Autumn is here! (booo!)

On the last day of the sailing season we were able to reach the Verrazano bridge. It was a milestone for my last day of sailing since we had tried to get there the whole summer, and it had been impossible. Every time we were close to the bridge the wind would stop blowing suddenly, the skipper, frustrated would try to maneuver by jibbing or tackling, but nothing would work and at the end all of us would go back to the harbor totally disappointed. It seems in autumn wind is stronger, and the Verrazano becomes a possible goal for the sail boats on the Hudson. With that, the season was over with bright colors. Now what to do with the rest of the autumn? Here's my plan:

1- Reading. Well, I always read but now that the weather is getting a bit chilly, I'm cuddling on my bed with A Confederacy of Dunces, which seems pretty funny and new to me. Before that I read Simone, from the Juan Rulfo's Award winner Eduardo Lalo. That one was a surprise and I totally recommend it to anyone who can read in Spanish.

2- Crochetting. It is actually really relaxing. When you are the kind of person who likes to think and obsess about silly things, this is a good therapy. You have to learn how to focus on counting stitches, and learning new stitches for each new project. This simple task can take your mind out of poisoned thoughts and into feeling productive and healthy inside.

3- Planning trips. Anything goes! From hiking trips to the nearest mountain to a more sophisticated international trip to wherever your budget allows you. That is why I saved my vacation days for autumn. Tickets are cheaper and the weather is mild almost everywhere. If you can go to the Caribbean and charter a boat, I truly congratulate you.

4- Movies. It's a good way to socialize. This year we are having nice options, like Captain Phillips, Gravity, and All is Lost. This last one I particularly enjoyed because... well, it's about sailing.

¡Salud!

Cada vez que la chica que se sienta en el cubículo de al lado estornuda, sin pensarlo dos veces digo: "¡Salud!". Los demás, muy cortésmente dicen: "Bless you!". A los demás, les da las gracias, a mí no. Después de unos meses, consideré la posibilidad de que fuera ignorancia y no estupidez la razón de este minúsculo detalle del convivir laboral. Un día, tras ella disparar al aire un apoteósico estornudo, dije mi consabido salud y cuando no contestó traté de explicar: "Salud quiere decir 'health', en español". "Sí, yo sé. Tomé clases de español desde séptimo grado", contestó. La conversación se desvió, me explicó todos los años que estuvo aprendiendo español y las clases que tomó en las que tenía que conversar y ofrecer discursos en español. Me ofrecí a servirle de interlocutora si un día quería seguir practicando su español. En cierto momento, tratando de terminar el tema por el que aquella conversación había comenzado, añadí: “No me gusta decir bless you porque me suena tan invasivo… ¿qué pasa si eres atea? Con salud simplemente te estoy deseando salud”. A lo que puso cara de extrañeza y respondío: “Creo que aquí es una cosa más cultural. Me recuerda cuando en la universidad yo hacía algo bien pesado. Cuando alguien estornudaba le contestaba en un idioma diferente cada vez”. Nos quedamos mirando un momento y decidí terminar la conversación ahí mismo: “Bueno, la diferencia es que este es mi idioma. Tengo una buena excusa”. Desde entonces, cada vez que alguien estornuda en la oficina trato de responder un poquito más alto de lo normal: “¡Salud!”.  

What I have learned about loss

Boston, Newtown, Sandy, it all comes together at once and makes me feel a deep hole in the chest for all the losses we've had in less than a year. I feel pain for things that I didn't know were part of my life, until I lost them. Like that 8 year old kid in Boston, or all the children in Newtown or all the houses in the Rockaways.

But it shouldn't be like this. I should be used to this by now. I should be made out of stone. After all, I have been familiar with loss since I was a kid. We all have. We all have lost many things in this life. Due to my father's job, we had to move every few years during my childhood. Every time leaving behind best friends, acquaintances, the owner of the candy store, the smell of the house, a bike, the trees in a park, the streets, a school. People and things that I loved deeply. They were gone forever. How did I survived so much pain? I was so little and understood almost nothing.

I lost all these, but my life was instantly full of a whole new set of smells, places and people to learn about. There was no time to mourn all those lost things. I had to learn a new accent, new words, new faces, new attitudes, new streets, new flavors, new smells. It was like landing into another world. But the sorrow for the past would stay with me forever. I still remember short snaps from friends left behind long ago. They come to me in the least expected moments. I remember their names and dream about going to find them some day. Hey, remember me? We were best friends in first grade. That sounds so silly!

Over the years, as we moved from one place to the next, I learned a few things in order to survive. I would like to share them with you, whoever is reading this, because I'm sure you too have lost something you loved.

1) Do something.
Our society is full of ways to grieve our loss, specially if you are religious. All religions have services, prayers or traditions to help grieve. It may not heal us from the pain, but they are important. Don't underestimate these rituals. If you are not religious, you can come up with your own rituals. I am writing this blog now, and this is my way of grieving. You can do the same, you can paint, you can invite friends for drinks one night and remember the person or the place you lost. You can light a candle for your loss, you can bury it symbolically in the backyard and place flowers over the "tomb".

2) Talk about it.
For a long time I didn't talk to anyone about how I was feeling, and people wouldn't understand me or my mood swings. I felt alienated. I thought nobody cared or could understand what I went through. How could they? As I began telling my story to my closest friends and then my parents, I was surprised to find out that people was more supportive than I ever thought. Maybe they couldn't understand the specifics of how I felt, but they could understand how does it feel to loose something, and they could relate to me in that sense. The most important thing is that my pain was shared. The load of the grieve is too heavy for just one person to carry.

3) Don't rush your process.
It may take you a long time to feel better about it, or maybe never: it's OK. Be patience, we are not machines, we can't force ourselves to feel one way or the other.

4) Accept your pain, appreciate your pain.
Most of my teenage years and even through college I thought my life had been unfair. I had no close friends because I lost the capacity to be intimate with others. What for? Is what my unconscious seemed to be saying. Why did I had to go through all this pain in my life? I felt dis-attached and pointless.

I can't say exactly when, but at some point I stopped asking myself why and started seeing the good things my loss had brought to my life. I am a stronger person because of it, and I appreciate the people around me more than I would if I had taken them for granted. I enjoy the good times, and I know that bad times will pass. I am thankful for a new day, my stable life right now, and my routine is priceless. I also understand human nature better, and how cultural differences affect every little thought we have. I don't underestimate anyone, because I know we all have gone through some loss. I had accepted my loss and with this acceptance a whole understanding of myself was possible. Accepting my loss meant accepting myself.

5) Forgive yourself and others
It is hard not to think about all the actions you could have taken to avoid the loss. You could have fought harder, taken more precautions, been more present. The truth is, you can't do anything about that now. The past is gone and there's no time machine to go back, sorry. You did what you could, with the information you had at that moment, and you are not perfect. The same goes to those you feel deserve to be blamed. In my case, my parents. They did the best they could. They are not perfect. By forgiving myself first I was able to forgive them, and I learned to love them in a new level. As imperfect human beings we all are. And this may sound weird, but when we accept we are imperfect, we become better. In this way my loss has a value. By forgiving myself I can forgive others and if there's anything to learn about all this process is to forgive.
 
6) Learn to live with your pain.
It will show up in the least expected moment or place. It will come to you when you are in the supermarket comparing prices and a smell, all of a sudden, will make you want to cry. You will cry when someone tells a story in a party because of some weird association in your mind. Doesn't matter. It takes time. It takes all your life. What I do when this happens is letting myself cry or be down for a while. Then I go back to my advice number 4, and I appreciate what I have now. Don't stay there. Move on.

7) Let go.
This may be the summary of all I'm trying to say here. Let go. Let go of what could have been better and how things would be different now. Let go of guilt, yours and others. Let go of reasons, there are none. Let go of your own story about what happened. It doesn't define you. Let go. It's life. By letting things go you make your loss worthy. It's weird, I know.

Violence in the Blood

What else can you say about Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy? All of the most important literature theorists have commented about it. I've heard many explaining their interpretation of what happened to the main character at the end, who is the kid, all the texts that influence this book and what is the point of all this violence.

The weird thing is, I didn't want to write a post about this book. For me reading it was just like watching one of those gore movies that after a few weeks you don't even remember what was it about. Note that Cormac McCarthy also wrote No Country For Old Men, and The Road among others.

Why do I write a post about this book, then? Well, every time someone talks about gun control this is the book that comes to my mind –violence, sheer violence, nonsensical violence, endless violence. The novel is so bloody that it's boring. What is funny is that when I was reading it I was stopped twice in the subway by total strangers, both men, who wanted to share with me how much they loved this book. Sometimes people do that once in a while in the train, but twice with the same book? They both also showed their surprise that a woman was reading it.

So gun control and Blood Meridian. Are they related? I think they are. The book has a historical set up which are the writings of Sam Chamberlain. This was a time in history when the West was still wild and untamed. I find interesting that the book finishes with an epilogue of the building of a fence, which is the beginning of civilization, dividing the land between owners, owners backed up by laws presumably. All the blood depicted in the book was shed for no good reason right at the creation of this country, or at least the part of the country that brought a big deal of space and resources into the US. And you know what a lot o land means... freedom, of course. If you don't like it here, move over there.

I dare to say guns mean to this country more than to any other in the world. It goes to the root of whatever the people of this nation think of themselves. For Europe, China, Russia, Africa, or India guns came to their history in the middle of the battle. For the United States, guns were there from the foundation. Asking this country to give up guns or even controlling their access or use is calling the devil by its name.

I am not trying to excuse here any side of the debate about gun control, though. If other countries were able to rise from the most terrible violence anyone can. Violence should be a stage in the development of a country. It's time to grow up. 

Cuentos de viejitas

La vejez es un tabú en nuestra sociedad. Es la etapa de la vida de la que nadie quiere hablar. Dejamos de ser cool, fashionable, productivos. El cuerpo y la mente se van descomponiendo poco a poco. El primero comienza a oler mal, la segunda comienza a ponernos en ridículo.

Y es todavía peor para las mujeres. Los hombres al menos "envejecen bien", la edad es símbolo de experiencia, adquieren un aspecto interesante, pueden todavía conquistar mujeres más jóvenes que ellos y sus hijos les consultan sobre la vida o los negocios. Las mujeres dejamos de existir o nos convertimos en un lastre. La fertilidad, la belleza y los hijos nos abandonan y nos quedamos siendo un manojo de achaques con el que nadie quiere cargar. La tragedia es aún peor si la mujer nunca se casó, si nunca tuvo hijos propios, si nunca fue bella, ni tuvo una carrera o un gran escándalo en la vida. 

Los buenos cuentos nos enfrentan a estos estereotipos y nos ayudan a observarlos desde más cerca y puede que hasta despierten en nosotros cierta compasión. Tengo dos ejemplos perfectos: El primero, Clay, un cuento escrito por James Joyce en su libro Dubliners (1914) y el segundo, Terapia, un cuento de Cristina Peri Rossi, en su libro Habitaciones privadas (2012).

Clay, Dubliners (1914)

"My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to be the centre of paralysis. I have tried to present it to the indifferent public under its four aspects: childhood, adolescence, maturity, and public life." – James Joyce

Es gracioso que, tras leer Dubliners y quedar extasiada por días tras el banquete literario, sea Clay el cuento que mejor recuerdo años después. Es la historia de María, una adorable lavandera, solterona, que se dirige a la fiesta de Halloween uno de los niños que cuidó cuando él era pequeño y al que tiene mucho cariño. El mundo de María se limita a una secuencia de rutinas ejecutadas con el mayor de los cuidados. No son las bromas de sus compañeras de trabajo sobre su soltería, ni los comentarios malintencionados del dependiente de la pastelería lo que molesta a María, sino haberse dejado llevar por los avances de un hombre mayor en el tranvía y olvidarse el bizcocho que llevaba a la fiesta. Y es que María no toma riesgos, tal vez por eso no se ha casado, y puede que también sea por eso que todo el mundo quiere a María.

Terapia, Habitaciones privadas (2012)

Este cuento lo terminé ayer y me pareció muy dulce. Una mujer de clase acomodada trata de suicidarse varias veces y su familia decide recluirla en una institución psiquiátrica. No quiero dar muchos detalles porque me interesa que lean el libro, que está muy bien, pero sí que me parecieron curiosas las preguntas que le hicieron antes de ingresarla y las contestaciones que dio.

"1) ¿Se considera una persona optimista, poco optimista o pesimista?
La señora Olson contestó que no siempre era optimista ni siempre era pesimista, pero que nunca había reflexionado acerca de esa cuestión. Agregó que era optimista en cuanto algunos temas (a los avances de la tecnología, por ejemplo), pero pesimista en otros (el futuro del planeta), y que a veces era optimista durante muchas horas del día, pero dejaba de serlo al atardecer". –Cristina Peri Rossi, Habitaciones privadas (2012)

La señora Olson recibió cuatro puntos sobre cinco en inestabilidad emocional.
Con lo cual, me parece claro que todos nos deberíamos ir a un psiquiátrico. :D

Soderbergh, I'll miss you

Soderbergh is retiring and his last film Side Effects doesn't look like a "good bye", but more like "I see you later." It's not that last Kubrik's Eyes Wide Shut, grandiose and stylish. It's an entertaining, dark thriller, perfect for a first date. It's not a final statement, and maybe that's the intention, or my wish. In this interview with Vulture he explains the reasons why he is retiring. "It’s a combination of wanting a change personally and of feeling like I’ve hit a wall in my development that I don’t know how to break through", he says.

I think it's a brilliant move. He can retire now and come back later when the audience misses him greatly. Before this last movie, last year he did Haywire that ended up in Netflix New Arrivals maybe too soon, and he was also fired from directing Moneyball, which went on to become a big hit.

He's a talented filmmaker and story teller nonetheless, who is able to tackle a wide range of complex topics in interesting ways, like he did with Traffic, Erin Brokovich or The Informant!, or just make a funny entertaining movie, like the Ocean's Eleven saga. He may have money issues. His movies tend to show how money corrupts, but who doesn't in a society like ours and even more after the recent crisis we have witnessed?

Side Effects belongs in that league too. It looks like a statement about the love-hate relationship this country has with antidepressants, and the multimillion industry behind it. The twist at the end doesn't change that. The bottom line is we don't trust this kind of medications and that's why the story is believable. It reminds me of The Informant! in that way. The secret scheme of the whistle blower and his bipolar disorder may turn our attention to a new different story, but the fact that companies all around the world are using price-fixing tactics, stays there in the background, like a subliminal idea in our minds.

Something that always called my attention about Soderbergh is his trust in new, young talent. I remember the production of Che in Puerto Rico. He hired local talent, most of them happened to be some of my friends and acquaintances in the University of Puerto Rico. I know that, for them, it was a lifetime experience having the opportunity to take part in this epic.

So I hope Soderbergh keeps being Soderbergh in whatever format he chooses, either if it's a TV show or a documentary. I can't wait to see his next art exhibition. I hope it's here in NYC.

I am a fan!

Sí, señores, soy una fan de Cristina Fernández Cubas. Vergüenza me da aceptar que no me topé con su trabajo sino hasta hace poco. Leí su libro Todos los cuentos (TusQuest, 2008) hace ya algunos meses y no ha pasado un día sin que alguno de sus cuentos me pase por la mente en algún momento.

Las historias le dan la bienvenida al lector vago, como yo, que una vez envuelto en el animado ritmo de la escritura y confiado en que la trama va a tener un desenlace determinado, se da cuenta de que nada es lo que parece. Son historias que mantienen un delicado suspenso mientras se adentran en las enmarañadas personalidades de sus personajes.

Son tantos los cuentos que me atraparon que es difícil escoger uno solo, cada uno en sí mismo parece tener una personalidad propia que se nos revela según vamos intimando con la narración. Ayer mismo estaba pensando en el cuento Mi hermana Elba. Una exquisita historia de dos hermanas que tras el divorcio de sus padres son enviadas a un colegio de monjas. La mayor logra hacerse amiga con la rebelde de la clase y juntas exploran el convento.

"Esta es la habitación de las novicias", seguía explicando Fátima. "Y aquí está su ropa interior". Y apenas hubo pronunciado estas frases, cuando ante mi sorpresa, se había encasquetado un gorro de popelín blanco y intentaba ceñirse una enagua rayada con más de tres bolsillos.

El convento se vuelve un lugar mucho más interesante, y la hermana menor cobra protagonismo con una inesperada habilidad. Pero no voy a seguir contando porque les puedo dañar la experiencia.

Ahora mi pregunta, ¿alguien conoce algún otro escritor de esta categoría?