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.
(picture from huffingtonpost.com)
Simply put: Barack Hussein Obama won the presidency of the United States. It’s a victory for the Democratic Party, indeed. It’s a victory for the African-Americans as a minority demographic, also. It’s a victory for common sense, peace, hope…
It’s also much more than a win. What I see in the expressions of the people captured by the cameras of the press is not simple glee for having won this round.
(picture from huffingtonpost.com)
What I see is the same kind of relief that pervades the faces of victims rescued from a shipwreck. I know this tune from the smattering of science fiction TV shows we watch.
Party at Wall Street ...I mean "CIC". Recognize the relief dance?
We finally got to Earth. Yay!
Suddenly makes you think of the slaves liberated by Moses.
What the Democratic Party has delivered is not a simple win: it’s a deliverance, a liberation, a welcome change in the order of things. What you see is not a people happy for the victory of one man: what you see is a whole country sighing in relief because someone finally came to save us from ourselves.
(picture from huffingtonpost.com)
Stephen Colbert (newsman extraordinaire!) - He's SO dreamy!
Jorge E. Abello (of "Betty la Fea" fame by playing a gloriously funny boss)
Steve Carell (I truly doubt he was a virgin at 40, but I digress...)
Robert Downey Jr. (the edgiest of the bunch, but I love raw edges >-) )
… and from the other side of the ocean:
David Tennant (he would "boyishly-charm" my panties off any day!)
... and Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter my ass! This kid ain't no boy no more! Hooo!)
All of ‘em dark and sparkling with talent 
(secret: none of them hold a candle to my lovely Eze, tho 
)
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!
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.
