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Vagabond trotter
When I was about 14 years old, I went to the mall with my mom. That sweetspot age when you don’t want to be seen with your parents, but you need them to drive you to places. You know the age.
Well, before going to the mall, we had to go to one of the isolated stores across from the mall. To go to the mall from said store you had to go through a 4 lane highway, up a small uphill of grass, that would lead you to the parking lot of the mall and into the main entrance of the mall.
We crossed the highway without a problem, and I went up the hill running without a problem. But looked back at my mom and she was struggling up this small hill, trying to not lose balance and fall. I retreated back to get her and hold her hand while now both of us when up the hill, and we went up to the mall.
That scene has stuck with me through all of this years, is a scene I never talk about, because is a mundane moment. But it really wasn’t for me. When I was a kid (less than 8 years old), my mother as a proud Latina woman can be, would take me into this streets bazaars in Puerto Rico. And we would be walking for hours, my small little feet would get tired and I would try to whine, cry, complain, to slow down or stop. But my mom would have none of that, she would keep walking and it was up to me if I wanted to keep up, because there was an unveil threat that if I couldn’t keep up, I would stay behind and my mom would only had 2 kids to raise instead of 3. There was a certain level of veracity to this threat, that always pushed me to walk with her even when I was tired.
Fast forward to 2013. I went to Peru to see my extended family that I haven’t seen since I was 7 years old. I also wanted my mom to come to Peru with me, so that I could pay for her to go to Machu Picchu. She was born and raised in Peru, but like a lot of Peruvians, going to this wonderland is not financially possible. So I wanted to give her a small present for all the years of sacrifice as a mother that she has done for me and my siblings. It doesn’t even begin to pay what she has done, but is my little down payment for that.
I payed for a package that would take my mom, my aunt, and me to Cusco, and we would go through the minor cities/ruins of the Inca empire before going to Machu Picchu. I would then separate from my mom and aunt, and I would go to Machu Picchu city by myself.
To see Machu Picchu, there’s a few ways to see it
1. You can do the Inca Trail, which can be 2, 4 or 5 days. You would go a trail, and hike/camp overnight along the way until you get to the ruins on your last day.
2. You can do it the easier way, have a touring company take you in a bus to the entrance of the ruins and you explore the ruins with a guided tour leader.
3. You can do it on your own (once you get the right pass) and hike up the trail up the mountain on the same day.
I would had liked to do the 4 day inca trail, but with only 2 weeks vacation and meeting family in Peru, it just wasn’t possible to do it. So I decided instead to break from my mom and aunt, and I would go with the third option. While I’m trying to explain this to my mom, she says, that she could do it with me. I decline, and say is better for her to go with my aunt and do it with the guided tour.
Once we were in Cusco, we visited Urubamba ruins, and while the views were astounding. Look for yourself.
There were also this giant steps, hundreds of them:
They would tire you out, all of us were out of breath. I was able to regain my breath and keep going. My aunt, while younger than my mom, gave up quickly. My mom was able to regain some of her breath and kept going farther than my aunt, but couldn’t follow me anymore.
You see, age had finally caught up to her, even though she is in great shape for someone of her age, there’s only so much she could overcome. And that’s what I saw for the first time in that seemingly normal afternoon of my youth.
My mother, the woman that dragged me along the streets of Rio Piedras, and the woman that to these days, walks every morning for an hour to start her day, was finally getting old in my eyes. I had to go back to help her. It dawned on me, in that afternoon, that there’s only so much we can walk, before your body says no more.
I’m now 36 years old, and I know that my walking prime days are numbered. For that reason I need to change my life.
I envy Puertoricans
I have always carried a certain weight on top of me, a mental stopgap that doesn’t let me enjoy my heritage. My parents being from Peru, they identify themselves as Peruvians, even though they are very grateful of the opportunities Puerto Rico (and by extension the US) have given them. They even became citizens, because they thought it was the right thing.
They talked about their families in Peru, that long distance cousin and aunt. My grandmas that I met briefly. But they have never been nationalists, they don’t raise a flag of any country. They follow the politics of Peru or Puerto Rico with a bypass interest. They were more concerned with raising their family.
The thinking and pondering, I was the one that got that gene. I was mesmerized by the fact that Puertoricans loved their little island. There might be some bitterness at the fact that belongs to the United States, but they love every grain of sand they own. They carry their flags and are not afraid to show it. If you live near a latino community, you know that for sure. They are proud of their history and of their ups and downs.
Me, well, not so much. Not that hate it, but I could never share in that pride. It didn’t belong to me, I didn’t do anything to earn it, in my mind at least. I was always an outsider that just happened to live there.
You see, I don’t look Puertorican, and my Spanish accent, it seems is not Puertorican enough. Within minutes of meeting someone one their first questions was “Where you from?”. As if the years I have put into being part of their culture wasn’t enough. The fact that I knew their history and share their upbringing, I was still an outsider. A type of subtle racism.
Let me interject something here and make it clear, because whenever you bring “racism” into something it can be very divisive. The racism I talk about is not one of hate, or of reject. More of wondering. As if they are asking “How you made it here?”, “How you found out about us?”
There’s no malice behind their questions, but I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t one of them. I could share with them, and I could laugh with them, I could even be accepted by them, but never a true one of them. Again, this is my take on it, I still know my Puertorican friends never meant anything other than good in their actions and love for me and viceversa.
But when you don’t feel you belong to the place where you were born, then maybe you belong to the place your parents came from. After all, you came from them, you look like them.. So last year at the ripe old age of 34 I went to Peru.
I visited my extended family for the first time since I was 7 years old. I wasn’t sure what to expect. My parents were there too, so that helped in the introduction to family. They accepted me from the moment I landed. They treated me like if I have never left. They would introduce me to other family members and talk to me like if I knew what was going on in their families. I could feel their love even though they barely knew who I was just a few ours priors.
I can only say I love them for that. But I couldn’t help that I also wasn’t one of them. My skin color is lighter than them. The process foods that I eat and my bad habits makes me carry my weight in a different weight. The way I walk and talk is nothing like them. I was still an outsider.
Now all of this is in my head, I will admit to that. I carry that. I put that upon myself. And if I could get beyond that I would in a second. But for some reason I can’t.
Can’t help but feel like I will always be at the party looking in through the window. I wish I had pride in where I come from. I wish I could carry a flag and make it feel like it belongs in my hand. Listen to my country’s anthem and feel pride and joy. But I can’t. That’s not me. I’m just a vagabond really. A man without a country. I envy those who show their flag with pride.
I envy Puertoricans.
Except if you put your flag in your car’s windshield. That’s just plain trashy. lol.
35 years old and counting…
I’m going to change my life. For better or worse, I’m changing my life. And I’m scared for that.
I’m as scared of that, as I have been of anything else in my life. I’m too old to start over, and too young to give up. I’m too immature for my own good and too much of a thinker and not a doer.
That’s why I want to change. I want to embrace life and start anew, but I guess I’ll start my old tale at the beginning:
My parents are immigrants from Peru, my father is a very adventurous guy. He has lived a life that movie stars dream of. My mother has been his steady companion for about half a century. We didn’t grow up with much, but never poor. There wasn’t any big extravagant things in our house, but we always had a home. We didn’t go out to eat (rarely), but food was never scarce.
We grew up in Puerto Rico, my parents come from Peru. Both Spanish speaking countries, and while there’s some similarities, the differences are daunting. We speak the same language, but don’t talk the same. We eat the same ingredients but not the same foods. We are separated by years of traditions.
Puerto Rico, if you don’t know, is part of United States, we are not a state, but a commonwealth. A more politically minded person can tell you the more minute differences, but with the exception of some taxes that we don’t paid, and the fact that we can’t vote for the president, we are pretty much on-par with the other 50 states. A Hawaii that speaks Spanish if you want.
Not going to bore you with details, but Puerto Rico has never been an independent country. Not since the Spaniards claimed it in 1493 by Christopher Columbus (yes, that Columbus). We were owned by Spain until 1898 when Spain and United States got into a little turf war. Spain lost and as part of the treaty, Spain granted independence to Cuba and Puerto Rico became a consolation prize to United States. The U.S.A. really wanted Cuba, but Cuba was in the middle of it’s own independence fight with Spain, so it was easier to take over the smaller island of Puerto Rico.
Puertoricans are conflicted with this, some like the status quo, others want to become the 51st state, and a smaller contingency wants independence. Politics are the #1 sports in Puerto Rico, followed by Baseball, Basketball, Boxing. So every four years there’s a big fight over which party is going to take over. As a kid it was hard to understand all the different points of views, and when I was able to see them, I realized that I just didn’t care enough. If I wanted to become a state (my preference) it was just easier to go to the States. I never voted in a Puerto Rico election, I was finally eligible to vote a week after the elections. By the time the next election rolled around I was already living in United States.
Forgot to mentioned, one of the perks of being born in Puerto Rico, is that you are a US citizen by birthright, so there was no VISA hoops to go through to come to America.
I’ll talk more about my parents and Peru on my next post.
Day 3
So, as my lack of post has left you to see, NaNoWriMo was a total failure for me. I can only hope most of the thousand of people that sign up for the program were able to finish their novels, or at least be closer to their end. Unfortunately for me, life got in the way big time, and my one source of free time also changed and I just didn’t have the time to do it. Is it an excuse? Of course, I could have, should have written more than 2 miserable chapters.
I was asked last week
***
After I catch my cab to The Majestic, I still have the bad taste of the date in my mind. It has just been a few bad months since my last relationship.
***
Which I know what it is. Is the point of view of Michael and a better understanding of how exactly he met Jane.
What’s going to happen to this blog from now on? well, I can’t promise an update per day, certainly not a chapter. But I’ll try to be better than I was in November. After all, this is my corner of the internet now. Let’s see how much I can grow from here.
Day 2
I don’t know if everyday I’ll add a note, but if I do, it will be at the start, or end, of the day post, and it will be surrounded by: *** Like so:
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I think I have come to the conclusion (very quickly) that this story will be better served by writing it in first person, instead of third person like I started. So once this month is over, I’ll have to re-write that first part of the first chapter. Again, I have no clue what I’m doing. Never told you I did…. Not going to lie, this is just a draft, so you’ll see errors, and continuity problems, as I try to straighten myself. I guess things that I should know before I started. So here it is, the second part of the first chapter and the whole second chapter.
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I’m confused, as to what is expected of me in this situation. When you are trying to be nice, and you feel that the other person is also being nice, but the chemistry isn’t there. You think that she’s not interested. How do you find out and let her down easily? How will she let me down?
The main course arrives, and the steak is very nicely cook, enough red in the middle, and evenly seasoned. She’s talking about her family. Thankfully she likes to talk. By the time the waitress comes asking if we want dessert, we both said fairly quickly “No, thanks.”
“Can I take this home?” She adds, directing the question to the waitress.
We keep the conversation civil enough, and even more grounded by the time we are ready to depart the restaurant. I got to remember that, this one is a good one to come back for another location.
“I had a nice time.” Not sure if she’s going to end it there. Or add a “but”. I decided to do the pre-emptive strike and help her out. Take us both out of our date-limbo.
“Yeah, me too. But you know what Amanda, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I had a good time, and you seem like a good girl, woman, sorry, but ….”
“There’s not enough to see us again.” I guess she has quick trigger too.
I mumble “Umm, yeah.”
“Please don’t worry, at least it was a good dinner, and you also seem like a nice guy. But obviously the ‘click’ is not there, and why force it, right?”
I nod in agreement.
“Hey at least you are not like some of the weirdos I have found. “ She gives me a hug, turns around, and I never see her again. Can’t help but feel like we did the right thing, but then again, she showed me more in that last conversation, than I have seen in a while. Maybe I shouldn’t have cutting the cord so quickly….maybe.
By the time I get home, I tired, another bad date, even with the end, no second date. I have been in a rut the last couple of months. Either when I’m interested, they are not, or when they seem interested, I’m just not feeling it. I browse the internet aimlessly, not really much to do. Facebook activity is low tonight. My email, is not as active as it used to be. The T.V. is on in the background, I flip through the channels, hoping my phone will ring. Someone to hang out with. I decided to take the initiative and text a couple of my friends. There’s got to be something to do tonight. Take my mind away from tonight. Is New York City after all.
Just as I’m about to call it a night, my phone vibrates, The Roz, few of us are at the Majestic, on 2nd street. If I catch a cab, I might make it before midnight. I decided against my better judgment and head out the door.
Chapter 2
I woke up with a little headache. Maybe I went a little too far, last night. But I needed a stress reliever, and it was interesting to say the least. The place was crowded, and the noise was loud. Like it usually is when the place is going in the right direction. Not used it, but can’t say is my first time either. But I should have ended it last night, instead of letting it linger til the morning. It will just make things that much more awkward.
The clock lets me know I miss the early yoga class, maybe I can make the second one, or third one, depending in how quickly I can get out of this situation. The bed no longer holds a spell on me, so I get out without making too much noise. Tiptoe my way out of the bedroom and head to the kitchen. The coffee machine comes to live, and once I have my fuel, I’ll be ready to have a go to the rest of the day. Janice needs some help with her shopping, and I want to check it out myself, maybe something for me to buy too.
I hear stirring coming from the bedroom, hope I have enough time for coffee before it gets weird. Come on, coffee. Making decisions without coffee never leads to good results. An image appears in the doorway, upper body naked, and showing more than I wish to see this morning. Why do some people don’t understand that it doesn’t carry over? Can’t help but admire the body, maybe it could carry over.
“Hey, good morning.”
“I’m good, I’m making some coffee. You want some?”
“No, I need to run, but I had fun last night. Was hoping I could, maybe, you know, see you again?”
“Let me think about it. That’s usually the kind of person I am, and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.” Hoping my meaning got through.
“Oh, no, me neither. I’m more respectful than that. Last night wasn’t my usual, and I don’t want to just run. For once I had fun.”
“You said you are not ‘that kind of person’ but in the next breath you ‘had fun for once’?” I ask coyly. See what kind of response I get, is nice to see them squirm a little. There’s a small sick pleasure to get out of it.
“Oh I see, you like to play with my words. Isn’t a little early to try to play games?”
Good way to get out of it buddy. “Maybe, but is my house, my rules.”
“Ahh, well, in that case, yes, if I have to answer truthfully, never had a one-night stand, and that’s why I’m standing here in your kitchen, trying to figure out how to proceed next. I think the protocol should had been for me to sneak out before you woke up?”
“Something like that. Don’t want you to think I’m a floosie either, I have respect for myself and what happens in my bedroom, but you catch me at a weak moment, and I needed some fun. And we seemed to hit it off last night. So, is not like I’m an expert in ‘protocol’ as you point out. But I think we are past the point of sneaking out. I do have a yoga class I want to make, but I still have time for coffee. So, you can go ahead and pack your clothes and run out of here, or we can establish something here, and keep the weirdness out of it.”
“Ok, I like that, you are pretty straight-forward. Maybe too straight-forward.”
I smile, and say what I think: “Is not the first time I heard that statement about me. Probably not the last one either.”
“So, shall we start from the beginning then?”
“I think we are a little late for that.” Looking towards my bedroom and beyond. A smile appears, that smile is quite attractive. It seems genuine. “Maybe a beginning is too much to ask. But I wouldn’t be opposed to a re-introduction.”
“Ok then. I’m Michael.” He says, stretching his arm.
“I’m Janet.” I shake his hand. That coy smile appears on his face again, he knows he has beaten his share of women before. “Jane, for my friends.” Feeling his hand.
Chapter 3
“Ok Jane, I’ll have that cup of coffee then.” Last night was really a good night after all. And to think I was going to give up on it.
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I might write more later. Emphasis on might. Thanks for your support.
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Don't Follow My Lead 