Twenty-four

I just finished a very short children's story called Eleven by Sandra Cisneros (author of House on Mango Street) in which she describes a seemingly minor incident in a school day of an 11 year old girl.  On the day of her birthday, her teacher mistakenly hands her someone else's lost sweater convinced that it belongs to her.  The girl is too nervous and tongue tied to say no, so she goes along with it although everything inside her is rejecting this old, stretched out thing.  The feelings of disgust, the looming responsibility of yet another year of life, and her resentment of the teacher's reaction culminate in her bursting out into tears in front of the whole class, only to have the rightful owner sheepishly remember that it was her sweater in the first place.  The incident and the tearful outburst are instantly forgotten by everyone, but the narrator.  She does not feel 11, but instead 10, and 9, and 8, and 5, and 3... 
Perhaps 11 is a significant age for many people.  When I was 11 girls tried to get me to say that I was gay (gay = happy, and if I'm happy I must be gay, right?).  Let's not get into the ramifications of "gay" being an unpleasant word to be called.  At 11 I wasn't exactly concerned with being politically correct.  Learning english, not being suckered into making fun of myself, and fitting in were plenty for me to worry about.  So there too, I tried to be 11 and hold my own. But as I remember stepping out of that 6th grade math classroom with tears welling up in my eyes, I was not 11, I was 5.
Today I peek over this computer screen to check on my classroom (for the next 3 days), and I hope with all my heart that what they see is 24.  The moment I get flustered, I'm 18.  Lose control and raise my voice? 15.  Get tricked into turning the music on for the class? 11.  Let them get to me and start crying? About 5.  I haven't turned 5 in any of the classrooms I've been to yet.  And perhaps I have those mean 6th grade girls from math class to thank for that.

kaizen!

A while ago I wrote something about the typical middle aged American in a slightly senior position.  This was, of course, an entirely outside observation as I don't know what it would actually be like to be that person.  Back then, picking out the most obnoxious qualities was a fairly easy and fun task, both mentally and emotionally. 

As with the middle aged American, the typical Trader Joe's crew member is also a unique breed.  This time though, creating an accurate profile requires a bit more emotional strain on my part since I embody some of the most obnoxious and mundane qualities that I am about to prescribe to this animal.  I won't talk about the honest, hard-working people that are simply trying to feed their families with a blue-collar job.  I'm talking about the enthusiastic, yet whiny.  The slacking, yet consumed by the task at hand.  The educated, the resentful and finally, the broken and yet hopeful 20-something liberal arts college grads that comprise the average Trader Joe's crew - the dedicated, wonderful crew that I bitterly find myself a part of.

Rena, Age 16

Now on a more selfish note.  I got a car!  It's a 1991 Infinity G20.  It's pretty nice, but Dad is still fixing it (I got it 2 weeks ago =) ).
Ok, so Homecoming is coming up.  There's this guy in my Spanish class ([local community college]) who is kinda cute, but we just started talking, so I don't know if it's too early to ask him.  If I don't have the guts to ask him tomorrow and I don't have a date until Tuesday, I'll ask him then.  Then there's "Paul".  He's gorgeous.  He sits in front of me in Chem and today he offered to help me with the lab.  Yes, rescue me from the horrors of graduated cylinders and NaClO!  My knight in shining armor! Hahaha!  But he was very eager to help, so I don't know what to think.  Oh yeah, and there's this guy Adam who keeps asking me to homecoming...  It's crazy!  He's a total nerd and I think I'd rather live in exile than slow dance w/him.

07/15/08 Note: Uhm, Mean Girls, anyone?

In the dark. / En la oscuridad.

When I had sex for the first time six years ago, I knew what I was doing. I say this not out of pride, but more out of a slight sadness. I knew what I was doing because I've seen it done some many times on TV and in movies. I'd heard about it, in details, from kids in high school. Last, but not least, I read about it in the birds and the bees sex books my parents had given me when I was an overly curious child. The interesting thing was that my sister, who is four years older, got the more explicit edition of the same sex ed book, but since we shared almost everything, I read those same books at the tender age of nine. I remember the particular anxious feeling I got while looking through the drawing of people enjoying each other's bodies in different positions. I read about the mysterious thing called 'orgasm', something that no words could do justice to, and something I would not experience for another couple of years. But that seed was planted, and the anxiousness never quite went away.
I'm glad to find that there are some things that are still relatively new and that I still have to find a way to figure out for myself. Like the sheltered young ladies of the past, without any precedent, I find myself feeling my way through this new thing and discovering it for myself and only for myself. As if reading a good new book, the imagination is nudged just enough and I begin to build on concepts I already know and fill in the blanks with the inventions of my own mind.

Cuando tuve el sexo por mi primer vez hace seis años, había sabido que estaba haciendo. No digo esto de orgullo, al contrario, lo digo con un poco de tristeza. Ya sabía que estaba haciendo porque he mirado casi todo en la tele y los peliculos. He oído mucho, con muchos detalles, de chicas en mi escuela. Ultimamente, he leído mucho en libros sobre el sexo que mis padres me dan cuando estaba niña demasiada curiosa. La cosa interesante es que mi hermana que tiene cuatro mas años que yo, recibó los versiones mas explícitos de los mismos libros, pero desde entonces que nosotros compartiban en todo, yo leí sus libros en plena niñez de mi noveno año. Me acuerdo el sentido particular de la ansiedad que experimenté mientras que mirar a los dibujos de gente disfrutandose a sus cuerpos en posiciones diferentes. Era entonces que aprendí sobre la cosa misteriosa que se llama "el orgasmo", algo que ningunos palabras pueden describir y algo que no experimentare por un par de años. Ademas, la semilla estaba plantada y esta ansiedad nunca se fue.
Me da alegría que todavía hay cosas relativamente nuevas que todavía necesito encontrar una manera de hacer para yo. Como las señoritas timidas de los años mas allá, sin un precedento, estoy buscando a traves de esta cosa nueva, descubriendola a mi mismo, y solo a mi mismo. Como leer a nuevo libro, mi imaginación esta empujado un poco y yo empiézo a construir sobre los conceptos que ya se, y completar los espacios blancos con los invenciones de mi mente.

El cine mas corto

Today I discovered a wealth of Spanish short films on YouTube and I've watched about 10 in the last 45 minutes. I think that short films (cortometraje) are a lot more popular and mainstream in Spain than they are in the U.S. With the exception of film buffs and industry insiders I haven't met anyone here who is interested in this style, much less knows anything about it. If you understand Spanish decently (there are no subtitles), search "cortometraje" on YouTube and you'll get a ton of results. Besides being amazing films, they're also a great way for me to hear Spanish every day without having to spend a lot of time on it. Another way that I've decided to practice my Spanish is to translate every entry I make here. I'll start at the beginning and translate my way through this blog and eventually translate every entry I've ever written. I'll also keep track and highlight the words that I had to look up in the dictionary. Please feel free (and encouraged) to correct my translations in the comments. Thanks!

Hoy descubrió un gran fuente del cine cortometraje español en YouTube ý he visto casi diez en los ultimos cuarento ý cinco minutos. Pienso que los cortometrajes son mas populares y normales en España que en los Estados Unidos. Aparte de los fanaticos del cine y la gente de la industria, no he encontrado nadie a quien se interesa este tipo del cine, tampoco alguien quien sabe algo de lo. Sí entendáis algo de español (no hay subtitulos), busquad "cortometraje" en YouTube y encontraras un montón de resultos. Además de ser peliculos fantasticos, tambien son una buena manera para mi a oír español cada dia sin tener que pasar mucho de mi tiempo. Un otra manera en que decidí a practicar mi español es traducir cada anotación he hecho aqui. Voy a traducir desde el principio hasta el fin del este blog y eventualmente traduciré cada anotación que he escrito al cualquier tiempo. También apuntaré y daré énfasis a los palabras que tengo a buscar en el diccionario. Por favor, sientase libre (ý alentando) a correctar mis traducciones en los comentarios. ¡Grácias!

truth #3

There is a very specific type of American that I keep encountering in this new grown-up life of mine. They're usually white, middle-aged and very perky. They smile and smirk a lot, and while their sense of humor can be sarcastic, it's never truly clever or original. They use expressions like "Golly!" and "I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail" on a regular basis. When they get angry, they huff and puff and use only the mild forms of curse words. They have a learned authority, a practiced confidence and an extremely high guard. I dislike dealing with this sort of American, but recently I think I found their weakness. I mean 'weakness' very literally because it seems to only come out when they are feeling ill or in pain.
I saw this side of my former boss one day when she was suffering from a headache so severe that her eyes started to water uncontrollably. I walked into her office to ask her a question and she gave me a look of such utter fatigue and vulnerability that I felt like I was in the presence of a child that needs taking care of. I barely noticed that the tone of my voice became soft and mothering as I told her that whatever business I had to take care of could wait.
The second grade teacher I work with also falls into this category. The week before Christmas vacation she caught a mild cold and was constantly on edge with the kids. Her mildly sarcastic jokes turned to mean ridicule and neither I, nor the kids knew quite how to react. Although I felt sorry for both my boss and the teacher, I couldn't help but enjoy this theatre of humanity playing out in front of me. Their very physical condition used up so much of their energy that they found that they did not have enough left for the mental process that goes into putting up such an flawless facade of assertiveness.

say it isn't so

You know you're getting older when you realize that all of your concert t-shirts slowly, one by one have migrated from the every day wear t-shirt drawer, to the workout/sleep shirt drawer.