Empress of Guexico

Hermanitas Introduction to the Vision Space

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 17:16:00 +0000

Mi'ja, I recognize you
I read through your scars and find kinship

With a saddness that could drown a bright moon
You walk wearily through a world that has done you no favors
I want to scream, "Smile, its too soon! It can be better!"
Yet I know from experience, any holler sounds like degradation, no matter the content

You've learned the armor already
You know that to leave your home with any measure of safety
You must brace yourself for the disrespect that is to come your way
From men, whose lack of emotional education, leaves them with sex and anger as expression for every emotion they ever bottled away

Mi'ja, I recognize you
I read through your scars and find possibility

Understand that it has nothing to do with you
Every time they look at you as if your clothes are strewn on the ground
It is the ghosts of what they feel they need to prove
They are looking at what they imagine is comfort, in emptiness they know not how to fill or even name

Understand that on the other side of the armor you hold so dear
Is this world full of light you can barely comprehend
If only there were ways to show you the joy that could dust every moment of your being in this crazy world
A joy so large, so vast, you could not doubt the grace that exists for you when you let the armor go

Mi'ja, I recognize you
I read through your scars and find the path

There is no one in this world that can promise to keep you safe with any measure of certainty, including you
And I would like to say I remember the day this discovery did not fill me with terror
I would like to say I remember a moment, when the cradle of my gifts freed me of my fear
I would like to say to you, that you reach a moment in life, where adventure becomes more important than refuge
But I would be stretching truths past their elasticity

It isn't an epiphany or a realization,
You don't wake up one day knowing and believing the world to be your playground
Your heart doesn't let go of all that hurt in one swoop
Healing is a collection of love, persistance and vision beyond a discipline I knew I had
Yet there it was.

Mi'ja, I recognize you
I read through your scars and find myself

Reaching to take off the armor or feeling safe is not enough
Getting to the top of the mountain bears little fruit without the view
There are mornings where every smile is a championship and laughter is an all-stars game
I heard it said once love is as much an ability as it is a feeling

Mi'ja, get yourself able.

I am too familiar with worlds dipped in sorrow
And I find every metaphor and smilie for a world of light inadequate
How do I paint you the picture of a freedom so liberating and absolute that fear becomes a triviality
How do I scuplt you a mold so full of grace that you welcome the challenges you used to dread
How could I ever sing you a song so sweet and blissful that you know what its like to be whole

I stand before you a product of the many people, whose happiness I saw but could not figure out
Having read the entries of a life I can barely believe I've lived
At once at ease and apprehensive about the hurdles to come but an absolute certainty in my jumpers ability... and yours

Mi'ja, please know that my humanity does not allow for perfection, and I claim nothing of the sort
I am full of grace and likely the least graceful messenger you may ever meet
And though I can't paint, sculpt or sing you into a vision of completeness
I can stand here with my scars and tell you that it exists for you as it did and does for me
And one day both of us will dance in that vision with our sisters radiant with the music of new dreams we can only start to touch

Marrying Myself

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 03:12:00 +0000

I did the most loving thing I've ever done for myself this weekend. My heart is so completely full right now. As the blessings wash over me and my world feels the impacts of loving out loud, I wanted to write a little about the experience.

Over the holiday’s, I had a thought that went “What do you do when you truly commit to yourself? How do people celebrate commitment?” then I thought, “Well they get married,” I proceeded to think “I can’t marry myself though,” and then decided that being in this wonderfully beautiful space required so much hard work, that a celebration just as big as that very work was exactly what I wanted and I would do this for my birthday.

Getting to the day was a journey, one that I'm sure God was really amused about. I received the gammut of reaction. Some people laughed at the idea, some shared in my joy, others couldn't understand it, and at the end of the day the very thought process that brought up the desire for the event was tested. This was really good for me. I appreciate every last piece of each side of the coin. It made me really firm in my purpose and very introspective about 1) Whether I truly believed in what I was doing, and 2) Whether or not I was ready to do it.

When I thought this up, I think I had this picture in my head around doing this for myself and what that looked like. And step by amazing step, my community of friendship stepped in and took the reins of the big day. I watched as these people, that I loved so dearly, put into action all of the love they had for me. This was also a test actually, because it really made me allow others to love me. Being on the receiving end of that love is not an easy task for most of us. I give it well, but receiving it is a challenge because my relationship to self-worth hasn't always been so great. My friends bought and cooked all the food, set-up the decorations, created schedules, gave directions, tracked the arrival list, created the ceremony, brought the bubbly, and kept me relaxed and laughing. I was bathed, just bathed in love so absolute and thick that my heart nearly exploded from my chest.

I wish I could describe to you the day. It was rich, like a good chocolate cake. There was just so much love there. I loved how much openess there was about love. Unabashed adoration that we all gave each other. It was remarkable. I am so incredibly grateful. Grateful to my friends/family for being so understanding and loving of my flights of fancy. Grateful that they were able to open their hearts to an unorthodox expression of self-love. Grateful for all the work I've done to be in a space that would allow me to actually let-in an event centered around loving myself without having to cut down any piece of it or myself. Grateful to God for the amazingness of his grace to give me this as a foundation in my person.

My best friend in his toast talked about our essential nature. How in its truest form we were meant to exponentially give and receive love, like an undying fountain, regenerating ourselves as we give. This reciprocity was one that I discovered in the last couple of years. Life is a process and I will be chipping away to continuously become better at receiving and giving from authentic places, places that come from wholeness. This weekend I got to celebrate the understanding and clarity that the first leg of the journey provided. I found myself feeling so very healed, and so very free to love and be loved as a result. And let me tell you, it was quite the party.

Recently, I was reading this story by Paulo Cohelo and his preface said something like this... There are builders and gardners in this world. A builder will work up building and dutifully build and cement and labor until their construction is done. They will soon after find themselves trapped in by the very walls they have labored around. A gardner lives in a much more uncertain world. The gardener understands that it will plant much, and not always see the fruits immediately. The gardener struggles much more because they have to constantly survive the harshness of the elements, water, and care for their garden. A gardners work is never done, because it requires constant attention for growth. Then he goes on to say that garndeners can always recognize other gardeners. Each always recognizes that in the growth of each plant lies the growth of the whole world.

Thank you all for being a part of my garden, for allowing me to be a part of yours, for the depth of your love, and your willingness to always push us closer to the beauty and bounty of the gardens we deserve. I am blissed out friends. :)

25 Facts About Yours Truly

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 15:07:00 +0000

Rules:

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people, then click publish.)

I was just on the phone with Nia and she says to me “So when are you going to get to do your list of 25 facts about you.” Haha. And here I thought I was going to skate on it. However, I am in a writing mood today, so here goes:

1. I am currently watching the movie Dirty Dancing, that I saw while I was in fourth grade. At the time I had no idea what it meant that Penny was knocked up, but had an audible reaction of “Oh! I get it!” in eighth grade when I found out what it meant. Aw, innocence.

2. I have a playlist on my iPod called “Some of us are Rockstars” and I play it at least once a week and sing to my hearts content hittin all sorts of bad notes, but not really concerned.

3. I also have a playlist called “I feel like dancing with myself right now” and I put on a full on show all the time.

4. I cry at everything. Sad movies, happy movies, kindness, puppies, you know, everything. I just can’t help but be moved by all of the things that make our world beautiful.

5. My favorite Sesame Street character when I was a kid (and you know now) was/is Grover. Something about how neurotic and goofy he was appealed to me.

6. I learned English both from Grover and the “Young and the Restless” and I’ve had a creative vocabulary ever since.

7. I write poetry in secret. I don’t really show it to anyone, and it’s my way of expressing lyrically.

8. I’m going to marry myself in April for my birthday. It took me a long time to be as committed to my happiness as I currently am. I allowed myself to make mistakes, take risks, create boundaries, and make tough decisions. It’s been a journey and I want to commit to myself, and its going to be a great party.

9. The people who know me the best know how truly goofy I am. I don’t really show that side until I’m comfortable.

10. I love jewel tone colors. Red primarily but green, blue, purple, anything that sparkles just makes me want to smile.

11. I love Disneyland. It was the first place I truly got to be a kid. I threw a penny in Snow White’s wishing well every visit from 14 till now at every trip. I was once a tour guide there.

12. I saw my first musical/play at 18. It was RENT and it blew my mind.

13. I absolutely love my cousin Jorge and we’re friends in real life. I mean, my family is pretty great in general, but it’s always felt like he was the first person to believe in everything that I could become. He gave me my first novel (Jonathan Livingston Seagull) and I think it was foundational to how much of a dreamer and doer I became.

14. I have had a lot of people tell me “I’m too emotional” like it’s an expletive. I always wonder what I’m supposed to do with that. I can’t really help having a really strong emotional core, and I think it would probably be pretty toxic to bottle it up. It’s my soft heart, and it’s been through a lot of rough and tumble, I think it’s a miracle it’s still this soft.

15. I’ve been to 11 different countries, but I was 18 before I even got on an airplane.

16. I have this thing for Otis Redding music and I love, love, love that scene in Pretty in Pink where Ducky dances to “Try a Little Tenderness” because it embodies how that song should be performed.

17. I think I’m meant to live in New Orleans and Miami before ever picking a place to settle down in. I just love the quirky bright vibe of those cities.

18. Dolores Park is my favorite place in San Francisco. Nothing beats sitting down with a burrito and a book in Dolores Park.

19. I love running. I never in my whole life thought I would say that. But it’s really a pretty wonderful to have that space for your head.

20. I make really great food, but nothing beats my shrimp cocktail and guacamole.

21. I think about my little brother every morning when I wake-up and pray that his planes fly safely (he’s a pilot)

22. I have phenomenal friends. I love them and they are like my family. They are one of God’s greatest blessings to me.

23. I love Salsa music. My favorite song is by Celia Cruz “La Vida Es Un Carnaval”. Ayyyyy, no hay que llorar, la vida es un carnaval, es mas bello vivir cantando!

24. Rey Faustino Jr. is my best friend in the entire world. I’m glad we met when we were kids, because growing up would have been so much tougher without him.

25. I have rediscovered my love for Clementine’s, I love peeling them and having the juicy sweet pieces pop neatly into my mouth. It’s such a yummy snack. And when I’m feeling really hood with it, I’ll put some Tapatio hot sauce on them. 

Karla and the Beautiful, Tender, Heatbreakingly Remarkable, Very Very Good Year

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 05:48:00 +0000

(Me, peaceful and happy after getting my tattoo)

I moved across the country, healed big over my biggest traumas, I read 19 books, water colored on my rooftop on sunny days, learned how to deal with a snow day. I fell in love. I learned how to wear scarves for function instead of fashion. I experienced 4 seasons in an actual city, not on an mp3. I learned how to run. I forgave my father and was able to have him as an active part of my life. I found function in my little dysfunctional family. I went salsa dancing at least 20 to 30 times. I washed a sad friends feet in honey to remind her that we walk in sweetness. I allowed myself to be devastatingly heartbroken. I picked myself back up again. I made succulent, delicious, mouthwatering mistakes... and meals.

I laughed... a lot.

My little brother got engaged to a wonderful woman, they called me at 3am screaming with their joy and news. She came to visit me and we became sisters. We got a black president! The white guy, he didn't even come close. I saw brown people create and perform their own musical, it won a Tony and my heart. I got a tattoo!!! It means the movement of creation on earth and the will of the creator be done. It reminds me of how God carried me with his blessings from challenge into happiness. He fought along side me against my greatest demons and reminded me I was a warrior. I started active conversations with God. I left the door open for someone and it was the right call.

I let myself be rip roaringly angry and pissy and then I didn't beat myself up about it. I yelled at someone in defense of my heart, because I finally fundamentally understood and followed through with honoring how amazing that heart is and how much it deserves to be both protected AND pushed out on a limb. I danced in my room every week and basically put on a concert for myself all the time. I talked to my best friend - every. single. week. Even though we were very far away from each other, he still celebrates and mourns with me, cause its how we do. I stood up for two of my friends to people who had their head in their ass.

I managed to make myself my biggest project and I enjoyed the work so much, that I re-upped the contract. I made enchiladas, tostadas, guacamole, and Mexican tissue flowers for days - just because it makes me happy. I indulged... in everything. I made a poem with a friend. I wrote my own stories. I honored my story. In the same week, I saw the St. Louis Arch, the Seattle Space Neeedle, and the Lincoln Memorial. I committed, heart and soul to myself, and then asked me to marry me. Save the date cards will be in the mail soon. It was a year of abundance, not perfection. And I am abundantly happy as a result.

I was thinking of what direction I was piloting my story this year, the New Years resolutions and all that; it occurs to me that we must celebrate and as Rey reminded me "savor" every bit of the good parts. This year was probably one of the most blessed years of my life. I'm savoring them. Thank you for playing a part in my story. You fam, you're a blessing. I relish having you and celebrating with you. You are the beautiful treasure of my life. My world is better because of you, in challenge and in joy. I hope this year was as amazing for you as it was for me.

2008, if you were a person, I would hug you, kiss you, make out with you and send you on your way. Thank you for being such an amazing year. I will savor what I have left of you and then joyously welcome your homie 2009. Friends, feel free to savor with me. Its so important.

My full heart to yours,
Karla

The Most Blessed People in the History of the World

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 00:37:00 +0000

"If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer."
- President-Elect Barack Obama

I am overcome with emotion. All day, I randomly would get this knot in my throat. Every single time I heard someone say the words "President-Elect Obama" my heart fluttered. It is my privilege to bear witness to the history of my country at this time. I am sure that as the next few months and years play out I will both agree and disagree with the decisions of my chosen leader. But I really would just like to say, that in the next days, I am committed to allowing myself to be washed in joy.

Watching people celebrate last night, it was so clear to me how game changing this was. What it meant to people of all colors, both genders, and all nationalities was just a blessing. Many people who previously may not have identified this way started to identify themselves as Americans. And then together, as a community, an engaged electorate, we became the most blessed people in the history of the world. Never in any other country, at any other time, has so much been an option for all. Even in our economic crisis, our two wars, our ailing schools, and our obscene debt; there have never been a people as wealthy as ours. Never have people of color in any other country been able to aspire as high and seen proof of the possibility. Never have all people been as equal as we are at this very moment in our precious country.

It can and should be better. It can be so much more than what we currently have and it will be. As a community, we will continue to work to make it what our children deserve... what we deserve.

For today, for this moment, I choose to revel in our absolute blessings to have been born in a place full of this much hope and passion and community.

"For that is the true genius of America – that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow."
- President-Elect Barack Obama

Things I Love About My Younger Brother

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 02:18:00 +0000

I had a pretty mellow day and in reflection I came up with all of these things I love about my little brother. My heart was so full with them, I had to write them all down. Here is my best shot.

Dear Hermanito,

This is a snapshot of my love for you, I could never fully capture it in words, but I hope that it gives you an idea about how much love and admiration there is.

I love that you are a hard worker. Every time we talk on the phone you are heading into work or coming out of it. You fight as hard for your future as any person I know. You do it quietly, you don't make a big show of it, but your determination to be the caretaker of your future family floors me.

I love that you have never uttered the words "I'm a grown ass man." to me. I'll call you little brother or baby brother or boo boo, and you don't even wince. You recognize that my affection for you, isn't even close to an indicator of how grown you are. And that makes you the most grown ass man I know.

I love that you give a damn about what other people think. Your first and foremost concern is always how you feel and how your family feels, not what anyone else would say. It gives you this independence that I love.

I love that you are a protector. In the toughest time period of my life, the one person I wanted around was you. I called you, and I sounded like an absolute mess, and as hard as it would have been, if I asked you to, I know you would have jumped in a car in that minute to travel 6 hours to give me a hug. And that, is a security, I carry with me at all times.

I love that not only have you loved one woman for the last seven years, but that you committed to her. You were gutsy enough to take this huge leap. You valued her and her contribution in your life enough to become a man. And come to think of it, you valued yourself enough to know that taking that step was actually valuing yourself a bunch too.

I love how chill you are. It drives me crazy a lot of the time, but baby brother, I can always count on you to tell me "Eh, its gonna be okay, its only --fill in the blank--."

I love how you forgive us. Whether its me or our dad, you forgive so beautifully. It's like nothing we could ever do, would ever take your love away. You show me what it means to be unconditional with love.

I love how you take care of our folks. I've been all crazy and gallivanting across the country trying to save the world. And you've stayed with them and loved them, and helped them. Its so awesome, and takes so much more strength than anyone could know.

I love that when we were kids, you would play with my dolls because I asked you to. And even though it was a GI Joe or something, I always made it Jem's boyfriend and you let me run the show. You were happy with just spending time together.

I love how much fun you get out of poking at people. You are at 24 (almost 25) still this little kid in a candy store. You probably would still sit in my room as I dragged you out by an ankle and laugh while I got furious just because you like seeing me mad. So I kinda get annoyed by that, but I love it too, no lie.

I love that you still have patience with me drunk dialing you like a 21 year old. You would never know I'm the older sibling, but thank you for laughing.

I love that no matter how long its been since I've called or returned a call you always pick up and say "Hey babe, how's it goin?" And hold no ill will over my spazzyness.

I love that you show love to my friends. You recognize in a way that our family always had a hard time with, how much they are family to me too. And you care about them and welcome them as a part of our lives.

So I'm going to stop being cheesy, because I'm sure you're rolling your eyes at this point. But I just needed to tell you a few of the things. Because you really are just such a special person. And I'm having time lately, to reflect on all of the blessings in my life, and you are one of them. You and your future wife are two of them. And I love you with all my heart and I just hope you know how much.

With all my heart,

Tu Hermana

To all the boys I've loved before - Mayda Del Valle

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 15:05:00 +0000

I believe I've posted the link before, but this poem speaks to me...

to all the boys I’ve loved before

part 1:

we are not your mothers
and are not meant to be
it is not our responsibility to raise you into respectful beings
you have been weaned from the breast of a woman for years
yet you come to us
wounded and half filled with promises you can only keep half the time
trying to suckle our sense of self dry
we’ve become much to accustomed to sleepless nights and damp pillows
have become accustomed to waiting for our empty beds
to be weighed down with the bodies of men heavy with the scent
and the hands of other women
mornings with swollen puffy eyes are becoming routine
and we simply wanting to be loved
simply wanting to be able to love ourselves unconditionally
simply wanting to be held and feel safe
simply wanting the truth of whether you can really love us or not
play Hester Prynn
wear scarlet letters on our chests
become adulteresses
cheating ourselves out of what we truly deserve
willing to settle for less
willing to act like a little less than a goddesses
willing to sleep with the enemy
men too scared to stop acting like boys
thinking we can love away their scars
so we take the lashes of the insecurities they pour on us
and lick our wounds in quiet mourning for the little girls we lose by the minute
fast fading memories of playing hopscotch
and skippin’ rope
we now play freeze tag with each other’s hearts
play hide and seek with our love
if we just don’t breathe maybe we won’t get caught
up in the spider’s web we weave while waiting for what we give away to be returned

part 2:
you said you had a photographic memory
but apparently you forgot that honesty
begins by being real with yourself
and the ones you claim you love
should have never wasted my time
and just acted like the man you claimed and told the world you were
made a production of setting my folks at ease with tales of how you’d do all it ever took to never break my heart
I guess you thought you were talking to a roomful of the deaf and blind
figured they didn’t hear you
coz I never saw it coming
but the truth cannot be hidden
what’s clouded in darkness will always come to light my love
you shoulda known that
claiming you saw my light so clearly and brightly
so I left
chasing paper trails of promises you’d already set on fire
left with nothing but the ashes of who you’d written that you were
and singed fingers from trying to grasp the impossible

and the only thing I’ve really lost
are lukewarm kisses
that for too long I kept trying to tune the beat of my heart, a few lies, and stories
about honesty and truth

I guess shit happens
I just wish it wasn’t me

and I guess
it’s so much better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all
I know that’s some easy shit to say

but I’m still gonna try to live by it
I’m still gonna try to put my faith to rest in it

I will sleep on dry pillows now in a bed big enough to love myself in
I will awake these coming mornings with my eyes dry and shining
full of the knowledge I am priceless and worth nothing but honesty
I will remove the scarlet letter from my chest and hold the hand of the little girl I used to be
and say I’m sorry to her
I’m sorry for cheating you out of the joy you have always deserved
and I will wait
for a man
to come along
that can give me the truth of how much he can really love me

Generation Change Vs. Baby Boomers - Why we don't get each other

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 13:57:00 +0000

It's been awhile guys! I think the last time I wrote I was just starting the uphill climb of workshop season... the roller coaster just left me off. I'm dizzy, exhilerated and maybe had a touch of nausea at the end - but no worse for wear. I've since made many a mistake as a result of the broken heart I wrote about, gotten a tattoo (finally!), become incredibly comfortable with myself, taken a vacation and made some more friends. All in all, standard fare.

Anyway, back at the business at hand. I was moved to write, so let me do just that.

I watched on Thursday as Barack Obama delivered what was to my heart and my head one of the best speeches ever. I was in a room with over 300 people around my age, and literally, you could have heard a pin drop. A lot of young people, some who completely agree with his policies - some who don't, enthralled with this man's words. We want to be led and low and behold, here came what seems like a leader. And low and behold, we are following. None of which, we see any problems with.

I've heard much being said about the "cult of personality" and the very fabric of the "change" message being non-substantive. And I wanted to take a quick second to respond to that. My preface, is that I am in a world of social-change makers, a group that grew up with the words "Social Entrepreneur" in their lexicon and pulled on the word regularly. So my views are most definitely colored by this. I will speak in the we as a member of my generation for the sake of this post, but I am fully aware that we are a diverse set of individuals with many different thoughts. This is my effort to bring some clarity and respond directly to those of you in the Baby Boom who are confused. Now that my preamble is done:

When it comes to this "Cult of personality" or that "Change" is somehow non-substantive. We think its bull. We have grown-up in a world where people younger than us have made millions because of their innovation. Where information and thoughts that used to be held close to the vest are posted online. Where being a change agent went from the picket signs and protests of your generation (which btw, we admire) to the ideas and scalability analysis of ours (which we dread but are willing to do for progress sake). We have watched as one of the richest men of our time retired from Microsoft to tackle programs in the social sector because it was the "exciting" challenge. We've been relatively unscared of failure and fairly entitled when it comes to moving up in the world. We digest information quicker, because it is accessible to us at the touches of a keyboard. We trust more. We don't believe that we are going to be led off a cliff if we let our guard down, and if it was coming, we trust ourselves to be able to spot it waaaay in advance.

We don't get dues paying. We empathize with it on some levels. It hurts our hearts that you had to spend years upon years proving what you knew to people, to only then advance one step. But this generation, it doesn't have time for that. We grew up in communities where people are dying. Dying from gun shots, health problems, and a lack of education. We get learning, we get that its important and necessary, we get the need for professional development - but see that totally separate from paying dues. That is inefficient to us. Your generation has thrust us into a ton of jobs where we were trial by fire, mostly mis-managed, and we exceled. Ya, there are definitely some of us who struggle, and for that, we want to create mechanisms that bridge the gap. We refuse to be sedintary and just watch it happen.

We see the world in this very high stakes light. With every moment we waste, another kid/family/elder is put at risk. So ya, we've got lofty plans, lofty ideals, and we're fairly unapologetic for it. No doubt, we will likely over do it. But we'd rather over plan and over program and then find ways to make things efficient than leave our people out in the wash. Give us ideas and we'll run with them, otherwise, let us create and see what happens.

We know that the way that you got ahead was keeping your head down. Be good, resilient, put up with a load of crap, earn your salt and you will be rewarded. We know that the second you got ballsy about something, there were some mean people around to put you in your place. And really, I thank you for putting up with all of that for me. Very few in your generation wanted to be seen as the rabble rouser past the age of 22. In our generation, we delight in it, and being a true rabble rouser (different from a brat) really starts at that age.

As a result the concept of "Change" is a lot scarier to you, than it is to me. You think its a luxury, and I think its an imperative.

About a year ago, I had a conversation with my dad where he was worried about my success. Now, I thought this was silly. I graduated from college (a luxury to him, necessity to me; required both of us to sacrifice), got a good job, progressively got better jobs, have been around the world and my own country as a result of the life I lead. And he was worried about my future. When we got down to the thick of it, his concern was that I was not settled down. I could own a house by now, have picked a husband, at very least - picked a neighborhood. But those weren't the things that were going to make me happy. Changing, traveling, getting to know, and enjoying my world makes me happy. At the time, he saw my life as dangerous. "What happens," he said "if everything falls apart. " and my response was "Then I build it back up." I hugged him, because I love that he loves me that much. My father spent his life worrying about putting a roof over our collective heads, I spend my life in self-analysis - worrying about how I best leverage myself in the world. He is barely learning how to write email and I update a feeling on my facebook status.

It's a gap of mutual understanding. We grew up in different worlds. Please know that I get that nothing comes without hard work. Which I also know, not every member of my generation understands... but it's more of us than you think. And we're willing to fight; some of us, everyday, all day - to insure not only a secure future but a resplendant, promising one. When I see Senator Obama, my thought is this, "Oh God, someone who gets and is willing to lead me there." I haven't been led a lot in my life. I have trusted only a handful of people to lead me. I think the same can be said by many people in my generation. So when you see us captivated and hopeful, don't tear it down. You don't understand it, but on some levels, you don't need to. Let us be led. Let us lead.

Lessons from falling in love...

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 12:03:00 +0000

(The Heart Chakra)

The last 9 months of my life can really be described as a turning point for me. I have at once, hit rock bottom, hit it again, hit it one more time and then turned around and looked at my pieces, maybe, more completely than I ever have. I went to my fathers home country and discovered that I loved him and understood him enough to forgive him for the role he has played in my story. I fell in love with a man (for the first time - not that I've ceased to count Eric, but it was a very different love), only to find out that he wasn't ready to love me back, only to find out that I had at the same time totally fell in love with myself. And now, as Nia pointed out to me, I am the star of my own story for the first time in my life and I am both relishing and getting used to that.

Even when its yourself, loving someone isn't always easy, its a commitment, one you have to renew every day. The temptation to prioritize other things, people, situations is always there. Falling in love means partnership, and being your own partner is the business, but it is the most challenging partnership you enter into. ;c)

For some reason, I always thought that when you fell in love that it meant all of your issues with love went away or it meant that you had gotten past them enough to really be in it. I had this impression that it became easy to roll around in and a particular person became enough of a reason to drop your bs. That's cute isn't it? Wholly untrue, but really sweet on some level. Love is this altered state where you not only see your partners shit but your own and you just have forgiveness for it. Love involves this whole other level of empathy for yours and your partners pieces. I love everything about you and everything that made you what you are. I see you. I'm willing to give my fear over because I think you're that amazing. This comes with its share of high and low.

There is this scene in "Love Actually" where a little boy is telling his stepfather that he's miserable because he's in love and the stepfather says "That's all?" and the little boy replies "What could be worse than the total agony of being in love?" Word.

And its agony because you see with so much clarity, all the things the world doesn't pause to point out about this empathy, about this beauty, about this miracle of a person and yourself that on some level, ready or not as you may be for it, its fantastic and horrendous.

So to fall in love with myself, I basically had to learn a skill that I never had. And the beauty of the skill is that you can't unlearn it, you can only block it or refuse to allow it. That's a little cowardly. And though numbing out has always been a problem for me, its not because I wanted to do it, its because I didn't know I was doing it and I didn't know how to stop it. But I do now. Suffice to say, I've spent the last three weeks crying, laughing and adjusting to the idea of being in love with me and the need to let go of loving this other person. Now I'm totally unfamiliar with this process. So feel free to input on what's next, but here's where I'm at. unLoving someone else is a gradual process, and it doesn't mean that you think they are sheisty and you kick everything away (necessarily), it just means that you love both of you enough to let go of the role they played in your life and finding ways to show yourself extra love through that. I woke up last Monday and was like, alright, I'm done with the wallowing now. I've got a priority to attend to and thats the courage to love myself as deeply as I would love someone else.

The level of forgiveness and love that I have discovered for the people in my life helps me see for the first time my stories with a greater clarity. There are so many stories that I have living inside of me that no one has heard. That really I've hesitated to look at because of the amount of blame and sorrow they contained. Before, each of them was this indicator on how unloved I was. A measuring cup of what my parents/friends/self/life couldn't give me and/or each other. A barometer on how I should have known better. It was full of so much judgment. And that's just not how it works. Parents, siblings, people, you are fallible. And before you know and are aware of your issues, you don't know and aren't aware of your issues, so why do you insist on punishing yourself for that ignorance. On some level, for me anyway, it was easier to do that then sac up the courage to love myself and the people around me in the way I deserved. And thats just what it is friend.

In any event, with my new found clarity, I have discovered that the sorrow doesn't go away because you can see it. You have to talk about your stories so the iron grip of them doesn't choke away your abilities. I've started to discover that I mangle the stories too, like I anticipate this reaction, that involves so much judgment, but when I finally tell them - judgment isn't there. No one blames me or the people I love for our mistakes either. Converting my stories into a history book and not my bible is a process that takes faith. Faith that God gave me all that I needed to learn the lessons he had predestined. Faith that I am strong enough to weather not only having lived the story itself but coming to peace with it. Faith that I have the strength to love myself enough to open up the spaces for other people to love me too.

So the next few months, I'll be writing down a lot of my stories. I don't need to cage them up anymore. In fact, I want to find peace with them. And that, is love.

Divide and Conquer

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 15:20:00 +0000

I grew up 45 minutes outside of Los Angeles in a town by the name of Pomona. The LA riots however were just as prevalent in my hood as any hood in the middle of LA. The night they happened I was in fifth grade, and the season finale of the Cosby Show was on TV. My family and I lived in a two bedroom house in a not-so-great part of town. In looking out of my window, I could see angry people reeking havoc. I have this very vivid mental picture of this woman, Latina and pregnant, throwing a trash can through the window of Church's Chicken across the street. People had bricks, and they were screaming, and my eleven year old brain prayed that they did not turn their anger towards my apartment. Though I have to admit, as upsetting as it was, I might have been more upset at the possibility that the news cycle would interrupt the finale of The Cosby Show.

The next day, at school, I was one of 4 other kids. The others; a white male, an Asian female, 2 black females and myself; did diligent work and play for an entire day while exhausted teachers tried to collapse their classrooms and decide who stayed with the remaining children. I remember overhearing my fourth grade teacher (a woman I now get was probably around my age now) talking with my fifth grade teacher (an older very respected but ornery woman) "We should talk to them about all this. They must be scared." and my fifth grade teacher responding "And what do you suppose we say, we can't make them unscared. Last night was the product of a whole lot of crazy we can't control."

I bring this memory up because it was the end of a certain kind of innocence for me. The way the news covered the trial and the aftermath of the trial, built this anger in the community that lasted for years. My middle school experience for the next three years was marked with racial rioting. My school was put on lock-down on a number of occasions. What this meant, we were locked into the confines of the school until a parent came to pick us up, because the racial rioting at the high school endangered our safety.

And steadily, I watched as the racial divisions at my own school became fiercer and fiercer until there were "race problem" at the middle school level as well. I watched many things at the age of 12 that left many scars. I could tell you many stories of moments when my heart broke because of what I saw happen with and around my peers. At the end of the day, the worst part, is how much anger we all carried around. All of us. Actually, scratch that, the worst part, is we had no idea why we were angry. We just knew this world around us was very unfair and for some reason skin color mattered and though many of us wanted to "deal" with it. There was so much anger and so much violence, you had very little power over it. And this likely created even more anger.

I write this today because I have been watching the racial divisions that are being marked up and discussed as far as the presidential campaign goes. Its exploiting our community. I have watched stories and read articles about Latinos and Asians that simply won't vote for Senator Obama because of his race. Where those voting blocs are addressed as unreachable for the good Senator.

Now let me be clear, the Senator's Latino strategy has been pretty crappy and started pretty late in the game. Really, I don't even know if there has been an Asian American strategy. Given all he's overcome to be this kind of a contender at this point, I can forgive it. You can't handle the whole pie in one sitting, you take it in slices and the Clinton's have just been eating for way longer. Doesn't make Senator Clinton the best candidate, just the one with the luxury of being at the table longest.

But really, I'm pissed off at the way this is being marketed. Because it sounds like a simple news story for the journalistic world, a valid point that can be addressed from time to time. But what this is doing is causing scars and divisions in communities that really don't need more. It's a news story for whatever conglomerate prints or airs it. But its years of living in racial discord and violence for a middle school kid. Repercussions of which, we won't even see immediately. And that, is bullshit. You can't dangle the lives of people out there for fodder and take to responsibility for what it does.

I've been so proud of the black leaders of this country for seeing this. There have been many slaps in the face to the black community throughout this presidential race. Yet, these leaders, knowing the fall out of any quote that divides have stayed away from speaking. Choosing instead, to be "above the fray" and working to keep some sanity for everyone. So as a constituent, a Latina, and a kid who grew up in the middle of racial havoc; thank you for thinking of all of us. Thank you for acknowledging that in division there is danger. And though at the mountain top it sounds like an interesting discussion, without adding the many layers and many truth and many lies within the arguments, down in the valley's its not interesting. Its hurtful.

Communion

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 03:06:00 +0000

I have often written on here about the impact that having strong women in my life has made on me. I knoooow I wax poetic about it. I do. But I have to tell you, there is a reason and you're just going to have to bear with me one more time. I was out with an old girlfriend tonight, a woman who is basically my twin, haha. I mean, we have some differences but the way we look and interact with the world is so similar, we might as well be family.

In short, I adore her. I mean, adore. This girl just knocks my socks off, she's one of those people that has such grace, you just wanna be in her presence. The deal is, that when one of us is "going through something" we both withdraw from the world and struggle with how to fit. We struggle with how to let people be there for us. Accepting love is a task on our to-do list that we haven't quite mastered. So we kinda take turns, this friend and I, being able to commune and needing our own space. But I get it. And she gets it. So when we DO get together, its like finding sisterhood in your backyard. We laugh, talk about some deep issues - personal, professional, global - gossip about boys, and just vibe.

I am so blessed. To have these strong women in my life. I know i have said it before. But really, I must reemphasize. It is key to the development of your person. A woman, uncomfortable with women, is missing a piece of her soul. Its the piece that knows how to truly connect with herself. That is not to say we aren't going through thangs and trying to constantly figure ourselves out, but damn, the phrase "I just don't get along with girls. I don't know why they hate me so much." is a BIG RED FLAG about a woman, still struggling to find comfort in her own skin.

Sisters, get yourself some women. Some good women. To be for you, family. To be for you, guidance. To be for you, period. I mean, I love men. And when I say love, I mean loooooove me some mens. They are so special and wonderful in their own right. So I'm no she-woman-man-hater. But ladies, get yourself some girls that sweep you off your feet. Because at the end of the day, it keeps your base firm to have these women. To be sisters. They are calligraphers to your stories, and though survivable, the world looks just not quite complete in their absence.

So thank you darlin, for reminding me of how important you and the rest of my girlfriends are. It is in our presence that we commune, become whole, remember ourselves, find courage, and get the strength to be and define our womanhood. So that when the right brother sweeps us off our feet, we actually had our own feet to stand on in the first place.

Seduce Me

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 21:25:00 +0000

This is a beautiful poem Nia directed me to by one of my favorite poets Mayda Del Valle. This thing is breathtaking. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

_______________________________________________________________________

Seduce me

write me a poem

tell me about the scent of musk at the nape of my neck

that you dream of spending sultry summer days between

my breasts

that if you could taste me

it would be mangoes and tropical breezes on your tongue

keeping you up at 2am

for weeks

staring at black ceilings

legs entwined in sheets

wiping your brow

wondering when the next will be

seduce me

write me a poem

drop those weak pick up lines

and overwhelm me with quotes from Nerudas 100 love sonnets

tell me i walk in beauty like the night

trace the lines in the palm of my left hand

decipher

then read and whisper their meaning to me

tell me my life line crosses your destiny

imprint your words on me like overnight scratchmarks

leave butterflies in my stomach

with honeysuckle syllables

that remind me of first kisses

and holding hands at recess

seduce me

write me a poem

that prays my name

and preaches our passion

chant a litany of our lovemaking to come

under your breath

with the faith of withered hands holding rosaries in cathedrals

until images of us entwined in each other

burn themselves inside our minds

like incense at mass

seduce me

write me a poem

with your eyes

lock glances for a moment

across a crowded room

soft smirk on full lips

and a slow deliberate blink followed by a flutter of

eyelashes

that says

damn I wish...

seduce me

write me a poem

with your body

approach me with the certainty of the tide

move to me without doubt or question

make me your origin

and your destination

let music be the catalyst that lets our bodies meet

spin me in and out of conga rhythms

lead me into a Coltrane wail

grind me into the bass-line

of between the sheets...

then pull me close enough

to feel our hearts beat together

when we dance

seduce me

write me a poem

that speaks of our timelessness

remind me it was you I loved in a past life

on some faraway continent

tell me I carry you in my genes

that I can't forget you if I tried

that our memories are engraved into eternity

that time is just a theory to us

seduce me

write me a poem

that needs no words

compose a silent sonnet on soft bare skin

where your caress on exposed back

speaks that syllable I need to hear you

a poem

where melding bodies become

the book

where shallow breathing becomes prose

where

you

seduce me

and

inspire me to write you the poem

that shows you how to love me

by Mayda Del Valle

Una Fiera, a political conversation with mama about the country breaking her heart

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 17:06:00 +0000

I was a militant socialist of a 10 year old, quick to invoke every freedom fighter I had ever heard discourse in documentaries or on TV whenever I spoke about the need for change. I would say by the time I was in fourth grade, I spoke exuberantly about the lack of resources kids in the hood had to experience and the unfairness of the world. Now as an adult, I wonder where I got the rhetoric. I mean clearly, I was 10 and my ability to know nuanced views about the issues was incredibly limited. And I wouldn't say that my parents spoke about politics in the same way I did. I mean my parents and I have always aligned ideologically/politically. Having grown up in their house, I took away many and most of their liberal ideals. Though, I believe I was always the one to start conversations around politics in the house. They were always trying to reign me back in and had a fair level of concern with my anger at the injustices of the world. And I hesitate to downplay my ten year old angst because it meant something to me. I just knew our ability to make change and I didn't have the patience to be older before I started vocalizing it.

16 years later, I am on the phone with my mother and we are discussing the Democratic primary. Having been so aligned, it is the first time we have ever not been in full agreement on an election. I am an Obama supporter and she is tenuously in the Clinton camp. After his South Carolina win, I call, not to brag, but to ask where she is at. And she tells me, "Mija, people in politics are just so mean, and the country is so evil. He seems like such a good man, how can a good man survive this. If they killed him, it would be devastating for the country, I don't know how Latinos and Blacks would ever recover."

And there it was, the fear many people of color in this country carry when it comes to the thought of an Obama presidency, what if he's killed.

"Is this why you aren't voting for him mama? I thought you liked her." "I do mija, I think she's really smart y una fiera (a wild animal) when she's attacked and when she is attacking. Pero, I think he is a good man with the right ideas, but it scares me, what could happen to him. This is a country that does not love us and it does not want us here."

The media has made so many assessments about the Latino vote and where it will go and why the Clinton's (and yes I say that plural for a reason)likely have a stronghold on it. How the supposed hatred in brown/black relations make Latinos voting for an Obama presidency unlikely. But I gotta tell you. I have yet to see any "expert" discussing it on tv that is actually Latino. Not a one of them has the language ability to even watch Univision or Telemundo. And it really pisses me off. They also assume that Latino is never black, when obviously, so much of the Dominican, Puerto Rican, Hatian, Central American and Cuban populations have the ability to be both Black and Latino. No doubt, there is a history of racism in the Latino world. The more light-skinned you are, the more revered in some places. But I would come close to making the bold assessment that this is pretty much a global problem that has roots in a looong line of socio-economic oppression. And that there are just as many allies in these communities as people who create division.

My mother's reasoning, actually resonates to me, much louder as the true fears behind the Latino community. I would venture to say that Latinos in this country have felt in the last 3 years even more than usual that we are not wanted here. It has played psychological havoc on our community and our children. Trust me, having been told in the past to go back to my own country, having being born in San Gabriel, California... you just feel like a less than to a country that is supposed to thrive as a result of its diverse population. My mother fears another blow. This woman who fought so hard to study and fight for her citizenship. Who fought for her children to become educated here. Whose admiration of this country just a few short years ago (pre-Bush re-election) was so unfailing. Her patriotism while I was growing up was almost blind. It frustrated me, yet at the same time infused me with hope and belief in this country.

And this is what it comes to? She starts to vote in elections here, the way she and my father would have voted for elections in their mother country? Based on fear and a lack of belief in the ability of change?

Is it my luxury at my 26 years to still have hope? To still ardently believe that as a country we are capable of getting past years of division. And to believe in a leader whose been more aware of my experiences growing up with a lack of power and privilege. Don't get me wrong, some of the fissures, I know they will always exist. But some of it, it just doesn't need to be this way. I want to be "una fiera" for that kind of belief.

So I close this entry with how my mother and I ended our conversation...

"Mama, I'm tired. I'm not going to vote in this election based out of a fear of what could happen. Or because this is the least evil person that could be the most evil and pull it off. I want to believe because I always believed. I have to take a leap of faith mama and if something bad happens deal with it, fight against it, and move on. Because the country shouldn't have broken your heart like this, you never spoke about this country like this."

"It's so much more corrupt than I ever thought it was Karla. But for your sake mija, I hope you are right. I don't want it to make you feel the way it makes me feel. And you do with your heart and your brain what you think should happen. And then we'll both pray."

"Si mama, we'll both pray."

Happy 100th!

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 17:42:00 +0000

This would officially be my 100th post on my blog. Yay!

I want to thank everyone whose ever read the words I write on here. They come from my heart, and it has allowed me to keep alive my love of writing. Which in truth, is both sanctuary and therapy for me. I have all of these words in me on any given moment in time and this blog helps me put them in the world. The release of them is as vital to me as meal times.

This week, in my search for balance, I had a friend challenge me to write a list of the things that bring me pleasure. Just pleasure. Not something I do for someone else, to benefit anything or anyone but me and my heart. In the short run, I was pretty stumped. It took me sometime to sift through. And if you would permit me, I would like to write the list down now.

1. Writing my blog
2. Writing in my journals (yes, there are thoughts I have, the larger world is not privy to.)
3. Singing
4. Dancing
5. Cooking
6. Latin American Art (as of late, particularly art depicting Mayan culture)
8. Reading (For enlightenment, education, and general girlyness)

In the coming year, I'd like to put some elbow grease in one of these and work on expanding the list. May your lists fill you with just as much, if not more, joy.

Epiphanies and Illness

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 03:22:00 +0000

I've had time to reflect in the last two day about how I ever got myself to this space in my health life. I got so sick, it was scary. I believe it is the longest any illness has put me out of commission. I've spent an entire week literally in bed because my body just didn't have it in me to do anything else. I thought I had reflected at the beginning of being sick, why I got this sick, but really, I didn't. I came up with the boiler plate answers. But the last two days I've been lucid enough to really get it.

I'm an epiphany kind of person. I'll have moments of insight and get clarity like no other. Even the lessons that take a great amount of time to garner, usually hit me like a brick in a moment of a-ha. The way that I take care of myself has inspired many of these epiphanies. Moments where I go "Okay, now, this time, I will take care of myself." "Now I will be my biggest priority." "Now, I'm gonna do it."

It's a pretty lame repetition. I've gotta admit. Its lackluster at this point. The epiphany means nothing. I know, at this fundamental level, that what is missing is me treating myself like the most wonderful precious thing that I have in my life. Or even, like I would treat any other person.

I have this reverence and regard for people, organizations, and good work. Its one of the things I love most about me. That I genuinely care and am deeply vested in the world around me. But that level of care, it just doesn't translate well when I'm dealing with myself. You would think it would be so easy, once you know, you just do it right? I mean its basic, this is wrong, fix it, do better. But I never seem to grasp this particular principle.

So how do you do it? Does anyone know? How do you gear 26 years of making yourself less of a priority than the world around you into a change of lifestyle? I don't want it this way anymore. I don't want to get so sick or so sad or so overwhelmed that I hit a wall and have to crawl back to level out. I want to value me, my body, my spirit, and my heart so much that I am there for me. All of this growth and introspection and self-evaluation that I've been fortunate enough to do, I've always done it in relation to the other. "I'm going to learn this and be a better daughter" "I'm going to do this and be a better manager." "I'm going to learn this and be better with kids." "I'm going to learn this and be better for my family." and in all honesty, I struggle to remember a time when I've thought, genuinely, "I'm going to learn this to be a better Karla for Karla." To an extent, even the counseling I've done has been to not be a mess for other people. And I want it for me. I mean really really want it for me. But I don't know how to get it.

And thats the epiphany this illness has given me. I don't want to make myself or those concerned about me any more empty promises. I just wanna hold my shit down for me. And really get why that means something. And move forward. Because the cycle, its not cute, and I don't wanna be in it anymore, but how? I'm just in such prayer as to how...

That Brown Girl

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 18:20:00 +0000

So this is day 5 of stick to bed illness and I'm frustrated, so I figured I would just write about something thats been bothering me. Cause when you are laid up in bed unable to do more than go from room to living room, you kinda wanna nag about something. Rather than nag the good people that are being so sweet to me, I am going to nag about an actual issue. Maybe this way, I spare us all, haha.

The East Coast is the most "Latina" I've ever felt. I mean, don't get me wrong, I am Latina and proud of it. But when living in CA, I can't say that I totally was aware of my ethnicity, every, single, day. I was aware of it in the way that I am proud of my identity, have very cultural ways of being, speak in Spanish regularly. But not aware in the way that I felt when people looked at me they saw "Latin girl" and I gotta say, I definitely do here in our fair nations capitol.

There are things about DC that are much better in so far as diversity than SF. I love walking into places and being in diverse settings without even trying. I love feeling like there is so much out there to explore. But really guys, every single day, someone reminds me I am brown. It's the "Hola" I get when everyone else gets a hello. It's the habit of anyone in throwing distance coming to tell me whenever they have had ANY kind of Latin food. My favorite was someone coming to me on and telling me they had great Peruvian this weekend, like I should hand out a diversity doggie biscuit. Do you go up to Filipino men or women and say "I had the best Chinese this weekend!" No. You don't. And if you do, stop. Now.

I have even had someone go as far as saying "Ole!" when I accomplished something. Its just gotten to be a little ridiculous. I get confused for other Latin co-workers, though I'm relatively new to the city - I get asked for Latin food recommendations, the amount of men at bars whose opening line when they come up to me is some Spanish phrase they have no idea how to pronounce is staggering.

The East Coast is different. Or maybe its the northeast. Whatever the case, its happened enough times where I know I have an obligation to point out these faux paux's but struggle with how you correct in a way that is clean. Especially when I've let it get to the point where I've heard so many of the comments, every new comment makes me have to pause and breathe. I just know I am about 2 months away from becoming "that brown girl". And don't get me wrong. I'm glad I came out here. Though my initial instinct that this place could never be permanent I feel was right on. It will be interesting navigating being "exotic" to my new community. I'll post something the first time anyone calls me spicy. Oh and please believe, its happened before, so it wouldn't be an out of left field surprise. For now, I guess you gotta do what you gotta do. I'm proud of my heritage, I'll just have to find a way to bridge gaps between it and my new community.

Okay, back to napping. Muah.

Getting There

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Tue, 25 Dec 2007 19:40:00 +0000

As poor as we were growing up, my parents always tried to do something nice for me and my brother at Christmas time. They always (and by they I mean my mom, but dad gets kudos for financially backing the ventures) really thought about what we would like and got just the right thing. We weren't the kind of kids that would make requests or ask for particular indulgences, we just waited to see what would happen. It never failed that our faces on opening the present or presents (depending on the economic stability of the year) would always light up. As nice as it was getting stuff, cause as a kid, opening presents is never unwanted, I think the best part was how incredibly appropriate the gifts were. Like the year I turned 13 and got a phone for my room. Or the year I turned 7 and got my first Jem and the Holograms doll. They worked it out with what they had man, and I will never forget to appreciate that.

This year, the part that I loved the most was watching my parents open their own presents. We've had hits in the past in so far as presents go, but my brother and I are finally getting to a place where we can make holidays and special occasions truly special. Both from an emotional and economic perspective, we've hit a new plateau. All I gotta say is that my parents deserve it. I mean hella deserve it. They have sacrificed so much in the name of pushing us ahead, I thirst for the day both my brother and I can send them on an all expense paid vacation.

I know that my parents don't need or want extravagances. It is not the people they are. Nor would I give just an extravagance for extravagance sake. They would rather fix up their little house and go on a walk with the dogs. But their faces at Christmas, man, it was like their hearts filled knowing their kids loved them enough to think about them. I gotta tell you, we always think about them. They imbued us with a love and culture that I struggle to find English words to explain. I was one of the very lucky ones.

She Said I Prefer a Broken Neck...

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sat, 22 Dec 2007 08:44:00 +0000

This has been my favorite slam poem for awhile, but it just came up on youtube. Enjoy it guys! Its gorgeous.

The Cagefight: Fundamentals About Race and Immigration We May Not Be Paying Attention To

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 22:05:00 +0000

Alright, so I have spent weeks at this point in time being pissed at this political issue and I gotta say something. I mean I really gotta say something.

Off the bat, I gotta admit, my filters on this, totally not clean. I was waiting til they cleaned up to write about it, but to hell with that. I just came from Guatemala and there are just some things about immigration and the current debate around it that make me so mad. The hypocrisy of it, its just ridic.

So number one with a bullet. I've been listenin to the debate on how people need to wait in the back of the line to come here and do things with process. How other people do it, why do they break a fundamental law and ignore policy.

So ya'll, its hard to understand this because we don't know poverty in this country in the way other countries do. But people in Latin America who come here are so poor they struggle to eat and have clean water. And coming here is the choice between breaking a law and death. You can be a doctor or lawyer or architect in Guatemala and still really struggle to make a living wage. You can go to college for 20 bucks a semester there, no joke, so people go, and it makes no to very moderate difference in the economic situation. They still feel like living there is condemning there kids to a life with very little hope. The transition into having money is about who you know. Not what you know. And though the same could be said here, the honest to God truth is, my parents struggled my whole childhood with making sure they kept food on the table and us in school, but I make more than my father does now. And I'm 26. I would love to be rich and make more but the fact of the matter is, I'm not going hungry (knock on wood).

I mean think about it guys, say you had to go to Germany with absolutely no money tomorrow or you and many of your family members would die or be close to dying. You choose Germany. This place, that you don't get what the heck people are saying, you have to do back breaking menial work, and the people don't want you there. But at the end of the day, as menial and as badly paid it is, you get to eat and drink. You get to send money back to the US so other people you love can eat and drink. And its actually possible for your kids to do something for themselves. I'm sorry Guttenag. I'd be out.

These are people we are talking about. And I'm not saying I want lawlessness, duh, I don't want this country to come under terrorist attack again, nor do I desire the end of our comforts. However, our debts and our problems have so many rich and layered reasons, we can't just blame it on this one. And when I listen to people running for office, they act like its a fix all. Its not even an iceberg. For example, there is the "Immigrants are this drain on our healthcare system" argument. So I'm not rocket scientist, but there are 45 million uninsured Americans out there and they have health problems too. 45 million is more than the entire brown and black population here. They gotta be having a bigger affect than 10 million people who are too afraid to step into a hospital out of fear of deportation. So don't tell me that's why we got problems. But you know what, most of these people are poor white people, and they hear the reason that they are uninsured is that we got people drainin our healthcare system and its a wrap. Because they don't get their needs addressed either. Because we are too busy tryin to blame someone.

Then there is the whole "they don't even pay taxes" bs. Which is like, hello, most of these people make so little money that they would get all of it back in income taxes if they were to file. When you add the fact that they pay property tax if they own a house, or they give rent to someone who pays property tax, the fact that everyone pays sales tax, illegal immigrants are actually putting a lot into systems they will never use. In fact $420 BILLION dollars of Social Security, comes from illegal immigrants. So ya, lets stop all immigration next year and see how our elderly population fares the following year. Meanwhile in the I make $97,500 and up category, people who make a living wage and then some, there is a cap on how much of their income is taxed on a year to year. So you can make 12 million buck one year, and get taxed just as much as someone making $100,000. Don't talk to me about not paying your fair share.

5% of all people in the military, are illegal immigrants. Cause apparently, even if we don't want you here, we'll put your life on the line when its convenient to us.

And finally my favorite, "They just make our schools worse cause they don't pay into them, but their kids use them" HA. Please. So back to that whole taxes thing. In this country, we pay for our schools by paying for our property taxes. So I'm not sure, but something tells me a very very small percentage of the people in this country illegally are actually not paying taxes that keep their kids in school. They are doing everything they can to make ends meet so they can quietly survive in the background and this, inadvertently, pays into the system. Cause its the brilliance of how we, a nation of immigrants, were developed.

My cousin, Jorge Mario, in Guatemala is 19. I love him. He's brilliant and I would love to pay for him to come here and visit me. However, he must have a certain amount of money in his bank account to even apply for that "visiting visa". And then, at the end of the day, if he shows up, gets the lottery that has him visit, and the guy at the front desk doesn't like the t-shirt he's wearing, they'll still reject him. And you talk to me about fairness. About justice. About being fair to the people who apply.

For those of you who grew up in the hood or work with the hood, you know how tough it is for people to do right, when what they worry about is how they keep their family afloat. I'm not saying its right, I'm not saying I understand it completely. What I'm saying is we are getting snowed. And in the process, the ethnicities of this country are getting split up and divided because its easier that we vote or act resentfully based on propaganda, cause everyone wants someone to blame. When really, there is hope here, we just keep getting fed the shit that makes us sad, cause then we won't act on what we can't fix. Cause that, really inconveniences someone with even MORE convenience then we got.

Oh God, it felt so good to get that out of my system. To hell with it being clean. Cause if you don't know, now you know.

Our Responsibility

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 01:41:00 +0000

So you guys know I just came back from Guatemala, and it was an amazing experience. While I was there I really looked at how we (as a country) impact the world around us. Having seen Guatemala's poverty, their beauty, and the goodness of my family; has motivated me in a whole new and different way, to make this place the kind of country I really believe in. This next election guys, its just about the most important one we've ever had. I really believe that whomever we collectively choose, will have ramifications on our lives for decades to come.

I have done lots of research for the last few weeks about the political candidates, both Democrat and Republican, and I can say that I fully believe that Barack Obama should be the next president of the United States. I can tell you the many reasons why I believe this and would be more than happy to articulate them for you, but that's not what this email is about.

This email isn't to ask you to vote for him in the primary (though I would love that) but its a genuine call to arms (and by arms I mean knowledge) to start educating yourselves on what the presidential candidates support, sponsor, and value. I challenge you to know about their stand with as much ease as you can sum up your own. I'm scared for us guys, scared and excited. Which I know sounds all sorts of crazy, but its the truth. We can't sit back and let the world be determined for us.

I know each of us is active in our own ways, and highly involved in the world around us and making it a better place. Which is why I sent this to you. But its not going to be enough if we don't start making our voices heard on this level, the level that determines the man or woman thats going to be our leader. The primary is just as important as the actual election. Don't let these next couple of months or even weeks go by without reading a damn thing about the people that we are going to place our lives/livielyhood into for the next 4 to 8 years. We deserve more then that.

We cannot in good conscious advocate for change on a local level and not advocate for our people to pay attention to the national level as well. It's like making sand castles on a beach and paying no attention to the waves (and in some cases the tsunami's) that are right behind us. These waves could create beauty or destroy the work we, in many cases, sacrifice parts our lives to do.

From the bottom of my heart to you my friends, please, pay attention.

I love you all very much,

Karla

PS I realize some of you are permanent residence and not citizens eligible to vote, however, I challenge you guys to get involved too. Your demographic will receive some of the biggest changes, be influencers in your world even if you can't cast a ballot. You never know the person that you educate and the impact their vote will have.

http://www.barackobama.com/oprah

A word on mosquito bites, plantations, and family as a way to sum up the Mayan Empire.

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 16:39:00 +0000

It is my fourth day back in the states and I woke up hella early today. I figured it was my bodies way of telling me it was time to write. The non-pen and paper kind of writing, but I digress. I've been reaching for a summation of my trip, a way of wrapping myself in the love that it gave me and using it to shawl me from the world I am about to step back into. But rather than trying to combine several stories from the trip, I thought I would tell just one, and see where I go from there.

About four days into my trip, I went to a "Finca", now I have no idea what a finca is when my family tells me where we are going. I am wearing a purple tank top and comfortable cotton skirt, we are in Barrios at this point in time and it is hot as a mofo in Barrios (though I hear I got off easy). I see no reason to change. I ask what a Finca is and all anyone can tell me is that there are lots of fields. So I say, what the hell, and head on out with a few cousins. Before I know it, I am in the most beautiful terrain I have ever seen. A mix between jungle and forest, depending on the stretch you are driving through. At some point my cousin in-law stops the car in what can only be described as a Lychee Forest. Huge mama jamma lychee everywhere in tons of different colors, lots of yellows, reds, red with green spindles, oranges, etc.

Now I'm hard headed, so when I'm told that it probably wouldn't be good to climb around in all of it, that there are many insects and mosquitoes and I may pay consequences, my response is "It will be worth it" (which I still believe). And so hiking through I go, parrots flying past me, mammoth butterflys the size of your hand, and the faint buzz of insects. I pick fruit and taste, and laugh as a chicken follows my dad.

The rest of it is an interesting experience, where as beautiful as the finca is, I cannot get over how the indigenous people in the fields are being treated. Young Mayan's seem to be working the land in a way my American ass can only interpret as "plantation". Which as beautiful as it is, makes it hard for me to see it as anything but that. Which I know isn't very culturally open, but on another post I can describe this in further detail. It made me a little heartsick. I did my best to not let it read to my family, who was really trying to show me everything beautiful in Guatemala. By the time my father told me that he had worked on a Finca as a young boy and so had many of our family members, I was ready to leave.

I get home and realize that I have in fact been highly bitten by mosquitoes. Only, these bites are larger and more swollen than I have ever had mosquito bites ever. One of my aunts says that if I was bitten by mosquitoes then they were of the mafioso variety. haha. My aunt who is a nurse there looks at them to be certain I have gotten no other dangerous insect bite and deems me fine but in for a lot of itching.

Now I'm not trying to be obnoxious, but I've traveled a lot, so a few mosquito bites, even bad ones, is a blip on my travel radar. My father on the other hand looks obscenely worried. For the remainder of the day he continues to look at me in duress as if watching the mosquito bites on my legs is painful. Now to his credit, it does look bad, evidenced below.

But his reaction surprises me. The father that I have known has always been ornery and slightly apathetic (I say this in the most loving way possible). After a day of trying to find things to calm the itching, Mama Mirta (my dad's aunt/oldest living relative I have/pseudo-grandmother/all around gutsy lady) says we should put menthol on my bites. This sounds like a good idea to me, I figure the menthol will cool the bites and I had been putting ice cubes on them when no one was watching to get some relief until then.

I put on the menthol all the way across my legs and my dad watches, grunts mildly at me, but says nothing. It takes me 5 minutes max to slap it on and provides me minimal but definite calm.

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, I was up writing in my journal and about to slather on some more menthol. My dad comes in the room and says "Ay mija, look at what they did to you. Your mother would kill me." I laugh and agree, but tell him I'm fine. But he asks me if he can put the menthol on my legs for me. I am so ready in that moment to say "No dad, I can do it, I can take care of myself, its only mosquito bites, I'm not a princess." But instead, I look at the worry lines creasing his forehead and ease myself back on my uncles couch and make room for him to sit as I think "don't let him not be your dad right now". And for the next 30 minutes my dad sits on the couch and one by one rubs menthol on each of my mosquito bites. He shakes his head in what can only be described as sadness as he looks at each one a throughly rubs the menthol into each as if he were preforming an important surgery. And it dawns on me then, 1 am, sitting on the couch of an uncle I've only known for days, in a tiny tiny tropical and rural port town in the south east of Guatemala, just how much my dad really does love me. It hurts him to see me with mosquito bites. And where as I was fully willing to brush them off as inconvenience and take a minimal 5 minutes to take care of them, my dad thinks its worth 30 minutes of his time to try and make it better. Now for those of you who are familiar with my father, haha, you know he isn't the most expressive man. He has a gruff exterior and its tough for him to say I love you unless severely prompted and it takes him years to allow any new people in his life, his expression in the states is usually one that verges on scowl. So you can see, how a girl as emotional and expressive as I am, was a toughy for him to handle. But that night, and many other moments on the trip, I was struck by how in our baggage as father and daughter, I had not ever truly understood just how much my dad loves me, even if its hard for him to say it. I am loved.

Family in Guatemala is just different than in the states. There is a different way that family relates to each other. They talk and become friends and rely on each other. When one family member hurts the whole family does and when one family member has joy the whole family rejoices. Older people are treated differently. They are spoken to with a different regard and importance. Like you know your time with them is limited and you are blessed to learn whatever you can. It is not rare to see a group of people in conversation that spans at least 3 generations. In a household where there is no father, there is almost certainly an uncle that guides a boy into manhood. And at very least in my family, they go from being Tio to Papa. It is not rare that a family overwhelmed with children has one child raised in the grandparents home.

All of this is necessary to even get by in Guate. Because really, you can be a doctor, lawyer, nurse and still be absolutely poor. The pooling of resources both emotional and economic within the family becomes a way of surviving as much as a way of life. For sometime, they need each other, and in needing each other, they begin to want each other around too. And though my dad was pulled from all this love and support at a very young age and put in homes and orphanages until coming to the United States, this is where his base was created. Everything he learned about being a dad got packed into the first 8 to 9 years of his life. It is heartbreaking but important for me to remember that. Because the knowledge that that nine year old boy soaked in about family and all the bruises and trauma that followed created the man who sat at my legs and dedicated 30 minutes every night for 5 nights to provide his daughter with comfort.

There are so many stories I have been privy to in the last three weeks. So many. Rich and beautiful stories. Stories about my revolutionary great-grandmother "La Abuela", that hid propaganda in tortillas to help Pancho Villa, the Mexican revolutionary, spread the gospel of the need for change for the poor. Stories about her exile and escape from her mother country. Stories about the loss of her 13 children and her immediate jump to raise all her grandchildren in their absence. Stories about my 10 aunts and uncles and their upbringing in steep poverty but rich experiences. Stories that are full of immense pain and tremendous pride at what each of them had to do to guarantee survival for the rest. And how they always always minded the rest.

No doubt, I'm American. I have the optimism, idealism, and privilege that defines my ability to really embrace and take on the world. My sense of justice was created here because justice can prevail in our society, even if present governance tells us otherwise from time to time. It is nowhere near what we see in other countries.

I understand now, perhaps better than at any time in my life, that I am Guatemalan and Mexican. I am fundamentally tied to my culture. To a people whose ruins remain more amazing than any modern day building I have seen. Linked to traditions and values created out of struggle and hope. I am loved by them. I was loved by them before I ever was even born. And they fought for themselves, each other and my future. And now I get the distinct honor of being their historian. Making sure that my kids, my students, and my friends know where they come from.

Crazy Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 20:32:00 +0000

I had a someone ask me how I felt about forgiveness. I immediately answered "good, uh, most of the time, uh, it depends." And now, weeks after the question, I sit here and fully get that that particular response means that I'm pretty crappy with it. The good news for all those concerned, very rarely do I think people do things so bad, that forgiveness is necessary. I leave room for people's humanity, the mistakes they make just because we make mistakes as people. I love the utterly flawed and aware. My ability for empathy is so big, I think a key to it, is really accepting other people for what they are.

I chose to take a few days before my vacation to sit and mentally prep myself for what it looks like to be with my extended family in Guatemala, what 2 weeks with my father looks like, thinking about what I want to gain from really 3 weeks without the constant pressure of work.

Here is the thing about sitting and thinking. You get all sorts of crazy thoughts. Left to my own devices, thats what happens, crazy thoughts. I somehow manage to blame myself for every mildly inconvenient to traumatic thing that has happened to myself, my friends, and my family.

This of course brings me back to thought number one, I'm crap at forgiveness. I wonder if the people who live life good, I mean real good, thats what they get a handle on. How to forgive themselves for their humanity. How you take the pieces and look at yourself as utterly flawed and incredibly beautiful is a mystery worth solving. I can do it for others, I'm just puzzled as to how. If I could crack that, how I do that, I might have a shot at turning the same kindness around for me. This way, on the first Monday morning off I can remember, prepping myself for my first vacation in years, I wouldn't be mulling my crazy thoughts and my crap forgiveness. haha.

May your crazy thoughts not inundate you today, peace and quiet is so hard to come by after all, you wouldn't want to kill it with your own brain. ;c)

To All The Boys I've Loved Before

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 05:50:00 +0000

Life of Incredible Succulence

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Sun, 16 Sep 2007 12:35:00 +0000

I am absolutely in love with the word succulence. Thank you Nia Mclean for bringing it into my life as a requirement of personal description.

I have been up for 30 minutes on an early Sunday morning with songs in my heart. I find when those are there, I must write them down. The songs don't come every day, and I encourage you all to write down your songs as well. The world needs them.

I'm reading this book called Succulent Wild Women and the way this woman writes, half stream of consciousness and half purposeful reflection, inspires in me a way of being I often leave in a corner.

Ya'll I'm about to be as honest as I can be. I am going to write down all the worst and best things about myself I can identify as a way of releasing them into the world, not letting them be locked inside of me. This comes neither from narcissism nor horrible self-esteem. It comes from an acknowledgement that everything in me touches on beauty and it is okay. It is actually okay for you too, everything in you touches on beauty as well, love. Allow yourself to touch and be touched, and yes that sounds dirty, but I love that I don't care.

Some of the things that I think are the worst: I can't help but loving to talk everything out, sometimes, you leave well enough alone, and I can't. I have very little self-restraint. That last cookie, I eat it; that phone call to the him you shouldn't make, I make it; the snooze button, I push it. That being said, I am self-indulgent (which maybe does make this narcissistic). I allow being a survivor to hurt for at least 10 hours in each day and I don't know how to stop. I am at once too emotional and not emotional enough. I do not allow myself to carry the full cycle of emotion, I stop it just in time to feel sorry for myself. When I pass gas, its a horrendous unladylike smell and I don't always own that it comes from me. I am utterly human with no ability for perfection, though I am a perfectionist, just so I can criticize myself. I am a slob and really have to put an effort into making sure that I don't just drop every article of clothing right where I undress. I want a bigger world than my family has known, and I want it at least 10 hours out of every day. I wallow with judgment, so as were most people could wallow and then get over it, I wallow and judge myself the entire time. The division of the two lets me victimize myself a little too much. I'm a huge fan of baths I never take. I will go entire days having eaten once because I am too self-important to make room for food. As much as I've been through I still take unnecessary risks to prove that I am independent. I own books I do not finish. I think I know it all. I don't let myself get angry. I love dancing and exercising but I get too lazy to go and do it everyday.

Now I challenge myself to make the next list just as long.

Here are some of the best: I think the world is sooo beautiful sometimes, I will celebrate it in my room alone. The celebration is a better dance party than you find in most clubs and I need no one but myself to have it. I am a true friend. When other people find good fortune I genuinely do not feel it makes me less than, I get so proud, so as not to seem silly, I'll go to the bathroom and shed tears of joy. They are my tears, I shed them privately and they are full of beauty. My eyes are magically trained to give empathy. I can look at a child or an adult and have a pretty good instinct of where the hurt comes from. I know people. On very good days I radiate light. I bring community into the world and allow people to remember the root of family. I truly accept and encourage imperfection in others. I wear perfume on my wrist so that I can sniff it at any time in the day and love that I smell good. I wear perfume on the nape of my neck as much for myself as for anyone who may hug me. I love to comfort. I am a great hugger, I give embraces full of life, warmth and tenderness. I love to learn. I read as much as I can. I love to sleep. Good sleep is my favorite thing in the entire world. When I kiss, I nibble, as if tasting my partners lips is the most delicious thing I can think of doing in that very moment... because it is. I'm feisty. I am as much of a girls girl as a guys girl. I do not feel intimidated by good women, I revel in them and encourage their brilliance and succulence. I respect the male heart, its genuineness, its difference from the female heart. I truly love in men how well intentioned they can be in their want for adventure, to protect, to rescue, and even to conquer. I sing at the top of my lungs no matter who is in the car. When I sing, I put my heart into my voice, not because I try but because my heart is so big, it has to find other ways of jumping into the world. I dress up for myself, because I love watching the end product for me. I love to cook, and I cook wonderfully. I bring flavor into the world.

Main Entry: 1 suc·cu·lent
Pronunciation: -l&nt
Function: adjective
1 a : full of juice : JUICY b : moist and tasty : TOOTHSOME a succulent meal; of a plant : having fleshy tissues that conserve moisture
2 : rich in interest

Give yourself love today. (I say this as much for myself as I say it for you)

Oh Dad...

noreply@blogger.com (KarlitaLiliana) — Thu, 06 Sep 2007 03:28:00 +0000

I was in my parents home for about 36 hours this last weekend. A home that is as familiar to me and as foreign to me as any place can possibly be. My parent’s home has gone through refurbishment ya’ll and its beautiful to see. I look at how proud my mom is showing me all the new pieces; the wood floors, the new mats on each wooden step, the virtually new kitchen. I believe she has repeated to me the decision for each piece, the rationale behind the purchase and the path to the purchase at least 3 or 4 times per piece. I can absolutely count on certain other stories from my mom too. I know that in stepping into the house I will hear of how loyal our dog Tyson is and he follows her everywhere, how my father has acquired a new cat (the newest one is called Leonel for anyone keeping track), I’ll hear about how hard of a worker my brother is and most definitely I will hear about how my grandmother nags her all the time.

And as the stories have become staples, the conversations with my father have become more and more sparse. We acknowledge each others presence. I give him a hug, ask him how he is, he grunts some response and goes back to watching television.

Its been particularly cold as of late because since my assault in April, he has yet to ask me how I am doing. Not a one time has he inquired into how I am doing. I wait for phone calls that never come and am naively hopeful every time that I speak to my mother that he will at least ask a question through her – but he doesn’t.

I try not to put my mom in the middle of our beef, its not fair, but she is naturally concerned that her life partner and their progeny do not communicate. In this last trip, my mom let me know that he was mad at me, because I hadn’t called him since April. She says this and my mouth drops “What? Are you kidding me mom?” I feel the wave of sadness wash over me. “Mija, he says that you don’t call him and ask him how he’s doing.” I breathe, not letting the tears prickling my eyes go any further, these tears are unfair to my mother. How do I say this “Mama, I was sexually assaulted and he hasn’t once asked if I’m okay. Not once since. And he’s mad at me because I don’t call him to see how he’s doing?” “I know mija. I’m so sorry. I try to tell him. He just shuts down.” And I watch as tears fill her eyes, because she can’t give me the one thing I want, comfort from my father. “Don’t mama, its not your responsibility, this is me and Dad’s love to figure out.” I smile and tell her that I love her and that I love him. I know he isn’t a bad person, it just hurts.

Knowing this new nugget of information, I swallow my pride and go to him. I say hello daddy, how are you daddy, can I get you anything daddy. And there he sits, unmoving, years of hurt stapling him to a couch with his eyes trained on a television. He makes minimal conversation back and turns coldly back to his one true friend, a screen that doesn’t talk back. It is pain so mutually deep, over years of distance that I can feel it pierce me. I go to the bathroom and grip the sink, shedding the tears that are also familiar to this home. “Let it go,” I tell myself, “He just doesn’t know how to be the adult.”

When dinner comes, he elects to watch TV by himself in his room while the rest of the family sits around the dinner table. And I force myself to not be hurt. But its deep ya’ll. With my dad, it’s not even the stuff he says that hurts as much as what he doesn’t say but puts in a room.

My dad’s always been the kid in our relationship. His responses when approached in conversation are always the kind of responses that you would expect to get from a sullen teenager. I don’t say this disrespectfully, just factually. It’s always about how he was hurt, why he doesn’t care, why the other person is in the wrong. There is no self reflection, no ownership over his role. And for awhile, this was just hard. I wanted to be the teenager. I wanted to be the kid and it was a role that I never had. Not as a kid, definitely not as an adult.

Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not ungrateful for the father I have. He came home every day, he put food on the table, he never lifted a hand to my mother and he hugged us. This is more than many can say and I do not take that in vein. It’s just for a long time I needed my dad in ways he couldn’t give to me. I craved a father that would emotionally comfort me and tell me I was his little girl. But I think I’m past that age. It’s not really about needing him anymore. It’s about wanting him. I actively want him to be a part of my life. I think about it constantly throughout the day. I want to know him and exchange friendship with him the way my brother does.

I decided recently to go to Guatemala with my father. My father’s homeland and the place that contains the history that created my father into his current incarnation.

Going to Guatemala is another attempt and to some extents my last to get to know my father at another level.

I’m surprised that it doesn’t hurt more to write this. I would think that it would be painful knowing the last respites of my energy in this particular subject have a timeline. There is finality to it that I really hope I stick to. It helps me breathe through it a little more. I have spent the better part of my adult life dealing with daddy issues. You know, there comes a time when you have to say “fuck it”. I refuse to spend my life crawling to a father figure that has no desire to know me. I can’t keep waiting for him to want to open a space for me. He loves me, that is enough. Liking me is not an obligation that I have to lay out like a grand golden hoop. It’s unfair in a way. But Lord do I ever pray for joy on that trip. If not joy, peace. And if not peace, more reasons to hope.