Hard words

Hard words
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Today at 1:55am Edit Note Delete
These are harsh words...difficult words to hear...and difficult words to say. And I'm debating whether I should use words to convey this message or just keep hoping you realize it one day:

That one day you'll get why I can't just get up and buy myself some groceries when I'm hungry
That one day you'll understand why I can't just get up and buy myself a car when I can't get from point A to B
That one day you'll understand that you are not poor...
And for that matter, I am not poor.
And for that matter, no one really is poor.

That one you'll understand that this topic is understood in terms of relativity.
Because you are poor in relation to Oprah who lives down the street from your house. And I am poor in relation to you, and the others from middle class America who you consider poor. And I am wealthy in relation to the families in Dominican Republic who live under tin roofs and sweep their floors made of soil every day.
And yet they are rich in relation to me because they know how to keep what little they have in order. And they treasure every little ounce of dirt, tin roofs, beans and cups of rice they may have. And when I go to their homes they want to give me everything they have--that they can turn 5 loves of bread into 5,000 when I'm there visiting. And for this reason, to hear me complain about what I don't have is a slap in the face to them.

I hope that one day you'll understand why I cringe when I have to ask you for a favor. Because in my life the only people that have done me these favors willingly are people who are from my community and know what "need" means. In my experience, wealthy people (I've met)/wealthy people who think they are middle class/upper middle class people who think they are poor. do not like to give of their shit. They count every penny and calculate every cent that has been given in a this for that game.

I just spent a week at my cousin's house. They grew up poor and now they're doing pretty OK. for themselves. But you better believe that they made me feel like a queen at their home. They gave me of their food without calculating how much it would cost me, they drove me places without expecting gas money (or even thinking about it), they bought soaps, gifts for me....out of love.

I hope that one day you understand why I hate living here. I hope that you understand how I breathe inequality and feel the aura of "how come you have sooo much more than me" every day. I hope you understand that when one of my possessions break I am pissed because I cannot replace it all the time. And I hope you understand what a slap in the face it is whenever you tell me:
Just replace it. Just buy yourself a car. Just buy yourself some juice.
Just fulfill your desires and wants when you feel them co me on.


And I hope that one day this will not be the case; that one day you'll come to my house and I'll give you presents, and drive you around without asking you for gas money (or even thinking about it), that I'll buy you soaps and let you sleep in my house without counting the cents it cost me. And I hope that one day I can be like that family in Dominican Republic who doesn't even think about the inequality, who wouldn't even dream of charging anyone for any service they give.

So understand that when you calculate everything we've given each other in a this-for-that game, it's a step into the classroom: "never ask wealthy people for anything" 101. Understand that I turn to my gurls every time and we share stories of how this inequality haunts us; that we sit around in our PJ's talking about it. And when they need me I got them. And when I need them they got me. I hope one day you learn these lessons.

How will we ever unite?

How will we ever unite
if I find myself annoyed at wealthy whites?
Right when I think I've assimilated enough;
that I've become quadrilingual,
fluent in the languages of white middle class America,
listening to Sufjan Stevens and Coldplay.
Just when I think I'm able to relate almost fully and find many friends from this demographic,
I find myself mad.

I'm mad because she always wants to help me. Because she always thinks she's right. Because she calls me "cute" when I cook differently. But little do you know that I consider your food bland and find myself longing for that adobo and sofrito. Little do you know that I don't know how to use your fancy kitchen gadgets because I never had them; because I had to use knives instead of can openers, and napkins instead of coffee filters. Nevertheless, your one summer cooking expertise can't top mami's platanos, beans and rice in the kitchen. And maybe your palet wouldn't appreciate it and maybe you would have the audacity to give her "advice" and to "help" her, but she doesn't need your help and neither do I.

I'm mad because when I say: "Damn, I want juice." I get a reply: "You need to buy yourself some juice." Hhhhmmm....why didn't I think of that?
Little do you know that you're advice is based on a couple of assumptions: The assumption that I can get myself to the Supermarket from this suburban college I am in. And the assumption that I have money for food right now.
And you, who have a car and enough money (which your parents send you) ask me to get you groceries everytime I go when I catch a ride with someone once every two weeks. Do you know that I lived off of those oatmeal packets in the kitchen for a week because I had no one to take me to the supermarket?

And you, who don't pick up your plates ever, have the audacity to ask me if all of the plates in the sink are mine. Why the assumption? Yet, you overlook the fact that I vaccum every week and wash the mugs that are lying around.

And I'm mad because I just came back from being with people who know me and who I can let my hair go with, and now I have to come back to you. And we don't understand each other. And we don't get each other. And you are so far away from my context and I am so far away from yours. And you exoticise my language and my music and my country and LOVE going on missions trips there to "help" us. And I love being with my people and singing and rapping and beat boxing and....living. And when I offer to help you, you refuse it, because of course, I can't possibly help you.

I'm tired of you trying to help me. I don't need your help.
I don't need your help beyond the help I get from my community. I don't need your help beyond the help I get from my mother. You cannot help me because you don't understand me.


And I'm mad because I wish I didn't feel this way. I wish you all didn't annoy me. I wish I didn't have to racialize this, and I could just see it as difference in experience. I'm mad because I wish I could see you as God's child and nothing else, who's abundance has made you broken and unaware. And I'm mad because I miss my people, my music, my culture when I should just love to be in community. But the contrast. The contrast serves as a reminder of the fact that we are worlds apart; that although I can philosophize with you all day I don't belong here. I'm mad that there are not more Latino professors. I'm mad that there are not more professors from an urban background. I'm mad that I don't see more of myself represented.

Missing the trees for the forest

I go to sleep late last night after fighting a range of emotions and sadness and unmotivation. Standing up, changing positions, changing scenes to get myself to read this shit. "C'mmon Annery, you like school. You have to do well on this exam tomorrow." I go to sleep at 3am, absorbing way less than I should have. I wake up at 8am, then again at 9am, then again at 10am. "Wake up, Annery." Each time I want to hide from the world; each time the bed seems like such a better idea than facing what's out there. Each time my body is split between logical impulses and illogical emotions and body aches. Finally, I listen to the last wake up call and fight my body to get up.
I'm up, disoriented and dizzy. Lethargic.
I go to the computer. Check my email. Pace. I should open that book. I get ready, sit in the sofa, and stare at these words. Everything in me screams: :"I can't." I self talk: "This is ridiculous. You have to get this shit done. Just do it." But I keep convincing myself that nothing is worse than what I'm feeling right now--this lethargy, this dizziness, this realization that perhaps I cannot accomplish all that I dreamed of. That perhaps my kindergarten teachers were wrong: Did the mistake skies for apartment roof tops, when they said 'sky is the limit'?
So I push myself to class--I get there. No one. Class is empty. What am I? In a twilight zone?
I must have missed something. So I sit there. Eat--maybe food will motivate me. But I just stare at the book blankly.
I go to bed again, finding refuge in my sheets. But my body keeps protesting--You don't really want to be here. You really want to be engaging life, engaging the world...facing your dilemmas.
After and hour and a half, I end up saying: "this is enough. Work with what you can control, Annery. Make lemonade out of lemons." So I change and do all of those girly things that make me feel better. I shower and put make up on and a pretty dress. I clean and get organized.
Sit down at my desk--Oh yea. That apple computer I worked so hard to get: broken. My old dell....too slow to get anything done. But in hopes of change, I try it anyway. I press on, and iron and make phone calls I was late on. Get back to my desk: the machine is still making odd noises--not working. And that stupid little sand clock/timer is still on the screen. Ok. No problem. Next computer--my friend let me borrow it and I have some documents in there I need for my paper: Not turning on. But it worked yesterday! Ugh!!!! I want to cry.
But I hold back the tears. I get up, go to the library, get my books and borrow a computer. I'm ready to go to work. I'm determined to make the most of this day.
I'm relaxed, so I conduct a routine email check, and there it is-- an email from my professor saying she's not sure how to deal with me again and all of my absences. Tears.
I just want to give up.




What does one do when she keeps falling over and over again? When she trips on the same stone repeatedly? Why does she not learn? Where is the disconnect?

"You can do it," some would say. But the ironic thing is that my overly ambitious spirit has the tendency to overlook real limitations. And this very attitude has caused me more sorrow and dissapointment than admitting that I cannot--atleast without some guidance and some external intervention--whether it is divine or human. Now that I admit to myself that this pattern has real origins; now that I realize that if I do not face my limitations I will probably never progress, and I will undoubtedly keep tripping over the same stone, I find some consolation.
But what is one to do when she keeps failing those she answers to? What is one to do when everything seems to be coming down hard on you? What is one to do when its getting in the way of your dreams--especially, when time is becoming scarce and you may not have the same opportunities open to you as when you were 15? The options were open and I undermined them during these last five years of college. Why didn't I take full advantage of them? Where is the disconnect between my grandiose visions and the details that get me there? I've missed the trees for the forest, and the consequences of doing so are large.

So...what am I to do in the middle of a semester when I've missed so much class and professors are dissapointed? What am I to do when I have had a rough day and finally motivate myself to get out of bed, face the three computers in my room--none of which work (papers are lost), get myself to the library to borrow a computer, sit down to do my work and I get an email from a professor expressing her dissapointment. What does one do other than cry? Other than surrender? Other than face the music?
Making lemonade out of lemons has gotten me through most of life. But I'm finally admitting it to myself:
This shit is tough.

Limitations

 I am sitting here knowing I have to read for 1:15 class and it is 11:55am. But what am I doing? Blogging. Why? 

Because I don't want to have to sit in a class and compete and perform; show how much I know, and I would be rushing through 100 pages without grasping the majority of it. I don't want to perform for my professors or classmates, I want to take my time and absorb the book. 

But the more I go through schooling, the more i realize that we are in a continuous battle between efficiency and effectiveness. Under perfect conditions, we could take all the time we wanted to learn all the things we wanted to learn. But conditions are not perfect. We will always work within the constraints of time, unruly emotions, our own scheduling mistakes (overbooking), etc. So we have to learn to take these as a given and do what we can within these constraints. 

I'm reminded of Socrates who said that the philosopher (in search of truth) can never be a politician. And I think that his words illustrate this same tension. If we are in search of truth, we will be fighting against the constraints, protesting the time limits, dealing with life as it comes, breaking through the constraints for the sake of truth in every area. So that when unruly emotions get in the way of our work, we stop our work to deal with our unruly emotions, and when time constraints are placed on us, we do not abide by them for the sake of understanding all that is in front of us. We live our lives in protest of efficiency, letting effectiveness take precedence. The politician, by definition, must be aware of the limitations: Many interest groups are fighting for different ideas in a world of limitations. The needs of all will not be represented fully because the needs of one group necessitates taking away from another. The politician's job is to facilitate the best outcome in light of these ever-present constraints. Philosophers, troubadours, artists and mystics will attempt to live in the realm of the spiritual, emphasize the matters of the soul, trying to ignore the constraints--dwelling in the realm of the infinite while running away from the finite (Kierkegaard). 

And i find myself in the latter category. I must learn to embrace the finite, to engage what is in front of me in light of the constraints, and to not protest these limitations I am constantly up against. I do not have all the time in the world. I am limited, and I must accept that. I am not God--not omnipotent, not omniscient. I am constrained. 

Learning to embrace the constraints....

Learning stewardship when I have only been given one talent....

That guy with one talent did nothing with it. Did not invest it. He hid it in protest of the limitations, while the ones with five talents and ten talents invested their talents. At the end the one with the one talent was chastised for not investing. The trick here was not what you had it was what you did with it. And perhaps i have 10 talents but if I do nothing with it; if i hide it in protest of the limitations I am up against I will have failed. 

the ivory tower

Yesterday I met with one of my favorite people in the world. She's one of those grassroots people--stays connected with persons and places we don't like to be bothered with. She befriends the homeless and kids we consider to be thugs and criminals. And she said something to me: "We love you, we just don't like the academia." She was referring to the arrogance that comes from the ivory tower. It's a little ironic, though...because I find myself reacting against that ivory tower phenomenon in my classes, often getting over-emotional about how arrogant we can become. i often get angry about the inherent power dynamics within academia's relationship to the rest of the world. I get angry at the Western world's enlightenment thinking and the way it condescends latin America, forcing it to become its project,  guinea pig and subject. However, its all relative right? 

Because in relation to the college I attend, I am the grassroots person, defending the ideas and experiences of those outside of academia. But in relation to those outside academia, I represent the ivory tower...and I am blind to my own propensity to intellectualize the world around me--their world. It's a class issue, no? 

This woman went on to say, "We become the very thing we hate, Annery." She said, "In the same way that you get angry about the ways men may treat you unfairly or condescendingly, its the same thing when you bring academia in here--the same feeling." 

So its interesting....that we can live in one space; yet, worlds apart. And border-crossers who often are in yet another world--trying to reconcile all the worlds they dwell in, and never fully in one or the other. So....the question for me is: Can I keep this up? Dwelling in two (or more) worlds without fully engaging either?