These ashes once told a story. They held together a picture and witnessed an ephemeral moment-- an inevitable series of events lost in a time lag. We live by aphorisms: what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, they say. These feelings of raw nature dignify us and remind us of our human condition. I refuse to believe this process calls for a pyrrhic victory, it's a sacrifice but not an ultimate defeat. These moments (these ashes) they reveal the very last inch of ourselves, regardless of the narrative....
On that note, my last semester as an undergraduate is just a few days away. I could write about my academic experiences, about what I was feeling as I walked through UCR (and eventually UCB), but that wouldn't even begin to cover the experiences between those corner stones. As much as I recognize the flaws in these institutions, I had to learn at an early age that they were my ticket out of a then hostile environment dictated by religious principles. In hindsight, I've learned, or rather accepted, the one general truth anyone can appreciate: what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. Now that my next chapter is just around the corner, I can keep those words close to my soul and blindly (but confidently) take the first few steps.
The job applications, the college graduate applications... they don't define who I am. This is something I have to keep reminding myself. I don't know if I'll be in a graduate program next fall, or out of the country; I just have to make sure I don't lose myself in the process. One of the reasons why I'm so fixated with the concepts of time and space is because I believe they truly ARE socially constructed. I knew that at such an early age when I would refuse to go to school because the routine wasn't doing it for me. That anxiety I would get the night before the week started was, in part, because I didn't want to feel like a headless chicken running in the world. Maybe that's just the dreamer in me, but I'm sure glad I kept those child ideals intact.
Regardless of this social construct, I am obliged to partake in the hype. And since that's the case, I will continue to walk through the world like a headless chicken, but with my free-spirited youth by my side. I'll continue to do this, even if it requires every inch of myself-- every speck of ash.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Keep Calm and Bidi Bidi Bom Bom
One breath at a time. That's what I keep telling myself. I can't believe August is already here, and I feel like I have a million things to do before the start of my last semester as an undergrad. **Deep breath** **Bidi Bidi Bom Bom**
I can't say I haven't been having fun lately. I've been constantly hopping over to the other side of the Bay looking for trouble. I'm so fortunate to live in such a beautiful area. Every time I catch the bus heading to SF, I sit at the very back and watch the Bay as we drive into the Bay Bridge. I'll be listening to Minnie Riperton's sweet voice as I watch the docks, ships, and sail boats lingering within that massive pond. As we're about to enter the bridge, it feels like it's about to sink but in that moment I'm completely detached from my worries. I've escaped "the routine," and a sense of mischief possesses me; in that moment I am free.
I remember that feeling of escape. I use to feel it as a child when I didn't want to go to school. My mom would make a deal with me, "Si te quedas en la casa, me lavas los trastes y limpias la sala." That was the deal, and I would gladly succumb to those orders. I would stay home, write, watch TV and in that moment I felt as if I had stepped out of the cycle of absurdity-- away from the world. I felt free. That's kinda what it feels like when I'm crossing that bridge....
There's so much history here. I recently finished a book for my Summer research project called The Squatter and the Don, by María Amparo Ruiz de Burton. She's considered the first Mexican American novelist, with works that go as far back as the early 19th century. In the novel she describes Alta California's imagery and the San Francisco Bay as her characters depart Oakland on a steamer heading to the other side. I can't help but wonder how much history lies beneath us, how many people lived here before we did. Thoughts on the injustices that took place in order to build these cities run across my mind, and Ruiz de Burton reminds me why I'm here. Even though I decide to escape for a brief moment, I try not to forget why I'm here.
This brave woman wrote novels about the fluid power dynamics in the Southwest as a rhetorical strategy to persuade readers not to abuse their privilege. She was specifically targeting U.S. settlers (also known as squatters) in hopes of demonstrating the injustices committed by Congress against Mexicans who stayed in California after 1848. There were many sketchy policies that forced these people (now labeled Mexican-Americans) to pay taxes for their land, all the while these squatters stole their land and shot their cattle.
There's a passage in the story with the governor of California and one of the protagonists (the Don) meeting up to discuss the future of California. The Don tries convincing the governor to build a train that helps people in Southern California partake in the growing industrial revolution that exploded after the Civil War. The governor rejects his offer and ends the conversation by saying, "If I did not cause this misery you apprehend, someone would. Be sure of it, for there will always be misery in the world, no matter who causes it." Failure to build the Texas Pacific caused the Don to lose investments he had made for that project. This man fought against all odds (discrimination from Americans, injustices by the squatters, etc) only to lose everything in that moment. Ruiz de Burton wrote these stories as an emotional appeal to her readers.
This really put things into perspective for me. I walk around campus looking at buildings such as Hearst, and I'm reminded of the men that came over during the 1800's only to exploit this land. Men like Stanford and Hearst were thieves, and here I stand as a student amongst the tragic history. I try not to let it drown me, I try not to let it destroy me, but it's very difficult. This is why I escape, for my own sanity. I briefly escape for self care. Audre Lorde once said that self-care is an act of political warfare, and that's precisely what I'm doing. I don't let this history get to me, instead I remember why I am here.
I can't say I haven't been having fun lately. I've been constantly hopping over to the other side of the Bay looking for trouble. I'm so fortunate to live in such a beautiful area. Every time I catch the bus heading to SF, I sit at the very back and watch the Bay as we drive into the Bay Bridge. I'll be listening to Minnie Riperton's sweet voice as I watch the docks, ships, and sail boats lingering within that massive pond. As we're about to enter the bridge, it feels like it's about to sink but in that moment I'm completely detached from my worries. I've escaped "the routine," and a sense of mischief possesses me; in that moment I am free.
I remember that feeling of escape. I use to feel it as a child when I didn't want to go to school. My mom would make a deal with me, "Si te quedas en la casa, me lavas los trastes y limpias la sala." That was the deal, and I would gladly succumb to those orders. I would stay home, write, watch TV and in that moment I felt as if I had stepped out of the cycle of absurdity-- away from the world. I felt free. That's kinda what it feels like when I'm crossing that bridge....
There's so much history here. I recently finished a book for my Summer research project called The Squatter and the Don, by María Amparo Ruiz de Burton. She's considered the first Mexican American novelist, with works that go as far back as the early 19th century. In the novel she describes Alta California's imagery and the San Francisco Bay as her characters depart Oakland on a steamer heading to the other side. I can't help but wonder how much history lies beneath us, how many people lived here before we did. Thoughts on the injustices that took place in order to build these cities run across my mind, and Ruiz de Burton reminds me why I'm here. Even though I decide to escape for a brief moment, I try not to forget why I'm here.
This brave woman wrote novels about the fluid power dynamics in the Southwest as a rhetorical strategy to persuade readers not to abuse their privilege. She was specifically targeting U.S. settlers (also known as squatters) in hopes of demonstrating the injustices committed by Congress against Mexicans who stayed in California after 1848. There were many sketchy policies that forced these people (now labeled Mexican-Americans) to pay taxes for their land, all the while these squatters stole their land and shot their cattle.
There's a passage in the story with the governor of California and one of the protagonists (the Don) meeting up to discuss the future of California. The Don tries convincing the governor to build a train that helps people in Southern California partake in the growing industrial revolution that exploded after the Civil War. The governor rejects his offer and ends the conversation by saying, "If I did not cause this misery you apprehend, someone would. Be sure of it, for there will always be misery in the world, no matter who causes it." Failure to build the Texas Pacific caused the Don to lose investments he had made for that project. This man fought against all odds (discrimination from Americans, injustices by the squatters, etc) only to lose everything in that moment. Ruiz de Burton wrote these stories as an emotional appeal to her readers.
This really put things into perspective for me. I walk around campus looking at buildings such as Hearst, and I'm reminded of the men that came over during the 1800's only to exploit this land. Men like Stanford and Hearst were thieves, and here I stand as a student amongst the tragic history. I try not to let it drown me, I try not to let it destroy me, but it's very difficult. This is why I escape, for my own sanity. I briefly escape for self care. Audre Lorde once said that self-care is an act of political warfare, and that's precisely what I'm doing. I don't let this history get to me, instead I remember why I am here.
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