered her relation to Vasia as "step mom". Yes, that made me angry for a moment. I mean, you only see my daughter once every other week, are in her father's life but barely in hers and you think you merit that title. I am her mother. There is no place for any "step's" ... and perhaps that's me being possessive but I don't see anyone fitting those shoes. To me, a stepmom is someone who is much more engaged ... one who holds that title perhaps is more deeply involved in the raising of that child ... so in my eyes Vasia has no stepmom, she has one mother - me - and that will NEVER change ... And a part of me feels guilty for feeling this way because I've noticed that Vasia feels affection for this woman. She's mentioned her in the past ... actually, that's how I find out her name - because Vasia told me ... and having more people to love her is great thing ... Still, I'm torn about it. She's my heaven and I don't want to share that bond with anyone ... Yes, I know that may be selfish but it is what it is ...
And I thought I was wrapping up the second novel only for my Muse to then introduce a new character and thus thicken the plot. It's like now that I've given my Muse free rein, she wants to take it to another level, make my characters more complex ... and while that's a good thing, it's also an odd feeling that's taking me some time to come to terms with. I don't want to nor will I rush the novel but it's "weird" not knowing where it will go next, how it will develop and end ... I truely do have another person dwelling within my psyche for my Muse is a personality unto herself.
I also have an author to interview and an article to write on Latinas in the urban genre. In addition, I'm planning on getting my first novel translated into Spanish ... All this while having a full time job, searching for another, and, more importantly, raising my daughter ... it's just so much ... And while I wouldn't have it any other way, because my daughter and writing are the air I breathe, for the past few days I've been feeling overwhelmed ... my energy is off, patience is low and sanity is teetering ... Hence why I wrote this blog because writing has always been cathartic, a purge that helps me cope and piece myself together when I'm feel like I'm coming apart at the seams ...
My nena turns three tomorrow and I celebrated with a party yesterday. It took a whole lot of planning, organizing and money ... and all her dad contributed was the cake ... but whatever, I still did it 'cause I'm her mom and that's what I do. She had a blast and me ... well, I was overcome by so many emotions ... which I'm sure were exacerbated by the fact that I'm in the midst of my "woman cycle" ...
So, a few weeks ago, I walked out of a shoe store and saw my baby daddy's girlfriend. I went up to her and introduced myself. I've been wanting to meet her simply because she is in my daughter's life. Her energy was surprisingly cool thus any misgivings I may have had were assuaged. I invited her to Vasialys's birthday party because, again, she is in my nena's life and no matter what, it all comes down to my nena and giving her some semblance of a functional relationship between her dad and I. I didn't expect the whirl of emotions that ensued when they arrived to my nena's party.
I was so busy that I didn't notice (until my sister brought it to my attention) that baby daddy's girl had a ring on her engagement finger. Wow! Let me be clear, I do not in any way, shape or form want that man back. He turned out to be a malicious, jealous, insensitive, controlling man that was completely at odds with my personality and ambitions ... hence we fell apart. Still, finding out that he not only has someone else in his life but is also planning on marrying her stirred emotions in me I am still grappling with.
When I told him that I was planning a party, he insisted that he didn't have any money and could not be a part of it. Even getting him to get the cake was a mission ... so to see a ring on her finger after finding out just a month or so ago that he bought a house with the chick sent me reeling. I mean, you couldn't help me organize OUR daughter's party, contributed in a miniscule way because you were allegedly short on cash, yet you put a ring on someone's finger! Where are your priorities?!
And while it's not jealousy, I guess I'm also at a loss as to why and how someone so not nice and often meanspiritied can possibly have found someone while I am still alone ... and the one I do want, right now isn't in the state of mind or heart to want me back ... So my feelings of being alone were amplified ... I wonder when it's going to happen to me. When am I going to find that someone to make me feel ready to share my life after all this time ... Why is it so easy for men to move on while we are far too often left dealing with the remnants of a damaged heart? With everything that I have going on, I barely have time for me but I still want someone to share that with ... to talk to ... to soothe me ... *sighs*
I started a tradition on Vasialys's first birthday - I created a hopes and dreams box where people write their name, relation to Vasia and a wish or dream they have for her. I read them a while ago and saw that baby daddy's girl entered her relation to Vasia as "step mom". Yes, that made me angry for a moment. I mean, you only see my daughter once every other week, are in her father's life but barely in hers and you think you merit that title. I am her mother. There is no place for any "step's" ... and perhaps that's me being possessive but I don't see anyone fitting those shoes. To me, a stepmom is someone who is much more engaged ... one who holds that title perhaps is more deeply involved in the raising of that child ... so in my eyes Vasia has no stepmom, she has one mother - me - and that will NEVER change ... And a part of me feels guilty for feeling this way because I've noticed that Vasia feels affection for this woman. She's mentioned her in the past ... actually, that's how I find out her name - because Vasia told me ... and having more people to love her is great thing ... Still, I'm torn about it. She's my heaven and I don't want to share that bond with anyone ... Yes, I know that may be selfish but it is what it is ...
And I thought I was wrapping up the second novel only for my Muse to then introduce a new character and thus thicken the plot. It's like now that I've given my Muse free rein, she wants to take it to another level, make my characters more complex ... and while that's a good thing, it's also an odd feeling that's taking me some time to come to terms with. I don't want to nor will I rush the novel but it's "weird" not knowing where it will go next, how it will develop and end ... I truely do have another person dwelling within my psyche for my Muse is a personality unto herself.
I also have an author to interview and an article to write on Latinas in the urban genre. In addition, I'm planning on getting my first novel translated into Spanish ... All this while having a full time job, searching for another, and, more importantly, raising my daughter ... it's just so much ... And while I wouldn't have it any other way, because my daughter and writing are the air I breathe, for the past few days I've been feeling overwhelmed ... my energy is off, patience is low and sanity is teetering ... Hence why I wrote this blog because writing has always been cathartic, a purge that helps me cope and piece myself together when I'm feel like I'm coming apart at the seams ...
Friday, August 10, 2007
On that wrenching emotion
I'm a love addict. Most who know me would say that I'm not ... that I can't possibly be ... that most love addicts are co-dependent, can't be alone, etc. That's not me. I'm fine being single ... I don't settle for less ... or at least haven't in a long time ... and at the moment I'm comfortable with my present status despite the reality that loneliness and the want to share my life with someone has been creeping into my psyche for some time ... Still, I know I'm a love addict. Why? Well, because despite all my heartbreaks and disappointments, despite being cheated on, rebuffed, feeling the misery of unrequited love ... despite the fact that I have yet to find my prince ... or, rather, he has yet to find me, I still believe in love ... in the magic and the euphoria that is love ... in the sweaty palms, palpitating heart, ladybugs dancing in your cheeks making you smile and giggle like a schoolgirl ... I still believe.
A dear friend of mine inspired this blog. She's fresh out of a relationship. The first real relationship she's ever really had. The first time she's ever been in love and given herself to it. This at the ripe age of 30. And she was crushed ... This man (that bastard!) stole her naivete, her innocence ... he stole the beautiful view she had of love ... and now she's jaded and questioning whether it was all worth it. I contend that it is but also understand why she's such a cynic at the moment. She's going through the motions of self-healing. She has to doubt and wonder and question and be angry and sad and frustrated. It's part of the process ... I just hope that she comes out of it with a renewed view on love. Perhaps it was that she had an unrealistic view of love. Perhaps she expected too much or too little. He created this world for her, a world where he would do anything and everything to win her affections. She held back for some time and when he'd finally convinced her, when he'd won her over and made her fall in love, he ripped it all away ... How brutal! And to experience this now after all these years of waiting ... I can't fathom what that feels like ...
What's most disturbing is that this woman is so full of love ... she's one of the few people in my sorority that I've kept in contact with all these years ... she's just so genuine and true and caring ... so to have someone violate her so vilely and carelessly is infuriating. I want to kick his ass! ... what I most fear, however, is that she'll lose that optimism that she's always had ... that made me see the brighter side of things when I was down ... that cheered me up and made me hopeful ... She was one of those few people who always saw the sunny side of things ... and it would really be a injury to the world for her to lose that because they are so few people on this earth like that ...
So when she calls me and we discuss love and she reveals how she just doesn't feel it's worth it ... and says, "why bother if it's going to end?" ... I cringe ... I wince because part of me can relate and empathize. I've been there. I've been so deeply wounded that I shunned love and all it's complexities. And I ultimately ended up cheating myself ...
Love is what separates us from the savages. We as humans need love, crave it, seek it. We want companionship and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that ... so yes, it is worth it. It's worth the risk and the possibility of getting hurt ... Why? Because of the heavenly feeling of being in love and feeling loved. You feel unstoppable, unbreakable ... like nothing can touch you or taint you or stop you ... you feel superhuman ... you feel like shouting it from the highest mountaintop. There's nothing like that feeling ... and even if it is fleeting, goddamn it's worth the risk! Just to feel the magic ... it's worth it ... every second ... every minute ... every smile and every tear ... it's so damn worth it!
A dear friend of mine inspired this blog. She's fresh out of a relationship. The first real relationship she's ever really had. The first time she's ever been in love and given herself to it. This at the ripe age of 30. And she was crushed ... This man (that bastard!) stole her naivete, her innocence ... he stole the beautiful view she had of love ... and now she's jaded and questioning whether it was all worth it. I contend that it is but also understand why she's such a cynic at the moment. She's going through the motions of self-healing. She has to doubt and wonder and question and be angry and sad and frustrated. It's part of the process ... I just hope that she comes out of it with a renewed view on love. Perhaps it was that she had an unrealistic view of love. Perhaps she expected too much or too little. He created this world for her, a world where he would do anything and everything to win her affections. She held back for some time and when he'd finally convinced her, when he'd won her over and made her fall in love, he ripped it all away ... How brutal! And to experience this now after all these years of waiting ... I can't fathom what that feels like ...
What's most disturbing is that this woman is so full of love ... she's one of the few people in my sorority that I've kept in contact with all these years ... she's just so genuine and true and caring ... so to have someone violate her so vilely and carelessly is infuriating. I want to kick his ass! ... what I most fear, however, is that she'll lose that optimism that she's always had ... that made me see the brighter side of things when I was down ... that cheered me up and made me hopeful ... She was one of those few people who always saw the sunny side of things ... and it would really be a injury to the world for her to lose that because they are so few people on this earth like that ...
So when she calls me and we discuss love and she reveals how she just doesn't feel it's worth it ... and says, "why bother if it's going to end?" ... I cringe ... I wince because part of me can relate and empathize. I've been there. I've been so deeply wounded that I shunned love and all it's complexities. And I ultimately ended up cheating myself ...
Love is what separates us from the savages. We as humans need love, crave it, seek it. We want companionship and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that ... so yes, it is worth it. It's worth the risk and the possibility of getting hurt ... Why? Because of the heavenly feeling of being in love and feeling loved. You feel unstoppable, unbreakable ... like nothing can touch you or taint you or stop you ... you feel superhuman ... you feel like shouting it from the highest mountaintop. There's nothing like that feeling ... and even if it is fleeting, goddamn it's worth the risk! Just to feel the magic ... it's worth it ... every second ... every minute ... every smile and every tear ... it's so damn worth it!
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Mama Drama Vent
It seems that no matter what I do, my mom will always take issue with it. I love my mother as everyone loves their mom but our relationship is at best antagonistic. We can't spend much time together before she does or says something that just ticks me off. Her tongue cuts like a knife ... it always has ... and is the primary reason I left her home at thirteen.
I can't say that I don't have tender memories of my mom. I remember once being very sick with a high fever and respiratory problems. My mom stayed up all night caring for me. She would wake me periodically to give me medicine and put a cold cloth on my forehead ... I remember our family trips to Rockaway Beach. Mom would be up before the sun cooking, basting the meat with sofrito and adobo ... preparing us for the day's ventures.
But the harsh memories of her temper and loose hand are more powerful and lucid. She would say the most malicious things to me ... words like that stay with you and continue to haunt you into adulthood ... "tu dejas la inteligencia en la escuela" (you leave your brains at school), "retardada" (retard) ... "no sirves para nada" (you're good for nothing) ... I clearly recall one day wanting to hold her hand to cross the street. I must have been around eight. She pushed my hand away angrily and through sneered lips asked me why I had to always be on top of her ... I was just a little girl yearning for her love and I was constantly rebuffed ... perhaps that wasn't her intention but that's certainly how I felt ...
She admits now to being hard on me ... but says that it paid off because it's the reason that I've made something of myself ... If only she understood that her cruel treatment was the main reason that I left home. I knew early on that I needed to escape my mother's wrath and the ghetto streets of Bushwick, Brooklyn in order to accomplish my goals. My mother was never going to let me fly so I had to jump out of the nest ... so I applied to boarding school and was accepted with a full scholarship ... that is the decision that changed my world ...
I hoped that when I returned for vacations that my mom would be a different person with me. Afterall, she hadn't seen me in months and surely my excellent grades would stir some sort of affection for me. The first few days were usually good. Mom would be warm and loving, making me my favorite meals like sopa de frijoles (bean soup) and arroz con leche (rice pudding). But those moments were shortlived ... soon she would revert to her scathing comments and iron fist ways ...
I tried for so long to please my mom but nothing I did would measure up. She refused to go to my college graduation because she loathed my boyfriend and knew he would be there. She only went resentfully after my grandmother called and pleaded with her ... And when I decided not to go to law school, she ripped me a new one ... and continued to berate me about it for years after.
I never imagined she'd be supportive with my writing. When I first quit corporate America, she deemed me an irresponsible parent, telling me that this was no longer my life, that it was now my daughter's and motherhood was sacrifice ... even the surrender of one's dreams ... What she didn't comprehend is that the reason I finally made the decision to follow my bliss was and still is my daughter. I want her to look to me as her inspiration ... to realize through me that there is nothing she can't do ... that dreams aren't as farfetched and impossible to accomplish if one sets her mind to it ... But I can't expect my mom to understand that nor can I live my life trying to please her ... I realized that long ago but this new endeavor only makes me more aware of it ...
I didn't invite her to my first booksigning. She took offense and I was honestly shocked. She never demonstrated support for what I was doing before so why should she now? I simply do not understand the woman.
I went to spend a few days with her this past weekend because she had just returned from a month long vacation in Puerto Rico. All was well the first day but by the second, she was already knifing me with her words. I accidentally spilled something and she jumped on me about it. I'm a klutz, a walking hazard, always have been ... there's no need to get nasty with me about it ...
I had made plans with her to take her and my brother to see the new Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony movie, "El Cantante" ... I forgot. I've been up so late each night writing ... and the baby's dad didn't pick her up today as planned ... so I simply forgot. She called to tell me off. I asked her why didn't she call to remind me, her response was that she shouldn't have to do that. But you can call me to flip on me for a mistake? So now, in her eyes, my word means nothing ... Jeez! ... The problem is that this is a constant with her ... It's like she waits for me to err so she can jump on my back about it ... It's why I've always been and remain distant from her ... Why bother going to see her or trying to establish a real mother-daughter relationship if all she ever does is make me feel bad about myself, my mothering skills, career choices, etc.
She criticizes me about the way I am raising my daughter, claiming that I'm too easy on her ... that I have to be firmer ... that I let her walk all over me. Dear God, she's only two and I refuse to be hard on her and quick with the hand the way my mom was with me.
I hate it that she can still piss me off and make me cry ... I hate it that she has such power over me with her sharp tongue ... I hate it that she sees nothing wrong with the way she treats me ... I hate it that she makes me feel like that little girl who only wanted to be loved by her mom ... Still, I try because she's my mom and I love her ... How masochistic is that?
I can't say that I don't have tender memories of my mom. I remember once being very sick with a high fever and respiratory problems. My mom stayed up all night caring for me. She would wake me periodically to give me medicine and put a cold cloth on my forehead ... I remember our family trips to Rockaway Beach. Mom would be up before the sun cooking, basting the meat with sofrito and adobo ... preparing us for the day's ventures.
But the harsh memories of her temper and loose hand are more powerful and lucid. She would say the most malicious things to me ... words like that stay with you and continue to haunt you into adulthood ... "tu dejas la inteligencia en la escuela" (you leave your brains at school), "retardada" (retard) ... "no sirves para nada" (you're good for nothing) ... I clearly recall one day wanting to hold her hand to cross the street. I must have been around eight. She pushed my hand away angrily and through sneered lips asked me why I had to always be on top of her ... I was just a little girl yearning for her love and I was constantly rebuffed ... perhaps that wasn't her intention but that's certainly how I felt ...
She admits now to being hard on me ... but says that it paid off because it's the reason that I've made something of myself ... If only she understood that her cruel treatment was the main reason that I left home. I knew early on that I needed to escape my mother's wrath and the ghetto streets of Bushwick, Brooklyn in order to accomplish my goals. My mother was never going to let me fly so I had to jump out of the nest ... so I applied to boarding school and was accepted with a full scholarship ... that is the decision that changed my world ...
I hoped that when I returned for vacations that my mom would be a different person with me. Afterall, she hadn't seen me in months and surely my excellent grades would stir some sort of affection for me. The first few days were usually good. Mom would be warm and loving, making me my favorite meals like sopa de frijoles (bean soup) and arroz con leche (rice pudding). But those moments were shortlived ... soon she would revert to her scathing comments and iron fist ways ...
I tried for so long to please my mom but nothing I did would measure up. She refused to go to my college graduation because she loathed my boyfriend and knew he would be there. She only went resentfully after my grandmother called and pleaded with her ... And when I decided not to go to law school, she ripped me a new one ... and continued to berate me about it for years after.
I never imagined she'd be supportive with my writing. When I first quit corporate America, she deemed me an irresponsible parent, telling me that this was no longer my life, that it was now my daughter's and motherhood was sacrifice ... even the surrender of one's dreams ... What she didn't comprehend is that the reason I finally made the decision to follow my bliss was and still is my daughter. I want her to look to me as her inspiration ... to realize through me that there is nothing she can't do ... that dreams aren't as farfetched and impossible to accomplish if one sets her mind to it ... But I can't expect my mom to understand that nor can I live my life trying to please her ... I realized that long ago but this new endeavor only makes me more aware of it ...
I didn't invite her to my first booksigning. She took offense and I was honestly shocked. She never demonstrated support for what I was doing before so why should she now? I simply do not understand the woman.
I went to spend a few days with her this past weekend because she had just returned from a month long vacation in Puerto Rico. All was well the first day but by the second, she was already knifing me with her words. I accidentally spilled something and she jumped on me about it. I'm a klutz, a walking hazard, always have been ... there's no need to get nasty with me about it ...
I had made plans with her to take her and my brother to see the new Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony movie, "El Cantante" ... I forgot. I've been up so late each night writing ... and the baby's dad didn't pick her up today as planned ... so I simply forgot. She called to tell me off. I asked her why didn't she call to remind me, her response was that she shouldn't have to do that. But you can call me to flip on me for a mistake? So now, in her eyes, my word means nothing ... Jeez! ... The problem is that this is a constant with her ... It's like she waits for me to err so she can jump on my back about it ... It's why I've always been and remain distant from her ... Why bother going to see her or trying to establish a real mother-daughter relationship if all she ever does is make me feel bad about myself, my mothering skills, career choices, etc.
She criticizes me about the way I am raising my daughter, claiming that I'm too easy on her ... that I have to be firmer ... that I let her walk all over me. Dear God, she's only two and I refuse to be hard on her and quick with the hand the way my mom was with me.
I hate it that she can still piss me off and make me cry ... I hate it that she has such power over me with her sharp tongue ... I hate it that she sees nothing wrong with the way she treats me ... I hate it that she makes me feel like that little girl who only wanted to be loved by her mom ... Still, I try because she's my mom and I love her ... How masochistic is that?
My heart and head are still reeling
The internet is an AMAZING thing ... for so many reasons ... but right now, one reason in particular is in the forefront of my mind. The other day on myspace I found my first love. After years of silence, we exchanged messages last night and, my God, I'm still recovering.
Let me make this clear from jump - I am in no way, shape or form still in love with this guy ... Ruben is his name ... I realized last night that no matter how many years lapse, one's first love holds a special place in the chest cavity that never really goes away ...
I met him when I was like ten years old or something absurd like that. To be honest, I don't remember meeting him. What I do recall is that we were friends and I had a crush on him. We lived on the same block, Palmetto Street in the Bushwick area of Brooklyn ... and from a young age, he was a little player. I still see it in my mind's eye - him flirting and going out with all the girls in the two or three block vicinity ... at that age, "going out" with someone meant something completely different. It was more a title than anything tangible ... He'd ask, "Will you be my girl?" and she would in between giggles respond, "Yes" ... and then run off to tell her group of girlfriends who would be waiting on the sidelines anxiously awaiting the gossip ... Ruben, being the cutie that he was, had all the girls pining for him ... He'd grab one during an opportune moment, pull her into the hallway and plant a wet kiss on her lips ... and she, flustered and embarassed, would return the kiss, unsure of how to do it but just excited that he, Ruben, had chosen her ... And then finally he chose me and I was in heaven ...
It happened when I was 12. My mom was in Honduras for a few weeks and had left us with a cousin who was too wrapped with her new boyfriend, a family friend, to worry about what my sister and I were doing. So during that time, I was in the hallway of 365 Palmetto Street, learning the art of making out. LOL! Jeez, my memories of those moments are so vivid. I still remember the smell of the sofrito and bacalao in the air as his mother and the other residents of the building cooked their nightly meals ... And there I was, a pubescent girl of 12, falling in love with the first boy to break my heart ... *sighs* ... And he did that more than once ...
When I was thirteen, I went away to boarding school. Ruben and I were realistic; we both understood that long distance relationships at this age, or any age for that matter, weren't feasible. So we decided that we could see other people but when I got back to NY for vacations, he was mine and I was his. Gosh, I was the target of the ire of many a female for that reason. I remember reading letters (that he supplied) from girls who expressed their angst at being left once I was in town. For no matter what he did, when I was NY, even if it was for two or three days, his attentions and affections were mine. I'd have to sneak behind my mom's back to do it but I always managed to somehow spend some time with my love.
I never outgrew Ruben ... I just couldn't deal with his missteps anymore. The final straw was when he messed with a "friend" of mine while I was away. There were certain unwritten rules in our arrangement and one of them included that he could not date/kiss/fool around with, etc. any one of my friends ... and when he did that, I was crushed. In hindsight, I realize that that situation, the pain that it caused me, was the first step in my distancing myself from him and eventually moving on.
And all these years later, after all my heartbreaks and disappointments with love, hearing from him brought back such lucid memories ... My heart pattered in my chest and my palms began to sweat ... Sade said it best: "It's never as good as the first time ..." And Sheryl Crow followed with: "The first cut is the deepest ..."
For a long time, I denied the importance of that relationship. I'm not sure why but I do know that at the time I was going through a difficult period ... but now I realize that I cannot deny what that relationship meant to me. Perhaps it wasn't love in the adult sense, but it was my introduction to the magic. I loved him on an intense level that has left footprints ...
He's married now ... unhappily so ... and has a beautiful little girl that is his existence ... What I can't understand is why he married her if she's not his "Juliet"? I know that's why I haven't been married. I haven't found the man to send me into such fits of rapture that I would marry him. And I refuse to settle. I won't marry until I feel the guitar strings in my heart engaged in a symphony of Bethovian magnitude ...
So we have plans to get up some time soon for dinner and drinks. I'm curious to see how he looks, how I'll feel, how the energy will be ... I still remember his dark, intense eyes that bore right through me. Will it still feel that way?
It's true what they say - you never forget the first ... And even now, when I'm dealing with and falling for someone new, last night, after our exchange, I didn't think about this new beau ... not once ... Wow!
Let me make this clear from jump - I am in no way, shape or form still in love with this guy ... Ruben is his name ... I realized last night that no matter how many years lapse, one's first love holds a special place in the chest cavity that never really goes away ...
I met him when I was like ten years old or something absurd like that. To be honest, I don't remember meeting him. What I do recall is that we were friends and I had a crush on him. We lived on the same block, Palmetto Street in the Bushwick area of Brooklyn ... and from a young age, he was a little player. I still see it in my mind's eye - him flirting and going out with all the girls in the two or three block vicinity ... at that age, "going out" with someone meant something completely different. It was more a title than anything tangible ... He'd ask, "Will you be my girl?" and she would in between giggles respond, "Yes" ... and then run off to tell her group of girlfriends who would be waiting on the sidelines anxiously awaiting the gossip ... Ruben, being the cutie that he was, had all the girls pining for him ... He'd grab one during an opportune moment, pull her into the hallway and plant a wet kiss on her lips ... and she, flustered and embarassed, would return the kiss, unsure of how to do it but just excited that he, Ruben, had chosen her ... And then finally he chose me and I was in heaven ...
It happened when I was 12. My mom was in Honduras for a few weeks and had left us with a cousin who was too wrapped with her new boyfriend, a family friend, to worry about what my sister and I were doing. So during that time, I was in the hallway of 365 Palmetto Street, learning the art of making out. LOL! Jeez, my memories of those moments are so vivid. I still remember the smell of the sofrito and bacalao in the air as his mother and the other residents of the building cooked their nightly meals ... And there I was, a pubescent girl of 12, falling in love with the first boy to break my heart ... *sighs* ... And he did that more than once ...
When I was thirteen, I went away to boarding school. Ruben and I were realistic; we both understood that long distance relationships at this age, or any age for that matter, weren't feasible. So we decided that we could see other people but when I got back to NY for vacations, he was mine and I was his. Gosh, I was the target of the ire of many a female for that reason. I remember reading letters (that he supplied) from girls who expressed their angst at being left once I was in town. For no matter what he did, when I was NY, even if it was for two or three days, his attentions and affections were mine. I'd have to sneak behind my mom's back to do it but I always managed to somehow spend some time with my love.
I never outgrew Ruben ... I just couldn't deal with his missteps anymore. The final straw was when he messed with a "friend" of mine while I was away. There were certain unwritten rules in our arrangement and one of them included that he could not date/kiss/fool around with, etc. any one of my friends ... and when he did that, I was crushed. In hindsight, I realize that that situation, the pain that it caused me, was the first step in my distancing myself from him and eventually moving on.
And all these years later, after all my heartbreaks and disappointments with love, hearing from him brought back such lucid memories ... My heart pattered in my chest and my palms began to sweat ... Sade said it best: "It's never as good as the first time ..." And Sheryl Crow followed with: "The first cut is the deepest ..."
For a long time, I denied the importance of that relationship. I'm not sure why but I do know that at the time I was going through a difficult period ... but now I realize that I cannot deny what that relationship meant to me. Perhaps it wasn't love in the adult sense, but it was my introduction to the magic. I loved him on an intense level that has left footprints ...
He's married now ... unhappily so ... and has a beautiful little girl that is his existence ... What I can't understand is why he married her if she's not his "Juliet"? I know that's why I haven't been married. I haven't found the man to send me into such fits of rapture that I would marry him. And I refuse to settle. I won't marry until I feel the guitar strings in my heart engaged in a symphony of Bethovian magnitude ...
So we have plans to get up some time soon for dinner and drinks. I'm curious to see how he looks, how I'll feel, how the energy will be ... I still remember his dark, intense eyes that bore right through me. Will it still feel that way?
It's true what they say - you never forget the first ... And even now, when I'm dealing with and falling for someone new, last night, after our exchange, I didn't think about this new beau ... not once ... Wow!
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Popping the cherry
I'm not exactly a newbie to blogging but I am a neophyte to this site. A longtime friend who enjoys my reflections on life, womanhood, friendship, etc. told me I should consider sharing my views on another level ... hence why I'm here. So what's my agenda? I'm not sure I have one. I'm just a woman who is enamored with the written word. I have strong opinions and a stronger want to express myself. Most of the time I know what I'm doing and some of the time I don't know why I do them. What I do know is that I'm a work in progress. I'm making a life for myself and my daughter by following my bliss - writing.
So, when did I start writing. Honestly, I can't remember. I don't remember not writing. My mother told me an interesting story some time ago. She received a call from the daycare center when I was preschool age. My teacher complained that I was often distracted during storytime and she couldn't get me to pay attention. When my mother confronted me about the issue, I told her that I already knew the story and was tired of hearing it. She asked me what the story was and I went on to create an elaborate tale. If that isn't indicative of being a writer from childhood, if not birth, I don't know what is.
I have journals from way back when I was ten years old. Throughout my joys and heartbreaks, when I was lost and unable to find my place in the world, I found strength and direction in my writing. It took me some time, however, to realize my calling.
As a graduate of a prestigious boarding school and an ivy league university, the artist’s way was not encouraged. I was made to believe that after such an elite education, one goes into business, law, medicine, but never the arts. There’s simply little stability in that world. So I roamed corporate America like a lost soul in purgatory, searching for my niche, my place in the rigid establishment … but one did not exist for me, or perhaps it was that I refused to mold myself to fit the conventions. And throughout I sought refuge even redemption in my writing. I was published here and there, and even had a monthly article in a magazine for a while. It was then that I began to appreciate and embrace the gift which I have been endowed, finally realizing how natural it has always come to me and the reality that this – writing – is what I am meant to do.
But I’d grown complacent. I had a stable job, health insurance, an apartment, I could pay my bills … and isn’t that what people want? Why my parents immigrated to this country? Is that not the American dream? No, not for people like me, who want to, need to pursue their dreams … that are lucky enough to know their calling. One of my favorite writers Anais Nin said it best, “There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
So, while I worked, I continued to write, to try to make sense of my misery through the written word. And that’s where I found solace and truth, freedom from the shackles that bound and weighed me down. I found that I was more myself on paper than anywhere else – unafraid and uninhibited. And slowly but surely I began to construct my vision without even being fully aware of it. And that’s why when I had my daughter, I had the courage to say “Ya basta!” “Enough!” I quit corporate America and threw myself into motherhood and writing. And I wrote my first book in two weeks time. If I needed further proof that writing was my intended path, that killed all uncertainty.
Yes, my path has been dubious. Perhaps by now I should be at book six, but I wouldn’t change a thing. If I had gone another course, I don’t know if I would have met the driven partners I work with who opted to shun the establishment and create our own publishing company, and more recently start a grassroots magazine of which I am executive editor.
Everyone’s path is different. For some it is straight, for others like me it twists and turns, dives and crests again. But, wow, I have so many stories in the cache. The first draft of my second novel will be complete in a matter of weeks, and the first of a pentagonÃa of memoirs will follow soon thereafter. I am giving voice to women in my generation, the daughters of immigrants who fled their motherlands to seek their fortune on the gold paved streets of the US of A. The urban intellect who has a foot in two seemingly opposite worlds but doesn’t fully belong to either. Latinos and other people color whose odds are against them but refuse to permit that to hinder them. I have a vision and through a lot of hard work and sacrifice, and a little bit of luck, with faith in my voice, I am going to see that vision through. As a special person told me recently “if your mind can conceive it and your heart can believe it, then you can achieve it!”
So, when did I start writing. Honestly, I can't remember. I don't remember not writing. My mother told me an interesting story some time ago. She received a call from the daycare center when I was preschool age. My teacher complained that I was often distracted during storytime and she couldn't get me to pay attention. When my mother confronted me about the issue, I told her that I already knew the story and was tired of hearing it. She asked me what the story was and I went on to create an elaborate tale. If that isn't indicative of being a writer from childhood, if not birth, I don't know what is.
I have journals from way back when I was ten years old. Throughout my joys and heartbreaks, when I was lost and unable to find my place in the world, I found strength and direction in my writing. It took me some time, however, to realize my calling.
As a graduate of a prestigious boarding school and an ivy league university, the artist’s way was not encouraged. I was made to believe that after such an elite education, one goes into business, law, medicine, but never the arts. There’s simply little stability in that world. So I roamed corporate America like a lost soul in purgatory, searching for my niche, my place in the rigid establishment … but one did not exist for me, or perhaps it was that I refused to mold myself to fit the conventions. And throughout I sought refuge even redemption in my writing. I was published here and there, and even had a monthly article in a magazine for a while. It was then that I began to appreciate and embrace the gift which I have been endowed, finally realizing how natural it has always come to me and the reality that this – writing – is what I am meant to do.
But I’d grown complacent. I had a stable job, health insurance, an apartment, I could pay my bills … and isn’t that what people want? Why my parents immigrated to this country? Is that not the American dream? No, not for people like me, who want to, need to pursue their dreams … that are lucky enough to know their calling. One of my favorite writers Anais Nin said it best, “There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
So, while I worked, I continued to write, to try to make sense of my misery through the written word. And that’s where I found solace and truth, freedom from the shackles that bound and weighed me down. I found that I was more myself on paper than anywhere else – unafraid and uninhibited. And slowly but surely I began to construct my vision without even being fully aware of it. And that’s why when I had my daughter, I had the courage to say “Ya basta!” “Enough!” I quit corporate America and threw myself into motherhood and writing. And I wrote my first book in two weeks time. If I needed further proof that writing was my intended path, that killed all uncertainty.
Yes, my path has been dubious. Perhaps by now I should be at book six, but I wouldn’t change a thing. If I had gone another course, I don’t know if I would have met the driven partners I work with who opted to shun the establishment and create our own publishing company, and more recently start a grassroots magazine of which I am executive editor.
Everyone’s path is different. For some it is straight, for others like me it twists and turns, dives and crests again. But, wow, I have so many stories in the cache. The first draft of my second novel will be complete in a matter of weeks, and the first of a pentagonÃa of memoirs will follow soon thereafter. I am giving voice to women in my generation, the daughters of immigrants who fled their motherlands to seek their fortune on the gold paved streets of the US of A. The urban intellect who has a foot in two seemingly opposite worlds but doesn’t fully belong to either. Latinos and other people color whose odds are against them but refuse to permit that to hinder them. I have a vision and through a lot of hard work and sacrifice, and a little bit of luck, with faith in my voice, I am going to see that vision through. As a special person told me recently “if your mind can conceive it and your heart can believe it, then you can achieve it!”
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