Mimi's Visit

6 in the morning at Playa Bonita

I AM BEAUTIFUL

Between getting employed and trying to find a more permanent home, I have abandoned the blogosphere. I am back and more than ready to share some of the crazy stories I’ve experience en este paisito mío. Where should I start...

Coming into this experience I was aware that the Dominican Republic was one of the most racist countries in the Latin America, what I wasn’t informed of was to what degree the racism permeated every freaking aspect of society. A friend came to visit me from the states the other day and as we walked down the streets of La Zona Colonial, a man yelled that he wanted me to tell my friend to “get” with him. He said, “I like white women because black women are a little weird and they make ugly babies.” This was so hurtful and so disgusting that when I got home that night, I looked at myself in the mirror and questioned my beauty. I snapped out of it and told myself over and over again that I AM BEAUTIFUL.

I am conscious of racial inequalities and have a really good sense of where they come from and why they're still here. A little girl, rich or poor, from the Campo or from la Ciudad is probably not aware of why her white friends [and black friends as a matter of fact] think that she is inferior, so how is she suppose to respond to the comments of men on the streets or the treatment by her teachers, peers and even her parents. Wait, there’s more…

Struggle, poem by Mel King

It's a struggle

Developing Solidarity.

It's a struggle

Being Positive

It's a struggle

Making Common Unity.

It's a struggle

LIVING.

It's a struggle

Because it's slow

But if we Struggle

At developing Solidarity,

Being Positive

Shaping Reality,

Making Common Unity,

We will all Grow

Because to struggle

Is to work for Change,

and Change is the focus of Education,

and Education is the Basis of Knowledge,

and Knowledge is the Basis for Growth

and Growth is the Basis for

Being Positive and Being Positive

is the Basis for Building Solidarity

Building solidarity is a way to shape

Reality and Shaping Reality is Living

and Living is Loving,

So Struggle

MEL KING

Avia una vez..

The other day, I slept over at the house I lived in as child. The next morning, my uncle called me to ask if I would like to accompany him on a few errands. Coincidently, or not, he needed to take care of some business in the same neighborhood that I was in that morning (side note: he lives like an hour away from where I was). It’s as if life wanted to show me something that very day and made sure I was at the right place at the right time. My uncle needed to resolve a few things at the first house I lived in as a baby and the house where my dad spent his late teens.

We went into the first house, which belongs to my paternal grandmother. My uncle showed me the spot in this tiny living room space where a mattress once laid. Here my mother, my father, my older brother and I use to sleep. In a matter of seconds, my entire life flashed right before my eyes and I couldn’t help but wonder what if. What if I had continued to live there? What if speaking English and being an American were never a part of me? What if I all those people who have shaped me didn’t exist [for me]? These questions become more evident when I see that most of the people who lived there when I was born are still there.

These folks are in no way, shape or form less of a person because of where or how they live, but the truth is that regardless of all the shortcomings and all of the struggles that I endured as a child and as a teenager in low income America, it doesn’t compare to the kind of living here. I completely understand that there is third worlding in America, but the amount of resources and opportunities again, does not compare.

I go back to this neighborhood often and I am still figuring out how I fit there. Please believe me when I say that this is a very sensitive topic/experience for me. Every single part of it entails struggling with my identity and setting negotiations between who I have become, who I want be, who I should be, and a combination of the three. Nonetheless, I am so grateful for this struggle.

San Cristobal

Las Palmas de Playa Bibijagua en Bavaro

I am completely obsessed with palm trees. I can't help but stare at their captivating curves and the way they so confidently stand tall.

Mi Primer Mes en La Republica Dominicana

I've been in this country for exactly a month today. Yesterday I visited the beaches of Punta Cana and Bavaro and they were simply beautiful. I ate an amazing pastel de platano (kinda like tamales) at this place in San Pedro. Feeling grateful and hopeful.

Facing History and Ourselves

Facing history and ourselves is a very challenging thing to do. It means opening up many cans of worms. It means being able to look inside these cans and inspect each and every one of these worms even if they disgust you. It means having to keep and learn how to live with some of them, but at the same time, understanding that it’s ok to let some of them go (go fishing with them even). It means learning to forgive a lot. It means appreciating. All this in hopes of understanding—at least a little bit—where you came from and where those who you love so much came from.

Fotos y Recuerdos

When I was a little girl, I remember I had this picture of my father. He was wearing a black suit, a white shirt and a black bowtie and to top it off, he had this very thick black mustache that beautifully complimented his dark brown face. I was young so I didn’t understand the complexity of my parent’s divorce or why one day I lived with Papi in Santo Domingo and the next day I lived with Mami in America without Papi. I ignored the intricacies of their separation because it didn’t add up to me—I just didn’t get it. I do however remember crying every single night as I held his picture. I listened to this song by Selena called Fotos y Recuerdos (Pictures and Memories), where she says, “All that’s left of your love is fotos y recuerdos.” I recall missing him like one misses—I really can’t compare it to anything, I just know that it was the kind of missing that hurts the soul so much, that you can feel it in your gut.

A few days ago, my uncle showed me this picture of my dad that had inexplicably appeared in his car. It was of course, exactly the same picture that I use to have, this one being much smaller than mines (come to think of it, maybe it was the exact same size but because I was so little, the picture seemed bigger at that time). I don’t know where my copy went; I think it might have literally disappeared with all of the tears that fell on it.

Lonely Boat

Mojitos on the Beach...

Just Breathe

Yes, more airplane safety. Following the instructions on how to correctly place the oxygen masks, the flight crew announces that although the airbag might not inflate, oxygen is flowing through the mask. In life some times things go so wrong so often that it appears as though our oxygen mask is not delivering this element that keeps us alive. The truth is that air is indeed flowing through these masks. We get so caught up in the negative things in our lives that we ignore or forget all the beautiful things that surround us. One needs to accept that beneath all the hurt, the pain, and the grief there is beauty. So rest assured that although it may appear like everything is falling apart and your oxygen mask is not inflating, air is flowing through your mask.