My (Hi)story.

Is it weird that I think about writing every time I'm eating chips and salsa? Right, I didn't think so either. Chips, salsa, writing. . . it's all related anyway.

My International Politics (IP) and US History (USH) classes are really opening my eyes to things I never had the chance to see before. We watched a documentary about Germany invading Russia during WWII in my IP class. It was pretty shocking and heartbreaking. I saw actual footage of people during those times. I saw hunger, sadness, blood- lots of blood. It wasn't easy to watch.

And then my USH class just provides so much information that I never had access to (right now how the US reacted towards WWII). I mean, I honestly feel a little jealous of kids that went to school here, because I went to really small schools in Colombia and I think my history classes were limited and provide little information. I feel like I've been missing out a lot. But thankfully now I get to have it.

It's also helping me to come up with new ideas for future writing so I guess that's a good thing. Oh, and I've decided to double major in History- ta ra!

Things are good. I like the way things are going. I'm hoping that I'll be able to do more writing once I'm done with my committee (for Alpha Gamma Sigma)- which should be some time soon. I'm ready to spend Thanksgiving with my best friend and her family. I'm ready to be 21. I'm ready to go home for Christmas. But I'm not in a hurry to get there yet. Things are good now. And they'll just keep getting better. Hopefully.

If it's not clear, the picture reads "I am one of the 25,000 people that die because health care doesn't cover me.

A Couple Of Maybes

Let me lose.
Let me crash and burn.
I don't know if I can do good no more.
Tell me I'm done and that my chances are none.
Save me from my own insecurities and simply let me go.
Cover my eyes with your ways and do me wrong.
Don't you save me now if you will be the one to do me worst.
Walk away while I pick up the pieces from the floor.
Walk now while my pain is numb.
Walk know when I don't know love.
I was not meant to win so I should be able to deal.
I'll forget you or so I say.
You'd be nothing but a frame- in a line, in my hands.
Shame.
We weren't meant to win.
Just walk away.

As I was eating dinner tonight (a corn dog and chips and salsa), it hit me that I needed to write something. Life has been pulling me away from you- and that is supposed to be a good thing. But then again I'd like to think that you missed me and were waiting to hear from me.

Ever since I've been living on my own, I have been putting my tough face on. You know, the one that says to the world that I can take anything. But always knowing deep inside that most of the time this doesn't apply; I'm human- I get hurt, angry, happy, excited, etc.

My problem is that I wanna help everybody. All by my little self. I wanna take care of people and make sure everyone is fine. I wanna make people happy. That is after all why I write. I wanna take people's mind into this world I have the power to create. But I always run into this wall that reminds me that I CAN'T help everybody.

So how do I know when I'm supposed to stop? How do I say to myself, "this a lost cause, let it go." Do I even wanna do that? I don't know. But I do know that I don't like waking up one day wanting to put everything aside, and wanting to be five, and sleeping under my mother's arms.

Maybe I need to write more. Maybe I need to actually create those stories and hope that they would eventually reach someone who needs them- and they will actually help them.

I wanna start taking pictures again. I wanna show people how I see the world because I see the world being well. I see the world changing and I feel it can only get better from here. Hold me accountable for this. Ask me for pictures if you don't see them soon. I need your help to remember.

Get Closer or Hide

And then DARPA said, let there be internet!

Ever been thirsty and yearning for water, and when you're finally drinking some water, you feel like you've been born again? Okay maybe not to that extreme but you get the idea- that's exactly how I feel right now. I finally have internet again.

Am I really that technology needy?

I carry a cellphone around and if I'm not in class, I'm probably using a computer or playing video games. I guess I somehow just answered my own question.

But if I didn't have my cellphone, I couldn't keep in touch with my family (I live VERY far from home) or text Taylor, or talk to my friends, or check my email (meaning AGS-related stuff, or even your comments!). And if I didn't have a computer. . . well I suppose I could write on paper but it's not nearly as fun or fast as doing it on a computer. And don't even get me started on video games, that is seriously the only way I relieve stress!

Some people fear technology because they think some individuals stick to their toys and alienate from the world. I don't do that. I use technology to be closer to the people far from me. Even with you, dear reader, believe it or not, I wanna be closer to you. But I wouldn't change human interaction for the world. You could never compare touching a machine with the feeling of touching some skin.

Where has technology taken you?

photo taken from http://www.unescap.org/unis/press/2007/aug/space.jpg

I'll Never Stop Trying

The lights and movement woke me up. My grandpa, grandma and brother were getting out of the truck. I got ready to follow them but my grandma told me to stay where I was and not to make a noise. She was crying. I didn't understand what was going on. I looked out the window and saw my mom. She was crying too. Next to her there were about 8 men. They all looked like soldiers with their uniforms and their big guns- but they weren't. "Why is the little girl still in there? Get her out! Everybody out!" one of them said. Grandma came and got me out. She held me against her and I was able to feel her tears falling on my shoulders. I still didn't know what was happening. I just heard my grandpa tell one of the guys to take all the money we had but not to hurt us. That we were a family. Grandma's sobbing became even louder.

I must have been 4 or 5 when The Guerrilla, a rebel group in Colombia, pulled us over. They were known to do this- stop people on the road, kill them, take their money and burn their cars. Somehow, we're all still alive.

Today somebody told me that I take life too seriously and therefore I stress myself and over think things way more than I should. Perhaps I do.

But if I gotta be serious so no one goes through what I've been through- then I'll be serious. If I gotta stress myself in an attempt to change the world- I'll stress as much as I can (even if my voice is never heard). If I gotta over think things to make sure I can help you (whoever you are) with whatever you need help with- then I'll over think things until I can think no more.

This has got to be the most difficult thing I've ever written in my life. I just got back from volunteering at the "Alive & Running 5k" which was an event to raise awareness and funds for suicide prevention. At this event I was told I take life too seriously.

There was a banner at this event with pictures of people that had committed suicide (posted above- sorry I couldn't turned it around but it was taken with my cellphone). I had a chance to see this banner and look at the pictures. Most of them were smiling. They all seemed so normal and happy and I couldn't help but wonder what could have possibly gone wrong. Maybe someone didn't take their lives too seriously.

A little boy and his mom stood by my side at some point. "Which one is it mommy?" the boy asked. She pointed at the picture of one of the guys that were smiling. "That's uncle Jeff, honey."

As I stood there I promised myself to never stop trying to change the world. Even when people think it's lame or even when they tell me that what I do won't change anything. And maybe it won't, but it's a start. I promised them. I'll never stop trying. Whatever it takes. Even if it means taking life too seriously.

Moments Like This One

No I didn't die and yes, it has been a while.

I was recently chosen as Committee Chair for one of Alpha Gamma Sigma fund raisers so now I'm in charge of 40 people. That and class, and work and volunteer work- and I could seriously go on and on.

But enough of that! Yeah, let's discuss something even more important than the reasons why I don't sleep much.

Today, I volunteered on a course-marking event. I was the header for this event and in charge of four more people. My idea of marking a course (for a 11k/18k run) is walking, maybe even riding a car, and stopping every now and then to put a sign or something. This couldn't be farther from the real deal.

This run apparently is for people that are hardcore into running (the whole 11k/18k should have been enough of a clue) and this run wasn't a flat one- but one that would at some point reach an elevation of 1226m! I've been whining about not being able to work out for the past three weeks but I think that today I was able to make up for that one.

I don't think any of us was mentally prepared for a hike ('cause that's really what it was) but no one backed off when we were given the instructions and I felt very proud of my crew. After the first mile- a very steep one, I was wondering how much longer I could go on because my poor shape was already giving up on me. But then I looked back and saw these four bodies behind me, with their backpacks on their back, with the sun on their face- I asked them if they were okay and they nodded with a smile. This REALLY took my thoughts of giving up somewhere else. As the leader, I had to stay on top and set an example- and with a group so ready to do what needed to be done, I just found some extra strength from I don't know where to keep going.

Our hike was about 6.8 miles long. I'm so very proud of my crew. We did it and I know we got our strength from each other.

Moments like this remind me why I do what I do. And they also remind me that there are things worth fighting for.

What are your moments?

photo taken from http://images.publicradio.org/content/2005/01/21/20050122_point_mugu_2.jpg

Small Things

I always find a way to whine about not having time in whatever I do. If I'm having a conversation, there's always an "I never have time to sleep" line. If I'm writing, there's usually a "this has been a hectic week" comment; that I positioned strategically just so it's not too obvious that I'm whining (or maybe I have the illusion that it isn't. Shame on me).

But the thing is, even though when my play time (parties, BBQs, Time to Relax, etc) is limited, that doesn't mean that I don't have time to:

• smile to the cashier at the store.


• greet when I walk into a room.


• hold the door open for the person that is coming behind me.


• offer my assistance to those who claim that they need help with their schoolwork.


• make small chat on a line (cafeteria, bookstore, etc).


• give way to the car that's trying to get on my lane.


• And more. . .
  

I know we're all busy but I can assure you, that the things above take less than a minute and you can make A HUGE DIFFERENCE IN A PERSON'S LIFE.

Maybe the cashier at the store is losing faith on people because every customer he/she had to take care of that morning were rude, and here you come with a smile- perhaps the cashier will get some joy out of your kindness. Or maybe the guy in front of you has been waiting in line for a while and really needs to talk about something that happened to him earlier.

These things are really small things but they can always lead to bigger things. See that stranger a few feet away from you? He/she can be your friend with just a smile or a hi. Maybe he/she needs some assurance from you or maybe you will get that from him/her. Or maybe it will just be a nice conversation- but it's only in your hands to make it happen.

The small things you do CAN provide happiness and they cost you nothing- if anything, you'll benefit too. So, will you make time to make a difference today?

Photo taken from http://www.martincreed.com/exhibitions/small_things/MC_SmallThings_03A.jpg

The Writer

Yes, I'm a cheater. Bear with me, crazy week. This a post I wrote a few months back. Enjoy!

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It feels like a miracle- making it through the week. Once Thursday shines on the other side of my window, I know the weekend is coming and so are the homework and due papers. But soon enough, it will be Monday all over again.

I had enough time the other day to do some blogging. I came all excited to express my ideas but at the end of my entry, I hadn't said what I initially wanted to say. I wanted to cancel my entry and write it again but I was already three minutes late for class.

"Luck Story" (The almost canceled entry) stayed in my mind for the rest of the day. I could not understand why I hadn't been able to write what I initially wanted to, and instead ended up with an entry that seemed useless at the time.

Later on, in the quietness of an empty break room, as I was doing some reading, I realized that in order to write what I initially wanted to write, I first had to write "Luck Story" so I could actually make my point.

Am I The Writer Of My Writing?

The other day I ran into my friend's sister's blog. As I was reading entry after entry, I felt like I was getting to know the girl who wrote those entries. Ever read someone's blog and felt connected to them? Ever thought of what they were doing while writing the blog? (Eating, watching T.V. . .) Ever wondered what their writing place looked like? (An office, bedroom, library, park. . .) Well I usually do, but aside from those things I also wondered how much true there is fixed in our blogs.

When we talk, we have limited time to think about what we're saying. If I'm writing something, I can work on the same sentence over and over again. I can start a draft in the morning and come back to it later. I can even edit the whole thing after it's been posted!!! But all of this was just a thought and I really didn't know how to explore it further. And that's when "Luck Story" came along-

To summarize, my previous blog tells the story of the first time I was ever selected to receive something free. But there's also another story about how unlucky I was as a child. What could this blog possibly say to you? That I was remembering my childhood? That I saw a colored bird and it reminded me of a traumatized memory? That I was wondering why I love reading so much?

Truth be told, neither of the above things apply. I was just sitting here, waiting to go to class, wondering if what I say to you here nearly gives you an idea of who I am. Now maybe I'm over thinking this a little too much, or perhaps I just can't go on one day without coming up with a weird question, but

CAN YOU TELL WHAT SOMEONE IS LIKE FROM THEIR WRITING?

Scusi, Parla Italiano?

It sure feels nice to be home. I miss my friend and it hurt like hell to leave, but it's nice to come back and do all those things I know how to do- this blog being one of them.

Italian was my first college class ever. When I was in high school, I really wanted to learn Italian but the nearest place was about three hours away- there was no way on earth that we could afford that trip twice a week. So when I stumbled across an Italian class near to where I live now, it was a no brainer for me to take the class. At the time I had no hopes of going to college (no money or time) but being able to go to this class made me fairly happy.

I don't know what is it about languages but I always thought it'd be so cool if I could just go up to someone who spoke a different language and start a conversation. I mean, it made sense, most problems happen out miscommunication anyway- I still think I can somehow end that.

About two days ago, I received a call. I had signed up on a soccer website, announcing myself as an available player looking to join a team on an adult league. The guy was calling me to see if I was interested. The funny part is that when he called, he apologized for his poor English. Don Luciano was his name. Scusi, parla italiano? (Excuse me, do you speak Italian?) I said, and we were having a conversation.

I made mistakes, said a few words wrong, couldn't remember others but it sure was nice to have that conversation. With a little bit of struggle, we agreed that he'd come by my house to talk to me personally, and let me try on some jerseys. It was working, this whole time studying this language and it finally paid off (well, it'd be nicer when my mistakes become minimal but I'm not complaining).

It really makes a difference, to know that you are able to do something you really want to do. Oh and I think Don Luciano was happy to run into someone that spoke his language. Maybe I found a team to play with, but if I'm lucky, someone to practice my Italian with also.

I Quit

It was my first day in yet another customer service job. "This should help with my textbooks," I thought, as I put on the theater uniform. I wasn't happy to be there. It had nothing to do with having to work, I've always enjoyed working, I think it just hadn't been a good day for me.
My shift was supposed to start at 2pm and end around 10pm. It was another sunny Saturday in L.A. "Here's what you need to do, if you have a question, find me," Bob, one of the theater managers, said as he handed me a schedule. I was officially owned by the company and therefore had to take orders.Serve people, that's usually the basics of customer service. Smile even if you don't mean it; you can't sit because somehow that would offend a guest. If you're hungry, it doesn't matter- you have a scheduled break and that's when you get to eat.

The guest I'm there to serve is the one that cares less. He doesn't make eye contact. He doesn't acknowledge you- and maybe pity is what causes this. He doesn't care to know that I am more than a job and that is just a way to get me through college. He doesn't know that I read on my spare time- for fun (imagine that!). That I play sports or that I like to have a beer to accompany the Sunday game.

I performed my duties accordingly and once my break time comes around I clocked out and went to the break room almost running. I got a cup of soup from a nearby cafe and once I got back into the tiny break room, I was forced to eat on the floor as the four chairs that habituate the room were currently taken. I wasn't the only one on the floor- it would be impossible with a staff of over a hundred. But I was one of the unlucky who had to sit next to the overflowing trash can. The mixed smell of whatever the trash can contained, took away any sort of appetite I had and I gave up my soup to the smelly monster. Perhaps contributing to worsen the situation.

I put my game face on and went back to the floor. I had four more hours to go. I was hungry,and my feet felt like a time bomb, like they could have given up on me any second now. I punched back in and walked over to my next duty. I was there to make everyone happy. To make sure that they come back again so whoever owns the place gets richer and richer. And what does this guy do for me? He doesn't even provide a humane place to eat, not for me or the others. For the managers maybe? They don't use the break room because they have their offices.I guess they wouldn't know what it's like to eat next to a giant trash can.

"Yale," I kept repeating to myself.