Archive for category Mi Vida
Caminante, no hay puentes, se hace puentes al andar. Gloria E. Anzaldúa
I’ll be honest; I’m use to getting what I want all the time. Sound a bit selfish? Conceited? Immature? Well, yes, that is how it sounds, but let me explain.
Day after day, I work hard from the moment I wake up until I let my head fall upon my favorite pillow 16 hours later. My parents have always told me to work hard because nothing in life will be handed to you, and believe me, nothing in my life has been handed to me. I have spent countless hours on projects, at internships and working more than one job at a time to better myself. I’m not use to hearing “no” because at the end of the day I do not only convince others of my abilities, but I strive to perfect them and I make sure that I am better than my competition. I know I have not learned all that I need to live in this world, but I am aware of my weaknesses and am constantly working on turning those weaknesses into attributes that will push me over the top.
So, now that I am faced with an uncertain future, I feel lost. I feel as if all of the work I have put in over the last four years in college are nothing. I feel as if all of those words of encouragement from my parents over the past 22 years are lies.
As some of my closest friends are being offered their first full-time jobs before graduation. I am waiting.
Waiting for a reply from the University of South Florida’s selection committee for entry into their Masters of Arts in Communications: Multimedia program. Waiting to hear back from one of the 15 jobs I have applied for over the last two months. Waiting.
Right now the only comfort I have is when I think remember that God has my back (only way I can word that feeling right now) and Ms. Anzaldua’s words. I just have to keep moving during this time of waiting and build my own bridges. Just have to move through this waiting room.
I have been sick for three days now and today I finally decided to make a doctor appointment for tomorrow. I hate going to the doctor even though I feel like I have a visit 3-5 times a year for some other issues. I like to think the way my abuela use to think and the way my dad thinks “It’s all in your head.” Even though I am 3rd generation Mexican-American I am still being told how “Mexican” I am and I take pride in that. I am still stubborn as can be when it comes to admitting weaknesses. I hate all of those new “tools” for cooking – if abuela didn’t need it I surely don’t need it either. I love my watermelon with chile and need salsita for even American food. And, I come out with some of the most random dichos that leave friends looking at me like I’m insane.
Although my Spanish falters some days and I catch myself caught up in American pop music, I like to think that I have held on to my Mexican roots and always will…hasta la madre!
And, another thing…What is it about the site of VapoRub on my bedside table that makes me feel like I will wake up in the morning free of aches and coughs?
So this is how it ends
This is where it all goes down
This is what “I don’t love you” feels like
It ain’t the middle of the night
And it ain’t even raining outside
It ain’t exactly what I had in mind
At a red light in the sunshine
On a Sunday
Nothin’ to say
Don’t even try
It’s been exactly – yes, even down to the minute – five days since everything happened. I haven’t had much time to just sit down and think about what’s happened. Well, I have thought about it, but not on my own. I have been reminded about our relationship at red lights, while getting into my car, while watching a YouTube video about a father-daughter duo, and even at what was once my haven – the baseball stadium.
But want to know the worst part?
Feelings change. Memories don’t.
June 2010 – I open the door and she turns from her brother to look at me. At first her eyes are wide because who would enter her home without even knocking? Not even my Bella (mom) would do that. Then her eyes softened. . .even smiled. . .when she saw me. I only stopped by to make sure she knew which medicine she was suppose to take since my Tia had left the day before. I check the bottle in her hand and tell her I’ll get going. . .then she opens her arms for the first time without me initiating it. . .and hugs me.
January 2006 – I’m sitting on the ground next to the lockers looking out at the courtyard as rain pours before a doubleheader varsity soccer game at my high school. Everyone always goes to buy food from good ol’ McDonald’s or BK before games. The girls are on the other side of the courtyard and I just don’t feel like taking the long walk to the other side. He comes walking up and stoops down to my level. We talk about the rain. We talk about how I’m quiet. We talk about who is better at soccer. He gets up to leave so that he can go grab food before the game. I watch him walk away with that light as air pace.
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