I have had a hell of a day... and this made me feel much, much better.
Friday, March 30, 2007
green, black, white and blue
I went to San Antonio's only all vegetarian restaurant, green, yesterday with Roberto. The food was decent but the little one had a grand time irritating others with her running around and jumping (yes jumping). she ate my soup and had half of a chocolate espresso cafe and enough milk to feed a baby cow.
The last couple of nights I'd taken her to the Esperanza's CineMujer festival for all kinds of documentaries and films about and by women. Because I work out in gringolandia, I was late to the movie I really did want to see - Mom's Apple Pie, a documentary that was heartbreaking in talking about lesbians who were fighting for custody of their children. Relationships broke because of the struggle for custody, friendships and organizations grew and fell because of the need for support for lesbian mothers and their partners.
It hurt me to realize how treasured (and still precarious) my life is. I did parental reliquishment years ago because I didn't want this kind of hassle but I still face the stupidity of heterosexist people who, even this week, could face me and question my ability as a parent because my daughter spends afternoons at my mother's house. I have no choice but to be an incredible example for myself and my daughter by working, trying to maintain self-sufficiency and working to be a voice in any space. Of course I hate that I cannot pick up my daughter from school everyday but I have to bring money in that keeps her healthy and warm. And for that one thing to serve as an example of bad parenting when, in truth, my child is brilliant, is upsetting.
It's worse that those in this country would even try to suggest that the worst straight parent is better than a good queer parent. My brother's girlfriend hinted at such, suggesting that my daughter wasn't acting like a "lady". I told Tigrette that "ladies" were men's versions of what women were supposed to be and that, if anyone should define what it means to be a woman, it should be women - not men. And she continues to talk - saying I should spend more time with my child or that caring for my niece once in a while would make my daughter jealous (and, do I really have any more time to give another baby anyway? I mean, I already neglect Tigrette...).
I wish that I could get this woman (and others like her) to understand jealousy has no place in a household. That we must define ourselves or we are defined by those around us (and not everyone around us is good) and, believe it or not, that sexuality doesn't rub off on another person. If it did, we'd all be straight because they are the majority here.
It just hurts me. It's upsetting that I couldn't smack someone on the head to get them to understand. My mother tells me she's not a parent yet - that having a baby doesn't make you a parent right away. That role grows on you or you become a parent.
So, of course, I'm in all this internal turmoil while Tigrette goes to the concession counter at Esperanza to buy popcorn and finally the next movie is on. "Pura Lengua" was an interesting short piece but the highlight for me was a performance by Adelina Anthony. She is amazing. She did a couple of scenes from her "Bruising for Besos" theater piece that had me freaking, laughing, remembering, contemplating - sometimes all at once. In particular, she read through one piece where a woman is trying to comfort her partner after a big fight. She ends up slapping the partner and tells her she was going crazy but that she's there for her. Adelina plays the voice of the one who was hit. That inside look revealed not just her own thoughts as the person hit but also how the hit wasn't done from a situation we would normally expect to witness within abuse but that it was still abuse. I remember when Ya Vez would sit on me and hold me down, telling me I'd provoked so much emotion and love from her. As though that expression in this physical attack was justified. I went home that night and wrote about it.
All this rain, and everything around me has me a little triste. I would love a cup of lovingly-made cafe. I would love to not be at work having horrible cheese and peanut butter crackers for lunch at 3 in the afternoon. I would love to feel a little justified.
The last couple of nights I'd taken her to the Esperanza's CineMujer festival for all kinds of documentaries and films about and by women. Because I work out in gringolandia, I was late to the movie I really did want to see - Mom's Apple Pie, a documentary that was heartbreaking in talking about lesbians who were fighting for custody of their children. Relationships broke because of the struggle for custody, friendships and organizations grew and fell because of the need for support for lesbian mothers and their partners.
It hurt me to realize how treasured (and still precarious) my life is. I did parental reliquishment years ago because I didn't want this kind of hassle but I still face the stupidity of heterosexist people who, even this week, could face me and question my ability as a parent because my daughter spends afternoons at my mother's house. I have no choice but to be an incredible example for myself and my daughter by working, trying to maintain self-sufficiency and working to be a voice in any space. Of course I hate that I cannot pick up my daughter from school everyday but I have to bring money in that keeps her healthy and warm. And for that one thing to serve as an example of bad parenting when, in truth, my child is brilliant, is upsetting.
It's worse that those in this country would even try to suggest that the worst straight parent is better than a good queer parent. My brother's girlfriend hinted at such, suggesting that my daughter wasn't acting like a "lady". I told Tigrette that "ladies" were men's versions of what women were supposed to be and that, if anyone should define what it means to be a woman, it should be women - not men. And she continues to talk - saying I should spend more time with my child or that caring for my niece once in a while would make my daughter jealous (and, do I really have any more time to give another baby anyway? I mean, I already neglect Tigrette...).
I wish that I could get this woman (and others like her) to understand jealousy has no place in a household. That we must define ourselves or we are defined by those around us (and not everyone around us is good) and, believe it or not, that sexuality doesn't rub off on another person. If it did, we'd all be straight because they are the majority here.
It just hurts me. It's upsetting that I couldn't smack someone on the head to get them to understand. My mother tells me she's not a parent yet - that having a baby doesn't make you a parent right away. That role grows on you or you become a parent.
So, of course, I'm in all this internal turmoil while Tigrette goes to the concession counter at Esperanza to buy popcorn and finally the next movie is on. "Pura Lengua" was an interesting short piece but the highlight for me was a performance by Adelina Anthony. She is amazing. She did a couple of scenes from her "Bruising for Besos" theater piece that had me freaking, laughing, remembering, contemplating - sometimes all at once. In particular, she read through one piece where a woman is trying to comfort her partner after a big fight. She ends up slapping the partner and tells her she was going crazy but that she's there for her. Adelina plays the voice of the one who was hit. That inside look revealed not just her own thoughts as the person hit but also how the hit wasn't done from a situation we would normally expect to witness within abuse but that it was still abuse. I remember when Ya Vez would sit on me and hold me down, telling me I'd provoked so much emotion and love from her. As though that expression in this physical attack was justified. I went home that night and wrote about it.
All this rain, and everything around me has me a little triste. I would love a cup of lovingly-made cafe. I would love to not be at work having horrible cheese and peanut butter crackers for lunch at 3 in the afternoon. I would love to feel a little justified.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
new poem :: camina
camina
ca mi na
sometimes, just before you've arrived,
there was a break
in the conversation
or in the foundation
and your people were divided
those who remembered
those who did not
if you are a woman
the world says fix it
if there is a woman next to you she is saying hmmm,
lip turned up, eyes scrutinizing
if a man
the world says fix it
if there is a man next to you he is looking to the other men,
wondering if he will be the first forward
if a person of color
the world says join, it's not too late
if there is a person of color next to you
he is saying that train is broken
if a queer person
the world says make yourself part of it
if there is a queer next to you
she is saying hell with this shit, let's go
but if she's an afro-caribbean feminist queer
she's more likely to go out singing
"no quiero verte mas
que te vaya bien"*
if, in all this, your grandfather from the island, stands as witness,
bumps you with his shoulder and convinces you
to walk with him to Matanzas
your feet glide right over the ocean
to his casita
where he'll cook
steamed crabs
white rice
red beans
and sit you down in his kitchen to make the salad
as he talks, reminding you of the candence in your own voice,
his hands thrown up as he says Olvidate de eso, mi amor
and soon you are eating, moving in your seat
singing:
camina
ca mi na
to those who do not share your vision
thsoe who cannot honor the place you call home
de moverse la cintura
empiezes con la camina
muevete la cintura, empieze tu camina
ca mi na
ca mi na
camina
*from "El Adios de Este Momento" by Septeto Nacional de Ignacio Pineiro.
ca mi na
sometimes, just before you've arrived,
there was a break
in the conversation
or in the foundation
and your people were divided
those who remembered
those who did not
if you are a woman
the world says fix it
if there is a woman next to you she is saying hmmm,
lip turned up, eyes scrutinizing
if a man
the world says fix it
if there is a man next to you he is looking to the other men,
wondering if he will be the first forward
if a person of color
the world says join, it's not too late
if there is a person of color next to you
he is saying that train is broken
if a queer person
the world says make yourself part of it
if there is a queer next to you
she is saying hell with this shit, let's go
but if she's an afro-caribbean feminist queer
she's more likely to go out singing
"no quiero verte mas
que te vaya bien"*
if, in all this, your grandfather from the island, stands as witness,
bumps you with his shoulder and convinces you
to walk with him to Matanzas
your feet glide right over the ocean
to his casita
where he'll cook
steamed crabs
white rice
red beans
and sit you down in his kitchen to make the salad
as he talks, reminding you of the candence in your own voice,
his hands thrown up as he says Olvidate de eso, mi amor
and soon you are eating, moving in your seat
singing:
camina
ca mi na
to those who do not share your vision
thsoe who cannot honor the place you call home
de moverse la cintura
empiezes con la camina
muevete la cintura, empieze tu camina
ca mi na
ca mi na
camina
*from "El Adios de Este Momento" by Septeto Nacional de Ignacio Pineiro.
new poem :: bocaditos (at the lips)
I take sleep like a piece of cake,
with milk, with longing
but fat tuesday is gone and now begins the lean time --
my body has decided to give up those sweet minutes
happiness seems like everyone else's
but suffering is unique for each of us, no?
4 a.m. and, for all the santero's smoke and blessings,
I find your pet, indecision, has moved into the living room,
taking up the couch, bumping the arms of visitors, asking about the cloudy air
I misread you - is that why I search for you so much?
You, sleepy and sick. Each day carved neatly.
no prayer will bring you to me.
no promise enough but still I try:
I promise I will learn more about you if sleep next to me
I promise to be good
I promise to cook happiness into the home,
mix raisins into the picadillo - fried crisp bocaditos
handed warm in a cotton hand towel
watch out
the first bite always lets out some steam.
with milk, with longing
but fat tuesday is gone and now begins the lean time --
my body has decided to give up those sweet minutes
happiness seems like everyone else's
but suffering is unique for each of us, no?
4 a.m. and, for all the santero's smoke and blessings,
I find your pet, indecision, has moved into the living room,
taking up the couch, bumping the arms of visitors, asking about the cloudy air
I misread you - is that why I search for you so much?
You, sleepy and sick. Each day carved neatly.
no prayer will bring you to me.
no promise enough but still I try:
I promise I will learn more about you if sleep next to me
I promise to be good
I promise to cook happiness into the home,
mix raisins into the picadillo - fried crisp bocaditos
handed warm in a cotton hand towel
watch out
the first bite always lets out some steam.
new poem :: neomancy
baby reads the signs of nature, says the dragon cloud shows what direction we should be heading - so why are you planning to move us south?
it's my plan to move us slowly across the border, have us perfect our language and demeanor until those in de efe don't know we are American
there is more land there, more land but less hills, she says.
less hills mean less places for troubles to get caught up in - the rain washes the bad away more easily, I counter.
look, she points out the car's window, the sun has changed direction. now it sets in teh east. we are moving north after all.
it's my plan to move us slowly across the border, have us perfect our language and demeanor until those in de efe don't know we are American
there is more land there, more land but less hills, she says.
less hills mean less places for troubles to get caught up in - the rain washes the bad away more easily, I counter.
look, she points out the car's window, the sun has changed direction. now it sets in teh east. we are moving north after all.
I love Wynonna
She's getting divorced. Next she'll just say "Screw this, I'm moving on to women!" Look at that tie.Wednesday, March 21, 2007
matria o muerte, venceremos
I feel bad for Mitt Romney. Poor thing, thinking he needs so many votes he has to cater to Republican Cubans in South Florida. Cuando van a aprender? There's no winning that crowd - they want to increase trade restrictions but send money, they want to leave travel open (for them, not tourists with money) and extend American rights to freedom of speech to Cubans on the island. Yeah. Okay.
Speaking of matria o muerte, venceremos, I had a meeting with an academic advisor last week who made my completing my Bachelor's degree really easy. But, I had to reschedule because my previous file was at the downtown campus and everything had to be verified. After moving the file and reviewing it, I met with another advisor who gave me even better news. Rather than having to reapply for admission to the university, I could take an outside class at SAC or another community college and do a transcript transfer. Not only did I save $40 on the application (SAC has free registration), but tuition comes out lower than UTSA, even with a discount the university gives to faculty and staff. Even better, I only need to make up ONE class. Yes, it's a science class, but it is one class! So, of course I'm happy. I was twirling back to my office after the meeting. I'm ecstatic. My GPA sucks but I'm ecstatic.
Speaking of matria o muerte, venceremos, I had a meeting with an academic advisor last week who made my completing my Bachelor's degree really easy. But, I had to reschedule because my previous file was at the downtown campus and everything had to be verified. After moving the file and reviewing it, I met with another advisor who gave me even better news. Rather than having to reapply for admission to the university, I could take an outside class at SAC or another community college and do a transcript transfer. Not only did I save $40 on the application (SAC has free registration), but tuition comes out lower than UTSA, even with a discount the university gives to faculty and staff. Even better, I only need to make up ONE class. Yes, it's a science class, but it is one class! So, of course I'm happy. I was twirling back to my office after the meeting. I'm ecstatic. My GPA sucks but I'm ecstatic.
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