May 14, 2019 – You’re unstoppable today, Aquarius. It seems you can do anything. Your confidence and energy are high. There’s no question that you’re ready to take the world by storm. Is the world ready for you? Think carefully as you formulate plans for your new project. Whatever you do will succeed, but be sure you’re doing what you really want to do rather than what others expect of you.
Papi wants me close
Mami wants me happy
I want the fuck out of Michigan and the Midwest.
K’uei – Opposition The Clinging Flame
The Joyous Lake
Resolving to stand alone in his beliefs if he must, he is immediately joined by a kindred spirit.
A kindred spirit cuts through the barriers that separate you.
Can you cross the small distance remaining?
After long isolation and persecution, he sees even the one who loves him as a beast or demon.
If he will lay down his arms, they can advance toward good fortune together, through nothing more than a gentle rain.
Another turning point. I’m inspired in new ways.
The ugly has become easier to find
~The illusion of effortlessness requires a great effort indeed~
what we are beginning now has the power to disrupt, excite, and innovate for years to come.
Fragmented. Moreso in the company of others. They don’t make a lot of sense to me. All the advice and well-wishing of others (spiritual and irl) seems as though I don’t make sense to them. Somewhere this week I read something that was useful and I must keep at the core of my interactions:
Your Brain is your
main erogenous zone
melding of minds
an open-minded, intensely passionate
entirely unique experience
Entirely unique, open-minded, intensely passionate and erogenous zones is ALL I need, crave, want and seek for my thriving. But now pregunto:
¿Y dónde está mi gente?
Current mood: El Cigarrito x Victor Jara
I’m actively working through simultaneous projects and developing ideas. Sure, it’s exhausting but boredom’s not a burden anyone should bear.
I realized just now – watching a very-Binoche (fails the Bechdel), “Un beau Soleil intérieur” (y no me gusta esa traducción!!)- a prominent pattern in my life: I ignore my instincts.
I’m planning to get me the fuck out of here by May 2020. That is the date. They are accountable. Si algún día no regrese, haz mierda todo.
The majority of my day consists of that ^
Love is all the way over here
REMEMBER TO EAT TODAY
AIM FOR 5hrs of sleep at some poi….
I’m really trying to put all my energy in love. I’ve begun to untangle perceptions of thriving (which is a word pour tout le monde). I do not live vicariously through anyone. I just get pieces of “living my Best life,” others tell me so – let’s give this a shot. Let me invest in myself a little.
So, now I ask myself:
How am I actively divesting in my privilege?
How am I actively divesting in my privilege?
How am I actively divesting in my privilege?
Pues, no sé.
2 + 2 = 5
o dos y dos son tres
I WILL ONLY DATE PEOPLE WHO
- WOULD NEVER CROSS A PICKET LINE
- HAVE AND READ BOOKS
Dear ____ ,
You turned me on the most this year.
Happy Year of the Earth Pig!!
Current mood: Down on My Luck by Vic Mensa
He was like a wild roller-coaster that challenges perception.
It was the first time in about a decade that she genuinely appreciated someone’s criticism. His was not cacophonous. She had the rude habit of dismissing compliments because most people (even some of her favorite of people) just didn’t use language that she understood or trusted. If Libertad didn’t respect the work, the craft of the flatterer, sadly, their words were irrelevant, ignored. She truly tried being more polite for their sake. Them calling her “cruel” wasn’t bothersome; though, she often felt exhausted by the minutiae of such daily interactions. They were like carousels rides while he elevated the railroad track and designed tight turns, steep slopes, and sometimes inversions. With him she found a worthy opponent for a game of strategy.
His work aroused her.
The fascination was artistic at first. The white queen’s pawn opened with a d4. In retort, The Professor freed two piece by moving a pawn 2 spaces, playing e4.
Google Ngram has no record of the word “sapiosexual” prior to 2008. The first time Libertad understood her sexuality fue con El Colombiano. La imagen dentro de Libertad, lo que sentia con el, era una fusion de Gabo y el Che. Aun existe poesía y canciones que ella escribia con/sobre el y de el sobre ella. En esos tiempos hablaban en los primeros movíl con cámara. In 2004, Libertad had the Sanyo 8100, the very first camera phone on the market.
On the 16th of September of 2005 at precisely 2:22am, El Colombiano wrote her:
hola senorita… i miss you, i can’t wait to see you and spend time with you… if we discover one day that all existence is merely an illusion which fragments a single consciousness into many and projects them onto the tabla raza of empirical reality thereby creating what we perceive as our own existence, I’m glad that we’re actually the same consciousness but that, even in our fragmented form, we still somehow found eachother (even if it only does amount to a hallucination) (sic)
This led Libertad to set a very high standard for all types of relationships early on.
She was a sucker for those who had a way with words, those who could maneuver across an 8 x8 grid. Cunning linguists were her favorite. Followed by leftists. Like her amazing portmanteau, not only was The Professor brilliant and beautiful but also direct and honest; there was real earnestness, integrity, deliberateness and sense of purpose about him which Libertad hadn’t experienced. Being called out by The Professor was tantalizing; he was firm, not loud, about calling “check!”
She is deliberate with her every word and action but in the company of The Professor she was careless and messy. Sometimes, inexperienced players forget that “queen takes color” when setting up the checkered board. Around him, all her research was forgotten and nothing seemed true anymore. Her thoughts were consistently incomplete, but ultimately intelligent in their own way – he made her feel this way. When she impulsively tried to kiss him, it felt like she made a rookie mistake. She castled too soon! He gently re-directed her efforts with his tongue. Her apology was accepted and she followed his lead when their lips met again. Libertad could taste his words; she could feel his language comb through her hair like the wind does during 90° drops.
His vulnerability is sexy.
In the Western version of Chaturanga, she did well finding and engineering opportunities to trade one piece for two, or to get a better position. The Professor observed silently, flirting by allowing her to show off and gently daring her to rethink her own expertise. With him, she imagined she couldn’t even fuck around trying to immobilize his King; pleasingly ingenious, he seemed to know, even several steps ahead, when she was trying to distract him to promote a pawn. Kissing was good, but the bedroom was off limits and he did not want to be explicit about it.
In all the unspoken words and moments with The Professor, in reality, she was left with only savoring elusive moments.
Is this a draw? A forced resignation?
Current Mood: Roll it Gal by Alison Hinds
Once upon a time, we were taught to forget the past.
My father taught me about Las Americas at a very young age. I could almost see the contempt on his face now when we three came home explaining our elementary school’s shoddy attempt at teaching us that Florida history began with colonialism: the performance consisted of a singular “Swamp Owl” character dressed in “Indian” clothes (?) and speaking using past-tense about his people. There was (is) an 1800s war reenactment that is shown to people of all ages in which we [are supposed to] learn that Florida, as we know it today, exists because of a compromise reached between the Natives and the “pioneers,” of which Swamp Owl is both (and it’s a source of pride). It was cool, at the time, to touch his clothing and the various animals of the region, which he brought along with him… I may have been 8 at the time?
“Bodies Like Mine Were Raped Into Existence,” Junot Diaz said last month. Pues mira aqui! I said that shit back in 2nd grade at All Souls Catholic School, in Sanford, Florida circa 1993. Give credit, where credit is due, Diaz! I even got in trouble for using “inappropriate” language then. Pero, ya tu sabes. For real, though, mi Papi was the one who told it to me. And he learned that shit from his older siblings and parents and they learned from our ancestors. We have not forgotten our histories. They are alive and well!!
Soy un pedazo de tierra que vale la pena
Back in the 1990s I hated school. Not yet a truant (or rather, not allowed) but getting real uncomfortable real quick, I spent a lot of time fighting in school. Teachers hated my incessant questions. My peers mocked my food (my mighty platanos even!!), my home language, my family. “Go back to Spain!” the idiots would say, even on the basketball courts – the boys hated playing ball with the girls and I was often fouled out of games for being #peliona. I may have been the first girl in my class to get suspended for punching (I remember “elbowing” but his word against mine) a kid on the courts. To add injury, the school curriculum made no mention of my existence so the hatred was reinforced daily. What a waste of money that school was! Pero ya tu sabe! The choices my parents made were the best they could at that given moment in history.
Forget the “Golden Rule,” treat others as they want/deserve to be treated!!
I remember that it was difficult to say “Seminole” when we first moved to La Florida. I often said “Sen-i-mole,” I think. English, I argue, just does not flow as well as Español. Most would agree that it’s definitely not as rhyme rich. Migrating south, when we explored the lands of our new home, Papi would challenge us to connect the names of bodies of water, or regions to la gente indigena. He’d correct us when we would use the term “Americanos” instead of Anglo-Americanos o Estadounidense, for we are from this land; our ancestors were already here migrating freely throughout the continent, which was later named after an Italian Amerigo Vespucci, during colonialism.
All of this is coming up now as I sit in a cafe in New Orleans.
I arrived to Louisiana yesterday and seeing the names of rivers and lakes, I wanted to learn about Tangipahoa people and language. No one has been able to help me yet. The Native languages color Louisiana’s vocabulary: Avoyelles, Caddo, Catahoula, Calcasieu, Tangipahoa, Ouachita, Tensas, and Natchitoches Parish all derive their names from indigenous tongues. The word “bayou,” for example, is itself derived from the Choctaw (or Mobilian) word, bayuk. Atchafalaya, Mermentau, Calcasieu, Tensas, Ouachita, Dorcheat, Bisinteau, Catahoula, Tchefuncte, and Floctaw are names of Louisiana water bodies. Baton Rouge—isti huma in a Muskogean language—the Red Stick, was once a tribal boundary.
I wrote today on Facebook:
Of course, I’m having a wonderful time but it’s fuckin frustrating that I cannot find black-owned or indigenous-owned places easily and learn more about the Alabama, Koasati, Choctaw, Chitimacha, Acolapissa, Houma, Hasinai, and Tunica-Biloxi peoples because it is nowhere. All the stories begin with colonialism #AlbasPhDLifeYr3 #Researcherdiaries
My purpose is to inculcate that which has been extracted from our remembering.
“It’s useful as an artist to know what the culture wishes to abolish.” – J. Díaz
In other, somewhat related, news, I’ve recently (since turning 33) been revisiting my own standards of behavior and relationships. I have been using this:
I decided this Year of the Dog, a year in which I feel I’m flourishing (finally), that in order for me to work at a friendship, I need the other person to at least understand that the experiences of whites are drastically different than that of PoC. These rules don’t only apply to white folks – lest we forget that racism is embedded in every aspect of our society – I may just be more critical of them than PoC. Also, that standard is also my Sex Standard (which is not the same as my romantic relationship standard).
Yes, it’s a scale. I understand that we are ALL moving along and it is important for me to be assured that you are at least attempting to work towards the abolitionist state of mind.
This week in Memphis and New Orleans, considering recent very productive conversations with 2 cis-hetero white guys, my dating standard starts at Systemic racism is very real and needs to be ended. Further, my partnership standard has recently been upped to I will make space for PoC.
I’m considering doing some writing about Interest Convergence. While many Critical Race Theorists express that we shouldn’t regard white folks when making decisions to empower PoC, I believe there is a time and place for them (e.g. please literally put your body in front of mine to save me from persecution and give me access to opportunities, cab rides, etc). In a world where Black Lives Matter, we have exterminated Hegemonic Whiteness not white people.
Let us be clear that impact matters more than intent.
Whites that I may consider surrounding myself with should:
- BE UNCOMFORTABLE; anti-racist work is always already not meant to comfort you
- not be centered in civil rights movements; just STFU already!!
- always follow the lead of PoC, in terms of abolitionist moves
- sacrifice and invest their literal money, bodies and jobs to uphold PoC
Current Mood: Se Preparó por Ozuna
I am writing
history herstory right now.
I write more to help consolidate memories than for the record.
Friday mornings in the Fall of 2017 it began. After my Chicanx Latinx Studies class, my weekends convinced me I am thriving. It’s the first time in my life where my life experiences are validated… where I’m surrounded by people who speak the same language standing by my side in judgement-free solidarity… It happens Thursdays this Spring 2018, when CLS class guides me into self-care to promote and encourage my thriving. We help each other thrive even when it means adapting (even sacrificing) time, space, money and institutional (or other haters) respect or support.
It is no coincidence that we are always feeding each other – it is our habit to be mindful of the physical needs of each other before the mental and spiritual (think Maslow’s Hierarchy) needs are engaged.
When I consider bearing children, I’m conflicted though. While I value choice, it is my goal to promote and encourage thriving of all living things so the choice is to care for all and not just my own. Madre tierra primero. ALL LIVING THINGS.
It’s nearly 1pm and as I sit here trying sun butter and almond butter along with mani con mi platano asado y cafecito. I’m watching Broad City between bites and texting, WhatsApping and Instagramming with friends and family about #blm, dating, love and tattoos. Also, I’m dressing for the gym.
“These are all our children. We will profit by, or pay for, whatever they become.” -J. Baldwin
For the first time in my life I have a physical and emotional space to be myself 100%. I need to nurture this new development. With my peers, I’m allowed to grow alongside them without being invalidated or reprimanded. I do not feel like an imposter around mi gente. I’m even allowed to admit that I am still battling my own internalized racial inferiority and when our conversations lead me there, they are gentle and affirming. Todavia esta jodiendo Max (sometimes I want to emphasize the Rest in power, hombre). Live. Love. I can’t believe you pushed me to this!! Chicanx Latinx work has to be done and 2 years ago I wasn’t convinced I cared enough or was capable. Max is still pushing me here. I’m drawn to autheoethnographic work (Ellis & Bochner, 2000) because my scholarship gives meaning to my existence. We are taught to forget the past. My work is unearthing forgotten pasts. It is natural that all shades of black connect and unite.
- How can we provide the right sustenance to promote your life?
- How can we support each other’s thriving?
- What can I do to contribute to your growth and successes?
I’m surrounded by people asking me this for the first time in my 33 years on this Earth!!
That’s what pro-life means to me ^
Not everyone gets a crew, though. I working on learning how to return the feeling and the real material support to my chosen family.
We must water the plants.
There are some rules I follow. Lately I’ve only been craving meat. I’m following the rules of my body. Breakfast, lunch and dinner all last week was almost exclusively all protein. Even now, I can’t get through half my platano…. I’m about to eat it with tuna…
I’ve always been cognizant of the arbitrary nature of rules. Take road rules, for example:
For me, that shit inspires cognitive dissonance. Isn’t it more dangerous to keep switching lanes (because we all know there are a lot of slow-ass drivers out there)? All the rule breakers in the house go “yee-aahh!!”
My nieces are cognizant of the power structures in their home and schools. “Curse word” for example. Like me at their ages, they know to listen and not repeat (as they’ve been taught by adults) “bad words” but they inquire with me about it – we chat about what and how words mean… I’d like to pretend it’s because I don’t inflict my power over them but maybe it’s because they see me as a kid also (based on how other adults engage with me).
Then there are rules like “Pay your bills if you want good credit.” Don’t attempt to argue with me. Call me ratchet, I pay my bills when and if I agree. For example, I went to an allergist a few months back for some physical symptoms I was having. When they told me the exams would cost more than $200 (anti-life) I thanked dude and left. I’ve gotten several “new patient” bills – ain’t nobody want your service! I intend to write them a ( intelligent) letter one day but, for now, they just keep pissing me off wasting paper. The anger lasts all of 10 seconds.
I don’t always do 3-second-stops at signs.
I don’t ask permission to go piss (the way we still require youth to do this blows my mind).
I dress however the fuck I want.
Then there are some weirdass rules people try to push on me. It keeps happening that people ask me – well, why a Ph.D. (or 2)? (because professor is not my goal). Well how I explain it is:
I just like learning stuff. Is that still legal?
My alarm is set to go off at 8:50am on Thursdays. Today, I boiled some eggs and bagged my previous-nights prep of guac/chips, popcorn and a smoothie while I dressed. My 9-12pm CLS896 course was fulfilling (as my other was last semester) – so much #BrownGenius in just one room. There are people 10+ years younger in my course that teach me more than a combination of generic professors of courses I’ve had in the past. I’m sad that I’ve taken 3 doctoral level courses that taught me little to nothing – damn shame. It’s frustrating to have had professors I didn’t respect because they seem so jaded and unconcerned with our learning – so disinterested in their subjects or just looking to promote their individual work with disregard to our – the students – learning goals.
I dropped off rent then lifted weights (4 variations for arms 20 x 3) than jogged with 5lbs weights for ~15mins. Back at home by 2pm, I had some of my home-made Panera-wannabe-broccoli&cheese soup after showering and getting ready for my 3pm massage. I was on the phone for about 30mins trying to delete a fraudulent charge (free trial to read a book, charged me subscription) – how is this bullshit still a thing?
Comfort is a mystery
Crawling out of my own skin
Just give me what I came for
I’m out the door again
My masseuse always explains various issues I have with my body – oh, I know how effed my back is!! Can’t afford elbow surgery now… she’s incredibly gifted, I’d say.
I don’t get why it’s during Black History Month, but the Latinx Film festival in EL is this weekend at MSU. Thoroughly enjoyed the Brazilian Que Horas Ela Volta? 3 light-skinned man panelists with one WoC. Guess who got challenged? Fuckin men! The film was absolutely making commentary about racialization and the intersections with gender, class, age. I cried at various parts! It was painful to hear “Val” say words I’ve often heard. It was beautiful to see mother “Val” and daughter “Jéssica” create a counternarrative for us Latinx. One audience member (white male) asked about the one instance of assault (which was not centered) in the film and I thought that was interesting due to the wide of array of themes, imagery etc that could have been discussed deeper.
The Bolivian, Carga Sellada, I did not enjoy one bit. It DOES NOT pass the Bechdel Test. It was boring. it was an over-simplified portrayal of indigenous struggles. The PoC and only 3 women in the film are stereotypical mistreated (one woman murdered, one sexually assaulted) – all objectified. The light-skinned, symmetrical blonde was the most coveted, of course.
Worst part was the seats at Wells Halls re-hurt my back – son wasted 40$ on a massage that was undone by shitty seating. Thanks white woman who ran a red light, wrecked my car and my back (weed found in the car by cops but they “knew it was not a factor”) summer 2016!!
Home near 11pm.
In the quest for social justice, I’d like to frame Latinx Studies as promoting life.
Papi is an economist and a mathematician. In childhood, we received lessons during meals about labor, finance, investment, opportunity costs, cost benefit analyses, inflation, law of demand, Game Theory, elasticity, consumerism, competition, communism, capitalism, fixed and variable costs, GDP, globalization, inflation, ap/depreciation, durable goods…. the words randomly pop into my head when I consider where to spend my money.
The first paper I wrote in this PhD process was on agribusiness and oligopoly (e.g. food as a classroom resource).
Since my time in NYC, I’ve been aiming to be purposeful with my spending. In terms of being mindful where my money goes. It’s become particularly important to me not only to avoid big corporations but purposefully seek PoC-owned businesses. In my academic trajectory it’s been challenging. For one, there is a white majority (so trying to get a PoC professor is also limited by my dept). Two, fuckin people don’t STFU about my spending habits – constantly offering their unwarranted advice. We are fighting back colonial narratives – YES, with our dress!! Yes, by reclaiming spaces. Sometime I love to blare Daddy Yankee on campus or NIN or RATM just to disrupt the silence. Abbot Rd is full of filth and noise from white fraternities/sororities (they even visibly and loudly honored the dead porn guy who died last year) and they’re never called ghetto.
Voy chillin’, tranquilo
Before he died, just as we were building our friendship Max told me I’d change my mind (or he hoped I would) about doing a dual PhD. My first impression of him was “trouble.” We were both “north” without hesitation – something about “North” people being ready for action and impulsive…. yadayada. Era muy jugetón!! Working with him was annoying – he had work hours that didn’t match mine and was even more disorganized than me. It was our Latinidad that bonded us. Now here I am. Almost 2 years after your death, you still pushing me to do what you think the world needs… Gracias amigo ❤
What’ll it take to get it through to you, precious? I’m over this, why do you wanna throw it away like this? Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you?
Current Mood: “The Seed (2.0)” by The Roots feat. Cody Chesnutt
2018 has begun oddly. I’m feeling a lot of clarity. I’m centering gratitude.
Best moment thus far: SUBMITTED TWO BOOK CHAPTERs – one by myself – shout out to Dr. B for helping edit – the second with an esteemed peer Dr. G (#WizardPhD).
This is why I came here – PURPOSE EXISTS!!
So, I had my boiled eggs with tangerines and my favorite, hazelnut coffee, while I watched Dexter. By 11am I was lifting weights at the gym. This has become my new normal. My body doesn’t resist. A sexy man joined me today as I move to cardio and it dawned on me that have unlearned to dislike body odor. His and mine mixed and I simply just accepted that the smell was our perspiration. Deodorant marketing has taken to explain “scientifically” how our body produces sweat and how to “combat” odor… they’ve even taken to gender their artificial body odor. < That’s among my favorite ads yet I think (for myself). Funny to some, Old Spice is actually one of my preferred artificial odors… sucks for them that they don’t prefer my money.
Unintentionally, I’m living as my father once did. His story was that after he obtained his degrees and found work he went on a Homeric journey back to Ecuador (from NYC) to find a spouse. My mom brags that she was the one who civilized my father. She got him to cut his hair, shave and use shampoo and deodorant. Prior to her, he’d been using lemons – like, literally, cut lemons scrubbed against his body – to wash. Their politics are vastly different. My mother was educated by Catholic nuns who pushed “proper” behavior through Eurocentric etiquette knowledges. To them, there are “correct” (and symmetrical) ways to look and behave. My father was raised by his mestizo community.
Why, of course. Of course of course!!
Like Papi, this year I am not altering any of my natural hair. That means no cutting, shaving, waxing, ironing, blow-drying, bleaching, or dying.
- So take me as I am or have nothing at all
As I exited the gym I noticed the 40 degree and sunny weather. Snapped some photos. Decided to eat at one of my local favorites, Good Truckin’ Diner. Not happening. There was “sign-in” procedure and lines were out the door.
I remembered that I must align my actions to my core beliefs. So to honor my commitment to love this year, I conducted a Google search: “best vegetarian in Michigan.” 2) To love myself, I had to sift through the ones that were actually open and within a 2-hour radius because my 2nd book chapter contribution is due today. Luckily, I have Dr. G on my side, a brilliant and beautiful woman I met my first semester at MSU in a social justice class with the same Dr. B.
What came up was a delicious treat in Novi.
I ate savoring every bit of food and observing beautiful brown people surrounding me – all speaking a tongue I could not decipher. There was an unspoken bond between one of the waiters and myself. He walked by me a few times and seemed to want to say something. After paying the bill, sadly because I couldn’t even finish all the wondrous parts of my meal and didn’t save room for dessert, I heard his voice. Thank you and adios.
A-dios no es algo que suelo decir. I was not raised in any religion. It was clear that the Catholic school my siblings and I attended was a desperate attempt to find “better education.” It was a damn blessing to finally realize in adulthood that my parents lived with conviction. I am witness to their endless care-taking and generosity – not just to us and family but to strangers even.
It’s been difficult to live by their standards because others experience love in different ways. 3) To love others I’m inquiring how others want to be loved.
After my delicious Indian brunch I found a cafe to spend the rest of the day writing. This was lovely to see there (4) point out love[lyness]):
De lo nada, or seemingly out of the blue, I’m surrounded by love again, which means I must commit to dedicate myself (even if only slightly due to #AlbasPhDLifeYr3) to folks who inquire about how I want to be love. Finally, I found mi gente. So, I write to deconstruct my ideas of querer, amar, dar cariño, affection, emotional availability, holding space… there are at least 3 ways of saying “I love you” in Kichwa:
- Canda munani
- Qanta munani
Also, this week I had several fun conversations and learned with a few 3-4th graders at a local Montessori school. The students are learning about “kindness” and I posed the questions “how do we expect people to treat us?” Duh, it was difficult! I re-directed the convo a few times because the picture book and worksheet given to me for “Wonder” led to some things problematic . With 2 young gals, we connected on being the “little sisters” in our families and loving being annoying to our big sisters who ALL hate touching. We love touching, especially people who sometimes get irritated by it.
Next, two gals plus 3 guys and I discussed plants!! They were more enthused by other living beings rather than humans from books with redundant themes. The youth got excited when I told them talking to plants helps them grow. They loved it so much, in the tone of “shots shots” (pitbull?) they shouted “grow grow….!!” causing quite the raucous. Heehee. Great success 😉
My awe-full, astute little girlie, my Sofia drew this:
Unrequited love was the theme for a while.
The curly hair is my favorite.
If she were my girl, I would name her “Rock n’ Roll”…
As a parent, I would rather see my child grow up kind than smart. This stems from, I believe, my inner #peliona.
Soy una peliona
Me apesta las mentiras
le tengo alergia a el engaño
Me cuesta poco oler tu egoism
Con mis argollas grandotas, salio el sol
salio el sooooool
Tables they turn sometimes
3) Actions that are incongruent with their words. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT.
My teachers also bombarded us with “The Golden Rule” but didn’t quite foster a 5) culture of nurturance.
Lest we forget that Teachers’ implicit bias against black students starts in preschool
Lots of emerging research can now explain how racial trauma affects quality of life because Scientists Have Started To Tease Out The Subtler Ways Racism Hurts Health
It feels confusing.
Sometimes I’m called calculating, passive aggressive > ok.
There’s no denying the aggressive. 6) My love is revolutionary love.
“…because you speak to me in words and I look at you with feelings.” (Tolstoy)
Ecuador’s rondador is like China’s guzheng.
It sometimes feels like we’re in the Red Scare 2.0
“Somos bravos como la lava que creo esta isla.”
Current mood: Truth Hurts by Lizzo
Next month I will be the age my Papi was when I was born.
Pourquoi, pourquoi même quand les gens s’aiment
Il y a, il y a, toujours des problemes
I’m The Logician, The Thinker. INTP is my personality type…
“it’s not that they are dishonest, but people with the INTP personality type tend to share thoughts that are not fully developed, using others as a sounding board for ideas and theories in a debate against themselves rather than as actual conversation partners. This may make them appear unreliable, but in reality no one is more enthusiastic and capable of spotting a problem, drilling through the endless factors and details that encompass the issue and developing a unique and viable solution than INTPs – just don’t expect punctual progress reports. People who share the INTP personality type aren’t interested in practical, day-to-day activities and maintenance, but when they find an environment where their creative genius and potential can be expressed, there is no limit to the time and energy INTPs will expend in developing an insightful and unbiased solution…. When INTPs are particularly excited, the conversation can border on incoherence as they try to explain the daisy-chain of logical conclusions that led to the formation of their latest idea. Oftentimes, INTPs will opt to simply move on from a topic before it’s ever understood what they were trying to say, rather than try to lay things out in plain terms.
My friends and family and others who love me will read that ^ and yell out: “YEAH AND IT’S FUCKIN ANNOYING!!” I’ve seen it. True story.
Yeah so about 3% of the population supposedly develops this personality type (prob nature and nurture). I gave up making sense to anyone long ago. I’m most chatty when I’m most uncomfortable- so yeah, it’s you. I demand a lot of personal time and space – get over it.
ESFJs make me queasy
THIS IS THE HALFWAY POINT TO MY PHD.
I’ve picked my hoops.
Latinx INTP, coño!!
It’s been a difficult gestation period. My Ph.D. baby experience has been trying. People AT WORK cannot stand me. I feel respected but unloved. Luckily, this semester, I’ve gotten close to some wonderful people. I’ve also reconnected with some very lovely people from my past since getting out of that toxic relationship (with the epitome of white privilege, I’m still livid my ex-fucker threw out my Cuban postcards)…
So, the thing I enjoy most about social media is data. I like the patterns, you see. This is why I’m doing well in my Ph.D. life. Intersectionality is NOT a thing – the feminists thumb up pro-women posts and anti-men posts but rarely the trans posts. The lgbtq+ population rarely thumb up the pro-black. The Michiganders… *sighs* lemme stop before I get more hate snail mail.
Generalmente se entiende por mal de ojo a la energía negativa que descarga una persona sobre otra con solo mirarla con la intención de que le suceda algo malo, sentimiento que surge por envidia, egoísmo, resentimiento, mezquindad entre otros.
En nuestra sociedad hay muchos creyentes del llamado mal de ojo. Por ello acuden a curanderos, para obtener resultados eficaces. Sin embargo, no todos creen. Y es que ellos piensan que es una utopía creer que a través de una mirada se puedan transmitir buenas o malas energías hacia una persona. Que más?
Having no interest in exerting control over other human beings…
I haven’t had more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep since Thanksgiving. Nevertheless, on Saturday (snowy day), I decided to get out of bed around 8 a.m. I boiled an egg for breakfast, cut up some some vegetables and left stuff oven-ready and I was at the gym by 10:30. I ran 6mph for 20 minutes on the treadmill and lifted weights (3 variations), 60 reps each. I changed the relationship status with my massage lady today. She is also my therapist now (tears and word vomit everywhere today). By 13:30, I was showered and back in the kitchen making a vegan spaghetti squash vegetable medley for a group dinner before heading to get a manicure and look for some warm clothes. I picked up Amanda and head to Dr. M’s house for our Rueda meeting. I’m treasurer this year.
Saturday night was some of the most fun I’ve had in Michigan since moving here.
I’m so happy because today I found my friends…
Hair is something I hadn’t considered much outside of the white/black binary until recently with some other Chicanx Latinx. In our liminal spaces, some make us feel like the binary plays a tug-of-war with us – never content with our stance or critical of our loyalties… So, just saying,where I come from we touch hair, each other’s all the time but also strangers we just meet. Curly, straight, buzzed, dyed, natural, to compliment, to critique, to compare, to braid or comb…. todo.
“I need both my hands right now so I have to get off the phone” she said. “You’re driving, so you should get off the phone.” <- a case for intersectionality by a self-centered Becky I know
Well, I’m not here to teach. I’m here to create testimonios de mi gente. So, NO, this website is not for you and neither are my social media accounts and everything I post.
The last Wednesday of November in the afternoon I arrived at DTW and rushed to find the Michigan Flyer which would arrive within 30 minutes. I asked two men sitting near the buses whether they knew the stall of my bus. One answered. I thanked them and put my headphones back on. Next thing I know the other one crept up behind me and was apparently chatting with me. When I lifted my headphones to hear if anything he said was useful I was met with vapid observations and random questions. In all his useless drivel, he asks me if I’m Lebanese (because of my eyebrows?!) then Pakistani, Guatemalan… mid-response, he interrupts to say that I sound like I’m from Michigan. When I tell him I’m from the east coast he’s shocked that I’m so cultured (?!?!). Then he asks me my age because I “look young” – STFU. I do NOT look 23. His attempted compliments came from thin air. Between his babbling, I tried re-directing the conversation asking if he ever asks White people where they’re from. He never considered that. He assumes they’re from here, “I guess.” I’m “smarter” than “almost everyone” he knows (YUCK, NOT A COMPLIMENT!!). He tells me he is “basically a mutt,” black, white and “Indian” (native) but that he knows people “only think black.” “But my mom is a beautiful white lady!” As he talks he steps closer. Doesn’t he notice me stepping away each time? Then this rather large fellow (not quite 6′ and about 2 of me) begins telling me about his dull, very sad life of hating his new job and boss and wanting to travel (he’s never left Michigan…). I put on my headphones cautiously, lowering the volume, nervous that he might get weird but hoping he’d get the hint. Luckily before I told him off, he got a phone call and seconds later my bus came. I waved quickly, trying to be fakepolite like he may be used to and he motioned that I wait… as I got on the bus, he walked towards it looking to me… I DO NOT KNOW YOU.
In every segment of “Time: The Kalief Browder Story,” I’ve had to reality check. I analyze how the education system of the U.S. has only assisted in poisoning humanity. It’s seems totally incomprehensible for a minute. Someone incarcerated with no reasons available? This is not infanticide. Yet Jeff Robinson, ACLU Deputy Legal Director and Director of the Trone Center for Justice and Equality, is paternal, I felt.
Kalief was not cursed.
It was not “an ordeal.”
His story is not “a tragedy!”
This world is diseased by neoliberalism. At each turn, someone is looking to profit.
I have always hated school. Eddie Huang, you get me:
Once my girl Gigi and I decided to skip a 10th grade I.B. chemistry test day to study; we sat there in a stinky locker room for half the day trying to memorize the periodic table and several formulas quizzing each other throughout the day. Both of us aced the test but were given zeros when Ms. Brennan found out we had “an unfair advantage” (AKA an extra day to prepare). Soon after this, I was kicked out of the I.B. program for having a 2.4 GPA and over 60 days of absences. I never hid the fact that I was a truant in high school because I thought I was an anarchist communist taoist then. Once I was lectured by the cruel Mr. Richardson for skipping a class – he told my mom that he saw “the path” I’m on and that my future looked grim. He even threw in a story of a pregnant teen I reminded him of. #mansplainingcirca2001
The punishment for nefarious activity, such as skipping Chemistry class, was Saturday School in which we truants had to clean up the entire campus. On one such day, another truant friend Tina and I – stickin’ it to the man – put on our latex gloves and pretended to work diligently. Really, we took all of 2 minutes finding full trash cans of which to empty into our bags. Yeah, we learned our lessons real fast! In retaliation, and I’m not sure if I need to give Tina credit for this one idea: we took orange cones and rerouted traffic on that Saturday. The honking was hilarious to us. And why wouldn’t it be?
Did y’all really think I was the first 5th grader to call someone a bitch?
If you’re still alive and reading this:
Fuck you, Mr. Richardson and Fuck you Ms. Brennan. You were part of the reason I detested school. Today, I’m proud to say I’m more educated than you and less of a jerk too!!
Seven years ago after obtaining our master’s, at graduation, we were told that only about 4% of Latinas obtained a graduate degree. I remember and wrote about being furious that I got more Facebook “likes” on my changed relationship status (even got some texts and calls from friends and family) than being awarded my degree. I learned then about the null curriculum of my society.
The proportion of doctorates awarded to Latinx has risen from 3.3% in 1994 to 6.5% in 2014 (National Science Foundation, Dec 2015). It’s offensive to some to compare obtaining a degree to marriage and/or having a baby.
Alors on sort pour oublier tous les problèmes
Elliot Eisner (1985) wrote that schools “teach” three curricula: the explicit, the implicit, and the null. The explicit curriculum is what we see on papers, the publicly announced programs of study (ELA, Math, Science, Social Studies). The hidden/implicit curriculum imparts values and expectations generally (i.e. the teacher is the knowledge authority and excellence and failure is measured A, B, C, D, and F). The null curriculum encompasses all the cultural and political statements that are made about what matters in society by excluding content (i.e. genocide happens in the U.S., race is a man-made invention).
I put the sing in single
Most of my memories about education and educators is that they are self-serving. Those awful “educators” I (and so many of us) had were control-freaks. They got in the business not out of passion but out of desire to control and manipulate less experienced people. What pissed me off the most, and still does, is how elitist some educators are… telling us what we should deem important, demanding that we call them by their titles, telling us one day we’ll agree with their points of view and, above all, the guilt trips.
School is an oppressive institution which functions under oppressive systems of hierarchy and nepotism. We were once greeted with smiles and handshakes. Told our adult ideas are valuable – like, literally, some of us were told we’d be paid to do undo what traditional education did to kids. We all agreed that kids are valuable people too!
Some demand that we live up to their rigid rules and miserable guidelines.
Now I get paid to write about this ^
One of my friends was just explaining to me that “I feel guilty all the time.” I don’t like doing scholarly reading unless I have to. I’d much rather read stuff I like – not related to anything academic. I like to watch tv, lol, and just chill. I think all the hustling in undergrad has left me burnt out that I don’t really want to lead that typical grad student life. Sometimes I don’t think I can argue in an academic argument or defend myself intellectually. I grew up in Chicago and I speak as I always have. I don’t speak “smart” or use big words in everyday conversation and discussing theory bores me to death unless we are in class. Outside of class, lab, or office time I just want to be a regular non academic human being. Talk about current events and societal issues and all of that – YES but in normal non academic language lol. I just want to get my PhD to get a good job (hopefully) once i graduate and support my family financially.”
She’s beautiful. She is not an INTP personality but we are both defiant and I DIG IT.
I DO NOT FEEL AN OUNCE OF GUILT. Since starting PhD, things have been rough but life is drastically better in every way.
“A drowning man isn’t picky about who throws him a rope.”
Under fair housing laws, the burden of proving that illegal housing discrimination occurred is always on the victim of discrimination.
I perform best when odds are against me.
My fuck you hoops is heavy
It is difficult to quantify these qualities on a resume. I Loathe rules and guidelines and require a great deal of freedom. Discrimination comes with a smile and a handshake but I’m wearing my Fuck-You-hoops and my blood-red lipstick today. You ain’t got nothing on me. Meet me halfway. I don’t sleep much. I could sleep for 1,000 years…
Truth hurts, needed something more exciting
Bom bom bi dom bi dum bum bay
And that’s the sound of me not calling you back