Girl Anachronicles

pink freed ballet shoes, originally uploaded by Laura Walker.

I was born to a life-long ballerina: this guaranteed that I’d be enrolled into the ballet-frenzy early on in my life. I still remember my first ballet lessons. I must have been around 5 years old, and I had a black leotard with tiny white dots, and a simple ruffle around the hips. After I while, I adopted the pink leotard with pink, gauzy, tie-around skirt uniform.

However, I was always fascinated by the grandiosely stiff tutus adult ballerinas wore, and even more than that, I was enthralled by the pointe shoes. I dreamt of going pointe. I used to swipe mom’s old pointe shoes from their storage place to put them on and play adult ballerina in my room, away from judging eyes, nearer to my bed in case I should fall.

I never went pointe. My mom, who used to take me to my ballet and jazz classes and spend the whole day taking her own dance lessons in an adjacent studio, broke her ankle and had to swear off dancing. It followed that I would have to quit my lessons too ….

Years later, when I turned 19, I enrolled in jazz classes in the ballet studio my stepmom used to work for. It didn’t take long for me to realize that, whatever illusions I had taken with me as a child that I could move gracefully, I couldn’t dance worth a dime. I quit a few months thereafter.

Later on I worked up the courage to ask my mom: “Mom… did I dance well when I was a kid?”.
She laughed a bit and said: “Hell, no! You had two left feet!”.

Hindsght is 20/20. Unless it comes to how happy and talented you were …

Some people say “Count your blessings”. They say it so much and so often, that it has been immortalized into posters, greeting cards and Power Point slideshows. It’s a saccharine, idiotic, Christian-Precious-Moments saying. Or maybe I feel about it so because I immediately associate it with an idiotic Precious Moments poster that was taped on the principal’s office wall in my Catholic school.

Now, “count your miseries” is something you don’t hear much at all. It sounds like an emo thing to say, it may indeed brush along the lines of something Tim Burton would make an animated movie about … but I think it might also help put things in perspective.

- A few weeks ago a friend finally broke up with his long-time girlfriend, after long months of toiling and pushing towards a fruitful relationship. It failed, and he’s now cycling between depression and mania.

- A week ago, Eze’s grandfather died. It was sort-of-unexpected: he apparently hit his head, and his cranium filled with blood. He died of associated respiratory complications (as he had signed a form asking NOT to be put in a respirator).

- Things at the office are NOT looking up:
– Work-wise, it’s chaos. Deadlines are being forced upon the staff, and the best word to describe the general reaction is “mutiny”.
– The boss’s ex-wife (and mom to one of my close friends)was found to have a brain tumor. It’s suspected to be malignant (a grade 2 glioma, to be exact). My friend relocated to Texas to take care of her mom and keep her company, which is totally understandable and fair and right… but it has created a palpable “hole” in this office.

- My grandfather died last night. Bone cancer. Spent the last year or so wanting to die. Last night he got his wish. Most of us are thankful, since it means the end of his plight, but we’re all joined in this bitter grief. His relief is ours to a certain extent, but we will still miss him. Besides, what really breaks my heart is the fact that I never got to see him again after 1995, and my father didn’t get to say “Goodbye”.

- Yesterday I had a bilateral breast MRI done. The doctor found a tumor, something of a change since last time I was checked (2 years ago). I’m petrified by fear (I’m a high risk patient for breast cancer).

- Two of our closest friends are going through more or less the same fucked up romantic situation. Girl leads on. Guy falls hard. Girl turns out to be dating someone else. It’s harsh, and having it happen in stereo is baffling.

- I went swimming: 50 meters. Nothing huge, just to check on my condition to see if I can use the Natatorium facilities. I pass, but barely: my lungs almost give out of the effort, and I realize that 8 years of smoking have taken a BIG toll. I quit smoking. I’m trying really hard to stay “quit”, but all other aforementioned miseries are making it hard to stick to my guns.

One blessing though: The urge to cry is far stronger than the urge to smoke. Isn’t life grand!

Those two weeks come and gone, I’m back in the office, and already missing my vacations… or the vacations from my vacations (vacations squared).

First of all, for those of you who like looking at pictures of other people having fun, or mediocre points of view of a city that has been photographed since the first brick was laid, then go here.

I refuse, however, to give a blow-by-blow recount of the whole trip, mainly because it would make this post too long, and besides, I forget details easily… it would be frustrating.

So, without further ado:

Things I Loved

1)

Visiting Chickpea, now known as Tahini. Different name, same awesome menu. However, the unconditional awe died a bit when we found a much better place at half the price very near the Clark Street Station in Brooklyn. However: finally getting a whole Shawafel in my tummy? Priceless!

2)

Finally seeing the Alice in Wonderland sculpture (also known as the Margarita Delacorte memorial). It was everything I thought it would be, and more. If you delve into the Flickr set I linked at the top, you’ll see I was very thorough in documenting all details possible, including a tiny snail right under the biggest mushroom, and a squirrel peeking out of the base of the Cheshire Cat’s tree. It was big enough even for ME to climb into Alice’s lap, and that was more than enough for me.

3)

Running by accident into the Hans Christian Andersen sculpture, featuring a lovely, charming, adorable rendition of the Ugly Duckling. It was totally unexpected and heartwarming.

4)

Di Fara’s. Suffice it to say it has ruined all other pizzas for me. If you’re looking for flashy, quick, blow-you-out-of-the-water experience, go elsewhere. This place was slow and not mind-blowingly friendly. It’s a hole in the wall with more than a few kinks that need ironing out, from the layout of the tables to the state of the acoustic ceiling.

However, if you’re looking for a sublime experience comparable to finally finding the truth about how death works, then this is the place for you. As soon as you cross the door, the first thing that hits you is the respectful silence. It’s like walking into hallowed grounds, and indeed! Watching Dominic De Marco go about his business making pizza pies was like a religious experience -- that is to say: I’m not conventionally religious, I also find the same kind of satisfaction from watching a beautiful sunset. Well, these were beautiful, delicious, delectable pizza pies. The best I’ve had. And the only thing that it provokes in me now is bittersweet tears: thankful that I had the opportunity of tasting such delicious pizza; dismayed that it will probably be a long long while until I taste it again (let’s hope Mr. De Marco will last on this earth a great deal longer).

5)

Sharing more than a few interesting experiences with Eze. Tears were shed, laughs were had. The whole trip was intense in any and all ways imaginable. However, the days shared with Eze, just the two of us by ourselves, were the best. I came to realize that, even through the bitter arguments, we are more like each other than what I would have first thought. We behave differently, but the things that attract us are pretty much the same.

Case to prove the point?

6)

Union Square. We spent more than a few nights dallying around this area, from there to Saint Mark’s Place and back. We felt incredibly at ease spending our dead hours just sitting on a bench (or on the plaza steps) just looking at the people go by.

7)

The Metropolitan Museum of Art! I just wish I had a whole week to stay and peer at every single piece closely. To read all the information tags and the stories behind the expositions. There were SO MANY rooms I never got to visit … this is a definite re-visit candidate, by all means. If only to sit in the Renaissance sculpture room (so pure and white when doused in sunlight … so full of history!) Go to my Flickr set if you want to see a bit more of what I believed to be worth the furtive snapshot -- cameras were allowed, however, I felt a bit like an outlaw. Taking pictures were my way of swiping my favorite pieces into my pockets and taking them home. (Don’t miss the tiny heads and bulls “collections”!)

Trying new types of cuisine. I had Thai food for the first time in my life, as well as my first cup of Turkish coffee ever. I cannot say these were the best culinary experiences in my life, but at least I can say I tried it at least once. (In my opinion? Turkish coffee is extremely thick … too thick to enjoy)

9)

The smell of real roses. I had NO idea wild roses could smell so good. A whiff of one of these finally brought the comprehension that had eluded me all my life: I finally understood the passion for the smell of a rose. I finally understood why people obsess over these flowers. And I realized that it’s of fools to pretend that a reaped rose will smell the same as one that’s safe and sound still tied to the ground. We will never really capture the smell of a rose without sacrificing the sweetness of its aroma by its own death.

10)

The John Lennon Memorial. A beautiful homage, forever kept alive by The People.

11)

I finally saw a trilobite fossil! Forever haunted by the image of these animals, seeing them in other creatures, like the horseshoe crab and the Ohmu… and when I came to see what they were actually (sort of) like: they were freaking SMALL! Hahahah! Mini-Ohmus… cute! This was in the Natural History Museum, and the whole trek through the museum was fascinating and educational. As with the Metropolitan Museum of Art, this museum would require a few entire days to see and fully enjoy it.

12) Other places I tried and/or loved:
- Max Brenner -- It’s ALL about the chocolate. You step through the door and the chocolate aroma ATTACKS you! Lovely place!

- Così -- Their specialty is sandwiches, but they also make “hearth-baked dinners” which actually means: a bunch of pieces of chicken and ham and bacon topped with a fuckload of cheese and put through the broiler. DELICIOUS!

- Bamn! -- This is what I imagine true pop-Japanese cuisine to be like nowadays. Everything is bought through dispensing machines. How alien! But they surprised me with two over-the-counter offerings: green tea ice cream (I prefer the twist vanilla-green tea ice cream, it’s softer to the palate), and snow cones (I had a cherry-flavored one, which is a slight departure from the traditional raspberry flavor we favor so much here)

- The AMC IMAX Theater -- Totally new experience! We watched The Dark Knight there, which has a few IMAX scenes in it. Totally worth the over-price, but I just wish we had been able to see it with the usual movie theater gang.

- Ricky’s -- Take a beauty supply hole-in-the-wall, put it on steroids, keep the prices down … what do you get? HEAVEN!

- Anthropologie -- Incredibly expensive, but so uniquely cute! Thankfully, I’m not rich, otherwise I’d blow my savings account on this brand.

- Fanelli’s Cafe -- We went in without expectations. We got good beer and food at adequate prices. The surprise? Looking up and seeing “Saloon Certificates” that dated up to 1873!!!

- FuerzaBruta -- Just … watch the video… and be aware that whatever you see in there is not even an infinitesimal piece of the things you experience in those 50 minutes you spend in that room surrounded by insane performers.

No hace mucho le comentaba a mi papá una observación que hizo Ezequiel acerca de mi comportamiento durante nuestra última visita a New York City. Ezequiel se fijó que a mí no me da la nostalgia por el terruño patrio que a él sí. Del mismo modo que él sufre del patriotismo disparado por la separación, le ocurre igual a mi hermano, a familiares y amistades … según me cuentan, es encontrarse de pronto rodeado por todo aquello que es grandioso, exaltado, fabuloso, las maravillas del mundo civilizado … y sin embargo encontrarse con que están extrañando las brisas tropicales y el chirrido del coquí en el patio.

Y pensándolo bien, Eze tiene razón: a mí no me da eso. Como él lo dijo en ese momento, a mí me sueltan en las calles de New York City y yo sigo caminando sin mirar hacia atrás, sin brindarle un segundo pensamiento a Puerto Rico (y sus garitas y sus palmas y sus güiritos flotando en el aire al lado de los reyes magos tallados en madera… sí, estoy segura que en esas mierdas es en lo que piensa la gente cuando empiezan a extrañar a Puerto Rico … jamás se les ocurre extrañar el tapón tan jodido de la Milla de Oro un lunes en la tarde, o en lo difícil que es conseguir un fucking estacionamiento en Plaza las Américas en los fines de semana).

Esta mañana se me ocurrió preguntarme por qué no me salía del corazón extrañar a Puerto Rico a la distancia. ¡A no equivocar esto con odio! A mi Puerto Rico me parece hermoso en su caos y desorden: no sólo tiene un ecosistema fascinantemente variado, sino que la misma civilización, en su violencia y cafrería, en lo pintoresco de sus personajes, es una obra maestra de la evolución y de-evolución.

Pero si me voy de viaje, si levanto el vuelo … no lo extraño. Extraño a mi familia y a mis amistades, seguro! Pero a Puerto Rico como entorno no.

Así venía hoy de camino al trabajo, pensándolo … y de pronto sonó “Estadio Azteca” de Andrés Calamaro, y se me aguaron los ojos – taco instantáneo en la garganta. Y me dí cuenta en ese momento que, jodido como suene, el patriotismo del que sufro es heredado. Las ansias por un terruño patrio no son por mi propia patria sino por la de mi papá. Imposible como suene, pero mi lealtad está atada a un país que ni siquiera conozco bien.

La añoranza que mis compatriotas sienten cuando oyen los acordes de un cuatro se despierta en mí cuando oigo “El Cóndor Pasa”. Mis compañeros boricuas ven las playas como la primera señal de Casa, yo sueño todavía con visitar nuevamente los montes y valles que marcaron el compás de una de mis navidades hace más de diez años.

Es cuestión de percepciones heredadas, creo yo.

O tal vez, a diferencia de muchísima gente, mis raíces no se agarran del tronco del árbol del cual nací, sino del terreno al cual le he dedicado mi corazón.

Last night I dreamt up my daughter again (it’s the second time … maybe third … in this lifetime).

The first time it was a pregnancy, I remember it was as vivid as morning sickness itself.

The second time the girl was 7 or 8, and gazed at me calmly, like waiting. She had black straight hair, and a nose shape that later on I came to understand whose it was.

This third time, the kid was just a baby, maybe one year old. Same nose, same eyes, brown, downy hair. Gestures that echo those of the owner of the original nose shape. And a round, elfish face.

It’s an odd day, an odd time, to be attacked by motherhood blues. It will go away.