Why is that weeding is an endless job? I have a garden that is growing and I can't keep up with the weeds, the invasives. I need help, I recruit volunteers, we weed and it looks great for a while. I'm happy cause the garden looks good, all clean, no weeds. I tend to my garden and catch one of those nasty weeds popping up and get'em. Then I leave for a couple weeks and come back and their all back even worse than before I recruited my volunteers, so I recruit some more. One day, several years ago, I climbed to the top of the highest hill in Tijuana, El Cerro Colorado. There were no people around and I looked at the plants, they were all native plants, no weeds. How is that possible, I thought, no one weeds here? How is that we spend hours and hours weeding my garden and never finish and yet here, there are no weeders and no weeds?
Why is it that stopping terrorists is a never ending job? If we have helicopteres and border walls and jet skis and armed guards with flack jackets and helmets and guns in vehicles that are stationed and roaming back and forth along a high speed corridor that cuts through the contours of a borderless sacred land. Why is it that as the war on terror has created ever more sophisticated equipment to find and route out terrorists has increased so has terrorism? Why is it that when I go to Mexico, they don't have this protection that hovers around open lands vigilant to any danger and yet there are no Islamic extremists or anyone wanting to bomb their sky scrapers? Why are the only so-called terrorists in Mexico the ones who fight against the armed militia trained at the institute of the americas? Why is it that the only time people terrorize other people in Mexico is when plan Mérida is implemented to create war machines to protect its people?
Why is it that when I plant brocoli, it grows and grows and when it's all out the leaves continue to grow and no matter how much a lady harvests for her children the leaves keep coming back, in fact the more she harvests, the more they come back? Why is it that when there are fields of monoculture it some how is finite and runs out at the grocery store? Could it be that we fabricate scaricty and generate violence?
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Beach thought
If I had a ladder, I would lean it on the light of the stars, climb over the sea, and hang from the moon, glimmering in the night.
If I had a rope I would lasso the sun and climb up through an opening in the clouds to lay on the songs of birds.
If I were an indigenous plant, I would grow dark green in the shadow of a menacing barrier and reach through the lines of sunlit cracks to bloom yellow petals and a brown stigma on the other side.
If I were a kite, I would tie my string down to my mother's womb and soar above the divide to find myself in the sky.
If I could live as long as a rock, I would tell the story of how I burst out of middle earth in a fiery passion that lasted a human lifetime only to cool down, solidify, and observe millions of years of experiences that could only be explained in irrational dreams.
If I had a rope I would lasso the sun and climb up through an opening in the clouds to lay on the songs of birds.
If I were an indigenous plant, I would grow dark green in the shadow of a menacing barrier and reach through the lines of sunlit cracks to bloom yellow petals and a brown stigma on the other side.
If I were a kite, I would tie my string down to my mother's womb and soar above the divide to find myself in the sky.
If I could live as long as a rock, I would tell the story of how I burst out of middle earth in a fiery passion that lasted a human lifetime only to cool down, solidify, and observe millions of years of experiences that could only be explained in irrational dreams.
Saturday, November 12, 2016
The dream that woke me up after the Trump election
The first night trump was elected, I didn’t sleep at all and then I was in shock for two days. That 3rd night, I stayed at a friends house, Jim Hornsby. He's a close left wing liberal friend and poet who lets me stay at his house in City Heights when I need it. He was the first American I talked to about the election. It was a relief to vent everything I was feeling and listen to someone with similar feelings. I crashed sound asleep and woke up with back pain after a while like I often do. I stretched and moved around for a bit and laid back down. I closed my eyes and assimilated some of the days events that began to mix with symbols of my subconscious, the conversation with Jim, the election, street protests... riding my bicycle to a bar and having to fish something out from a space in the wall behind the bartender. I met a girl and was just going along with whatever she wanted. She was showing me up to her room on the ninth floor and as we turned off the stairs on the seventh floor for some kind of detour, I saw an old and well-known activist friend who I haven’t been able to communicate with lately round the stairs with two others helping him. He turned his head and his face was pale, sickly, yellow-green and his eyes were unfocused.
The people rushed him up the stairs so fast I couldn’t say anything to him but I gasped, “What’s wrong with him?!?” I chased after him but couldn’t find him. I saw some of the people who were with him who said he had been driven away so I caught some type of public transportation van to follow him. The van turned into a transport to take me and a young man to a particular destination. We got there and it was exactly like somewhere I’d been before in Baja on the ocean but we were in California on the same ocean, standing on a brick balcony. I looked out at the ocean and noticed it was quite tumultuous and a big black wave splashed up about 7 or 800 feet off shore. “What a weird storm.” I commented to my young friend who was also starting notice and as I finished my sentence we both noticed these white clumsy mechanical boxes with tentacles flying around… “DRONES!” we both shouted as we realized they were dropping bombs and ran to opposite sides of the porch deck to take cover. I was crouched down in an opening in the brick floor that had cover around it but not on top thinking I wasn't quite doing it right but strangely not caring too much. I was thinking, not scared at all, ‘this is normal for a lot of people in countries that we bomb.’ After a long while the bombing stopped and we both came out unscathed and a group of young people walked up. They were all people of color in their upper twenties early thirties. They were as american as me or anyone in their speech and mannerisms but none were white. They were asking each other what the bombing was about, why it happened and one of them asked, “Do you think it was because Trump just got elected?”
“Of course it was,” I butted in, “The world is reacting.”
We walked over to a docking ramp made of the same brick the patio in general was made of and a very white man in camouflage military garb drove up the ramp from a cargo ship and started to speak to us in a language that sounded like Russian but was just a little different. One of the youngsters knew the language and translated. The soldier was nice and courteous and said we needed to follow him. We walked along the brick board walk until we got to this really nice place. It was like a resort but nicer and it seemed like people lived there, like they never left. There was a young girl talking with some others standing by an olympic size pool, putting on her goggles and behind them was a huge sectioned off by glass walls dance club where people around the same age were having a great time. I remember a guy who seemed kind of separated and a little nervous asking a girl to dance and her accepting and them having fun and thanking each other at the end. I didn’t have much feeling or judgement about the place and was just kind of hanging out. Some Asian women came up to me and one of them started massaging my foot where I have an old injury that bugs me sometimes. It felt really good and after a few minutes she stopped and showed me a piece of paper with a list of time periods how much each costs and then it hit me, this is a scam. “No I don’t want this…” I told her in an almost offended tone. I walked away and leaned over to grab something from a couch and felt this sharp needle in my butt. I stood and turned and saw a guy with the needle in his hand. I started to feel woozy and thought I was about to pass out but still had my wits about me somewhat.
I can’t remember what I said or if I just gave him an annoyed look.
“Here is the list of what each dosis costs,” showing me a list similar to the one the foot masseuse showed me.
“Get out of here, what the hell are you doing?” my adrenaline overpowering the drowsiness, my tone, my attitude, and even my accent going back to my New York roots.
“Well, you don’t have to buy any if you don’t want to.”
I got the same feeling I get when I deal with Border Patrol how they manipulate the situation to try to paint me as the aggressor.
“What do you mean I don’t have to, you just shot me in the ass…” I turned my back and waved him away, “Get the fuck outta here.”
Light came in the window and woke me from the dream.
The people rushed him up the stairs so fast I couldn’t say anything to him but I gasped, “What’s wrong with him?!?” I chased after him but couldn’t find him. I saw some of the people who were with him who said he had been driven away so I caught some type of public transportation van to follow him. The van turned into a transport to take me and a young man to a particular destination. We got there and it was exactly like somewhere I’d been before in Baja on the ocean but we were in California on the same ocean, standing on a brick balcony. I looked out at the ocean and noticed it was quite tumultuous and a big black wave splashed up about 7 or 800 feet off shore. “What a weird storm.” I commented to my young friend who was also starting notice and as I finished my sentence we both noticed these white clumsy mechanical boxes with tentacles flying around… “DRONES!” we both shouted as we realized they were dropping bombs and ran to opposite sides of the porch deck to take cover. I was crouched down in an opening in the brick floor that had cover around it but not on top thinking I wasn't quite doing it right but strangely not caring too much. I was thinking, not scared at all, ‘this is normal for a lot of people in countries that we bomb.’ After a long while the bombing stopped and we both came out unscathed and a group of young people walked up. They were all people of color in their upper twenties early thirties. They were as american as me or anyone in their speech and mannerisms but none were white. They were asking each other what the bombing was about, why it happened and one of them asked, “Do you think it was because Trump just got elected?”
“Of course it was,” I butted in, “The world is reacting.”
We walked over to a docking ramp made of the same brick the patio in general was made of and a very white man in camouflage military garb drove up the ramp from a cargo ship and started to speak to us in a language that sounded like Russian but was just a little different. One of the youngsters knew the language and translated. The soldier was nice and courteous and said we needed to follow him. We walked along the brick board walk until we got to this really nice place. It was like a resort but nicer and it seemed like people lived there, like they never left. There was a young girl talking with some others standing by an olympic size pool, putting on her goggles and behind them was a huge sectioned off by glass walls dance club where people around the same age were having a great time. I remember a guy who seemed kind of separated and a little nervous asking a girl to dance and her accepting and them having fun and thanking each other at the end. I didn’t have much feeling or judgement about the place and was just kind of hanging out. Some Asian women came up to me and one of them started massaging my foot where I have an old injury that bugs me sometimes. It felt really good and after a few minutes she stopped and showed me a piece of paper with a list of time periods how much each costs and then it hit me, this is a scam. “No I don’t want this…” I told her in an almost offended tone. I walked away and leaned over to grab something from a couch and felt this sharp needle in my butt. I stood and turned and saw a guy with the needle in his hand. I started to feel woozy and thought I was about to pass out but still had my wits about me somewhat.
I can’t remember what I said or if I just gave him an annoyed look.
“Here is the list of what each dosis costs,” showing me a list similar to the one the foot masseuse showed me.
“Get out of here, what the hell are you doing?” my adrenaline overpowering the drowsiness, my tone, my attitude, and even my accent going back to my New York roots.
“Well, you don’t have to buy any if you don’t want to.”
I got the same feeling I get when I deal with Border Patrol how they manipulate the situation to try to paint me as the aggressor.
“What do you mean I don’t have to, you just shot me in the ass…” I turned my back and waved him away, “Get the fuck outta here.”
Light came in the window and woke me from the dream.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
My Aunt B - Home is where your hat is from
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| Aunt B with her traditional Colombian sombrero vueltiao |
“I think it's possible, why not?! Todos dicen que estoy loca pero yo digo que es cierto.” she continues to insist the mountains surrounding us on the patio of her home in Southern California are some how the same mountain range where she grew up in Bucaramanga, Colombia.
Beatriz Bedoya, or Aunt B, was born the youngest of six siblings. Her father was probably 1/2 black but none of the children knew how much African blood they had in them because it was shunned on to be black and common to make racist jokes about black people at the house. These days, my Aunt B is proud of the fact that she's black and often boasts about it. She doesn't bother to specify how much black blood she has in her, just makes sure to let everyone know she's black and how ridiculous it is for anyone to deny it, raising her forearm to show you her skin color or pointing at her face widening her eyes while looking straight at you.
She met Kevin McCarten, my uncle, an intelligent business man, great father, and one of the most generous people I know through her sister in 1969 who worked in the local Peace Corps offices in a nearby town to Bucaramanga. Uncle Kevin had been recruited from the business school at San José State University in a new Peace Corps recruitment campaign to diversify the peace corp mixing in some finance oriented majors with the liberal arts/peace-nic types. She was 21 years old and vaguely aware of anything outside of Bucaramanga. In 1971, they were married and moved to the states. She tells me she made this decision with out really deciding. It didn't completely sink in what she had done until she was here. For the first time in her life, she was surrounded by people speaking fluently in English, the first time she had seen snow and the first time her black heritage was surrounded by all white faces that embodied what her father had been ashamed of and tried to hide while she grew up. Even after living in the states several years, when she walked outside with her kids, people in the neighborhood would ask her if she was the maid which really ticked her off. She returned home at least once a year up until her first child was born at which point her father stopped telling her “I told you so” about her decision to leave her homeland and, more accepting and supporting of her decision, started saying, “No turning back now.”
I didn't know my Aunt too well growing up, just vague memories of her seemingly very happy and always showing off her “Latina” side. She livened up one of our traditional big Thanks Giving family get togethers (my Mom has 7 brothers and sisters including Uncle Kevin plus all their kids) by singing “La Bamba” and banging together some salt shakers.
When my Aunt B first came to the US, instead of going to the English class Uncle Kevin thought she was taking during the day, she took Esperanto, an artificial language that was a failed attempt at creating a universal second language for the world to communicate across cultural and language barriers. “Kiel vi fartas?” she greeted when he came home from work one day. They both tell this story and laugh about it now. She also told my uncle that “Yak Jerk called” once because she confuses her ys and js and one time called “gun shot” in order to get the front seat in the car. Despite these and other funny English mistake anecdotes, Aunt B has been fully bilingual for many years and has a masters degree in education from the states.
Her two kids, my cousins Ian and Alex, who have a blue-eyed blond haired Irish father, and grew up in their later childhood years in a predominately white middle-upper class lifestyle in Orange County, estimate that they are about 1/8 black and call themselves Octaroons (a real word they learned in the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy).
After living on the East Coast for a few years, My Uncle Kevin, followed several jobs in the airline business in different cities in California until buying a house in Fresno in 1976 and then settling in San Clemente in the early eighties when he started a shipping business.
When Alex was 2 yrs old she only spoke Spanish. I remember, when I was about 10 years old taking a trip with her, my Mom, my baby sitter, and my sister. Alex's favorite word was popó. My Aunt B told me recently that her and Uncle Kevin only spoke Spanish to her as a toddler and how she regrets that they listened to her kindergarten teacher who told them she was speaking too much Spanish and it would get in the way of her learning English. Alex grew up speaking English and later relearned Spanish as a second language.
I became very interested in the Spanish language in my young adult years too, which led me to being active in and working in Tijuana and Ensenada to learn. By the time I finished my masters in Spanish linguistics at San Diego State and started a career as a Spanish teacher in San Diego, my cousin Ian (Alex's younger brother) was now a teenage skater and living in their beautiful home on the cliffs of San Clemente. I would often go up and visit. Aunt B is a retired middle school math teacher. She loved teaching and always tried to help latino immigrant children in any way she could. She's always been athletic and liked the outdoors and her and I would hit the beach with a local body surfing club once a week. I would drive up from home in Tijuana where I was doing my final socio-linguistic thesis study. Aunt B and I would talk about the comforting chaos of Latino countries and compare and contrast how a Mexican says something and how a Colombian says something. I was as passionate as someone could be about the Spanish language or anything and Aunt B ate up the opportunity to speak Spanish with me and started to claim me as her Latino son.
I remember a conversation with her and my Uncle Kev about how she missed the fact that in Colombia you could walk outside at 10p and there would be a neighbor to talk to and how that's how it was in Tijuana, but here it's super quiet, and you can't hear or see anyone outside after dark. My Uncle Kev actually enjoys this peace and quiet. Aunt B and I saw eye to eye on a lot of things and started to become good friends.
I remember at my Grandpa's funeral her saying to me, not trying to give grand advice but just as a general comment between good friends and to express how we were both feeling, “Nunca sabes cuándo se van a acabar las cosas. La vida es más corta de lo que uno piensa.”
For some reason my visits kind of dwindled down to mainly only visiting during family get togethers. At one point during this time, I heard that Aunt B wasn't very happy. My cousins Alex and Ian had both grown up and moved out. I went up on New Year's eve one year and hung out with Uncle Kevin. Aunt B had gone to Colombia for a while. “I hope she feels better after getting the chance to go home after so many years” Uncle Kevin told me on our way down to the local pub to ring in the new year.
“Yeah, I sometimes feel like a part of her never left Colombia.”
My visits dwindled even more which I regret. I feel like I gained a real confidant in my Aunt B. We were buds and I wasn't able to share some of the new things happening in my life. I did continue to go up for the annual Super Bowl Party which my uncle calls his “Favorite holiday“ and always makes sure it's a great party. It's recently become the McCarten family get together to the point where even relatives from the East Coast came out for it last year and I've taken friends from San Diego and Tijuana including my professional guitar friend Delfino from Tijuana, who would put on a show after the game for those who wanted to keep partying. "I love this fucking gringo", I remember her saying one time after a few drinks, jumping into a conversation with her arm around Uncle Kev kind of showing him off to me and a couple of friends I had brought one year.
A few years after the News Year’s eve visit, I did go up just to visit and Aunt B and I took a walk on the beach. I noticed her asking me a question and then sometimes as little as 10 min later asking me the same question. We had dinner a little later with Uncle Kev and when she wasn't there he told me she's been having some memory problems.
My Mom has recently come down to visit on a couple occasions and both times we went to visit Aunt B and Uncle Kev so I've been able to visit and talk with them in the last year more often than the past few years. I live in Tijuana still and despite my attachment there, I have to admit that it feels good to stay in the US sometimes and sleep in a nice quiet suburban neighborhood like the one I grew up in.
“Mira, mira...” my Aunt B kept saying to urge me over again to the sliding glass door to see the little sparrows eating some bread crumbs she left out on the patio. I arrive and see the last one catching a morsel as they fly over the horizon, the trail of bread crumbs leads toward the hills.
“Yo no soy tan loca. Yo digo que sí es posible...” she repeats to me later as we sit together on the back porch, pointing to the mountain range surrounding their new home in San Juan Capistrano insisting once again that it is connected to the range that runs around her home town on the Mesita de Bucaramanga, Colombia.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Advice from a Jojoba
"Just wait" says the Jojoba plant, a 6 inch tall baby with sprouting roots. I see her recently planted inside the cactus garden in a circle with the white sage trickling through the other patient souls clumped together crowding around the towering 20 ft high border wall. "Just wait. Don't plant freeways and "cubre suelos" used to cover the earth at their medians. I only ask your patience. I don't need you to pipe out treated water through a rubber hose as I get my water from the skies. I don't need you to create any conditions as I am native to this land and it is my home. All I need is your breath and your patience. If you give me this, I promise we will not be estranged. I promise to become one with the earth swaping nutrients with the soil. If you just exhale the anxiety to build isolation chambers on to me, I will convert it into your oxygen and we will heal. If you just exhale the soot of SUVs and the black plague of war that is made to protect it, we will grow and my roots will reach deeper than the height of this wall and hold our common ground firm when the first torrential downpour comes and the white sage trickling through becomes a river that washes away the freeways and divisions made by the decorative cubre suelos that smother us.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Chatting on the trolley
“How much that cost for you?”, the lady sitting across from me asked in an obvious Mexican accent looking at my ipad.
“400”, I said underexagerating $50 even though I know in Mexico this question is a common way to start small talk and not necessarily looked at as inappropriate like it is in English/US.
“I have a friend tell me he get laptops that people are giving away and sells them fro $50. He tell me he get as many as I want...”
"I'm interested in one!"
"Write here your phone number. I call him and tell him and tell him to call you." She stretched out her notepad with a pen and after, while we sat quiet diagonally across from each other on the vinal seats with no one else in our “booth”, I had this fleeting thought that maybe she had some type of business or something she was trying to promote. She broke the thin ice with a little more small talk about the computer that led into a little more personal conversation... "I 53 and I do different things because I'm curious and interested. I was curious how is that a ship that weigh tons floats so I read books and got a job working on a ship yard at NASSCO. Is an interesting job cause you see in two years how ship go from nothing to a big ship. It takes 2 years with 5,000 people working day and night."
"5,000 people! Wow!
How was the job? Did they pay fair?"
"They pay 15-20/hr. time and half over time and triple pay on Sunday and holiday. At the end when the ship was done they have party with you and your family and champagne."
“That's cool. How long did you work there?”
“Five years”
“Oh so you got to see at least one ship made from beginning to end.”
"Yea... I do different things.“, she said starting a new subject. I was more than ok with it. We had a pretty long trolley ride and I was in listening mode... ”...my sister tell me I should focus on only one thing, get an education. But I just learn different things and get different certifications." Somewhere in there I told her I was 43, felt open to tell her my age cause she told me hers. She went into great detail about her sister who was a chemical engineer, very sharp and traveled all over the world attending prestigious schools and working for different companies. It occurred to me that it might appear to some or that at another time or with a different person, I would've been getting bored of her going on so, but I was for some reason in a mood where I really wanted to listen to someone. That, in combination with the fact that there was something about the way she told stories, kind of speckled with out of the ordinary occurrences and confidence in her speech contrasting her kind of humble appearance that kept me listening to every word. "My sister went to a very prestigious training in Japan where she sat next to the prince of Kuwait."
"The prince of Kuwait?! Your sister went to school with the prince of Kuwait?!"
"Yes." she smiled just a twinge to acknowledge my amazement but I could tell it was old news to her and something not that surprising considering her sister's life in general. "She has pictures and whatever. She live her life like a princess. She grew up in a very difficult situation. She had polio when she was young and had trouble walking. She had to get up at 3a to be ready by 5a for the bus to school every day because she had to get her legs ready with her.." (here she gestured a crutch I guess she couldn't think of the word in English and I just nodded knowing what she meant). "She struggle for a year until she got a car but soon got a high paying job and bought the car of the year." (translating literally 'al año' which actually means a new car that was made the same year you bought it). "She had offers for jobs in the US but didn't want to leave Mexico and was doing fine there. She never got married she just dedicate herself to her career."
After a short silence and wanting to keep listening, I asked, “Where do you live?”
“I live in San Diego but I go to San Ysidro to buy something.”
“Where do you live?”
“I live in Tijuana, but I'm getting off at the Iris station to meet a friend.”. The Iris station is the second to last on the blue line that goes down to the San Diego/Tijuana border where she was going and still a good 15–20 minutes away.
“Where do you work?”
“I'm a Spanish teacher.”
She asked me my background and we slowly switched to Spanish. I told her my Dad's side and told her my Mom and Dad aren't Latino. She told me her Dad was half Chinese and half Italian and her Mom was 1/2 mexican and 1/2 black.
"Wow. Usted sí es una mezcla interesante."
She continued talking about her sister and how it was smart for her to never get married and how people think kids are wonderful when you see people with them in the movies but the truth is unless you have a million dollars for each kid you're going to have, it's not a good idea because they are going to have a hard life and go through a lot. She asked if I'd been married.
“No, nunca.”
“Por eso eres tan tranquilo.”
“Sí, cuando estoy en una relación, no estoy tan tranquilo.”
“Es que no has encontrado a alguien compatible...” I identified with some of the things she was saying about relationships and thought how sometimes relationships mess me up even if I am compatible with the person, but didn't want to get into my stuff. I was enjoying getting out of my head and my issues. She continued about how important it is that someone find someone who likes the same things and that she was with someone and they had totally different interests, "No está bien si estás con alguien y vives por el otro en vez de vivir tu propia vida. Si haces todo lo que él quiere digamos 90% de tu vida pertenece a él y solamente estás viviendo 10% de tu propia vida. No creces como persona." That I definitely identified with, “Yo estuve con alguien, éramos muy diferentes. Nos gustaban diferentes cosas...”, She went on to give examples of how she liked the ocean and the indoors and how he liked the mountains and camping and how he always offered to cook but she didn't like the way he cooked, when he cooked meat, he'd serve it in a pool of blood which was disgusting to her for example...
”Uno debe de ser inteligente y no estar en relaciones, no tener hijos. como mi hermana hasta que la mataron en su casa." [People should be smarter and not be in relationships, not have kids, like my sister until she was murdered at her home]
"¡¿Qué!?" I said whipping my gaze directly into her eyes. ”¡¿Qué dijo de su hermana?!" I was almost sure I heard the word matar, to kill, but I was thinking I must not've heard right.
"Ella tenía una criada,“ she said in a calm voice that kept me wondering still if I heard correctly.
”Confió en ella. Le ayudaba en todo y vivió con ella por 5 años y después le evenenó y le robó todo."
With my mouth half open and still staring directly at her eyes that met mine at an angle and darted strait ahead and back to join mine again and back again as I repeated what she said in a question, "¿Mató a su hermana?!"
"Si la evenenó. Le ganó la confianza primero y luego aprovechó y se quedó con todo. La manipuló y le cambió el testamento para que ella se quedara con todo." She repeated adding a few more details about the sinister maid to the story.
"Y no le pasó nada?"
"No, todos saben que lo hizo pero no tenemos dinero, no podemos demanadarla." I was still flabberghasted by the shocking plot twist in the story and wasn't sure what to say and she asked another question that got us off the subject.
We chatted a little bit more until I heard, "Next stop Iris Ave.." which caught me by surprise even though I've ridden the route hundreds (thousands?) of times and usually almost instinctually know when to start gathering my stuff. "O, ya estamos! Pues, mucho gusto Cristina. Llámeme por favor me interesa..." not able to finish the sentence distracted as I quickly gathered my book and ipad which were sitting on my lap closed for the past 25 minutes, and stuffed them in my back pack.
"Sí.. te llamo sobre... (she said “la compu” and I said “la laptop“ simulataneously)
"Gusto platicar con usted." I said as I stood up to go and shook her hand goodbye and the automatic door opened behind me.
“400”, I said underexagerating $50 even though I know in Mexico this question is a common way to start small talk and not necessarily looked at as inappropriate like it is in English/US.
“I have a friend tell me he get laptops that people are giving away and sells them fro $50. He tell me he get as many as I want...”
"I'm interested in one!"
"Write here your phone number. I call him and tell him and tell him to call you." She stretched out her notepad with a pen and after, while we sat quiet diagonally across from each other on the vinal seats with no one else in our “booth”, I had this fleeting thought that maybe she had some type of business or something she was trying to promote. She broke the thin ice with a little more small talk about the computer that led into a little more personal conversation... "I 53 and I do different things because I'm curious and interested. I was curious how is that a ship that weigh tons floats so I read books and got a job working on a ship yard at NASSCO. Is an interesting job cause you see in two years how ship go from nothing to a big ship. It takes 2 years with 5,000 people working day and night."
"5,000 people! Wow!
How was the job? Did they pay fair?"
"They pay 15-20/hr. time and half over time and triple pay on Sunday and holiday. At the end when the ship was done they have party with you and your family and champagne."
“That's cool. How long did you work there?”
“Five years”
“Oh so you got to see at least one ship made from beginning to end.”
"Yea... I do different things.“, she said starting a new subject. I was more than ok with it. We had a pretty long trolley ride and I was in listening mode... ”...my sister tell me I should focus on only one thing, get an education. But I just learn different things and get different certifications." Somewhere in there I told her I was 43, felt open to tell her my age cause she told me hers. She went into great detail about her sister who was a chemical engineer, very sharp and traveled all over the world attending prestigious schools and working for different companies. It occurred to me that it might appear to some or that at another time or with a different person, I would've been getting bored of her going on so, but I was for some reason in a mood where I really wanted to listen to someone. That, in combination with the fact that there was something about the way she told stories, kind of speckled with out of the ordinary occurrences and confidence in her speech contrasting her kind of humble appearance that kept me listening to every word. "My sister went to a very prestigious training in Japan where she sat next to the prince of Kuwait."
"The prince of Kuwait?! Your sister went to school with the prince of Kuwait?!"
"Yes." she smiled just a twinge to acknowledge my amazement but I could tell it was old news to her and something not that surprising considering her sister's life in general. "She has pictures and whatever. She live her life like a princess. She grew up in a very difficult situation. She had polio when she was young and had trouble walking. She had to get up at 3a to be ready by 5a for the bus to school every day because she had to get her legs ready with her.." (here she gestured a crutch I guess she couldn't think of the word in English and I just nodded knowing what she meant). "She struggle for a year until she got a car but soon got a high paying job and bought the car of the year." (translating literally 'al año' which actually means a new car that was made the same year you bought it). "She had offers for jobs in the US but didn't want to leave Mexico and was doing fine there. She never got married she just dedicate herself to her career."
After a short silence and wanting to keep listening, I asked, “Where do you live?”
“I live in San Diego but I go to San Ysidro to buy something.”
“Where do you live?”
“I live in Tijuana, but I'm getting off at the Iris station to meet a friend.”. The Iris station is the second to last on the blue line that goes down to the San Diego/Tijuana border where she was going and still a good 15–20 minutes away.
“Where do you work?”
“I'm a Spanish teacher.”
She asked me my background and we slowly switched to Spanish. I told her my Dad's side and told her my Mom and Dad aren't Latino. She told me her Dad was half Chinese and half Italian and her Mom was 1/2 mexican and 1/2 black.
"Wow. Usted sí es una mezcla interesante."
She continued talking about her sister and how it was smart for her to never get married and how people think kids are wonderful when you see people with them in the movies but the truth is unless you have a million dollars for each kid you're going to have, it's not a good idea because they are going to have a hard life and go through a lot. She asked if I'd been married.
“No, nunca.”
“Por eso eres tan tranquilo.”
“Sí, cuando estoy en una relación, no estoy tan tranquilo.”
“Es que no has encontrado a alguien compatible...” I identified with some of the things she was saying about relationships and thought how sometimes relationships mess me up even if I am compatible with the person, but didn't want to get into my stuff. I was enjoying getting out of my head and my issues. She continued about how important it is that someone find someone who likes the same things and that she was with someone and they had totally different interests, "No está bien si estás con alguien y vives por el otro en vez de vivir tu propia vida. Si haces todo lo que él quiere digamos 90% de tu vida pertenece a él y solamente estás viviendo 10% de tu propia vida. No creces como persona." That I definitely identified with, “Yo estuve con alguien, éramos muy diferentes. Nos gustaban diferentes cosas...”, She went on to give examples of how she liked the ocean and the indoors and how he liked the mountains and camping and how he always offered to cook but she didn't like the way he cooked, when he cooked meat, he'd serve it in a pool of blood which was disgusting to her for example...
”Uno debe de ser inteligente y no estar en relaciones, no tener hijos. como mi hermana hasta que la mataron en su casa." [People should be smarter and not be in relationships, not have kids, like my sister until she was murdered at her home]
"¡¿Qué!?" I said whipping my gaze directly into her eyes. ”¡¿Qué dijo de su hermana?!" I was almost sure I heard the word matar, to kill, but I was thinking I must not've heard right.
"Ella tenía una criada,“ she said in a calm voice that kept me wondering still if I heard correctly.
”Confió en ella. Le ayudaba en todo y vivió con ella por 5 años y después le evenenó y le robó todo."
With my mouth half open and still staring directly at her eyes that met mine at an angle and darted strait ahead and back to join mine again and back again as I repeated what she said in a question, "¿Mató a su hermana?!"
"Si la evenenó. Le ganó la confianza primero y luego aprovechó y se quedó con todo. La manipuló y le cambió el testamento para que ella se quedara con todo." She repeated adding a few more details about the sinister maid to the story.
"Y no le pasó nada?"
"No, todos saben que lo hizo pero no tenemos dinero, no podemos demanadarla." I was still flabberghasted by the shocking plot twist in the story and wasn't sure what to say and she asked another question that got us off the subject.
We chatted a little bit more until I heard, "Next stop Iris Ave.." which caught me by surprise even though I've ridden the route hundreds (thousands?) of times and usually almost instinctually know when to start gathering my stuff. "O, ya estamos! Pues, mucho gusto Cristina. Llámeme por favor me interesa..." not able to finish the sentence distracted as I quickly gathered my book and ipad which were sitting on my lap closed for the past 25 minutes, and stuffed them in my back pack.
"Sí.. te llamo sobre... (she said “la compu” and I said “la laptop“ simulataneously)
"Gusto platicar con usted." I said as I stood up to go and shook her hand goodbye and the automatic door opened behind me.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Normal Day on the Trolley
"Can I pay on the train or do I have to pay before I get on?" Said the blond haired blue eyed innocent face.
The officer looked away in disgust and turned to me just giving me an "and you??" nod.
"I didn't pay."
"Why didn't you pay?"
"I was trying to save money."
The muscular, uniformed, chubby-cheeked man looked straight down the aisle with both of us looking at him sitting on either side as he wiped his face and sighed in disgust as we pulled up to the next stop.
"Do you want me to get off he..." I started to ask hoping to avoid a ticket.
"Both of you just get off here and..." the rest was mumbled but he might've said something about buying a ticket.
I quickly got off and felt the blond guy get off after me. I ran up to the next boxcar in hopes to get on before the train took off, but it was too late. The door didn't open.
I turned and the blond guy with a blue V-neck sweater and a smirk said, "I never pay for the tram."
"What?," the word tram throwing me off.
"I never pay for the tram. I like how you tried to get on to the next box car." Bigger and definitely drunk smirk.
"I was hoping to not have to wait another 30 min for the next one," I said liking his validation of my deceptive acts. "Might as well buy a ticket now," I said as I put my credit card in the machine.
"Hey, I know what we can do!" as if we had been pondering our options for hours, "We can go to the bar right here and get a beer!"
"Nah, I'm ok." I said as I straight, narrow, and boringly bought my ticket and started pulling out my book to read on the bench.
"Ok." and he took off behind the building.
As I started to sit down to read my book on the declassification of CIA documents in the Chilean coup in the 70s and saw there was 27 min til the next train, I thought, "How boring, that wasn't very spontaneous of me. Would've been fun to accept." I was just about to sit my regretful self down when only a minute later he came running back.
"I don't know about that bar it was kind of..." I couldn't make out what else he said in part because his words were slightly jumbled and, in part because I interrupted him.
"I was kind of regretting not taking you up on going."
"Ok! Let's go."
We started walking side by side and he steps slightly in front of me and sticks his hand out at me chest level with the other fist on top. "Let's Ro Sham Bo to see who buys."
"Ok."
"You know how to play?"
"Yeah, I know." Acting like no big deal but knowing I had 100s of hrs of experience.
Three unison fist pounds into two paper hands. 3 more, him scissors me rock. "You win!" a little surprised but not really caring, "I'm buying!"
We walked into the sort of yuppy hippy bar.
"Do you think they'll let me take my bicycle in?"
"Just bring it in and see what happens."
I parked it inside by the front door and the tattooed waitress/bartender with the low cut tank top comes up to us at the bar. A long list of beers written in high lighter white on glass caught my eye on the wall behind her.
"I like straight up ale." said Eric, my new Navy friend.
"I like light beer."
We both ended up getting the same beer. "Pretty good."
"Yeah, not bad." I said thinking except for the bitter taste.
"God damn! Now that's American. Loosing a Ro Sham Bo game and buying a beer."
"Yeah, I guess so." I said thinking that it's true, Americans don't typically haggle much. "No negotiation."
"So where do you live?"
"Tijuana"
"What?"
"Tijuana?" as a question thinking he may not have heard of it.
"What?"
"Tia Juana."
"Oh. Tia Juana. I've heard of it." In an of course voice. "How do you like it?"
"I like it a lot. Interesting place."
"That's great man! So what brings you up to SD today?"
Hesitating a bit, "I actually came to San Ysidro for a protest against Border Patrol abuses."
"That's terrible man. What did they do?"
"There have been around 20 or so people killed by Border Patrol over the last couple years so some of the families were there because there hasn't been any investigation into what actually happened."
"That's terrible man. They shouldn't be doing that. They need to be shooting bad guys. Stopping criminals from getting into this country."
"I don't know. I feel a little like the border enforcement in general is doing more harm than good. Like there are criminal rings that don't have borders and the idea of having a wall and enforcement in the middle of them really seems sort of silly when I'm sure they don't even need to cross to commit a crime on either side."
"I don't know maybe to stop certain people?" he said not really wanting to argue but not being able to hold back that he didn't agree with me. "I see what you mean. We're kind of beyond walls."
"Yeah. I imagine if there are terrorists or drug cartels they have cells in the US already. I'm thinking you might know more about that than me, being in the Navy."
"Yeah there definitely are. You'd be surprised. There are definitely terrorist in the US. Religion is the motive to do all kinds of bad stuff, muslim, christian. I'm an atheist."
"So you're not really routing for any of those, huh?" I said, trying to lighten the heavy conversation I started.
"Yeah. Ha! That's right."
"Yeah, anyway, I crossed over also cause I'm going up to see my friend in Mission Valley."
"I live in Mission Valley!" He said much more excited about a topic we had in common.
We kind of slammed the beers and got back to the trolley about 10 min ahead of time. "That's American" he said again. "Playing Ro Sham Bo for beer and then talking through different viewpoints!" Looking back at me as we walked down the stairs to the station.
"Yeah, I was a little hesitant to bringing up my viewpoints right away but you seemed pretty open to it."
"Oh yeah. I'm open." Standing back at the station he looked at me, "So you must think that's weird a blond haired blue-eyed guy being from El Centro." He said as we waited for the trolley.
"Well, I didn't really think about it, but now that you mention it, I guess you would be kind of a minority there. You must've had a lot of Mexican friends growing up there, right?"
"Well, my parents are divorced. And I spent time in Alaska with my Dad. I joined the Navy in San Diego to be closer to my Mom."
"How do you like the Navy?"
"I don't really like it. We don't do much. The good thing is I've gotten to travel around and see different parts of the US for training. With so much training, you kind of would like to see more action."
"Aaa. Ok."
"I'm going to be deployed to the Pacific next month."
"The pacific? Where in the Pacific?"
"Well... the Philipines for sure and probably Guam. I'm not looking forward to it. I hear you just kind of sit around. I'm disappointed cause I feel like I wanted to do something for my country. I guess I'm there just in case. Kind of makes sense. Kind of. I told my friend who works at, ah... one of those places where teenagers are in jail... what do you call it?"
"Juvenile Hall?"
"Yeah, he's a correctional officer helping those kids and I tell him all the time, 'man you're actually doing more for this country than I am. You're helping on a small level every day and I'm supposedly helping on a big level but I'm not doing anything... like YOU." pointing at me, "You're doing more for this country showing your point of view about the border than me."
"Yeah. I'm pretty satisfied to be honest about where I've focused my energy to help society." subtly changing America to society.
Just then, two more drunk Navy guys come up. But they were more drunk. They pulled out 5ths of Rum and whisky and asked us if we wanted a shot.
"Eric turned to me. Hey, we should take a shot."
"Alright."
As Eric was drinking the shaved headed short guy said, "Careful there's cameras right there... I don't really know how things work around here. I'm from the South."
"Who are you guys?" said the other taller brown haired guy with acne scars kind of pointing back and forth between us with a puzzled look on his face. The three of them started bonding over Navy stuff, "What ship?" etc. And generally agreeing that it totally sucked. The short bald guy had been deployed in several places and said the Navy really screwed him over. The questioning taller guy looked at me with a face of disregard and even waived me off and went back to talking to Eric. Me and Eric both started laughing at his gesture.
"You don't know anything about the Navy!" I said guessing what he was thinking and we all started laughing as the trolley pulled up.
The two new friends stayed and me and Eric got on. "What a great way to spend 30 min waiting for a trolley." I said.
"Yeah. I hope the security doesn't get back on."
"I think you're alright. They hardly ever give tickets on this line. They do on the blue and orange lines though." We were kind of quiet, knowing that we were pretty satisfied with our short interlude. We shook hands a couple times. "I'll buy next time." I said.
"If we ever see each other again, you can buy." as the door opened and we fist bumped before he got off.
The officer looked away in disgust and turned to me just giving me an "and you??" nod.
"I didn't pay."
"Why didn't you pay?"
"I was trying to save money."
The muscular, uniformed, chubby-cheeked man looked straight down the aisle with both of us looking at him sitting on either side as he wiped his face and sighed in disgust as we pulled up to the next stop.
"Do you want me to get off he..." I started to ask hoping to avoid a ticket.
"Both of you just get off here and..." the rest was mumbled but he might've said something about buying a ticket.
I quickly got off and felt the blond guy get off after me. I ran up to the next boxcar in hopes to get on before the train took off, but it was too late. The door didn't open.
I turned and the blond guy with a blue V-neck sweater and a smirk said, "I never pay for the tram."
"What?," the word tram throwing me off.
"I never pay for the tram. I like how you tried to get on to the next box car." Bigger and definitely drunk smirk.
"I was hoping to not have to wait another 30 min for the next one," I said liking his validation of my deceptive acts. "Might as well buy a ticket now," I said as I put my credit card in the machine.
"Hey, I know what we can do!" as if we had been pondering our options for hours, "We can go to the bar right here and get a beer!"
"Nah, I'm ok." I said as I straight, narrow, and boringly bought my ticket and started pulling out my book to read on the bench.
"Ok." and he took off behind the building.
As I started to sit down to read my book on the declassification of CIA documents in the Chilean coup in the 70s and saw there was 27 min til the next train, I thought, "How boring, that wasn't very spontaneous of me. Would've been fun to accept." I was just about to sit my regretful self down when only a minute later he came running back.
"I don't know about that bar it was kind of..." I couldn't make out what else he said in part because his words were slightly jumbled and, in part because I interrupted him.
"I was kind of regretting not taking you up on going."
"Ok! Let's go."
We started walking side by side and he steps slightly in front of me and sticks his hand out at me chest level with the other fist on top. "Let's Ro Sham Bo to see who buys."
"Ok."
"You know how to play?"
"Yeah, I know." Acting like no big deal but knowing I had 100s of hrs of experience.
Three unison fist pounds into two paper hands. 3 more, him scissors me rock. "You win!" a little surprised but not really caring, "I'm buying!"
We walked into the sort of yuppy hippy bar.
"Do you think they'll let me take my bicycle in?"
"Just bring it in and see what happens."
I parked it inside by the front door and the tattooed waitress/bartender with the low cut tank top comes up to us at the bar. A long list of beers written in high lighter white on glass caught my eye on the wall behind her.
"I like straight up ale." said Eric, my new Navy friend.
"I like light beer."
We both ended up getting the same beer. "Pretty good."
"Yeah, not bad." I said thinking except for the bitter taste.
"God damn! Now that's American. Loosing a Ro Sham Bo game and buying a beer."
"Yeah, I guess so." I said thinking that it's true, Americans don't typically haggle much. "No negotiation."
"So where do you live?"
"Tijuana"
"What?"
"Tijuana?" as a question thinking he may not have heard of it.
"What?"
"Tia Juana."
"Oh. Tia Juana. I've heard of it." In an of course voice. "How do you like it?"
"I like it a lot. Interesting place."
"That's great man! So what brings you up to SD today?"
Hesitating a bit, "I actually came to San Ysidro for a protest against Border Patrol abuses."
"That's terrible man. What did they do?"
"There have been around 20 or so people killed by Border Patrol over the last couple years so some of the families were there because there hasn't been any investigation into what actually happened."
"That's terrible man. They shouldn't be doing that. They need to be shooting bad guys. Stopping criminals from getting into this country."
"I don't know. I feel a little like the border enforcement in general is doing more harm than good. Like there are criminal rings that don't have borders and the idea of having a wall and enforcement in the middle of them really seems sort of silly when I'm sure they don't even need to cross to commit a crime on either side."
"I don't know maybe to stop certain people?" he said not really wanting to argue but not being able to hold back that he didn't agree with me. "I see what you mean. We're kind of beyond walls."
"Yeah. I imagine if there are terrorists or drug cartels they have cells in the US already. I'm thinking you might know more about that than me, being in the Navy."
"Yeah there definitely are. You'd be surprised. There are definitely terrorist in the US. Religion is the motive to do all kinds of bad stuff, muslim, christian. I'm an atheist."
"So you're not really routing for any of those, huh?" I said, trying to lighten the heavy conversation I started.
"Yeah. Ha! That's right."
"Yeah, anyway, I crossed over also cause I'm going up to see my friend in Mission Valley."
"I live in Mission Valley!" He said much more excited about a topic we had in common.
We kind of slammed the beers and got back to the trolley about 10 min ahead of time. "That's American" he said again. "Playing Ro Sham Bo for beer and then talking through different viewpoints!" Looking back at me as we walked down the stairs to the station.
"Yeah, I was a little hesitant to bringing up my viewpoints right away but you seemed pretty open to it."
"Oh yeah. I'm open." Standing back at the station he looked at me, "So you must think that's weird a blond haired blue-eyed guy being from El Centro." He said as we waited for the trolley.
"Well, I didn't really think about it, but now that you mention it, I guess you would be kind of a minority there. You must've had a lot of Mexican friends growing up there, right?"
"Well, my parents are divorced. And I spent time in Alaska with my Dad. I joined the Navy in San Diego to be closer to my Mom."
"How do you like the Navy?"
"I don't really like it. We don't do much. The good thing is I've gotten to travel around and see different parts of the US for training. With so much training, you kind of would like to see more action."
"Aaa. Ok."
"I'm going to be deployed to the Pacific next month."
"The pacific? Where in the Pacific?"
"Well... the Philipines for sure and probably Guam. I'm not looking forward to it. I hear you just kind of sit around. I'm disappointed cause I feel like I wanted to do something for my country. I guess I'm there just in case. Kind of makes sense. Kind of. I told my friend who works at, ah... one of those places where teenagers are in jail... what do you call it?"
"Juvenile Hall?"
"Yeah, he's a correctional officer helping those kids and I tell him all the time, 'man you're actually doing more for this country than I am. You're helping on a small level every day and I'm supposedly helping on a big level but I'm not doing anything... like YOU." pointing at me, "You're doing more for this country showing your point of view about the border than me."
"Yeah. I'm pretty satisfied to be honest about where I've focused my energy to help society." subtly changing America to society.
Just then, two more drunk Navy guys come up. But they were more drunk. They pulled out 5ths of Rum and whisky and asked us if we wanted a shot.
"Eric turned to me. Hey, we should take a shot."
"Alright."
As Eric was drinking the shaved headed short guy said, "Careful there's cameras right there... I don't really know how things work around here. I'm from the South."
"Who are you guys?" said the other taller brown haired guy with acne scars kind of pointing back and forth between us with a puzzled look on his face. The three of them started bonding over Navy stuff, "What ship?" etc. And generally agreeing that it totally sucked. The short bald guy had been deployed in several places and said the Navy really screwed him over. The questioning taller guy looked at me with a face of disregard and even waived me off and went back to talking to Eric. Me and Eric both started laughing at his gesture.
"You don't know anything about the Navy!" I said guessing what he was thinking and we all started laughing as the trolley pulled up.
The two new friends stayed and me and Eric got on. "What a great way to spend 30 min waiting for a trolley." I said.
"Yeah. I hope the security doesn't get back on."
"I think you're alright. They hardly ever give tickets on this line. They do on the blue and orange lines though." We were kind of quiet, knowing that we were pretty satisfied with our short interlude. We shook hands a couple times. "I'll buy next time." I said.
"If we ever see each other again, you can buy." as the door opened and we fist bumped before he got off.
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