Bittersweet Father’s Day June 20, 2011

When I was thirteen my mother sat my sisters and I on the living room couch covered in plastic*. It was June and while she explained why we were having a family meeting, I was distracted by the sound of my thigh moving against the plastic. All I remember from that meeting are 3 things. One, my father was moving to the Dominican Republic. Two, things are going to be different now and three, school is a priority. Not having my father around is not an excuse to fail. Maybe it was the look on our faces, maybe she was trying to convince herself but she offered this as an explanation:

“ I’m not happy. I tried very hard but I can’t be in a relationship that makes me unhappy.”

I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. As long as I’d been alive I’ve known my father loved to drink alcohol and my mother hated it. I didn’t know the difference. Adults drink, that’s what they do. But, I could see how hurt my mother was every weekend at first and then every weekday when my father came home, sat on his lazy boy, leaned back and drank himself to happiness.

I don’t remember feeling anything in the moment. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t sad or upset. It was what it was. But as the years progressed I could see how his absence affected me. In high school, my good friend and I came up with the nickname “fatherly move.”  Every time a guy would not call back? That was a fatherly move. Every time someone went from being interested in us to completely ignoring us? Fatherly move.  Then when I went to college the subject of my father would come up with my therapist. That was mostly when I dealt with the void his absence left.

I came to terms with the relationship that we do have. When he calls he’s always happy to hear from me. He always tells me he loves me and that he’s proud of me. Each time I hear from him I remember the good times. Helping me with my homework, dropping my friends and I off at school and then picking us up, watching him cook Sunday dinners (to this day my father is the best cook I know). I try to keep these memories in the forefront. I don’t want to become bitter.

Ever since I was 13 mother drilled in my ears “ ese es tu papa. No hay otro. El es el mejor que tienes porque es el unico” That is the only father you have, there aren’t any more. He’s the best father because he is the only one.  She’s right in a way. Every up and down I’ve had with him. When he’s there and when he’s not, had made me into the person I am today. I’m optimistic. I don’t hold any grudges. I give people second changes.

He’s not perfect. In fact, he’s very flawed. But he’s the only father I have and for that I wish him a happy father’s day.

* Did anyone else have a living room with the couch covered in plastic? Is that just a Dominican Thing?

obsessive. compulsive. June 14, 2011

From TylerShields.com

 

One day, two weeks ago I was walking from my apartment to work.  Work happens to be 8 blocks away and I time myself to the minute to make it on time. That day, I decided to stay in bed a little longer which meant I wouldn’t have time to make breakfast. As I’m walking, images of bagels and cream cheese start dancing in my head. To be honest, I haven’t had a bagel with cream cheese in years. I never get a craving for them. Yet here I was salivating at the thought. Like a zombie, I made my way to the bagel shop on the corner from my job and ordered a whole wheat bagel with low fat cream cheese. Then I proceeded to order the same thing every day. Every. day. For two weeks. Including today.

 

That’s my problem. Whenever I find something I like, I obsess over it until I get tired. Music? I will listen to a song over and over until I can’t take it. Food? Did I not just tell you the bagel story? TV shows? I will not miss an episode.

 

Which brings me to the point of this post. My new obsession with HBO’s “Game of Thrones.”

 

Game of Thrones

The storyline is addictive.

 

“Set in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, where “summers span decades and winters can last a lifetime,” Game of Thrones chronicles the violent dynastic struggles among the kingdom’s seven noble families for control of the Iron Throne” (wikipedia)

 

I don’t have HBO, but after seeing several people speaking about it on twitter, I took to the internet to find out what all the fuzz is about. I came across the first episode online and was hooked. Last week during a heatwave, I sat in my livingroom, sweating, laptop on the table and watched 6 episodes. Back to back (I know, I know, I have a problem). Every episode has a twist and every time the hour is over you can’t wait until the next time when you get to watch again.

 

It’s sex, intrigue, backstabbing, wonderful actors and a fantastic plotline. I don’t want to give anything away other than the fact that it is worth watching. Of course, the TV show wasn’t enough and I’m just too curious so I also bought the book. If you’re looking for an interesting summer read I suggest you get it as well. It’s about 900 pages but I promise it doesn’t feel that long. Or perhaps you’ll just have one book to read all summer. Like Cersei says “when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die”

 

I suggest you all start watching if you haven’t. Or maybe I just want a few more people to become obsessed so I feel better about myself…

 

 

Anyone else have an addictive personality? Love Game of thrones? Think I need some help and will turn into a bagel soon?

Monday Motivation: The Fear Edition June 13, 2011

 

what to do??

 

Part 1

 

The night before I left for college the butterflies in my stomach wouldn’t let me sleep. Mostly, I was excited to be moving away from the one bedroom apartment I shared with my mother and sisters. The thought that I would have my own bed kept me up for 3 hours alone. The following morning I rode up to the school in silence. I didn’t want anyone to notice how excited I was, though I’m pretty sure everyone could feel the energy radiating from me. When we got on campus I tried to get away from my mother and her camera. She wanted the most ridiculous pictures. Pictures with my boxes in hand, going up the stairs, pretending to make my bed and with some random strangers living in my dorm who I had never met (I tried to send them an apologetic look). By the time I was moved in and took a look around campus my mother was ready to drive back to New York. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, gave me a big hug and got in the car.

 

I turned around and walked up to my dorm room when panic set in. I had never been away from home and I was terrified. What if no one likes me? What if I fail out of school? What if I don’t make any friends? Apparently there’s a thin line between excitement and panic.15 minutes hadn’t passed when I called my mothers cell phone and begged her to come get me. Her response: absolutely not. Then she reassured me I would be fine and hung up. I called her every day for 3 weeks and asked her to take me home. She wouldn’t budge. I’m glad she didn’t. The fear eventually turned into the best 4 years of my life. It’s where I fell in love, grew up, and met some of the best friends a girl could ask for.

 

Part 2

 

A few years ago I was working at a job that I hated. Every morning when my alarm went off I opened my eyes and said something like “oh why? Why God, why do I have to go to this place!” Every night when I came home, I would check job postings and apply to as many as I felt qualified to do. 6 months after I applied for a position at the Department of Health I got a call for an interview. When I arrived there were 40 other people interviewing for the same position. They sat us all in a room that resembled a classroom. A man gave us a little talk explaining what the department was about and asked us to fill out an application 17 pages long. I panic. Like I said, there’s a thin line between excitement and fear.

 

I wanted the job so bad and I appeared to be the youngest person in the room. I get through the first round of interviews and I’m asked to stay for the second round. I check the time 11:45 am. I have to be back at the job I hate by 1:00pm. 10 minutes later I’m called into a room with two well dressed ladies. My hands are shaking and I’m pretty sure I’m sweating way more than I’m supposed to (very attractive). They ask me questions and I answer them the best I can. The last question throws me for a loop. They keep asking me to elaborate but I have no idea what they want to hear. They shake my hand, thank me for coming and end the interview. I leave so nervous and scared I feel like throwing up. I tell myself that at least I went for it and that I probably appeared more confident than how I felt. A month later I got a call offering me the job.

 

The point is that fear can be something that can paralyze you or something that can move you to accomplish great things. Doing something out of your comfort zone can be a little scary. But those are the moments where something amazing can happen. Sometimes, it may not happen the way that you want them to. Every experience should be taken as such. A moment in time. A risk. But if you don’t rise above the fear how will you know what you can accomplish?

 

Anything you’ve ever accomplished when you moved past fear?

Closure? what’s that? June 10, 2011

Closure?

I was walking to the subway, hot tears running down my cheeks, replaying the last 40 minutes in my head. I could feel every person walking by me staring but when you’re in the moment of unbelievable heartbreak you just don’t care. I walked into the subway station and sat on a bench. Usually, I would sit and wonder where the funny smell was coming from (hey, it’s New York City) or why they don’t install air conditioners in subway stations for the summer. But in that very moment I was replaying the entire scene over in my head, like a broken record.

 

I was standing outside a bar on the upper west side. It was one of those bars where all the kids in college go to and buy cheap beer.  There were also those who just left college and were still drinking like college kids. I was part of the latter. I think the 6 beers I had drank for 50 cents each gave me some liquid courage because there I was, pouring my heart out in the name of closure.

 

“You broke my heart.” I told him. He just stared at me and very evenly told me “No, I didn’t. Stop saying that.” Then I continued to list all the reasons why he did. He didn’t seem to care. Then I listed, through tears and sobs, the reasons why he should. Everything from “do you know all the things you’ve put me through” to “I can’t believe I bought you breakfast! (I can’t cook now, I couldn’t cook then. Don’t judge me). Finally, he said “Listen, you’re ride or die. I told you that. Thanks for breakfast.” and walked back in the bar to charm some other girl. I turned and headed towards the train station. When did I become that girl?

 

That was the event that made me realize there is no such thing as closure. There is getting through heartbreak, there is moving forward, but there is no “we need to talk so I can get some closure on why this is ending.” One person always wants to know why something is ending, or say how the other one is making them feel like their heart is being put through a meat grinder and the other person? They are over it. They may wish you the best but nothing is going to make them care about you in the way you want them to.

 

That’s what I told my girlfriends over frozen drinks a few weeks ago. They felt differently. “It’s not about convincing them to love you back.” For them, it’s about letting the other person know how they feel. It makes them feel better to know that nothing was kept inside and that the other person knows that.

 

I would argue, what’s the point? Closure is knowing that it’s over. It’s not changing the other persons mind and it prevents you from doing things like getting drunk and pouring your heart out through tears outside a bar. From having “oops! I told you how I felt and now suddenly we are naked in your bed and I regret it” sex. Or any other variation of those things.

 

What do you think? Is there such a thing as getting closure? Is it just an abstract concept or is there actually something to it?