Corporate

Can I ask you something?"

I think this may be an Americanism. In the midst of healthy, seemingly open conversation, the other person will stop to ask for an enquiry permit. It always throws me off, but I think it often has to do with the peculiarity of the conversation, and the fact that regularly accepted social norms of etiquette and restrain may not yet have been tested on the particular subject. Questions have usually abounded in the conversation, but something else is coming, and it needs a preface like that.

"What do you mean? Can I respond?"

For what is a question with such a prelude but nothing more than a doubtful statement, an admission of ignorance, a fear of painful learning? And what alternatives are out there? Suppose I say 'No' and turn the potential dismissal of that question straight into a complete rejection of the rights to enquiry itself. What happens then? Do you transfer curiosity over to me? Does that shy wonder become your ashamed secret?

"Oh, yea, nevermind, well..."

I am sorry I threw you off like that. I had been watching you play with your hair and fiddle with your hands as the train left the station. And I knew that the small talk was not going to persist if our eyes stayed intently focused on each other, with only sporadic stares out the window and through the real world, which jealously reminded us that it was still there. Still, I did not foresee the transitionary formality. We had just been asking everything of each other, without permission of train guars, bosses, or whoever that was who you mentioned was waiting for you at your stop. Yea, him. Oh, boyfriend, you say? I remember now. Lucky guy.

"Ask ahead."

I do mean it. Your original question was, in short, naive and out of place.

"Well, I was just going to say, do you think you are ever gonna go corporate?"

Hmm... is there anything from our conversation that hinted at you that such secretiveness was warranted for this question? Did you think that would offend me? I see you feel naked now, because I offer the killer, chilidish, pedantic smile that tells you I was in ESL class when you were playing the violin in Catholic school. The truth is I don't know what I could even offer them, if nothing more than validating their existence. I lecture you on how we should be safe enough to ask each other anything, and answer kindly that I do not plan my life too much in advance, at least not yet, and that I'll let you know if and when I do.

But I was lying, there are questions that we hold back sometimes. Here's mine:

"Are you scared of how I am judging you because I know how our lives are headed in different directions after we get off this train?"

Response not needed.

My dream world

My dream world is better off without me trying to describe it. It would rather inhabit exclusively in its natural habitat. My dream world, you see, is shy and humble. It doesn't really want to travel anywhere. My dream world is probably gonna stay in my dreams for the rest of my life, and maybe for longer.
My dream world says, "you got everything you need where you are standing right now, as long as you are standing with everything you need". It talks like that, so I can't really explain its intricacies to you. Plus, it would not want me to. My dream world likes it when I keep my words to a minimum so I can say more. Specially if I am talking about it to others.
My dream world does not like the big city, or even it's urbanized surroundings. That is why my dream world does not visit where I live. It stays back, mixing cocktails of childhood and progress; decorating cupcakes of irony with chocolate chips of joy. My dream world is corny like that. I don't know where it buys its ingredients, but it's a good end result in my dream world.
My dreamworld does not like the countryside either, nor the jungle. In fact, it does not care much about the soil. Or the sky. Or the wind. Or your family. Or your friends. Or your citizenship. Or your religion. Or what any of the aforementioned think when I tell you to escape with me to my dream world.
My dream world tells me it would love to pour a soft rain over our heads as we lean over for a kiss. It fantasizes about our love with a strength only matched by the rationality we have put into being apart.
If my dream world had wishes, they would be like me. It would talk, and talk, and think, and act, and love, and hug, and make love and pray. It would raise good kids and drink good wine. And it would not be able to help the abrupt endings to its nightly sleep. And it would die.
My dream world is happy where it is.

You promise?

"What year are you in school? What's your major? Oh, poli sci? That's cool, man, mom must be proud. You are almost done. Listen, I know what you are feeling, man. I have been called a nigger while in uniform. Sometimes, you gotta swallow that shit up and know, in your heart, that you are better than that. That you are better than them. Promise me you are gonna do that. You promise?"

I promised.

Backhandedly, I learned that I should have gotten in more fights in high school. After all, all it would have meant was to learn a big life lesson in a practical manner, rather than in a theoretical way. That way it felt emptier.

Always careful and rational, I missed the lesson that the classroom, church, or the bedroom could not have taught me. In essence, I understand the situation to be detrimental in a short-term: detentions, reputations, bad vibes, and distractions. And potential for it spiraling out of control.

My only fights, displays of anger, threatening shouting matches, and dealings with policemen were during my last year of college. And they were for all the reasons that the previous outbursts did not happen. It was the same desire to learn that prevented them before.

Hindsight, they call it.

Kites

Seasons of disillusion,
Kites of my heart,
Roam with no good reason,
Back to the place of our first love.

Scribbles in my notebook,
Remember the tone of your voice,
Evoking your ways of being,
A girl in woman vase.

But when the Southern wind blew,
Dragged me to your latitude,
And I look for you in the back of this bar,
Or the streets of any city.
Kites of disillusion,
Everything changes as I change too
I am afraid of that truth,
If I find you,
What will you see?

Give me one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Where did you hide,
And where are you going,
Send me a letter,
If by chance you remember,
All those days
They were only ours.

As this sensation floats on,
Just like that flying kite,
Nonetheless it’s all an illusion,
And I am a ghost in transition.
And today’s wind is not enough,
To push you in my direction,
I would need more than a hurricane,
Or the strongest forces of the Earth.

Give me that one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Why did you hide,
And where will you go,
Do send me that letter,
Because I know you remember,
All those days,
They were only ours.

Seasons of reconstruction,
Kites of my heart,
Tied up on a light pole,
Like all our divine and blue dreams,
Kites of dissilussion,
Everything changes as I change too,
I am scared of knowing that truth
If I find you,
Then what will you see… in me?

It's here

It's in California.

The ambassador debates well. But he is just an ambassador. Still, he looks terribly familiar. I wanted to hug him and buy him a beer. While he was cool and self-restrained, those yuppies were there throwing caca in his words. Fuck you Ivory tower idiots.

Letter to self, circa April 2007

Found during room cleanup:

It is astounding that at this part of the process you still find yourself thinking outside the box of that which you represent. But, what do you fear? Where do you want to go? Whose ideas will you challenge and how much are you willing to give up?

Remember everything about this process because it will never happen to you ever again in your life. You are privileged to know these things and ensure that others can understand the life of multiculturalist movements.

Find answers for others and yourself. I don't want to forget where I am coming from nor who who has been there at the worse moments. Try to love but not fall in love. Learn people's names. Make people smile. Stay humble. Dress calmly. Smell good. Read more.

In more concrete terms, remember this as a moment of concientization about the powers of privilege, the balances of power, the way in which the things you say are perceived. Challenge yourself. Be an intellectual. Be daring.

Recognize that fighting apathy is nearly impossible, and doing so might have to be as complex as the tools needed to manufacture consent.

Be fair. Let go. Grow up.

Honor your father and mother.

Change people's minds.

Live on other people's shoes.

Remember we are a people of advocacy. No flashy promises.

Fight (with a smile on).

Retraction

I do have a different role in Public Allies.

I talk a lot and I have, given previous my previous apprehension to do so, opened up a lot. A simple activity of surface-level life stories where all participants spoke for an average of 10 minutes turned into an activity of its own that included Samy's death and my other cousins deaths, my being called an 'indian' in school, mom's hospitalization, my roamings around Westwood, and my eventual spiritual departure from the United States, as well as the last-minute drawback from whatever that was. The tirade lasted 45 minutes. I suspect I will still leave after Public Allies.

On Thursday, I texted ten friends with the not-so randomly selected word "breathe". Two former roommates of utilitarian tendencies asked "Why?", two reluctant lovers asked "how did you know", and some did not respond. I still don't know who won. I think I did.

Thoughts at night

-Got a haircut today on 7th and Hill. The stylist was a Puerto Rican that taught me the difference between gel and pomade, and what type of occassions call for each one.

-My teacher for "Intro to community organizing" is a Marxist. We are going to clash soon, but I still have not decided when.

-The blog (undergroundundergrads.com) is going to pick up soon.

-I feel very creative and my thoughts outpace me a lot of the time. I don't say a lot lately.

-I am out of love. A crushing blow of rationality has left me content on my solitude, and the train is my only lover. This is what it would have been like in Lanus. Except I have Enrique, Margarita, and Sophia instead of Lucia, Adolfo, and Gisela.

-I am already the class clown in Public Allies. So much for taking on a different role.

-Steven has a son. I failed as a jr. high youth group leader 6 years ago.

-I want to be good at soccer again. Joining a saturday league.