FOOD

I love food, who doesn’t? (Please people don’t answer that question). The reason I bring this up, because: at the end of the year there is so many holidays for my family that there is just food everywhere. Thanksgiving, birthdays, Christmas, and New Year, and then more birthdays, it’s just fun and more fun all the time. There’s pupusas, pollo horneado, carne asada, arroz (of all kinds), Pavo horneado, tacos, tamales, and empanadas.

            There are so many choices that if i was to list them all my blog World be about food. The reason I am talking about food and the holidays is because these two things are the ingredients to make or break a family. The funny thing is Hispanic people (for family) we are more about appearances, to keep the Adults happy (more out of respect than love), and if there is no front the family is broken in less than five seconds.

            It’s not that we’re fake, or we don’t love our family, it’s jus that it makes everything run smoother, quicker, and easier when you pretend to like everyone despite your actual relationship. The funny thing is when you add free food and free gifts everyone is on their best behavior making f-ing with the adults (or your older cousins0 much more fun.

HA! I find this funny, I skipped from subject to subject. Nice.


HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Really? You have problems?

Everyone expresses themselves, right? But the only difference between people is that they express themselves differently. Some people use words, other people use dance, art, music, violence, others just keep it bottled up inside. I have met all kinds of people in the 16 years of my life, and I have been exposed to all the good in the world and all the bad. The only thing I hate in this world is when people give up. Everyone has problems, no matter where you’re from, so no matter how small you see them, they could be huge to someone else. So why give up?
            I have seen my 55 year old aunt skip surgery, meant for her two dislocated shoulders to dance with me in my Quinceañera. I have seen my mother get up from multiple surgeries, a stroke, and beat cancer, and still go to work. I have seen my great aunt, who is skinny to the bone pick up a big bag filled with 50 pounds of laundry and place it easily over her head. I have seen my uncle beat addiction to alcohol and cocaine, I have seen my little sister grow up, and after they told us she wasn’t going to survive. I am a very blunt, realistic person. If you don’t know me, I look crazy and I sound like a bitch. I don’t deny this, because I can be, but the thing that has screwed people over in the past is the truth, and what made them happy where the lies. I rather hurt someone a bit right now with the truth, the fill their head with lies and destroy them later on.

You have problems, you see problems, but do you do anything? Or do you just give up because it was just too hard? I have seen the good and the bad in the world, maybe not like you, but I have seen my fair share.

Just . . .  Don’t Give Up. Truth or Lies.



Mamí

Doing community service, mandatory in my great almighty high school, with some really good friends, (if you know me well) you know for a fact, I suck at getting focused, but once I do, I finish things rather quickly. We (the three of us Cassi, Edwin, and I) just went through folding and organizing 6000 pamphlets in about two and a half hours. The cycle that we went in: Edwin and Cassi would fold, and I would organize the pamphlets into boxes. Once we were done, Cassi laughed out, “We get our hard work from at least one of our parents.” I thought about what she said, and I realized that I get my hard work and determination from my mom.

She works two jobs 5 days out the week from 3 a.m. – 10:30 p.m., with no breaks in between (like no time to get a nap or to sit down). On weekends it’s 3a.m. to 1 p.m. She never leaves a job half done, nor does she let me leave things half done. She had been through breast cancer, cervical cancer, gull bladder stones, and a stroke. She’s been through many surgeries, but she always finds the strength to get up and chill with my bro and I. After a few days of every surgery, she then finds the energy to cook breakfast for us.

I’m sorry if you’re not religious but, Gracias A mi Diosito Lindo En Este Cielo Azul Clarito, that she has been fine recently. Though she works two jobs, we’re slowly getting by; I’ve never been used to more than just barely getting by. So when my mom tells me she wants to get me something, for me, it feels like she actually got it, cuz I know I truly earned it. I wouldn’t be the same person if I didn’t have my mom; she’s the reason I want to do well in life, so I can pay her back in anyway I can.
*If you're asking yourself why I don't get a job now and help out. I want to, but she wont let me, no matter what she wont let me (sigh)*
          I’m grateful for my mother Raquel, The reason I am who I am.

Heritage

I write this blog because it’s what I know best. I don’t like ranting because its just another form of complaining/venting but doing nothing about it – I can’t stay quite when something pisses me off. I can’t write about artistic things, about what I dream about, I can’t write about sports. I have no idea what those topics are about. I admit I’m exposed to enough to let me go by in life, but to be in depth as some of you people are, I can’t because of my ignorance on the topic.

Plus I AM HISPANIC, granted when people guess where I’m from; they always get it wrong, it doesn’t matter at least they know that I’m hispanic. I am proud of my heritage, as most people are, when they’re parents are immigrants. U.S citizens, like the people here for generations, all I know that we have 4^th of July, Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday, Columbus Day, Veteran's Day . . . anything else?

             If you know any other holiday, that NO OTHER COUNTRY but the  U.S celebrate please tell me.

From Peeing, to culture, to a life lesson

Growing up in different cultures is what makes the world as diverse as the animals in the wild. They have different way of survival, different beliefs, different foods they eat, even different languages. My cultural background, as you can plainly see from the title is hispanic. Though many people think we are all the same, I can tell you straight up, that they are plainly and utterly wrong. Some places have similarities, but the differences that we have are what highlight what makes every country special, even within the same country you can find profound differences. El Salvador is my background, the smallest Central-American country, but we have millions of people in the U.S, and thousands more around the world. Being born in the U.S, I have been exposed to Dominican Republic’s, Peru’s, Colombia’s, Puerto Rico’s, Panama’s, Guatemala’s, Honduras’, Venezuela’s, Nicaragua’s, Paraguay’s, Mexico’s, Argentina’s, Costa Rica’s,  Uruguay’s, and Brazil’s culture.

I truly felt like everyone is more the same then different, when I was with a group of friends in the train station. I forgot where we were going but we were all tried, and I had to pee. When I have to pee, I have to keep moving, because if I don’t I will piss myself. It’s not pretty, but in conclusion to this story of how my body works; I was dancing in the train station. In my friend’s bag he had portable speakers; they’re made for the ipod. I connected mine because out of all of us, I’m the one with the most dancing music: merengue, salsa, cumbia, and bachata, even duranguense and ranchero (I like Mexican music, it’s bouncy).

I put on my playlist “Dancing,” where I keep all these songs that fit into one of the dancing styles from before. I picked the first song and pressed play. Our little group began dancing in front of everyone at the train station, not caring who was watching, or trying to “cough” to make us stop. I know hispanic people have that stereotype that we dance anywhere and everywhere, that may be true sometimes, but we were all taught not to care what other people think.

“Why live if you live by appearances?”  My mom asked me the same day we left my father. I looked up at her, and at the time I didn’t understand her, nor did I want to. I was angry at her for leaving my father. I was angry at my father for pushing us away and being stupid, not trying to stop us when he had the chance. Anyways, what she meant, and I now understand, was: why pretend to be something/someone you aren’t, when you aren’t happy; when no one around you is paying attention to how you really feel.

We danced until the train came, we danced in the train, we danced in another line, in another train, and I ran all the way home. I sprinted for my life with the same group following me, some girls at their own pace, one boy right next to me, and others sprinkled in the path at their own pace. Thank God my mom was home, she opened the door, letting me in and rushing to my bathroom. From the outside you could here me yell “Yes! I made it!”