I am homesick

I am homesick. Though I don't know which home I yearn for. For a moment, I feel like a small child, and only want to feel the touch of my mothers arms, the warmth of her chest, the smell of her aged skin, and the feel of of the bond that only lies between a child and her mother. I want to feel as if the umbilical cord was never cut. I want to crinkle back up into her belly and feel protected by her.
On the other hand, I am afflicted by the feeling of wanting to be that trouble making kid again. I want to be so innocent, or at least claim to be. I want run barefoot on the pavement until my feet turn black. I want to steal 99 cent apple pies from the day old bakery along with other expired candies, and split them with my friends. We all thought we were so bad ass, dying our hair 'auburn' and listening to dirty rap songs.... oh to be young and oblivious again.
Then there are the days, not too long ago. When I first embarked on this journey of my own. The days when I was too young to know any better but too young to care. The days when I was newly 18 and having a beer was a big deal. The days when I was awkward with my body, my mind, my sexuality. The days when I thought that anything over 21 was old and that time had no hold on my young body.
Fast forward about four years, and you find the time when I really found out who I was and who I wasn't. When I discovered the power of my presence. The influence of my logic, and the weakness of my heart. I miss knowing it all, and at the same time being completely unaware that there was a whole different side to myself that I never knew.
Now, at this moment, I guess I miss a culmination of all of that. Which could all be summed up into my life last summer. I was free, I was in transition. My eyes were open, my heart was broken. I was strong, I was on the edge of something big, something new.
I guess being here for almost a year, my heart and mind have once again curious and this homesickness has made me realize, its time to shake things up, and get ready for the next big leap.

an open apology to anyone I have come in contact with today

The purpose of this blog is to do something that I rarely do. Let me make sure Im ready to do this.. okay, exhale, stretch, inhale....now say "its just an apology, its just an apology, you do fuck up sometimes".... Okay IM SORRY. To anyone that I may have talked to today, come in contact with, looked at or even thought about, I apologize.
NOW BIG SIGH OF RELIEF... that wasn't so bad.
Today was one of those days where from the moment I opened my eyes, I knew I was not going to be the barrel of sunshine that I ususally am. I woke up too early, I smelled cat shit in the bathroom, I forgot to turn in my Netflix movies, and worst of all, I was out of bananas. Now if that isnt the recipe for complete fucking unhappiness I dont know what is. So in my utterly pathetic defense, today was a shit day. From the start it went wrong. I guess I was in just one of those funks where there was nothing that anyone could do to make it better. Everyone I came in contact with got to experience the ugly side of me that is only reserved for creepy guys, hostile lesbians, and shithead teenagers. I was rude to the cashier at safeway. I didn't give a rats ass how much I saved with my club card. I judged the people in the ice cream aisle, thinking now really, should their fat asses be taking advantage for the 2 for $5 quarts of assorted flavors? And as for anyone I talked to, well lets just say the conversation was so empty and hollow that they would have probably enjoyed talking to someone from a call center in India rather than dealing with my moody ass.
So there it is, my formal apology for my shit mood and mistreatment of humanity today. It is now 1am, and I can already feel in my bones that this day is going to be better. Unless it rains.. oh Jesus, Lord help us all if it rains.... you thought today was bad....

Racial identity crisis.... mile 1

Moving to Portland has made me highly aware of the fact that I am not another face in the crowd. I am some shade of brown with infusions of cultures that I have grown up with or adopted, and ultimately I am a mis-mash of traditions, expressions, cuisine and language. There's no denying that in the center of my soul, I am brown. I use the word brown because I cannot bring myself to say Latina, Chicana, or the one that sounds like a disease, Hispanic. What brings me to this heightened awareness of my ethnicity was a the group run that I had this morning.


Now running for fun isn't exactly something that us brown folks are known for. Sure the jokes are made that we run from 'La Migra' or that we're better swimmers, but for me, being the whitewashed gal that I am, its something that I'm passionate about. But arriving at a massive training event for the Portland Marathon, its obvious that I am the splash of cafe in the leche. In the sea of white people packed in NikeTown, I feel like the little poor brown girl who cant afford all of the fancy gear... the 300 dollar watches, hear monitors, hi-tech water packs, aerodynamic tights, reflective gloves..... no, I'm there with my tights from Target, Nike shorts thrown over them, a sweatshirt I found on clearance in Texas during the summer, and my refilled Aquafina water bottle that I plan to carry in my hand. And although its just in my head, I feel these fancy runners staring at me. Looking at me like I looked at the 3 Spanish speaking guys who I registered at my running clubs 5k. They looked like complete armatures who had just fallen off of the chicken truck, and as I gave them their running bibs, I felt sorry for them that they were wearing off brand shoes and sweat pants for the race. I thought to myself, 'those poor guys, they have shitty gear, but bless their little hearts for trying'. Now the tables were turned, I might as well have been those guys, except with better english skills, and skinnier legs.


So, to make matters more awkward, we were broken up into groups and told that we cannot use our Ipods, this is to be a fun group run where everyone is there to help and support each other. Umm, excuse me? I thought this was marathon training. Im here to kick ass, not make friends. But, rules are rules, so I get in my group and let the bonding begin. Well, I do not pipe up much during this hour of forced friendship. The conversation is just so... well, white. While these people are talking about gluten free diets, and so-and so's to die for quiche, and the sale at Williams Sonoma, I can't help but try and imagine what a run with Latinos would be like. For one, we wouldn't running in this perfect formation. We would be swapping places and traveling in a moving clump rather that these two straight lines. Second, there would be a lot more laughing. Not these fake chuckles over lame puns, or corny running jokes. No, instead we would be taking shots at each other, making fun of who runs like a duck, who's tights are a bit too tight, and who is a p*ssy for not being able to keep up with the rest of the blob. We would be talking about bad children, good for nothing husbands, the latest scandal in the community, and above all, what we were going to eat after this run!

As I'm imagining this group being transformed into a louder, livelier, and more tan bunch, I realize that I am a whole lot more brown than I ever gave myself credit for. I guess I just have never been in a situation where I have ever felt like a 'minority'. Whats funny, is that anywhere else I lived, i was so quick to sweep my heritage under the rug, because pretty much everyone around me had some exposure to Latinos, and a few of them were brown themselves. Living in Portland, this is not the case. People have little to no exposure to us brownies. Immigrants here are mainly Russian, and Vietnamese.... I guess they can handle to cold a little better than what we 'South of the Border' types can.
So to sum it all up, I guess I can appreciated the tones of brown that run through my veins. Being the outsider in a dominant society has not only forced me to acknowledge that I do have a sense of belonging to 'my people', but has also made me realize that I can no longer neglect that. So long as I plan on traveling and exposing myself to new cultures and ways of life, I must also be able to present myself in the holistic way that I am Latina, and that I do not just identify with the 'white side' of life. I should take more advantage of mt heritage and love it for all that it is, and for all of the differences that it has with my new found home.

closing thoughts on the eve of a final.....

final exam tomorrow.. Public Policy. Im not ready. I know what I know, and its not nearly as much as I should. Im not worried though, I mean, I know I'll pass the course, but I just have no motivation to try and blow it out of the water. I feel like my Portland State academic endeavors are not as ambitous as they should be, due to the fact that even if I manage to pull out a 4.0 gpa from here on out, I still can't graduate with honors. (Says the PSU law of the land that mandates it so for transfer students) This gives me no incentive to be any more than just passing or mediocre. Grr.. why do I let those complacent thoughts take over my mind? I mean, is it that bad to not be bothered by the fact that my transcripts will reflect straight A's from my community college in Texas, and the Portland grades will add a splash of B's and dare I say C's? Grrr again. Where is my motivation? Why am I not compelled to be a top notch student? Maybe deep down I am rationalizing this with the idea that George W. Bush went to an ivy league school, pulled in average grades and attained the highest job in all of the land. Hell, if its good enough for Dubya... its good enough for me. Good night winter quarter... hopefull I can pick up some inspiration for the spring during my week off.

My life is like an episode of Sex in the City...

...well almost, except for the fact that I don't own any Jimmy Choo stilletoes, I do not have wildly successful gal pals that I sip martinis with, and Im sure as hell not scoring with any sexy businessmen or even any hunky carpenters. So I guess its not exactly like Carrie Bradshaw's fabulous New York life, filled with wild trysts and high fashion, but my Portland version does parallel the universal fact that rings true in both worlds: Being a single girl in a big city is a pain in the ass.
Now, im not the kind of gal that is on the hunt for Mr. Right. I've never been one to daydream about a big white dress or an expensive ring... hell im not even sure what a princess cut even looks like. But, I am the kind of gal that does like a little attention. I mean who doesn't like to feel like that are attractive or interesting? And so it is that I have thrown myself into singles vortex of 'dating'. Let me tell you, this world is not pretty. It fits every cliche that you see on tv. The situation goes something like this: Boy meets girl, they chat, boy tries to impress girl with empty conversation about how well educated he is, how he loves art and conversation, he orders two more drinks, continues to talk about his muscles and foreign film, a few more drinks come, he tries to put his hand on her leg..... ick. The situation can end one of two ways. The girl eats all of this bullshit up, goes home with him, screws him and thinks she has a boyfriend. Or, in my case, the second the hand goes on the leg, the claws come out. My mouth starts to run and I verbally castrate the poor fellow. The encounter is over, I might thank him for the drinks, flee the scene, and vow that I will never do that again. But the truth is, I do it again. I do it over and over hoping that the next time something will actually stick. I have even crafted a complete method to my dating madness. Little does any man know it, the odds are always stacked against him. I come equipped with a mental clipboard that judges the prospective suitor more harshly than American Idol. Tennis shoes with jeans? Automatic 10 point deduction. Mention of a fraternity or use of the word 'bro'..... straight to the douchebag category. Like mechanics at the garage, I can always find something wrong during an inspection. And as for me, Im even worse. I go into every situation as if im playing a part in an Academy Award worthy film. I have, if you will, a "Sarah-like character" that I slip into before each date. I have perfected my life's story, leaving out the boring details and getting straight to what they want to hear. "blah blah, like to travel, love wine, blah blah, no kids...." To keep the mood light, I try my best to be funny. Like a stand -up comedian, I have my jokes perfectly times and tailored to any man's personality because let's face it, they're pretty much all the same. This mechanized approach to dating has allowed me to be charming when I need to be, make them feel manly when they need that stroke of the ego (the only stroke they are getting from me) and has overall made dating a total waste of my time.
So why do I continue to do it? Why do I go out with the Jewish boy who can't run a mile or pay for my shitty clam chowder? Why is it that the boy who is eager to give me the world will never be able to because I have a problem with his nostrils? And how come when I say that im not interested, it becomes lost in man-translation? I say im not looking for a relationship, and he takes it as, a "im not looking for a relationship right now, but if you really bug me enough I'll cave or at least sleep with you".
Oh the frustration. Oh the wasted time on hair and make-up, the forced smiles, and the awkward, "it was nice meeting you... now get out of my face" goodbyes. Yes, it all sucks but I guess its just the nature of the beast that our society has created as an alternative to arranged marriages, or getting hitched to your high school sweetheart or rushing to the aisle before the bun in the oven arrives. So like Sarah Jessica Parker and the other broads in that glamorous show, I will continue take my fishing pole out to that giant sea, continue to reel them in and throw them back ...one lackluster date at a time.

While Im still riding high on inspiration....

I find its best if I write things down so that I actually commit to them. Since im still riding high from my last race, and am now inspired by a women that I met that runs a 1:12:43 half-marathon, I am now more than ever determined to get faster. So here is the tentative Schedule of races:

March 15th- Shamrock Run 15K
March 29th-Ft Vancouver 10k
April 5th - Race for the Roses 5k
April 11th- Pear Blossom Run 10m
April 19th- Bridge to Brews 10k
April 26th- Run for the Cheetah 8k
May3rd- Cinco de Mayo 10k
May 9th- Hippie Chick Half Marathon
May 30th- Starlight Run 5k

And so there it is... I'll be running my ass of for the rest of the spring! Im definitely going to need some new running shoes.