Forget that wishbone and get a backbone October 31, 2011

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My mom always tells me not to fall in love by myself. “La peor cosa del mundo es enamorarse sola (The worst thing in the world is to fall in love by yourself)”. She would repeat this time and time again while I was in college. The first time, when I fell in love with a boy who so obviously liked other boys that everyone wondered why I was so obsessed. My infatuation wouldn’t let me see the clear signs and I spent all my time wishing on a star that we would end up together and live happily ever after. The reality was that he was struggling with his identity and dragged me and my heart along for the ride. One afternoon while out to lunch I poured my heart out to him:

 

Me: (while looking down at my sandwich) So like, is this going anywhere? Because I like you a lot, like… a whole lot.

Him: Yeah? No. I like Tommy.

Me: oh really? Ok then (goes back to eating sandwich)*.

 

Instead of telling him how he shouldn’t play around with other people and their feelings, I finished my meal and went home. My heart was so heavy I couldn’t even make it to my bedroom. I curled up on the wood floor of the living room in front of the TV and cried. Every morning, I would walk out of my bedroom and go back to that same spot to lie down, tears flowing and wishing “Mr. I like boys thank you very much” would love me back. After 3 days of having to sweep around me my mother said “Get it together. What have I told you about falling in love alone? Besides, I can’t continue to sweep around you.”

 

It wasn’t until a few years later that I learned to stop trying to wish my way into love and ask for what I want. No, I wasn’t going around trying to bully men into relationships. But I did learn to look for signs that someone cared about me the way I cared about them. I stopped saying to my girlfriends “I wish he would just stop giving me mixed signals!” and started saying “I’m sorry, I’m confused because you’re sending me mixed signals.”

 

This wishing thing to happen did not only apply to my relationships. When I deserved a raise at work I was hoping that it would magically appear on my paycheck. This method is much easier than actually facing my boss. I worked hard, efficiently and most importantly went above and beyond my duties. I’d complain to my friends, my mom, Boyfriend and anyone who would listen to me: “I wish they would just give me a raise already.” One day I sat down and made a list of all the reasons why I deserved one. Things were not going to change unless I did something about it. I came to work, wrote an email and asked for a meeting with my boss. I walked in her office terrified. My voice was shaky, I had forgotten how to breathe but somehow I got through my list. She looked at me and without hesitation agreed.

 

Sometimes it’s easier to wish for things to turn out the way we want them to rather than asking for what we want. The problem is that it never works out that way. If you’re not proactively changing what you don’t like then you’re doomed to a life of complacency. That relationship that’s not working, what can make it better? Ask for that. A friend taking you for granted? Let them know. Things not going your way at work? Figure out what can make it better and work towards that.  I say drop that wish bone and get a backbone. After all, aren’t you worth what you want?

At least you try October 28, 2011

I try too hard and sometimes I don’t try hard enough.

Boyfriend tells me I have a few more levels I can push myself to. Sometimes he says this when it comes to working out. I think about what he says and become determined to change my life. I go to the gym, run like I’m being chased, and do sets with the free weights. Then, I am so proud that there is only one way to reward myself — a million bags of skittles. This of course proves to be counter productive in my weight loss. Boyfriend obviously wanting to tap into my eye of the tiger, like I’m rocky, decides to come with me to the gym and show me what I can do. I work out like never before. 120 squats, leg press, treadmill, I am unstoppable*. I’m stronger than I realize. It just took him tapping into my potential.

Am I not trying hard enough?

I have a gorgeous and incredibly intelligent cousin. She grew up with my sisters and I, my mother raised us all. When I was homesick my freshman year of college she, at 9 years old, wrote me a letter. The letter said that she was going to school in the states without her mother who was in the Dominican Republic and I was only 2 hours away from mine. She understood that I must miss everyone but I still had to get my degree. In short, suck it up and I did. As she grew up I imagined her at Ivy League schools, summa cum-laude, and taking over the world. Then she turned 18 and made her own choices. Not the ones I had imagined for her. Can’t she see she can be so much more? I keep pushing and she of course follows her own path.

One of my very best friends is a talented jewelry designer. I can imagine every woman wearing her designs. She is terrified of negative criticism. Why shouldn’t she be? When you’re a creative person your work is a piece of you out there waiting for everyone’s approval.  I believe she shouldn’t be, she’s amazing and not just because she’s my friend. Then, I get frustrated that she’s scared. I encourage her to pursue her dreams. And then I think to myself, where is the line between being encouraging and being too pushy?

Am I just trying too hard?

I was speaking with my girl who told me that she’s learned to accept that people will do things when they’re ready to. It’s true. You can’t want more for someone than they want for themselves. That applies to your family, friends, acquaintances and significant others. The problem becomes hard when you care so much.  The only answer I can come up with is two fold. First, nurture others potential. But remember if they’re not using it then it’s only a possibility, a mirage. Second, always test your own. How will you reach the next level if you don’t?

As for me I’m trying to find the balance between trying too hard and not trying hard enough.

 

Have you felt this way before? What are some things you try too hard at and others you don’t try hard enough?

* After that workout I could not walk for a week. The elderly were offering me their walking canes as they watched me go down the stairs. This is a true story.

 

Totally unrelated: Halloween is this weekend. I’m going to be a Panda Bear and to celebrate here are some pictures I took at the Bellagio in Vegas of some gigantic pumpkins! See you Monday.

To marry or not to marry: thoughts on marriage October 26, 2011

bridaloccasion.com

This past weekend in Vegas everywhere I turned there were women in wedding dresses and men in tuxedos walking hand in hand. They were smiling from ear to ear and people would burst into claps as they walked by. They were excited and I was paralyzed in fear.

But it wasn’t always that way.

Growing up my favorite past-time was imagining weddings with my sisters. We would sit on my mothers couch and make a guest list, create dresses from our bed sheets (my mom would disapprove) and, if we remembered, pretend to care how many guests our future husband would be allowed to have. You see, I hardly ever took into account that a marriage was between two people and pretty much thought weddings were where marriages began and ended. “Thanks for coming to my party! Ok bye, I’m going back to my parent’s house!”

It may be because I got older. Maybe, because I now realize the hard work that goes into relationships or maybe because I’m broke and can’t afford the pony I was going to train to dance salsa as I march down the aisle, but now I don’t pretend to plan my wedding anymore. I take marriage more seriously and really think about what this means and when I would be able to make that kind of commitment.

This of course scares my mother who I’m pretty sure is horrified at the prospect of no husband and no grandchildren in the near future. I know this, because she sometimes says “Its so weird you and Boyfriend live in different apartments” or this fun exchange:

Me: I was throwing up and the doctor sai–
Mom: you’re having a baby!!!
Me: *sigh* I have a virus

But there are two reasons that keep the thought of marriage away from my imagination.

I love other people’s weddings
I don’t like to plan things. I’m also very clumsy and my anxiety would be at an all time high walking in heels down the aisle. Plus, I love seeing two people who love each other invite me to an open bar to dance in their honor. champagne? Yes, please.

I’m afraid of friendships changing when you get married.
Every other person over 34 with children at work tells me this same thing. “You get married and you never hang out with your friends again.” This sends me into a panic. I already have trouble getting all my girlfriends together in the same room. This is just because we all are busy with life and work. Although, it makes me sad that we all don’t get together as often as we once did I would hate to think we’ll never be in the same room again.

What do you think? Do I have anything to be scared of? Do friendships change? Is your mother also scared you’ll be alone and barren?

When in Vegas October 24, 2011

viva las vegas

 

I sat on my flight from New York City to LAX last Thursday not knowing what to expect on my trip to Las Vegas. I had never been anywhere alone and, quite frankly, I was petrified. My palms were sweaty, my mind over thinking, and the man next to me was giving me a look that was a cross between “are you a child? Why are you moving around so much!”  and “move one more time and I’m hitting you over the head with my newspaper. Like a pet.” I pretended to be like this dominican man who played dominoes outside my building growing up who didn’t understand facial expressions, I smiled and offered him a skittle. The international sign of peace as far as I’m concerned.

I closed my eyes as the plane descended  and sent a prayer for this not to be a bad omen. Obviously, the universe heard me because when I landed in California I was surrounded by paparazzi. The flashes reminded me of lightning and I covered my eyes over the screams of “hey look over here (insert name that is not mine)! You look gorgeous!” That’s when I remembered I am not famous and that the ‘blonde woman in leather jacket walking beside me’ was the real star. In those 30 seconds I decided this trip was going to be amazing.

It turned out to be better than I imagined.

As soon as I arrived I received a call from Helen Troncoso. All I knew about her was that we spoke via twitter sometimes and that she was a beauty queen. She was with Sujeiry Gonzalez, who I actually know in person, and they wanted to invite me to lunch. That moment set the tone for the weekend. Every woman I met at the Latina Lifestyle bloggers conference was kind, friendly and helpful. Every speaker we had filled me with information on how to be better. Every sponsor made us feel welcomed and comfortable. Best of all I left the conference motivated and determined, ready to take over the world. Or, at the very least win over the Internet.

The most important lesson I learned is the value of being surrounded by like minded people. It is an essential tool to keep you going even when you want to give up. It was a reminder to me of the value of sisterhood and how far this Dominicana from Washington Heights has come.

How do you keep motivated?

anxiety and my imagination October 17, 2011

anxious

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I am the queen of anxiety. My mind thinks up the most unfortunate scenarios and outcomes, I freak out, then tell myself not to think that way, stop worrying and finally worry about whether I should be worrying. It’s a vicious cycle.

 

A few months ago I was looking for the perfect “first time living on my own with no roommates” apartment.

 

My mind: oh my goodness, what if you don’t find a place you like and have to live in a box!

 

Me to myself: Stop it! You are not living in a box. That’s ridiculous! But just in case Google for biggest box possible and a giant bedazzler (If I’m living in a box it should be the nicest looking box).

 

Reality: I had more than enough time to find an apartment and an excellent broker, who is also a friend, to help me. Plus, my mom would never let me live in a giant box anyway.

 

Sometimes, I really have to sit down and give myself a serious reality check. That is what I’ve been doing all month in preparation for the Latina Lifestyle Bloggers Group National Conference in Vegas this weekend. It is an amazing conference that’s been set up by Ana Lydia Ochoa-Monaco founder of the Latina Lifestyle Bloggers group.  It is the only conference of it’s kind set up to help Latina Lifestyle Bloggers create opportunities and has the lovely Alisa Valdez- Rodriguez, author of the Dirty Girls Social Club, as the keynote speaker.

Preparing for this trip has turned me into a ball of nerves which means I’ve had to give myself plenty of reality checks:

Finding a roommate to split hotel cost:

My mind: You’re going to have to room with a stranger! Remember single white female?

Me to Myself: Cut it out. Remember college? You didn’t know your roommate then and it turned out… well you’re still alive right? Just in case: Ask roommate if she is serial killer.

Reality: I filled out a roommate document and was contacted by the lovely Ani from PopJunki.com. Not only did she set up all of our roommate needs in Vegas weeks in advance, she sends me the nicest email and has been incredibly helpful. I couldn’t ask for someone better.

Traveling alone for the first time:

My mind: Are you sure you want to go to a place you’ve never been to alone? I don’t know that sounds pretty scary.

Me to Myself: You have been to movies and events alone and everything works out fine right? Besides, if you don’t take risks for your dream then how will it come true? Just in case: pack emergency kit.

Reality: The Latina Lifestyle Blogger group has been amazing. Everyone helping each other and genuinely being supportive every day not just for the conference. I know I have nothing to worry about. Besides, being shy has never been part of who I am.

Anxiety can be a killer as my homie Maiah puts it. It’s important to separate reality from an imagination that runs wild. After all, you could miss out on some great things letting that anxious energy hold you back.

Anyone else have an over active imagination?

Learn more about the LLBloggers Vegas Conference here

The color line October 12, 2011

 

I don’t think I’ve ever believed in Santa Claus. That clichéd moment where someone accidentally spills the beans and crushes innocent children’s imaginations never happened to me. Perhaps, because when I was growing up we exchanged gifts on three king’s day instead of Christmas. This is why I will always remember my first Christmas in the states. That, and because it’s the first time I remember noticing color for the first time.

 

My mom and my dad took my sisters and I to a toy store for our first Christmas. They turned to us and said “go pick out what you want us, we mean Santa, to bring to you! (See, my parents had no respect for Santa Claus)” They set us loose and I walked around every aisle looking for the perfect doll. I ran past the Barbie aisle, I never liked her anyway, looked at all the easy bake ovens and all the board games. There was nothing that called my name. That is, until I saw the most perfect doll. She had on a big bow on her head and a microphone attached to her hand. I was convinced I was going to be a superstar and that doll and I were a match made in heaven. I grabbed her and ran to my parents.

 

My mom took one look at the doll in my hand and ordered to return it and grab a different one. Why? Because much to my mother’s horror I had grabbed the black doll and that was unacceptable.

 

“But, that’s the one I want” I told her lips quivering.

“Why don’t you get this one, this one is pretty” (hands me the white doll)

 

I hold on to my doll tighter and in that moment, in the middle of the store, I start to cry. My mother, who has never been one for scenes, tries to get me to stop. She gives me “the look” and whispers “Stop it!” through her teeth. I am inconsolable. How am I going to put on shows without my singing doll?! Finally, my father puts a stop to it and says I can get whatever doll I want. My mom is annoyed, my father just wanted me to stop throwing a tantrum and I got to go home happy.

 

Why am I telling this story?

 

A few months ago there was an article on New Latina called “I’m white, my daughter is Latina and I buy black dolls.” I told this story in the comments sections and was contacted by Dash Harris about a documentary depicting the African diaspora in Latin America and its influence on the culture with a focus on colorism and racism among Latinos. I met up with her to film my own experience. Mostly, I let her know my confusion because my family is a veritable rainbow coalition. We’re all different shades and yet there are still comments and situations that remind me of that doll story to this day.

 

What do you think about the topic? Any similar experience?

 

You can learn more and support Dash’s documentary by clicking the link.

 

Ps. I wanted to show a picture of my family but I’m pretty sure they don’t want to be posted all over the internet. Instead, I have drawn you a picture! Enjoy.

 

I'm so talented

Language Barrier October 10, 2011

I came to this country at a young age to live with my parents. They were in New York City setting things up while my sisters and I lived with my grandmother in the Dominican Republic.  When I arrived, the first thing I noticed was that everyone lived in large buildings instead of houses. The second? That everyone spoke Spanish.

That is because my parents moved into a neighborhood I lovingly call “little Dominican Republic.” Plantains, mangos, and suspicious Dominican remedies were readily available. You could even play (illegally) the lotto in the back of the bodega (grocery store) across the street from my building. I know this, because my grandmother would send me every Sunday from the ages of 9-13. I didn’t feel hard pressed to learn to speak English even though my American cousins spoke choppy Spanish and I was convinced that they were talking about me behind my back in English.

That is until 6^th grade when I a teacher was helping me say certain words. Chicken was shicken, chair was shair, and pronunciations were hard. My teacher, who I respected greatly, gave me this piece of advice: This is America, everyone speaks in English. If you want to speak Spanish do that at home. Outside, you should always speak in English and you should speak it better than everyone else.

I was embarrassed and unsure of what she meant exactly. After all, I was 11. Was speaking Spanish wrong? Were people going to judge me because of it? Would I ever learn to say chicken correctly?

I thought about that this weekend when I went apple picking. I was the stereotypical New York City girl out in the country. While most people went in jeans and sneakers, I was in a dress and knee high boots. I tried getting an apple out of a tree and got the apple picking stick stuck on the tree and no apple to show for it.

me, the stick, no apples in my bag.

Luckily, Boyfriend knows how to climb trees and use apple picking sticks. At the end of the day, I went to the cashier to pay for my apples. Next to me was a Latino family with 10 bags full to the brim of apples. I overhear the manager telling her “You have to pay for those apples! You can’t just walk out with those. That’s stealing.” She says “I’m sorry, I don’t speak English”

I throw some money on the counter and run over to help. “Señora, usted tiene que pagar por las manzanas (Miss, you have to pay for those apples).” She had no idea. There were no signs and she was under the impression that the apples were free. “¡Si yo supiera eso, no habia tomado todas estas manzanas! (If I knew this, I wouldn’t have gotten so many!) It was a simple mistake, the orchard charges $1 for a plastic bag and she assumed that by paying for the bag she could fill it with as many apples as she could.

I walked away when an American man stops me. “Are you a translator or something?” he asks. “No, I speak Spanish. I was helping her out” I answer. “Are you sure she was not just stupid? Who would take so many apples.” He looks at me intently, wanting me to agree.

I became angry. “ No sir, she didn’t see any signs. She made a mistake. Making a mistake doesn’t make you stupid.

He walked away. He had stood and watched this lady as if she were some kind of spectacle. He laughed at her and no matter what I said, I’m sure he still thought she was stupid.

I couldn’t help but see myself in this lady and as I walked away I replayed the words my 6^th grade teacher told me. If I took her advice I would’ve been to scared/embarrassed to help out. She was wrong.

What do you think?

Friday Reflections October 7, 2011

My favorite thing to do at the end of the week is celebrate. I don’t have to go out with friends necessarily but I always like to do something for a job well done. Think of it like a pat on the back after working all week. Sometimes, this involves buying a bottle of wine and watching movies. Other times, I get ice cream, put on all my favorite pop songs of the 90’s(boy bands included) and dance in front of the mirror (don’t judge me).  This week was very tough but I learned a few things I would love to share with you.

The Latino List on HBO

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This past Monday I watched a rerun of the Latino List on HBO. All of the stories are worth watching but one person in particular said something that I have been replaying over and over in my head. Dr. Marta Moreno Vega told a story from her youth. She was a teenager walking around the city when she walked by an older man whom she knew. This older man was one who suffered from substance abuse and as he stopped to say hello she ignored him and walked past him. He in turn told her mother how rude she had been. When she got home, her mother called her out on her rudeness and very sternly said to her “Do not think you are so much better than someone that you can’t recognize yourself in other people. He could be you, he could be me, he could be anyone in your family.” That is a powerful statement. You never know the twists and turns of life but one thing you can control is how you view and treat others.

Steve Jobs (1955-2011)

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“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything, all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure, those things just fall away in the face of death. Leaving only what is truly important[…] You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart….] Sorry to be so dramatic, but it’s true. Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking.” (Stanford Commencement Speech, 2005)

Finally, Drag Queens

my bartender

Something a little more lighthearted. My homie, the first lady of love, had a giveaway for the get your drag on show at lips in New York City on her site and I won! We got to watch some live singing, and lip synching, and overall had a fantastic time. My bartender, pictured above, game me the best advice. As I was trying to take a picture of the chandelier, she was posing under it. “Honey, I am always camera ready. What if you dropped the camera?” perfectly said. Look out for me posing behind random tourist pictures while out and about.

Ps. Remember that mouse in my apartment? I caught it. Then, I didn’t know what to do with it so I asked twitter:

EEK!

Happy Friday!

New York City: It’s a jungle out there October 5, 2011

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I am very brave.

 

Well, I really should rephrase that. I am very brave sometimes which doesn’t work in your favor when you live in New York City. For example, I’ve developed a paralyzing fear of pigeons and mice.

 

Let me explain.

 

When I was 16 I decided it was about time I started making my own money and begged my mother to help me find a job. It just so happened that a family friend knew the hiring manager for the gift shop at the Statue of Liberty. I went in for an interview and was hired three days later. The first few weeks were amazing. For the first time in my life I had my own money which was promptly spent on sneakers that were too expensive and Gap white tees.

 

Then, one rainy and windy day everything changed. I was walking the pathway through Battery Park and to the ferry that would take me to Liberty Island with a friend. The rain was coming down hard and the wind was making it hard for us to see. As we’re fighting the wind to get through the park a black plastic bag flies towards us and clings on to my right thigh. While I’m trying to remove the bag from my jeans I hear my friend’s loud scream. A pigeon was coming directly at her. I see the pigeon fighting to fly higher against the wind and my friend trying to move out of the way.

 

It was too late.

 

When I turned to my left I see the pigeon has had a crash collision with my friend’s face. The pigeon’s wings flapping wildly across her face and her trying to swat the pigeon away. I looked at her, looked at the pigeon, and ran away.  Til this day I look at pigeons suspiciously as they roam New York City.

 

Which brings me to the mice. When I was 10 I was laying on my mother’s plastic couch reading a very heavy Spanish text book when I see a mouse on the floor. Without thinking I closed my text book and dropped my book on it. The mouse didn’t see it coming. I picked up my book and ran to my mother to show her the now dead mouse. She turned to me, laughed and said “ay Dios mio! You’re lucky it didn’t jump up and bite your nose off.” Now, she may have been joking but ever since that day I’ve been terrified of mice flying around eating people’s noses. Not to mention they’re gross.

 

On Monday, I walk into my kitchen and see a tiny mouse run under the stove. I freeze, run to my bedroom and send out a text. “EMERGENCY! I SAW A MOUSE. NOW I NEED TO MOVE!” I grab a towel, put it under my door and hid in my bedroom.

how i'm living

For the last two days I have been in my bedroom eating rice cakes. I only leave my room to shower and to run across my living room and out the front door.

 

I called the exterminator this morning. Hopefully, I won’t have to move but my apartment is not big enough for the both of us. So far, the mouse is winning.

Still, I tell people I’m very brave.

 

Anyone else deathly afraid of pigeons, mice or any other random thing native to where you’re from?

a friend remembered October 4, 2011

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I am sitting down staring at the blank page, fingers on the keyboard, trying to find all the right words and coming up with all the wrong ones. I’m going to start at the beginning with the hope that by the end it all makes sense.

 

Two weeks ago I was sitting on the couch next to Boyfriend talking about Troy Davis. I said to him “I can’t imagine wanting for someone to die regardless of how terrible their crime was. I think the worst punishment is to spend life behind bars thinking about what you did.” I was indignant. Why fight murder with murder? And worse, who are we to play God with people’s lives?

 

It’s easy to be indignant and righteous from the outside looking in.

 

Yesterday, I was walking home from the dentist office angry with myself for thinking that hiding candy from me was a good idea. It’s not. I go to the “hiding place”, pretend to be surprised that I found some treats and go on a candy binge. Now, 3 cavities later I was walking on Broadway with the left side of my mouth numb and my dentists disapproving glare permanently tattooed in my memory.

 

I pick up my phone to text Boyfriend to convince him to feel sorry for me and my teeth when I see an email from my best friend. It says that a mutual friend from college was found with multiple stab wounds and then later pronounced dead.

 

I stop. Freeze. The numbness from the lidocaine shot the dentist gave me spreads from my mouth to the rest of my body. I Click on the link she sent and suddenly, I’m not sure how, I’m in my living room sitting on my couch with my computer on my lap searching on Google.

 

“The police arrested a man who they suspect was in a romantic relationship with her.”

 

I look at his picture. Shock becomes anger and for a brief moment I want him to pay for it. The girl I knew was so sweet, friendly, an amazing dancer and he took her away. What if jail time isn’t enough for him to realize the hurt and pain he’s caused?

 

It’s easy to be indignant and righteous from the outside looking in.

 

I knew in my heart I don’t really believe in playing God with someone’s life. Even if that person doesn’t believe the same.

 

That feeling lasted a moment. Before the emails from friends who felt the same way I did poured in. Who were sad, shocked, stunned but even more so hurt by the news. Connecticut College, where we went to school, is a small school. The kind where you know everyone’s face and name and your friends become your family.

 

“ Her father once told me he was her biggest fan. “That was his baby girl” one friend texted me. Another said, “Sorry for sending all these links and emails. I don’t know what else to do.” Finally, this morning a good friend said “It’s made me realize that I have to be more outspoken when I see friends or acquaintances involved in destructive relationship”

 

Sometimes you don’t want to get involved in what others are going through. Or you’ve told them so many times you figure they’ll do what they want. I believe you don’t give up on those you love.

 

Sometimes you don’t know what people are going through from the outside looking in.

 

I wrote this because I wanted to do more than my facebook status. But even now, a day later I can only cling to the words and the feeling I wrote yesterday:

 

I just took a moment to stop and pray for my schoolmate Cyan Maroney. She will be greatly missed. I also took a moment to pray for peace for her family. I took a moment to pray for mine, my friends, and those who I’ve lost touch with that are always in my heart.