Sol y Luna

embracing a new thing

2010-03-22T18:17:00.004-05:00

I can't lie. The last few weeks have been tough for a lot of reasons--which would take hours to share--and I have cried a lot. A few brave and loving souls have been there to share my worst moments with me and for that I am so grateful. What is the meaning of friendship, if not to bear one another's burdens?

But I don't want to write about that. I want to write about what I've learned. I've learned that maybe I expect too much of some people. I've learned that the only way I know how to live is transparently. I've learned that I can't share all of my heart with everyone, but I CAN share it with some people--and it will be embraced, in all its grittiness. And I've learned that the darkness is much easier to bear when I do.

The darkness is there. It competes with the light and joy for control of my heart. But it doesn't win. It will not win. I've been reminded this week--though the wise words of some old souls-- that the Light wins. Love and hope and peace and justice and kindness and mercy win. And even when the shadows threaten to overwhelm me, the work of God will still be revealed in my life.

Yesterday I read these words--and then they appeared on a church billboard across the street from my house. "Behold, I am doing a new thing; it springs up, do you not perceive it?" I think it is the message I need to hear in this season.

And so, I will rejoice. I will rejoice despite my pain--which lingers in the shadows like a scar that won't quite heal. And I will embrace the new thing that God is doing in my heart, even if I don't understand it or can't see it. And, in my own imperfect way, I will seek to--as Heatherlyn sang last night--be the love.

for a friend

2010-01-20T09:04:00.007-06:00

Over the course of my time in Nicaragua, I heard numerous stories from a wide range of people. With the Revolution (1979) and the Contra War (1982-1990) still fresh in everyone's mind, it wasn't hard to uncover the wounds, the deep violence inflicted by the dictator (Somoza). Before long, though, it also became clear that for other sectors of Nicaragua society, the rise of the Sandinistas had brought its own challenges. While the Sandinista program ostensibly did a lot of good for marginalized sectors of the population (through literacy campaigns, improved health care access, etc), in the process many hard-working people (not only the extremely wealthy, but also the middle class) also lost jobs and/or land. The later economic scarcity and recruitment of young men for battles in the mountains (from which many never came home) that ensued during the Contra period (obviously not the fault of the rojinegros, but rather the US intervention) led more than one Nicaraguan (including taxi drivers, gardeners, and people of all economic levels) to tell me frankly: "Things were better under Somoza!"

During this period, many people with the option to leave did so--whether to avoid sending their sons off to war or to pursue new economic opportunities elsewhere, as their country became increasingly torn apart by war. Beyond the politics of their departures, there were deeply personal and emotional reasons behind these decisions--a desire to protect their children and their families, a desire to work, to use the skills provided by their education, to survive what must have surely seemed like the complete destruction of their beloved country.

I always listened to these stories with a lump in my throat. Hearing so many diverse voices drove home the point that for every official political event that goes into the history books, there are myriad personal consequences that can never been seen or understood just by reading the "facts." The same event can produce a variety of effects for different people in a society. At the end of the day, therefore, any attempt by analysts or scholars to coldly ("objectively") interpret political events and policies can never capture the fullness or intensity of the reality that is lived by those in that context in the moment.

In the course of a few hours this week, I forgot this last truth, long ago learned and filed away in the recesses of my mind. In my exuberant desire to offer an academic opinion of a political situation far from my own, I forgot that the political is first of all personal. I forgot that more than a scholar, I am a human being. I was quick to offer analysis when all that was called for was the listening and sympathetic ear of a friend.

I feel humbled and contrite. What good is all the knowledge of the world without love?

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal." -1 Corinthians 13:1

in which music and poetry renew my soul

2009-11-22T00:19:00.003-06:00

Thanks to my dear friend Brie’s husband, Daniel and I were able to go the Austin Symphony last night, during which we were graced and inspired by the works of Mendehlssohn (Midsummer Night’s Dream), and Cary Ratcliff’s “Ode to Common Things”, which involved the Conspirare Symphonic choir's singing of selected poems within the eponymous work by Chilean writer Pablo Neruda.

There is really no way to capture the power, majesty, and profundity of the vocal and musical arrangements that wafted through the Long Center concert hall….the notes and words did not just resonate in my ears, but in my soul. Words that began by creatively describing the beauty of common things like scissors, a bed, a guitar, bread…were transformed into extended metaphors about the intensity of human longing, joy, birth and death, and the struggle for justice and the meaning of its arrival for humanity.

In the spaces between quiet solemnity and crescendos of emotion, my heart—lately hardened and burdened by the frenetic pace of grad school demands—grew tender and rapt. Important things that had become blurry came into clear focus once again. Why I am here? What is all of this striving for? What is the meaning of these days, these words on a page? When I heard these words sung last night, my eyes glistened with tears, and my soul remembered.

“we will make our own bread/out of sea and soil/we will plant wheat/on our earth and the planets/bread for every mouth, for every person, our daily bread. Because we plant its seed and grow it not for one man but for all, there will be enough: there will be bread for all the peoples of the earth. And we will also share with one another whatever has the shape and the flavor of bread: the earth itself, beauty and love—all taste like bread and have its shape, the germination of wheat. Everything exists to be shared, to be freely given, to multiply.

Crowned with sheaves of wheat, we will win earth and bread for everyone.
Then life itself will have the shape of bread, deep and simple, immeasurable and pure.
Every living thing will have its share of soil and life,
and the bread we eat each morning, everyone's daily bread,
will be hallowed and sacred, because it will have been won
by the longest and costliest of human struggles.

This earthly Victory does not have wings:
she wears bread on her shoulders instead.
Courageously she soars, setting the world free,
like a baker born aloft on the wind.” –Neruda, Oda al Pan

My mind has been active and engaged, and yet my spirit has gone relatively undernourished over the last few months. I find there is a never ending tension between being who I am and projecting the image of a competent professional and intellectual. What is more, I live in a liminal space--a borderland, if you will--because of the way my identity has been shaped and changed through living overseas. And yet also, in the university, there is another borderland to be crossed as I try to follow this path, faithful to my highest principles and values, my spiritual formation and convictions, into the world of analysis, critique, deconstruction.

As the stress escalates in these final weeks of the semester, I am determined that I must not lose sight of these things--that at the end of it all, I desire to be relevant, for my learning to serve a higher purpose than a grade, that it would promote the good of others. I will cling to my Maker and seek His strength and peace. I cannot and will not define success by anyone else's standard. I will not forfeit my soul in this place. I will NOT.

acontecimientos

2009-11-22T00:16:00.000-06:00

In no particular order….some recent happenings and reflections.

THE HALF MARATHON: The most major event of my life this month other than the daily routine of studying passed without any mention on this blog—my first ½ marathon (13.1 miles, or 21km) last Sunday morning, which I completed in just over 3 hours. It wasn’t as fast as I was hoping for, but considering a late October foot injury, I’m just glad I finished. I learned important things about myself—namely, that I can do things I never imagined I would ever do—but also, that I should be certain of the reasons for which I pursue any goal or activity. The truth is, I love to run. I’ve been running for the better part of a year, and even though I have never been an athlete (and still don’t look like one), I have discovered the running makes me happy (hasta cierto punto—after 6 miles, not so much).

PEOPLE: While I was in San Antonio, I also took my sister out for her birthday, hung out with the rest of my family, saw some old friends from Trinity and met part of my good Venezuelan friend Daniel’s family. Daniel is part of my Latin American Studies program and we carpooled down together for the weekend (which turned out to be a huge blessing, because after the marathon Sunday, I was in no shape to drive anywhere. I was exhausted.)

PAPERS: One of the papers I am writing this semester comparing U.S. and Cuban feminism (1965-1975) was accepted for UT’s student conference in February. My first academic paper presentation ever! My U.S.-Cuban relations class has been the most interesting of the 4 this semester, especially because it is being taught by a Cuban professor, and also because there is so much I just never knew about Cuba before.

cambia, todo cambia

2009-10-20T23:06:00.002-05:00

"Cambia lo superficial/Cambia también lo profundo
Cambia el modo de pensar/Cambia todo en este mundo....

Cambia el rumbo el caminante/Aúnque esto le cause daño
Y así como todo cambia/Que yo cambie no es extraño....

Pero no cambia mi amor/Por mas lejos que me encuentre
Ni el recuerdo ni el dolor/De mi pueblo y de mi gente

Lo que cambió ayer/Tendrá que cambiar mañana
Así como cambio yo/En esta tierra lejana"

The lyrics above come from a famous song by Argentinian Mercedes Sosa called Todo Cambia (everything changes). Mercedes passed away two weeks ago--actually the same weekend that I went home to San Antonio to see some old friends and attend a concert where another song she made famous (Alfonsina y el Mar) was sung by a vocal ensemble called Voci di Sorelle (which includes my dear friend Cara!).

My life has changed a lot since I last posted on this blog (I realize that my two month absence means that no one is reading, but...). This past week was the hardest of my grad school life to date. I had to write a 12-page midterm exam synthesizing 400 pages of reading from the last seven weeks. And then I had to turn around and write 4 more pages for another class the next day. Not surprisingly, it took a toll, and I got sick. Sometimes it seems that's all my life consists of--read, study, write, eat, (and sleep...but not enough).

For that reason, I cherish all the more the brief spaces where I find companionship and conversation here. Some of those more memorable moments from the last two months include the party my roommates and I threw on Labor Day weekend, walking along Town Lake with my friend Leti, a shared coffee at Medici with Jake, UT games with Cory and Tony, a late lunch with a small group of friends from my Latin American studies program, small group on Tuesday nights, running with Meg, and talking politics with my Benedictine monk friend Paul.

Slowly but surely I am forming a small network of new relationships here in Austin--and it's good, but it's also hard. Starting over always is, and I know that. Even more so when everyone's level of busyness is way over the top. It means some days I really miss the tranquilo-ness that characterized even my most stressful periods of life in Nicaragua. I still think about those days and those friends every day. And I don't think that will ever change.

nica church reflections

2009-08-18T10:53:00.003-05:00

I meant to post these thoughts ages ago, but well, with moving and all, my mind and energy have been elsewhere.

Several weeks ago I was talking to some friends who are still living in Nicaragua, and we were discussing what the North American church might be able to learn from the Nicaraguan church (side note: I am thinking specifically about the evangelical/protestant manifestations thereof, with whom I had the most contact-I believe there are things to be learned from the Catholic church too, but unfortunately in Nicaragua a cultural form of Catholicism tends to dominate rather than the authentic faith and expression of a smaller remnant).

I remember that my initial impressions of many evangelical churches (pentecostal and charismatic for the most part) was that they tended toward the legalistic side of the spectrum. Rules about dress, hair, makeup, jewelry, drinking, dancing, etc abounded. Having developed a strong theology of grace over the years, I admit I found these rules excessive and unhelpful for the most part, and for that reason sought out a more relaxed church while I lived there.

Back in the USA however, I found myself more sympathetic toward the attitudes and practices of the Nica church. I was able to see how those rules were an attempt to "set themselves apart", to take a stand in a culture where a cultural form of Christianity that involves drunkenness and idolatry has taken hold. I could see more clearly the rationale for wanting to adopt a lifestyle that was so clearly different, even if I didn't think the particular rules that some evangelicals lived by were necessarily the ones I would adopt myself.

I found this line of thinking much more compelling because I realized I have the same desire to live a life different than the culture around me, one that clearly points to my personal values regarding simplicity, justice, and hospitality...and their roots in my faith in Christ. Maybe I don't go so far as to call them "rules" but I have standards for my own life, ways of thinking about wants and needs, ways of making decisions about how to spend money and time and energy, etc. I desire consistency, even if I don't always succeed at maintaining it.

And this is what I realized that motivated my Nica brothers and sisters as well. And it caused me to wonder whether in our rush to be "seeker sensitive" in this culture (USA), if the idea of being "set apart" and "different", a lamp on a stand as believers, has not been sort of neglected. Certainly I am speaking in broad strokes, glittering generalities, if you will. But I realized the global northern church now tends to opt not only for "grace" (which is good), but also in many places (not all), "blending in". And I wonder if maybe there is something to be learned from our southern brothers and sisters...

after one week in my new digs

2009-08-11T15:44:00.006-05:00

+ I'm really happy that my new bedroom is finally decorated, even though it hurts sometimes to see all my Nica art and pictures and be so far away. But it's nice to have a place of my own after house hopping for 3 months.

+ My new condo-mates Christie and Jody are fun, extroverted, food and exercising loving, and frugal! Example of the week: they came home with a bunch of stuff my second night here and told me they had just gone "dumpster diving" (not literally of course) and picked up a bunch of other people's rejected stuff (still in great condition). I followed suit the other day and picked up a lamp someone left in their yard a few blocks from my place.

+ I really love jogging in Hyde Park, my new reparto. I stopped for about 3 weeks after my accident but am back into it and almost up to 3 miles again. I signed up for my first 5k next month and a half marathon in November. I think I'm getting serious about this running thing, and I'm excited to be disciplined about something in my life.

+ There's so much to love about Austin, I hardly know where to begin. Related to the above, I love the respect I get as a pedestrian/runner (people stop for me!). I love all the parks and green spaces. I love all the hole in the wall restaurants and coffeeshops everywhere (not that I can afford most of them, but it makes me happy to see independent business flourishing somewhere, instead of just chains.). I love that there is a decent (free for students) bus system (that I still need to figure out). I don't think I can really love skyscrapers, but I like that the architecture downtown is artsy not boxy. I love that a river runs through Austin too (just like San Antonio, only here they've made in a hike and bike trail rather than a commercial center).

+ I'm glad SA is only an hour away and I can be a more involved aunt and big sister again. I went back this past Sunday to see Alex and Robbie sing at church and then was able to hang out with my sister and brother for a while afterwards.

+ Some days, I am really glad to be here. Other days, it still feels like a dream.

austin, coffee and dishwashers

2009-08-03T18:18:00.004-05:00

I hadn’t cried in a couple weeks, so I guess it was time. It’s always an unexpected, small event that produces my sometimes disproportionately emotional response. This time, it was the dishwasher.

I just moved to Austin on Saturday, and among my few but prized possessions is a blue ceramic coffee mug decorated with a hand painted scene depicting volcanoes, lakes, and palm trees with a cursive Nicaragua adorning a small corner (if mugs have corners….). This mug was a Christmas gift to me from Andrea, my roommate, our first year in Nicaragua, and it became my beverage holder of choice for all the shared mornings that followed. It managed to survive the trip back to the USA, and five different moves around San Antonio this summer. I drank out of it every day, always remembering the many mornings I sat at a small wooden table in Managua, where Andrea and I drank our French-pressed café, talked a lot, laughed, and cried together.

Then, this morning, after my first jog around my new neighborhood, I came back and went looking for this mug to pour myself some already made coffee. After searching the cabinets, it occurred to me that maybe it was in the dishwasher, which one of my roommates had loaded the night before. It was, but when I pulled it out, I was not prepared for what I saw. Half the paint had disappeared, other sections had become distorted, and all that remains in one solitary palm tree trunk and parts of a few leaves. Ni se dice Nicaragua ahora.

I stared at it for a few minutes in disbelief. Then I proceeded to cry. It never occurred to me to tell my roommates that mug shouldn’t go through the dishwasher--I’ve been hand washing everything for years now. And I have a lot of things that I brought back from Nicaragua, which had they broken or disappeared, I might have been fine. But of course, it wasn’t any of those things. It’s one of the things (if not THE thing) that most connects me to my very best friend from those three years we spent together.

So even as I’m excited about all new places, new people, etc. in my life here in Austin, I’m also sad. My damaged mug is a symbolic reminder that things are changing, that I can’t hold on to everything from my life in Nicaragua, and how I choose to adapt to all the changes happening in my life will have a big impact on how things turn out in this new etapa.

a stains story

2009-07-29T15:26:00.004-05:00

This story actually begins in March of this year, when los muchachos (the Nica friends I went to church with) were out to lunch together having a post-trip-to-the-Atlantic-Coast reunion. It was a crowded day at Mi Ranchito (as the place was called), and suddenly a waiter with a tray full of glasses bumped into a customer while passing by our table, and bright orange soda spilled all over my hair and my clothes.

Normally, this would have been an annoyance, but nothing to cry about. Except that I was wearing a hand-embroidered blouse I had bought in Mexico a few months earlier. A one of a kind shirt. One of my prized memories of that trip. Within seconds I rushed to the bathroom, took off the shirt and soaked it in the sink, hoping to keep the orange liquid from setting permanently in the fabric. A couple of my girlfriends followed me into the bathroom out of solidarity, and one of them (Yaoska) offered me the brown tank top she was wearing so that I wouldn't have to put my soaking wet shirt back on. (She was wearing another shirt as well.) This was sweet but sort of funny since Yaoska (pictured with me above) is like a size 4, one of the most petite girls I know. But she was like, no worries, it stretches. So I put it on, and sure enough it fit just fine.

Back in the dining area, I arrived at the table sourfaced and even a bit desconsolate. But one of my friends' moms who was present with us offered to take my shirt home with her to try to get the stain (still VERY orange) out. "I have sons," she explained. "I am an expert at stain removal." Skeptical but grateful, I handed her the shirt, which sure enough a week later she returned to me in perfect condition. As if nothing had ever happened. Meanwhile, Yaoska told me I should keep her shirt "as a way to remember" the experience. I smiled, and sheepishly agreed (she probably thought I had permanently altered her tanktop anyway, so....)

This all came back to me today because I was wearing that same brown tank top on my way to Austin today. I was very excited because I had managed to take a large travel mug full of coffee with me all the way to Austin and back, but as I was making the last turn into my neighborhood...well, I forgot about it, and turned too sharply, and sure enough the last of the coffee and a few grains came pouring out onto the passenger seat. I immediately dumped some bottled water on it, and when I got back to the apartment, sprayed Shout all over it, soaked it, and tried to sop up the stain-filled liquid. I failed to calculate adequately, however the amount of paper towels required for this task, and feeling too lazy to go back upstairs to get more, I took my tank top off instead and used it to sop up the rest. Then I ran quickly back upstairs to rinse it out before the coffee had a chance to set in Yaoska's shirt.

Back in the car, my laptop in tow in a hand-embroided bag given to me from another Nica friend, I threw it on the passenger seat on top of some papers I had placed there, thinking that would be adequate protection. No such luck. The remaining liquid seeped right through the paper and onto the cream colored bag.

Thankfully, this time the handsoap in the coffeeshop down the street and some warm water was enough to get that stain out. :-)

el presente es el unico que tengo

2009-07-22T13:35:00.004-05:00

It's been my mantra of late: Live in the present. LIVE in the present. Live in the PRESENT.

For various reasons, that's harder than it might seem. Whereas my tendency 4 years ago might have been to live in the future....[see: "when [fill in the blank] happens,, then [choose positive consequence].], now my strong temptation is to live in the past. Like when I had my car accident 3 weeks ago, and was missing $2 taxi rides in Nicaragua. Or when I tried to chooose my favorite 200 photos to print for an album, and found myself wandering down memory lane for hours at a time. Now it's "I miss [fill in the blank] from Nicaragua." All the time. Especially on the first major Nica holiday I missed (July 19th, anniversary of the triumph of the Sandinista Revolution) or when, like yesterday I am sitting in the bookstore minding my own business and de repente a family I have seen multiple times walks in and proceeds to sit down next to me and start talking en español and all I can do is smile and hold back tears at the same time. I desperately want to interrupt them but know that would probably be kind of rude here (but in Nicaragua, well,....)

The present. It's pure paradox. On the one hand, it's been really fulfilling to see a lot of old faces, go to some familiar places, eat some comfort food, and enjoy the air conditioning. On the other hand, driving stresses me out (though I had a really nice road trip to Dallas last week--thanks Brett's family for hosting me!), I have no structure or routine to give my days meaning (other than exercise, which is really the only thing I have managed to maintain thus far from la vida nica), and the simplicity I crave from my former life seems perpetually elusive here. On the one hand, it's nice to go to the restroom and not worry that my stuff will be gone when I return. On the other hand, people's lives are so totally overscheduled that it's almost impossible to make plans with anyone without a couple weeks notice. And some people I thought I would surely see upon my return have disappeared...while others who were not a part of my life at all before I left are suddenly the most important people I know and want to hang out with. [I have managed to see my siblings quite a bit though--pictured above.]

The present. It's all I have. I'm trying to live in it, but it's making me crazy to live out of one suitcase. Maybe I'm ready for the future after all. 9 days til I move to Austin!

americana

2009-07-04T21:50:00.002-05:00

Stars and stripes
Hung far and wide
Rojo, blanco, y azul
Worn with pride
Paying homage to the souls
Whose valentía was inspired by a dream
The sweet sound of a campana called liberty
Accompanied by a harmony chorus-- e pluribus Unum

Yet the fabric of America
Extends beyond nuestras fronteras
And the colores that we celebrate son mas diversas
Que imaginamos

So let us lift up el rojo, de la sangre y la salsa
Y el azul de la fruta y el mar caribe
Let us sing for el blanco del algodón y nieve
Y el verde de los chiles y los prados
Let us remember el amarillo de las flores y el maíz
y el rosado delicado de la madrugada
que llena todos nuestros horizontes

And las melodias that we sing
De libertad y justicia for one and all
Of equality and brotherhood
Son para todos de este hemisferio
Porque de costa a costa
Argentina a Canadá
somos todos americanos

two months

2009-07-01T22:34:00.005-05:00

Today marks 2 months since I left Nicaragua. It has been a whirlwind of emotions, reunions, and surprises along the way. This past week was no different.

Friday started out wonderful. I had lunch with my old friend Sarah, with whom I co-led a bible study in college for 2 years, along with two other friends from Trinity, at Panchito's (which, btw, has some of the best breakfast tacos in all of SA). Then, in an attempt to escape the South Texas heat, I headed downtown to check out the American Sabor exhibit at the Museo Alameda. American Sabor is a fabulous historical yet hands-on exhibition about the many strands of Latin music that have woven their way into the fabric of US culture (from mambo to salsa to Latin rock/punk to Tejano) over the last 60 years. There are oral history interviews, song samples, a dance floor, video performances of famous musicians of all the genres, and more! It was just delightful to be standing in a room dedicated to celebrating a positive aspect of Latin America's contribution to our culture today (especially when so much media attention is only focused on the problems caused by illegal immigrants, for example. But I digress.)

I walked out afterwards into the stifling South Texas heat and didn't even care. I had just paid $2 for 3+ hours of beautiful enriching culture and I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home, or maybe a last minute social outing (I still like those more than the planned kind). Everything, however, was about to change.

I headed north out of town towards 35, quickly realized I wasn't going to be able to make the 281N cutoff and slightly frustrated, headed toward an exit. Rush hour traffic was quickly backing things up, and I just wanted to be home. A little emotional, I cut back downtown and headed up Broadway. I had almost made it to my turn at Hildebrand when suddenly out of nowhere a car was crossing in front of me. I had no time to brake, nor even really think. I slammed into her. Next thing I know my airbag is in my face, steam and smoke is coming out of my engine, and the folks in the car behind me are helping me out of my vehicle. I am a mess. I am crying. In shock. Disbelief. Horror.

It was my first accident. Thanks to the kind strangers, I got my car off the road, and then the police came and took our statements, my car was towed, and then my dear friend Paul (thank you!!) came to pick me up and take me home. After crying for almost 2 hours, I finally called my insurance company (and hers).

It's been a long week since then. I've felt the full measure of emotional trauma that comes with having one's life flash before one's eyes. The fear of driving. The aches and pains that come with a major accident. The stress of bureaucracy. The beginning of treatment and healing. And the blessings of friends who have called or written and offered to help. Thank you--you all know who you are.

[Today also marks another important event--the return of my dear roomie from Nicaragua, Andrea, to the USA. The photo in this post is one of my favorite memories we shared--our first trip to Ometepe together for her birthday.]

this week's playlist

2009-06-26T11:10:00.002-05:00

Nicaragua changed a lot about me, not the least of which is my level of physical activity. It started sort of by necessity, not having a car and walking the last mile or so to where my office was located most days. Over time, even though it was SUPER hot, I grew to love that walk. And then last year I was inspired by my roommate to take up jogging.

Even now, 6 months later, I don't know if I can really call it running (I do a 12 minute mile, but my speed slows remarkably over time--this week, for example, I did 2.8 miles in about 45 minutes). Nevertheless, even though it's hard and I feel slow, I keep putting on my shoes and trying. I just don't feel good if I don't get outside and do something active at least 30 minutes a day now.

And now, back here in the States, I have several other friends who are inspiring me to try harder--in the hopes of joining them for a half-marathon in November. We'll see. To keep my motivation up, I've been playing around with my music--and this was my playlist this week:

1-No Hace Falta Un Hombre (Jaci Velasquez)
2-Beautiful Day (U2)
3-El Universo Sobre Mi (Amaral)
4-One Week (Barenaked Ladies)
5-Wheel in the Sky (Journey)
6-Everybody's Changing (Keane)
7-Te Mando Flores (Fonseca)
8-Ella (Bebe)
9-It's My Life (Bon Jovi)
10-Bye Bye (Jo Dee Messina)
11-No Te Pido Flores (Fanny Lu)
12-Dreams (The Cranberries)

the gift of presence

2009-06-23T23:20:00.003-05:00

I retold a story tonight that made me cry.

It was the story of my Nicaraguan friend Felix (pictured left), who invited me to spend Christmas with him and his family this past year. "You are part of us," he told me after I had been attending his church for several months, "and I want you to be with us for el 24." The 24th is of course the big celebration night, when churches have their big cultos and families cook up the biggest spread of the year. That evening (actually more like 2am), after all the songs had been sung, the gallina rellena enjoyed, and a little wine poured, Felix asked me if I wanted to go home or if I wanted to spend the night in their spare room. I thought about it for a minute before replying.

"I think I'd like to stay," I told him. "My house will be empty tomorrow morning, and it would be nice to wake up and share at least part of the 25th with people." And so his mom put new sheets on the bed, and I went to sleep.

The next morning Felix and I were sitting at his table at 10am eating leftovers, and he asked me what I would be doing if I were at home. I started to answer, but I choked up. Through my tears, I told him, "I am so sorry I am sad today." He looked at me, took my hand, and said, "It's okay. I would rather you be sad here with me than alone at your house."

Felix did not try to stop me from crying. He just sat with me in that moment and gave me his compassionate love and attention.

Tonight when I retold the story and the tears fell, my friend Jenny likewise did not try to "fix" me or my emotions. She simply listened, with empathy.

I like to call this the gift of presence. Lately when I have found myself in an emotional place, the very best thing is just someone who listens with their heart, who isn't interested in changing me, but rather just wants to walk alongside me, wherever I am.

Today I realized that this same gift of presence is really the only thing I had to offer in Nicaragua. There were so many things I saw that I could never fix, so many people's lives that I could do nothing to improve. But, you know, I never felt that they expected me to. So I learned their language, shared their stories, cried with them, ate tortillas, sat on their rocking chairs, played with their children, laughed at their jokes, danced to their music, held their hands, prayed with them....I lived with them. And I loved them.

And that, it seems, was more than enough.

conversation with mom

2009-06-21T16:27:00.003-05:00

Today my mother asked me if I had considered yoga or other eastern forms of relaxation techniques to deal with my stress.

Brief paraphrase of the discussion:

Mom: "You seemed so relaxed when you came home a year and a half ago."

Me: "Well, I mean when I came home last time I was on vacation. And I wasn't thinking about readjusting to this country again, I was just enjoying seeing people and hanging out."

Mom: "Hmm. I really liked that version of you. I wonder if you're experiencing stress because you're driving again."

Me: "Yes, driving here is definitely a cause of stress, but I think I'm much more tranquila than I used to be, even with the new sources of stress in my life."

Mom: "Really? Because I just think you should find some new ways to relax here, you know to deal with the pace of the life and everything without having to go to a 3rd world country again."

Me: "Well, running does that for me. It helps balance my emotional and mental activity level with physical activity too."

Mom: "Really? But running is dangerous. I hope you have a good pair of shoes."

Me: "Yes, Mom, I do." (BTW, Asics rule! :-)

Mom: "Okay, well I just think it would be so nice if you could be relaxed again."

Me: "So what exactly have you noticed in my behavior that makes you feel that I'm stressed?"

Mom: [pauses] "I don't know. I just noticed that in the pictures we took when you were home last time you seemed so relaxed. And now you are different."

Me: "So....that's it?"

Mom: "Um, yes."

Me: [internally] This conversation is stressing me out!!!

the cultural stress chronicles [part 3]

2009-06-18T19:40:00.002-05:00

Before I get into this post, I had a request that I back up and define my terms.

What in the world do I mean by cultural stress? Basically I am referring to the anxiety and frustration and other emotional responses I have had to "normal" situations in my current culture (the US) that because they are no longer familiar to me (ie not experiences I have had in the last 3 years), make me feel inadept and produce a sometimes disproportionate response.

When I say cultural, I am thinking of the day-to-day aspects of society (food, how people greet, transportation, the way things are organized, available technology used to accomplishs tasks, language, etc). So I experience "cultural stress" when say, my English vocabulary proves rusty and a Spanish word comes out instead. Or when I'm driving around San Antonio and am suddenly lost and feel frustrated because I feel like I should know my own city better (this actually happened today). My first culture, which in theory should be completely comfortable, suddenly is not. Typically that happens to people who have thoroughly adapted to a new place, gotten used to different ways of doing things (going to market to shop, for example, or taking buses everywhere) and then are dropped back into their former context, which in the meantime has also advanced (exhibit A: the iphone?!).

I felt a surge of this cultural stress this morning again when I completely missed my intended exit without even realizing it, drove to Wal-Mart to pick up some photos, and was suddenly overwhelmed. First, I thought the photo section would be in the front and easy to find, but in fact it had moved to the very back. Then, as I wandered through the store, I felt like I was in daze. There's just nothing like a gigantic box of a one-stop-shopping store to stop me dead in my tracks.

Then, I headed over to Kinko's to make some copies. This is something I have of course done many times here and in Nicaragua. However, I was using special paper and I think I tried about 5 different combinations of placements of my document and the paper before I found the one that worked. (The actual diagram on the machine of how to place the paper was wrong!) In the midst of this process, I find myself growing increasingly frustrated and tearing up for no apparent reason. It's just a bunch of silly copies, right?!?!? But this is what culture stress is like--a seemingly familiar situation gone awry, and wazam! I feel lost and out of control.

Unfortunately, I'm sure it's not the last time.

the culture stress chronicles [part 2]

2009-06-18T15:42:00.002-05:00

I don't think I realized how much I love and need routines/structure until I suddenly didn't have them.

My typical schedule in Nicaragua was something like this--up between 5:30am and 6am, jogging, getting ready for work, a 30 minute bus ride (this part was completely unpredictable every day, but you can read my former blog for stories about that), a 20 minute walk, and then 8 hours at the office, followed by a return commute, a Nica dinner (often eggs, beans, and tortilla), and chilling with the roommates.

Since I have been back in Texas, though, I have had practically no routine whatsoever. I have moved houses 4 times in 5 weeks (thanks to many generous friends in SA who are hosting me this summer until I move to Austin). I have been out of town for 2 weeks (once to AZ/CA, and the other to CO). My first several weeks, my free hours were partially occupied trying to see lots of people and trying to get basic logistical things in my life in order.

But there were a lot of hours during that period when I wasn't doing either of those two things, and that's when the real trouble would start. My heart would hurt (pues, it still does), longing to talk to or mejor todavia, see my Nica friends, speak in Spanish, eat at a fritanga and listen to all the fregadera (jokes). So I decided to get MSN on my phone to be able to text los muchachos even if I wasn't near my laptop.

With so little structure those first few weeks, it was hard to feel purpose or a connection to things here. But being present in Texas is awful hard when your heart is still 3,000 miles away.

the culture stress chronicles [part 1]

2009-06-18T15:04:00.003-05:00

I knew it was going to happen, but it still took me a week to get used to putting toilet paper back in the inodoro.

I knew seeing massive quantities of food and other stuff at the grocery store was going to be difficult, but the knowing didn't make it any easier. I still felt paralyzed in the body wash aisle {!} for 20 minutes, overwhelmed with my choices.

I knew I was going to have to buy a car when I returned, but after looking at 300 listings a day pop up on Craig's List, I finally gave up and bought the first one in my price range that the mechanic gave a positive evaluation to. In 48 hours, I had dropped a cool $3,000--an amount of money that I might have spent in 4 months in Nicaragua.

I walked into a local cafe, innocently asked for a chai latte, and was surprised to be asked not only what kind of milk, but what kind of chai. "I didn't realize there was more than one," I replied, to which I got a full rundown on the 4-5 kinds available. Not even sure what most of them meant, I opted for the vanilla.

Sigh. It's not the immense wealth on its face that gets me, because I lived in the capital city in Nicaragua (pop. 1M). I visited the mall, ate at nice restaurants, and traveled through high-end neighborhoods on a regular basis. What really gets me are the unending options for EVERYTHING. Suddenly every decision (even the trivial ones) seem to require 5 times as much thought and analysis. Frankly, it's exhausting.

Maybe that's why I found myself with little motivation to do much of anything other than the absolutely necessary for my first three weeks. (Of course, I also missed my Nica friends tremendously, but that's another post.)

extranjera

2009-06-18T14:52:00.002-05:00

I wrote this poem about 3 weeks ago, and had shared it with a few people on facebook, but here it is for those who may not have seen it already. It reflects some of the journey I have been on since I returned to Texas.
...
and so i have returned
to suburbia
un mar de manicured lawns
two-car garages and
rascacielos que hacen invisible the dawn

Veo el infinito centro comercial
with its parking lot the
size of monseñor lezcano
Y una brisa cae de mis ojos

Ya no veo niños en la calle
Mucho menos the women
Con sus embroidered aprons
y trays on their heads
Selling quesillos on the bus

Here the colors are muted
La música ya no suena igual
Conversations lack sentido
And me hace falta el español

The street names de mi ciudad
are familiar
But i am often lost
Ni idea donde doblar
So close, and yet so far…

(pjn 5/26/09)

bienvenidos [welcome]

2009-06-17T22:46:00.001-05:00

Welcome to my new blog, where this chelita will chronicle the adventures of transitioning back to her first culture after 3 years in Nicaragua, and beginning later this summer, the wonders (and maybe horrors) of being a grad student in Austin.

I chose the title "Sol y Luna" (Sun and Moon) to signify the many paradoxes that have characterized my life over the last several years and into the present, and which I imagine will continue as I pursue my Masters.

Also, this new URL is a shout-out to a dear friend in la tierra de lagos y volcanes, who nicknamed me Pamela del Carmen last year. I looked up the meaning of "Carmen"--it comes from the Hebrew for "garden" and the Latin for "song". I think it fits me. :-)

More to come soon.