Bochinche Bilingüe: Borderlands Writing

A few new friends were checking out my blog and remarking on this and that and so I got to come back and see what I’ve posted through the *gasp* years I’ve been doing this. It’s really crazy to see how far I’ve come on my journey and just how much things change (and just how much things don’t change). It’s hard sometimes when reading a blog to remember that it’s not static. Sometimes people will ask me about an entry that I wrote two years ago and it takes me back.  It’s been a crazy few years and while there have been some rough patches I wouldn’t trade ‘em.  I’ve had some serious changes, some serious shifts, some serious joy, some serious growth, some serious self-affirmation, some serious wtf-ery.  Wow.

Some things are like going back and reading old diaries where there’s shit that still makes you cringe a little bit even though it’s been decades. And a lot of stuff just makes me really stand in awe of the amazing person I am and continue to become.

In addition to my little self-indulgent little reflection I figured it was time to out myself LOL and give a linky link to my Christian Queer Grrl blog where I do a bit more writing these days. I’m not by any means abandoning my borderlands, this is in addition to, not instead of but part of who I am today means that my faith, my relationship with God, and my ministry are becoming more and more important and deserve their own place.  No, I haven’t turned into a stick up my butt (in a bad way even) Christian.  I haven’t turned judgy or conservative and boring.  I know because there’s plenty of people who would have told me!  I am still irreverent, sassy, sparkly princess me.  And yes, I’m still angry.

http://christianqueergrrl.wordpress.com

(Algo medio viejito que me hizo pensar en una de mis amiguitas…)

Mientras más fuerte se hace mi voz, menos le temo al silencio.

Ahora sé que cuando callo no es porque no hay espacio para mi voz, sino porque elijo callar.  Aún donde no hay espacio yo abro uno si lo necesito.  Pero he aprendido, con el tiempo, lo mucho que habla mi silencio.

Con mi silencio le digo que la amo.  Con mi silencio le digo que es ella para mi un tesoro.  Con mi silencio le digo que estoy aquí, que la distancia no me toca ni me aparta.  Mi silencio la acaricia y la acobija.  Porque ella conoce mi voz en lo oscuro, ella conoce mi voz en tinieblas, como se conoce el aliento de la amante que susurra en el oído un “te deseo” sigiloso.  Ella conoce mi voz y conoce mi silencio.  Y espero que sepa el anhelo oculto en lo que se calla.

When I heard the news I was in a meeting interpreting from English to Spanish on the fly because our trainer spoke only English and some participants spoke only Spanish. I was intent on my task, glued to the spot when suddenly my phone started vibrating. Normally I would have ignored it but something, a small still voice inside, told me that I should not overlook this particular text! I look at my phone and see only one line. Michael Jackson died today. My homie has an odd sense of humor so for a moment I took it as a jest taking a second to reply with some sort of “for realz??” reaction. Sadly the news returned in the affirmative but I had to set my mourning aside as I continued with my meeting.

Later that evening a friend was helping we move some boxes into a garage to then move them into my new place next week, a nice exercise in transitional dadaism. Of course we turned to the topic of Michael Jackson as she shared with me that the first concert she ever went to was a Jackson Five concert her sister took her to. Reminiscing and talking about what Michael Jackson did for Black People The World Over we smoked our cigarettes sharing a spontaneous moment of silence.

Later still that evening I was kicking it on the stoop with a different friend. It was significantly later. And I was feeling good, I’d been partying sall good. My friend is very obviously queer. You can’t look at hir and be uncertain, you will instantly assume and you’d be right to think ze’s queeeeeerer than a two dollar bill and proud of it.

So the neighbor comes over tells us he’s gonna kick it with us. He is obviously drunk as is his friend. They launch into a long story about a ticket they got for loitering because they were drinking at the park and not 21 and who knows what else they were up to. They’re young and stupid but not malicious. Just kickin’ it No bigggie. So then The Friend starts talking about the cops and then starts launching into how they are Fags and Homos and Lovers. He’s saying this to an obviously queer person yet he has no malice against us. He may have been reading my friend as male or he may just be responding to the odd misogyny/objectification/constructionof masculinity and machismo that makes it okay for females to be gay but gay men are a threat. Either way he’s going OFF.

Then an amazing thing happens. The Neighbor silences him. Tells him to knock it off. Not in a “you should not use homophobic language because in doing so you are participating in the system of oppression that also keeps us brown men down…” but in a quick and efficient way. And everytime The Friend made some asinine gay bashing comment The Neighbor was like nawww man. Including when he was expressing his concern that he thought the cops were going to “touch his cock.” Yup. I had to refrain at that point from remarking.

And apparently part of what defused the tension with the fuzz was The Neighbor making some kinda comment about Michael Jackson’s death. Complete with a reeeediculous little high pitched thing he thinks sounds like him. Right. So of course we have to linger on the subject. And The Friend is talking about how people were crying and shit about Michael Jackson’s death. Not him. He didn’t cry. No way man he wasn’t about to cry. Apparently he will admit to crying when Anna Nichole Smith died. But when he got the text about Michael Jackson he didn’t cry. He assured us repeatedly naw man he didn’t cry. He was cool. He didn’t cry. Not him. He’s a man. Then he went off on some molestation rant. Yeah The Friend’s got some issues. And finally before I managed to escape (my friend had managed to bail) he went into a long story about summers spent with his sister and his nephew and his grandma and going to Houston and the great times he had and how he hates summers now. So much sadness. I managed to extricate myself with the help of The Neighbor and wish them both a good night.

So much sadness. We be so broken and fucked up.

Including Michael Jackson.

This is going on at the Middle School my school feeds into and several other schools in the community.  More to say on it but just thought I’d post since I saw the cameras and drama as I was coming back from a meeting today.

Footage

Pride was fun and I think outreach was successful.  While there were some people who scoffed at the offer of blessings (we had lollipops with Bible verses stapled to them for Love, Friendship, Finances, Family, Hope, and Health) most people received them well.  Some people were quite excited at the invitation and some were interested by the concept of apologizing for the wrongs of the Christian church and offering an open door.

One woman in particular touched me.  My friend was carrying the box with lollipops and was approached by a group and when he started stuttering I stepped up (only to later discover I was possibly cock blocking too, ooooops!).  One woman said she was agnostic.  I said cool, no problem.  Frankly I don’t think my ministry is to ‘convert’ people, I think my ministry is more to bring people BACK to church who have that seed of desire or faith already in them.  I’m here to do some watering.  I have no desire to push religion on anyone.  Someone tells me they aren’t interested, I bless them and carry on.  Another woman though took the blessing enthusiastically.  I explained who it was from and what we’re about.  I talked about how we want to acknowledge that many people have been hurt by the church and tell them it’s okay to come back.  I spoke more eloquently then of course in one of those moments where I am given words when my own are insufficient.  She told me I was about to make her cry.  I invited her warmly and offered her a hug which she accepted wholeheartedly with her shades quickly pulled down to cover her misty eyes.  That woman blessed me by showing me her heart.  She blessed me by allowing me to share with her the importance of this church and this ministry to me.  I am keeping all the lives that touched me this weekend in prayer, in hopes that they will find their way to one of the many churches in our community, but her I especially have close to my heart because she had the courage to show me her pain, and the obvious hunger.  I hope she too finds her home!

It was fun singing on the float on Sunday, when I wasn’t trying to keep from falling midsong, especially seeing people singing along with us in the crowd.  And waving enthusiastically, giving us love.  I am glad I was able to represent and be a presence in my community. I was definitely blessed by the experience as much as I was tested, tried and stretched at moments.

I know a lot of my friends don’t understand and it’s perplexing to some people to see me as a church lady but most people have been very affirming and genuinely happy that I have found a church to call home and that I am more at peace with myself these days.

So yeah, pride was different but still awesome.  Still got my flirt on, still hung out, still danced for a bit, but coming from a different place and invested in different ways.

Pride marches, parades, festivals… they’ve meant different things to me at different times.

Activism.  Partying. Hooking up.  Marching topless down the streets of NYC is always a gratifying experience, even the pasties in Brooklyn were fun.  Pride as a young newly out dyke with my young newly out girlfriend was about validation.  Pride on my island with my mother and my at the time partner was about representin’, integrating my identity and defying homophobia.   Pride with a huge Latino contingent in NYC with our respective flags was empowering.  Pride in Idaho was about my pastor at the MCC who was losing his battle to cancer and we were pretty sure it would be his last pride.  I’ve skipped various prides, just not feelin’ it.  I’ve gone alone.  I’ve gone with partners.  I’ve been on the prowl.

This year I’m getting ready for Long Beach Pride and it’s a different experience.  Yes, I still went shopping for the right outfit.  This time though even my shopping experience was different.  See, I am with a group wearing denim and colored shirts (they are doing horizontal striped polo shirts but those of us who just won’t do stripes are going solid).  So I was looking for a denim skirt.  Not quite my thing.  I asked the salesperson who offered help and she gathered some for me.  Cute skirts really.  So I try a few on and discover they won’t do.  One of them has a front slit that is a bit too much… so then I explain to the salesperson that I’m shopping for pride.  That gets some recognition and a friendly reaction (no, I was not kicking game and neither was she I am sure).  Then I have to explain that I need something a bit less revealing.  And, well, then I have to deal with her perplexed expression as I explain that I’m singing with a church group so I can’t quite have the high slits or micro minis.  So yeah, I was shopping for a church skirt for pride.  You see how it’s different?

This year I am blessed to be part of outreach ministry for Open Door Ministries. I will be working the booth for a while and I will be singing on a float as part of the worship team.

I am very excited about this opportunity.  I think it’s a great chance to minister and witness.  I feel called to do it.  And I’ve learned in my walk with God that I can be sure I’m called to something when I feel this combination of excitement, rightness, and terror, discomfort, and “really?????” ness.

So I am doing pride differently this year.  I’m not there to party, although I’m going to get my dancing in and hopefully see some friends.  I’m not there to hook up or flirt with random butches.  I’m there to minister to my community.  I’m going there to share a message.

I’m there to tell people and show people that it’s possible to be Queer and Christian.  That God made us and loves us, God longs for us, God watches over us, God wants us.  That no matter how much the church may have hurt people, God’s love is theirs to keep.  That it’s safe to come back to church.  Part of our message is an apology.  We apologize for the damage un-Christlike churches have done.  And we are an example of the JOY you can have in Christ and that it’s okay to be gay.   I personally am not into recruiting just for one church.  It’s bigger than my church.  It’s about healing some wounds and opening doors for people.   And as much as I feel that this ministry blesses me, I am terrified.

I have been a lukewarm Christian, a closet Christian, an uncertain Christian, an afraid-to-get-too-deep Christian.  That has changed in my life and now I can’t be silent anymore, and I can’t be lukewarm, and I can’t just be passive about my faith.  This is a recent change.  I’ve been growing in my walk with God and I”ve been stepping out in faith and learning to be empowered by my faith. That doesn’t change that I am afraid.

I grew up being told that faith was stupid, literally compromising my intellience.  I grew up being ridiculed for believing when I dared to believe.  I struggle with these wounds from my childhood.  I struggle with visibility.  And yet I know that I can’t be silent. I have to be authentic.  I have to be fully me.

When I get up on that float to sing songs of worship, it’s not about vocal dexterity, it’s about making a joyful noise.  And it’s not about me.  It’s about sharing my joy and lifting my voice to God.

When I share blessings with people at the booth, listen to anyone willing to talk, pray with anyone who might want prayer, it’s not about me.  It’s not about whether I’m comfortable with it or not.  It’s bigger than me.

One of the things we are prepared to share in outreach is our personal witness for Christ.  I can’t imagine anything more terrifying.  Intellectually and politically I can break it down for you, why I think this is important. But I have to get real with it. What has God done in my life?  Can I share that?

God has done so much for me.  I stand in awe of God’s love daily, even when I’m cranky, even when earthly love has failed me, even when I’m a mess, I can see God’s love around me, in me, everywhere.  God has given me opportunities for service.  God has given me LIFE.  God has given me joy.  God has cradled me in love and God has given me courage.  God is taking me through it all.  God is too big for words.  What God has done for me is just too big.  What God has done for me is love me, just as I am, complete with fears, with loneliness, with exhaustion, with uncertainty.  God loves me, sassy femme that I am, I am God’s babygrrl and I can count on God’s love to see me through it all.  God hasn’t made my life perfect.  But God gives me grace and strength daily to walk in love and walk in faith.  And I will sing praises as long as I have breath.

So, I will be sharing more about my church (and yes, I’m like someone with a new significant other, I get all giddy talking about MY church and talking with a friend who said OUR church a few times in the conversation made me bouncy).  I’ll be sharing more about my Queerness and Christianity.  I am not fragmented.  And I am changing in some significant ways.  Change is hard and it can be hard to share changes.   God has blessed me with a fierce and courageous spirit and I will continue to strive daily to meet these challenges.

In the meanwhile, pride is in a few days and I ask for your prayers that this may be a great opportunity for ministry.  I hope to be a blessing to others and an example of God’s amazing love.

And I’ll be a Queer Christian even in the dance tents, so hit me up if you are going to pride and you know how to salsa, merengue, or even a cumbia or two! I’ll be in the yellow section tabling.  Come say hi and get a blessing from us!

Happy Pride to LB and OC folks!

Memo to all who participate in my life:

Yes, I am a very sparkly, serious yet playful, intense, intelligent, driven, angry brown grrl.

And if you aren’t down with that. You aren’t down with me.

The end.

It’s official.  I live with the coolest kid evah!  Not only does this bioboy child (who is, for the record five, turning six in February a few days before I turn… yeah before my birthday)  okay… so not only is he the kind of child who finds random sparklies and jewels at school and brings them home for me because he knew I’d like them, not only is he the kinda kid who knows what my favorite dress is for going out (it’s black with large red polka dots and he knows I wear it with red shoes!), not only does he make me random treasure maps, cut off my arms and legs when we’re playing pirate (and thinks I should have a pink eyepatch), he’s also the kind of kid who actually KNOWS (and remembers) that I used to hate pink but then I started liking it…and explains that he used to like raisins, but now he doesn’t anymore, kinda like I didn’t used to like pink, but now I do, but backwards.  All with his toothy grin.

He’s the kinda kid who, when I sit down to have dinner with him tonight, goes to the drawer to get our forks and picks out the pink one special just for me!

It’s impossible to have a bad day around that.  Simply impossible.

I don’t know when comida mexicana became comfort food for me.

I was tempted to attribute it to recent experiences but I think it was born before that.

I think it was the first time I tasted Ana’s home made tamales when I lived in Idaho.  It still makes my mouth water to think of that mujer’s tamales.  I gorged myself on them till I was up to my eyeballs in glorious smooth creamy firm masa.

Or maybe it was born, around the same time, in my visits to La Fuente where I knew I could be surounded by Spanish language, welcome respite and a cold tres equis didn’t hurt either.

Or it could be the first time I went with Sonia to a hole in the wall, a secret club of sorts, that sold gallons of crema, enormous rounds of queso blanco, mountains of chorizo, and made the most amazing menudo I’ve ever tasted.  The first mouthful made my eyes water with the amazing blend of the taste of home combining with the new flavors that were so familiar and bold.  My ex was repulsed at the patitas which Sonia and I eagerly snatched up from her bowl.  She was confused at the enthusiastic squirts of limon and hot sauce that went into our brimming bowls.  I didn’t grow up with that costumbre but it tasted like home even then.  Maybe it was the relief from monotony that a taco truck provided when I could banter in Spanish and eat delicious fresh tacos.  Or the homes I was invited to where I was fed fresh tortillas or mangos with chile.

I first noticed the comfort food connection after the elections this November.  After voting, a very emotional moment for me given that it’s the first presidential election I’ve been able to vote in.  I’ve voted for other seats in the past but happened to be in PR every time a new prez was being elected, and we don’t have voting rights on the island.  So, not only did I get to vote but I got to vote for a black man.  Wow.  I came out of the polling booth with tears streaming down my face.  And I went to the bodega on my way to work and stopped for a paleta.  The taste of mango making the tears come that much quicker, taste of home.

I’m experiencing conflict in a few different areas of my life and I was trying to figure out if I could eat without getting sick, and the first thing that came to mind was tamales.  I wanted tamales, carnitas, aguas frescas, or maybe a licuado.  I didn’t exactly get that order but instead I walked down to the colmado.  I walked to where I feel like I’m part of the comunidad, where the sadness in my eyes is recognized and garners gentle inquiries and kindness.  They roast chickens there on weekends and the whole neighborhood is fragrant with the smell of pollo asado making my mouth water as I approach.  With the loud sad corrida playing on the speakers I gather the few things I need, lingering as I walk through the aisles.  With my rice, beans, tortillas, and fresh salsa I was set.  I had a refresco de tamarindo to wash it all down.

And it tasted like home.

It was the perfect meal to nourish tired body and soul.

And isn’t that what comfort food is for?  It’s the food that makes you feel cared for, loved, the foods that remind you of home, of simpler times, bring happy memories even if they are vague and fuzzy they are Good.

It makes everything else that much easier to handle when I know I can care for myself in simple and healthy ways.  And it makes me smile to find that comida mexicana is part of what gives me comfort.  It used to be that living far away from home, or far from places where Puerto Rican food was readily available meant that I had fierce cravings for mi comida.  I haven’t experienced that here.  Even when I can’t find exactly what I’m looking for I’ve found that my idea of what tastes like home has expanded and my taste buds for patria are evolving.

And now to find the perfect tamales!