Girl Anachronicles

You graduate from college, looking forward to becoming a fully capable and successful professional. You’re hired into Big Corp as an entry-level minion, but your wages are “competitive” – besides, it’s not like you have any debts. All your money goes towards drinking, partying, hanging out with friends. Life is good.

Then, you realize you’ll need an appropriate car. If you had a car in college, it now looks like a banana shoe. It’s a bit too broken down / rusty / old / ugly. In any case, it doesn’t represent you as a young professional. If you didn’t have a car in college, hey! NOW it’s the time to get one! WTF were you waiting for. You buy a car. Economy class, but nice. Life is good.

Now that you’ve learned the ropes at work, you start working hard – and partying harder. You party with the few college friends who stayed in touch with you, you party with your colleagues, you party with friends of friends, hell you party alone! And then you meet someone, start dating. Suddenly, having this salary is great, but you start wishing for more. You wanna take her/him places, go eat at swanky restaurants, live the life! For the moment being, however, you’re thankful you have someone to cuddle with. Life is good.

You’re becoming a go-getter at work. You get a raise, you save some money, and before you know it, you just got married! That nice raise got you a new mortgage and a few more bills to pay. At least you’ve got your own place. You come home a bit too swamped to do anything other than cuddle in front of the TV with your S.O., but that’s okay. You’re an adult now. Parties are a thing of the past. You’ve got decent wine and cases of premium beer in the fridge. You need nothing out of home. Life is good.

Suddenly, you become one of the honchos at work. Not the big ones, but definitely a stable fixture in the office. You now have a nice salary, but the hours are killing ya! You start getting home later and later each night. Seeing your spouse awake is a luxury. Spending time with them is a thing of the weekends (unless you have to go to the office to catch up with “the proposal you have to hand in first hand on Monday”). Maybe by some sort of miracle you become a parent. You have a little mini-me to raise now. You look forward to trips to the park, ice cream cones, laughter, maybe setting up a swing set in the backyard. Life is good.

…and then you realize your spouse is miserably unhappy ‘cuz you’re barely ever there. Your kid grows up into a nasty brat before you even have time to pay attention. Your spouse files for divorce, takes away half of what you earned, and now you have to suffer your nasty kid once every two weeks. You have to rent a dingy little apartment to be able to afford living alone … worst case scenario: you have to move back with mom. You’re back to square one. Fuck your life.

… and then you meet a cute little coworker who shakes her ass just the right way. Skip all the romantic nonsense, go straight to living together, rinse, repeat… or maybe skip all the commitment nonsense, live like a teenager forever. In any case, your life fucking SUCKS.

That’s why I don’t wear a suit to work.

(this was something I thought up yesterday as I talked to a good friend about the correlation of time vs money. We realized that you either have the money to get all the nice things you’ve always wanted, or you have the time to enjoy the things you have. You can’t have both.)

I think it was precisely ten years ago that I gave up the tradition of making resolutions for the new year. I think I must’ve figured it was a stupid waste of energy. Habits are diamond-hard to break: an overnight party and champagne binge will not change that, neither will a change in the calendar year.

So, New Year’s Eve turned for me into a contemplation of milestones. Like watching a movie recap, I look back on all things achieved and changed during the course of the past year. Serves no purpose but to think.

Most people are convinced that this year marks the end of the decade (poor misguided souls!): a mistaken perception, since decades change over when year number 1 starts – not year zero. So it comes to pass that people start reminiscing, not only about the past year, but also about the past ten years. Most social networks online get filled with small fragments of memories: travels, piercings, graduations, jobs… and then I thought about it too. What was I doing 10 years ago? And it hit me like a stone.

Ten years ago, May 1999 to be precise, I graduated from college with a BA in commercial administration, ready and committed to work for an IT company. I immediately was sent on my first work trip, and immediately proceeded to “fall in love” with the first Costa Rican boy that batted his pretty lashes at me. Going to bed with him was just a matter of a few nights, some alcohol and a smattering of gallant words.

Ten years ago, September 2009, I aborted his baby. I learned a few things: 1 – this career was not the career I wanted, 2 – I had no intention of being a single mother, 3 – not all men who treat you kindly and say pretty words will actually be good men. I also realized that during my college years, I had become what my career required me to become, not who I actually was. I quit my job the day after my abortion. Business suits and pump shoes were put away.

Ten years ago, October 1999, I got my first retail job. I learned that I loved retail. I learned that retail doesn’t earn enough to keep.

Ten years ago, December 1999, I had my best Christmas ever. In spite of the horrid abortion I had just had (and the immediate sense of regret, the tears always at the ready in my eyes), my family proved to be everything I needed. This was the year I learned that I had a home again, even if my parents were divorced, even if my heart was breaking. Family was my fallback pillow. Family was my womb.

At the present, I am currently following the academic path I would have chosen in 1995 if my father hadn’t offered his advice filled with common sense. In the meanwhile, I’m working in retail again, after almost 10 years working on my BA career. I tried time and again to make it right, but the heart knows best: this was not the career I wanted. I knew by 1999. Ten years did not change that.

I miss my family to the point of tears. My father and his wife, who housed me in infinite warmth in 1999, now live in Orlando, FL. I will be visiting them in 2 weeks. My brother, who in 1999 was my partner in crime and advisor, now lives in Chicago, IL. I don’t know when I’ll see him again. My stepbrother and stepsisters all live in different places, some have their own children now… The family is fragmented. The love is still there.

… and ultimately, I chose not to have children. Had I had my way shortly after the abortion, I would have had a “guilt baby”. Destiny chose otherwise then. I’ve come to keep making that choice lately. I’m not sorry for my decisions.

My life has been product of those decisions.

So, 2010 will not magically bring new clarity or abundance into my life. It’s just a milestone. Here’s to hoping I get many more of those. May I lead an interesting life.

(yes, I just cursed myself)

Last post on this blog: May 12th

I think it was about time I put down my virtual red pen, shoved aside the text books for a moment, and sat down to write something of my own.

Summer drained me. A mere few weeks after my last entry, I plunged myself into the world of “being an art teacher”. This world demands your full load of patience, and then some. I think all teacher worlds demand this, mind you, and teachers that love what they do earned my undying admiration.

I was art teacher for a month in a summer camp. The main objective of the camp was for kids to practice their English in a fun way, they said. The art activities didn’t have to be particularly complex or farfetched, they said. What they didn’t say was:

- Kids expect innovation/newness at every single fucking turn. You can’t have them coloring paper with crayons two days in a row, they’ll go crazy!

Watercolors again!?!?!? MAN!!!!

- Art supplies are freakin’ expensive. And this particular school was very skeptical about giving me free rein of their art supplies (which are used specifically for summer camp, since they don’t have art class in the school year curriculum … those paints and glitter and glue bottles have been sitting there for years!)

- Kids can’t really be kids … they can’t run, they can’t jump, they can’t skip. Otherwise, they might fall, and godforbiftheyfallthey’ll SUE US! Jeezus! This was the attitude at te beginning of the day, at the end of it, and oh lordy lord! LUNCH TIME. Lunch.Time.Was.HELL!!!

Can't run, can't walk, can't scream, can't talk...

- I’d be having lunch with the same group assigned to me the hour before lunch. Which meant two full hours with the same group. Which turned out to be the biggest group (20). Of 7 -9 year old BOYS. Who ate in a flash. And couldn’t go anywhere else after they ate their lunch. Guess what they did in those remaining 45 minutes. … I’ll let your imagination do the rest.

Fit this inside a small classroom. Yeah. That.

… so, by the end of June, I was happy to the point of tears that the whole ordeal was over. I remembered summer camp work quite differently. I guess different camps work different ways. Sometimes bigger IS better.

The one thing that kept me going and going and going through all those days of feeling subhuman was the notion that I was flying off to see Dad on that very last day of camp. Ohhhh, it was worth it! Thank you, Eze!

I visited Dad during a Father’s Day weekend: it was a flurry of activity, trying to make all the hours last. I’ll always say I wish I had him nearby, but after seeing him and Martha and Felipe carry on with their lives over there, I realized they’ve pretty much found their groove … even if it’s a poor groove. They’re comfy. And their house smells like wood, and apple-cinnamon, and Christmas, and home I wish it was nearer …

The rest of summer went by way too fast, I think. Most days were spent looking out the window, wondering why my work schedule was so funky that they always put me in during evenings or closing shifts. At least work is still going strong, and I still like it. I think, however, that I could have made better use of my time during summer, I dunno. It was over in a flash.

And now, August-December semester is here (my favorite: it’s plagued with a smattering of holidays, the occasional strike, and unexpected tropical storms and hurricanes). I’m only  taking one class, and thankfully! I thought it would be easier, but gosh, this professor is driving nails down my temper’s blackboard! I have my first test tomorrow, and for the first time in a long while, my nerves are on edge.

During this semester I’ve also gotten timidly involved in the revamping/overhaul/let’s-get-this-shit-running of FrecuenciasAlternas.com … as an editor (hence, the virtual red pen). I’ve kept sewing what I sew, and then some more: I took Grandma’s sewing machine, wiped the dust and cockroach eggs off, and put it to good use. My wardrobe is growing again, thanks to this wonderful machine and the magnanimous generosity of a few friends (Maricarmen, Lynnie, thank you!).

This summer's masterpiece: McCartney & Yellow Submarine

… and now holidays are getting nearer, starting off with my favorite: Halloween … which my colleagues say won’t be my favorite no mo’ because it gets all fucked up in a jiffy at the store. I don’t doubt it: Hot Topic is one of the very few costume outlets in this island. If you can’t find your sexy fireman outfit with us, where can you? No, we don’t have sexy firemen outfits … dude, get a freaking red g-string and a heavy duty hose at Sears, jeezus!

So, catch me ’round the bend. I’m pretty sure I’ll be covered head to toe in repurposings and hemming-ins ^_^

El 2008 me dejó más lecciones que muchos de los años anteriores.

A través de penas y malratos, al fin entendí que no puedo “bregar” con mi carrera. Por más que me esfuerce por retener el interés y ser la más profesional y la más “echá pa’ lante”, definitivamente estoy tratando de caber en una chaqueta que no me corresponde. A lo mejor he logrado convencer a los demás de que puedo ejercer mi profesión de manera adecuada; pero nunca logré convencerme a mí misma, que era lo más importante. Octubre 2008 marca el momento exacto en que me divorcié de mi carrera: no más tratar de ser la Super Técnica, ni ser una ejecutiva adecuada siquiera. El intento me brinda más desgracias que lo que pueda pagar un puesto de esos. En el proceso decepcioné a algunas personas; pero sé que, los que me quieran, sabrán ver el beneficio de este cambio tan espectacularmente controversial.

Actualmente estoy trabajando en Hot Topic como vendedora por el sueldo mínimo: al igual que en invierno de 1999, soy feliz en la simplicidad de mis labores. Esta vez pretendo no dejarme descarrilar por el hambre del dinero. También estoy estudiando, ésa es la prioridad actual. Lo que termine de hacer con los estudios, es mi esperanza, será a lo que me dedicaré… cuando sea grande!

Estos últimos meses del 2008 fueron plácidos en el ámbito laboral; pero, como la vida nunca puede ser 100% sosegada, en mi familia las cosas se voltearon patas pa’rriba. Mi abuela visitó el hospital dos veces en dos semanas, situación en la que me ví tan involucrada – a mí misma y a mis hermanos – que no pude quedarme callada más rato y tuve que expresarlo aquí… para desagrado de par de tíos y demás familiares periferales que realmente no vienen al caso, pero que se sintieron TAN aludidos que decidieron comentar sobre un blog que en cualquier otro momento no se hubiesen dignado en leer. Hablé originalmente sobre una familia desbandada, y fue como un self-fulfilling prophecy: mis comentarios sirvieron para deshacer la madeja de familia innecesaria que nos rodeaba como satélites muertos.

Por otro lado, el núcleo también se está afectando. Éste es el detalle que todavía es relevante, el que todavía pica, el que no pienso mencionar aún. Nos ha tocado crecer, nos ha tocado revestirnos de paciencia… me ha tocado reevaluar la situación familiar, y qué hay que hacer para que esta generación Campo-Rossy no se convierta en una maldita copia de la Rossy-Stiehl. Sería muy fácil dejarlo pasar, es la inercia que nos hace gravitar hacia ese horroroso destino; pero quiero demasiado a mis hermanos, a mi madre, a mi padre, a lo que es realmente mi familia y mi templo, para dejar que eso pase.

En estos momentos difíciles, sin embargo, he encontrado que al fin tengo un propio hogar: Ezequiel, Caprica & yo. Es un comfort saber que duermo con mi hogar todas las noches. No importa los embates, el calor y el cariño que ellos me brindan es lo que recarga mis fuerzas.

También tengo que reconocer que este año he aprendido que familia no siempre es = a sangre. Poco a poco se va estableciendo mi nueva familia. Están los de siempre: papi, mami, mis hermanos … y están los de ahora: Pepe, Jose, Mari, Julio… Eze y yo llevamos ya 4 años juntos. Cuatro años que han sido suficiente para empezar a montar una tradición… a ver si la seguimos en el 2009…

The act of adapting to a new set of cirumstances.

Sometimes it takes a negative toll, it sucks our creative energy and our happiness away. Re-adapting can tint the world in a gray cast: it all becomes muddled shadows under sickly yellow streetlamps.

… but sometimes it becomes a brightening filter: the grass starts looking greener right under your feet for the right reasons.