lampara es a mis pies tu palabra, ilumbrera mi camino

I had a dream, I have been thinking about it all day.

I am walking and I have to cross over a street, there is a bridge (a viaduct) over my path. There is grass all over the street, the main ground. I begin to walk over the grass and realize that there are holes all over the grass, big ones. I am afraid I am going to fall in so I tip toe and walk on the side of my feet. My path gets more dangerous and I consider going back but I have to be careful. I have no choice, I retrace my steps carefully and get back to where I started. I look over to the side of the street and  there is a tunnel that will connect me directly to the other side but it is really dark and I forgot my flashlight. I don't know what to do. I wake up.

shall we forgive our fathers?

I have so many things to write, so much to say, soooo much. Sometimes I wonder how am I going to try out all my ideas? Will I have enough time? Does it even matter? What does matter?

There are many things that have been in my head lately. One of them especially.

My stepdad was diagnosed with cancer several months ago and in the strangest turn of events, he went from being a stranger (someone I never tried to get to know for many reasons) to becoming my father.

It is hard for me to imagine a life that doesn't involve suffering, sacrifice and injustice. But every so often I catch of glimpse of what is in people's hearts. I am able to feel my stepdad's pain and as I am thinking about it now, I am sobbing.

I see someone who became father less at a young age and had to provide to his younger siblings for many years. I see a man who came to the United States with a desire to provide for his then wife and children. A person who struggled to be a good parent because he didn't see that in his own home.

My stepdad worked for restaurants, hotels, Zenith, Acme (one of the worst pollutants in Illinois and years later he was given $100 for the damage this COULD have caused him). And all he ever wanted was to someday retire in Mexico.

My stepdad has been discriminated, ridiculed and he has taken it. He did it because he felt he needed to, to have a secure job, a secure life.

I am not idolizing my stepdad, I would not do that. He was not a father for me and for even some of his children. What I am doing is talking about the man he came to be. His change over the past five years, maybe even ten, has been astonishing.

There are few times when I have witnessed miracles and he is one. My stepdad has grown on me. Because I searched for his humanity and in many ways he searched and found mine.

This came out of a relationship he has been building with God. His healing is connected to his faith and his desire to learn about God's word.

I prayed with him and my mom for a long time about six weeks ago. And what we thanked God for, what we shared with him was truly marvelous. I had never felt closest. I don't think I have ever reached that level of intimate thought with another human being. As I closed my eyes I felt like I was floating on air, I could see clouds and then the universe(s). I was able to separate myself from my earth self and understand things differently.

Before we prayed, my stepdad apologized to me (Me?!) for being poor, for not providing enough for us. For what he did and did not do for us. He asked me to forgive him.

And who am I to judge him? Why should I have the ability to set him free? But it reminded me of something. It reminded me of a poem that I always wanted to recite but never dared because my father never fit the description. But my second father (my stepdad) does in some ways:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OB0RgMcB8zc&feature=related

Today, I am thankful to be able to build something with him. I am thankful for his presence, I am thankful for him.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;


A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.




This is a verse in the Bible that always makes me cry. There is nothing that I have found more true. There are times when all I want to do is cry. And then there are times when I am so happy I want to hug everything that comes in sight. 

When you are sad, you cannot think past that.....all you think about makes you feel weak and sad. All you want to do is cry.

When you are happy you laugh, lol, smile, giggle. 

You must go through all. You must learn to recognize it. You might even have to accept it. And it is scary. It is scary when you have no control over yourself. When you want to cry in a meeting.......And you smile at nothing but you learn that your emotions are bigger.......and it is humbling.

Dios aprieta pero no ahorca!

I will be turning twenty-five in a week and I am so very happy about it. More than anything because my insurance rates will go down. I like the idea of having access to more money (to save.)

Don’t get me wrong, I myself don’t like what money represents and the effect that it has on our society in relation to politics, class, jobs, housing, education, violence and at times, church. How many times the lack of, destroys families.

But turning twenty-five pushed me to look back on my life a little, to reflect.

Many of you know that I was born into a financially comfortable family but that after my father died things became very complicated. We went from my mother not having to work and being able to help her family and friends out- to relocating to Chicago and my mom taking odd jobs to make our bills and have food for us. When we were at our poorest, my mom would make hand-made tortilla from the maiz that we planted and add some lime and salt. I can’t forget that ever. I was so hungry that I felt that it was the best food in the world. On occasions, when I can’t think of what I want to cook/eat, I crave that taco.

Poverty is something that no one can teach you about, you can read about it and you might feel bad for a few minutes. A day, a week. You might even contribute money to end poverty. But being the person who goes to sleep hungry, that is something that you only feel if you are there. HUNGRY.

I am not asking for anyone to feel bad for me, that was past. That was my experience. We eventually saw better days, but not after a lot of work.  When I got older, I read that women and children are more likely to live in poverty. And as I get older and being childless, I still read statistics about unmarried women being more likely to live in poverty: http://www.americanprogress.org/issues/2009/09/census_women.html

I know women that are successful, that save and invest. Quite frankly, in my group of friends, women are more likely to have a financial plan. However, I understand the financial (and other) advantages of being a man. Not only are most of the highest paying jobs still heavily dominated by men, (white men), salaries are still not equal amongst males and females. As an immigrant woman of color, I have three immediate disadvantages in this country. You don’t have to know anything about me to know that I am an immigrant; I am a woman and Latina. You can see it from steps away. That is another discussion though, back to my original thought.

But turning twenty-five, unmarried and childless makes me think about a lot of other things as well. It places me at a very humble place. A place of gratitude because I know that I just didn’t turn twenty-five by myself but with my community of family, friends, co-workers and church. The good, the bad and the ugly have all contributed to where I am. I became stronger last fall when I nearly lost my mother and brother. I became stronger because I saw my neighbors, my people at the hospital and at my doorstep.

I don’t know what I would be saying if my mother wasn’t here today. I was thinking about the role she has played in my life and although our friendship is a little rocky lately, mostly because we have developed (what we think are) different opinions on life in the last six months. I realize that my mom was twenty-five when she gave birth to my sister lily, my father had just died six months prior. I tried very hard to think about what she felt at twenty-five: three children (one soon to become disabled without her knowing) and a widow.

And I can’t. My mom only made it to 2^nd grade because her family was very poor, my mom lived in a small town with no resources, my mom had lost my father. Her husband and the father of her three children. I can’t imagine that. I can’t.

I won’t tell what happens next, maybe another time.

I want to capture this moment and this is why I am writing this post. I want for my children or the (children that will consider themselves to be mine) to know what I was thinking at twenty-five.

I wrote a poem (it is not complete yet), I have not written in a while so I am a little dusty.

______

I am that five-year-old girl that crossed a dessert not in search of a dream but in search of her mother, wanted to be re-united.

I am the daughter of a farmer turned organizer

Brave brother, son and father--- who wanted to make a change in his land.

I am tears caused by guns and blood in the mountains of Guerrero.

I was created out of love, faith, and strength-I have to remember that

“There is no reason to cry, you still have me,” said my mother three months pregnant when my father died.

He did not die mom, that is what I wanted to say; he was killed, assassinated like a dog.

He broke a promise; he said he would love us forever.

How can he love us when he is dead?

I am that eight-year old girl who is embarrassed to bring a friend over because that man drinks a lot

I live in an old crowded apartment, where I manage to fit memories of mangos, aguacates, cirguelas and platanos.

Comparing my father to this man that my youngest sister confuses him for her dad

My sister can’t see the conditions we live in

She is blind----maybe she has a gift

I was blessed with a memory that doesn’t allow me to believe that I am where I am because I remember happiness.

I am thrift store clothes and messy hair

That little girl that you often see on the block that has dirt on her face

When you keep walking not knowing what to do

I am broken English, hungry and ugly

I am the one you ignore, oversee and forget

I am immigrant

I am poverty

I am violence

I am trauma

I would ask for help except I don’t think I can speak.

Someone speak for me

Someone reach out to me

Care about what happens to me

I am straight As in class because answering questions from a book is easier than answering questions about myself.

I am that teenage girl in all after-school clubs avoiding going home

There is little that comes my way that I don’t devour

Nothing slips by……. I need everything, I will take anything

Respect demanded, love pursued, education as an escape

Grown woman I  see in the mirror now

I am two languages, well nourished---tummy and mind,

I am beautiful,

Daughter of the strongest yet most sensitive woman I know

I was made out of love, faith, and strength-

I know this now

This is the truth

cuando no nos llueve, nos lluvisna

There are a few things in life that people actually understand. Like hunger. We know we need food to not feel hungry. We need sleep to not feel tired. We need to shower to not smell.

There are things we don’t completely understand. The human body, our mind (thoughts), the heart (love), human intention (good  and evil), religion (spirituality/soul related things).

Some things we choose not to understand like the Environment/Nature/Ecology, Peace, Equality/Equity.

There are days when we think we are very smart and intelligent and other days when we realize that we have a lot to learn. There are occasions when we shine and others when we shy out from admitting we do not know something.

We love to eat, sleep and shower (most of us) because we understand exactly what it entails and because we understand that it needs to be done. And there is pleasure involved.

We sometimes engage in matters of the body, mind and soul because we are willing to take a risk. We know that there is a chance we actually fulfill those parts of our existence. We to take a stab at engaging, dabbling or eliminating religion or spirituality in our lives because of what we think we understand.

And yet some of us (with more information/resources) choose to pollute, violate and hurt of surroundings. Our earth, what gives us life. We choose to engage in wars (around the world, in our communities and in our homes.) By being greedy, selfish and thoughtless, we promote and encourage inequality and unfairness.

Every morning we make choices. Every moment we choose what to understand or aim at understand realizing that we know less everyday. 

cuando tu vas, yo vengo

When I was a kid I used to wear cowgirl boots. They were black leather. My dad bought me those boots and he also bought me a machete. Sounds tom-boyish? Not really, I always wore dresses. It was a sight to be seen. I was so young (an infant) and yet I would sharpen my machete every other day. I loved the sound of it. I was very fearless and my dad would take me to chop wood and I would ride with him on his horse. My brother had developed a fear for horses after that same horse dragged him around our land. 

My dad never made a distinction between my brother and I. He would carry my brother on one leg and me on the other for hours. 

I learned very early on (by example) how a family should look. But I also learned that men and women are equals. It was a shock to see a different behavior when I got older. Logically, I was outraged at this discovery. Every time I experience some machismo either towards me or my surroundings, I think of how unnatural that is for me. 

no estoy para contarlo.. ni tu para saberlo

healing- growing sound; getting well; mending

I think healing is hard. It is hard because we have to admit that we are not well, suffering or ill. Healing is also a process. It doesn't happen overnight (both physically and emotionally). Healing can be painful, uncomfortable and even sometimes unreachable if certain things are not first attained.

Sometimes the wound that heals, can slightly open and begin bleeding. Circumstances trigger feelings that only we can understand.

Even the strongest people can hurt deep, very deep.

How do we know when we heal? Physically, we feel great. Emotionally, we are able to engage, laugh, and live our lives. When we don't, we simply don't feel right. It may be hard or very simple to express that.

I have a lot of respect for people that work to fix people. I also have respect for people that create structures and systems that can aid people in fixing themselves. Courage is what is needed, to take action in one's life.

What is the best remedy? There is no clear formula. I want to create one. Help me create one. I want to  our community, our circles, our families to heal.