Financial Planner

So, we just got back from meeting with a financial planner, Ray and I.  Let me just tell you.  Frustrated is an understatement.

Let me back up. Ray is required as part of his bar license requirements to have his finances in shape.  It makes sense, you wouldn't want your attorney to be someone irresponsible right? So, in order to prevent this from happening, the state requires that attorneys have their finances in good standing.

Needless to say, coming from a background of low economic means, this is a task that is very difficult for students of color.  Anyhow, both him and I have spent a lot of time in school and well using up our government's generous student loans, which are now as he has graduated and me coming close to it, coming back to hunt us. 

At any rate, we had to to go meet with a financial planner/ advisor to go over our finances, budget, debt, etc. and help us out with this endeavor.  So we were blatantly honest with her, because, well frankly, both Ray and I are pretty tired of living check to check and also since we intend to try to have a baby again, well its kind of important for us to get it together. 

So there we were.  It was kind of romantic actually.  Ray and I, talking about our future.  But then out of no where things took a strange turn for us.  I was expecting to get some slack over how much we spend on direct tv, cell phones, etc. but the last thing I imagined was having the benefit of my education to be questioned.

I currently don't have a job.  but like many women, i do work, although it's not socially recognized.  I am pursuing my phd at ASU (I'm in the comps and soon dissertation stage).  So other than my student hat, I pretty much spend the rest of my time either taking care of our home, cleaning, cooking, and or volunteering at the migrant center in Naco.  I feel like I do a lot, but I enjoy it.  Most of my previous "jobs" were in the public sector, working at nonprofits or labor unions.  But when I met Ray, he really encouraged me to start focusing on school and finish my degree.  (I am so grateful for that opportunity)

But anyway, sitting there in that room with her, a room full of beautiful paintings, exposed brick walls, stylish shiny wood floors, I felt so mediocre and alone.  Particularly, when the financial planner turned to me and said, "well if you plan to have a baby, perhaps you need to just quit school now so you can start building a cash reserve."  And me, well I was schocked.  But the agony continued.

She continued to tell us that we had no means for having a baby right now, but she understood that emotional needs were just as important as financial ones, so in that case I should consider quitting school since I intend on being a mother, and if I want to be a stay at home mom, well my degree would have no financial value to us.

Now, I dont know yet what I want to do.  Be a stay at home mom or a career woman with a phd.  Both of these endeavors have proved so difficult already, that I'm still trying to get to the part of being able to visualize my graduation date and/or actually carrying a baby to term.  Arghh! It's difficult! 

The thing is, I never decided to go to school because of money.  I dreamt of going to school because I love to learn.  There is no alternate agenda for my desire to earn a degree.  I'm not trying to climb any latters or have it be a stepping stone to something greater.  An education is something that I find to have value in and of itself, irregardless of any financial benefit to my life.  And yes, on top of that goal/dream, I am dying to be a mother. 

While I was pregnant I got to experience how wonderful it feels to expect a baby.  To long so much for your little angel to arrive.  I'm still waiting for that day to come. 

Until then, I find it almost annoying to even fathom what I want to do after that happens.  (It's like yelling omaha too early).  I know I want to be there for my child, to be at home to help with their homework, tell him/her about the unjust world around them, and well just play with him/her, go to the park, make them a birthday cake...

So I guess if I had to pick right now, I would say I want to be a stay at home mom with a phd.  In the future, I might change my mind.  I know that doesn't fit into a perfect mold or a perfectly packaged box with a label that people can understand, certainly not the financial planner.  But, not everything has to make sense, it can just be what it is. another contradiction. and that's perfectly okay with me.
and with Ray (who loves me).

According to Ray, we will live our lives how we choose. Even if it means we live in a shack.  And that's perfectly okay with me (who loves him).

I never wanted to be married or have children.  but with ray, it's different, I want it all.  And, I think I'm pretty lucky to have a supportive husband, and I of course, support him all the way.  no matter what he wants to do.  I never want us to be people that do things they don't enjoy doing.  we have that agreement between us.

So yeah, it can be romantic to plan the future, responsible even, but sometimes, it's just nicer to live in the now.  afterall, isn't that the only thing we can really ever own? the now?

I think so. 

Friday

It’s Friday already.

I remember the first time I came to the migrant center it was also a Friday. I haven’t really worked on Fridays for a while. I usually take the Monday morning shift at the center but I am covering for another volunteer who is taking a trip to San Diego for a conference on border issues. It’s quite interesting the stark differences in the center from even a couple weeks ago. Today the center’s pretty much empty, lonely, and hot.

There are still people trying to cross, but many of them are being repatriated differently during the summer so few are arriving at the center. To be honest, I have no clue what is going on.

Some say that there is a new repatriation program going on that tends to be implemented in the summers. Or that people are getting streamlined (in simple terms it’s a strategy that began on January 14, 2010, that basically takes people through a formal deportation and criminalizes migrants for crossing). Others say that Border Patrol has extra funding so they are trying to use up those funds by flying people to Mexico City when caught, part of a Lateral Repatriation Program, as opposed to simply releasing them at the closest port of entry where they crossed, in theory this is supposed to detain people from crossing again by shipping them far away from the border in which they attempted to cross.

In reality, this does not seem to deter people in anyway. A few weeks ago the migrant center was filled with people. And slowly, the numbers began to decrease. At hindsight, one might believe their strategies are working, but in talking to people, this isn't the case.  Most of the migrants seem well informed and aware of what is happening politically in Arizona and they just simply mentioned that they would maybe wait, but inevitably, regardless they would try again.

You see, people don’t cross because its easy. They cross because they feel they have no other option. Some of their situations are so difficult that one can’t really blame them for seeking their own solutions. If anything, I am humbled by their courage and perseverance to keep on going, despite the many obstacles and hardships they face.

Today there was a pregnant girl and two men at the center. I always feel for the women.  My own bias, I guess.  Their strength makes me realize just how weak I really am.  The girl was looking for help purchasing some prenatal pills.  When I was pregnant all I wanted to do was to protect my baby.  To see her, struggling, trying to cross this ridiculous border, trying to protect her baby, and simply reunite with her husband, it breaks my heart.  Families should not be torn apart this way. 

So anyway.  It's friday.  I get to go home. 
               For the people at the center, they get to wait.  and wait.   

Careless Afternoon

Yesterday was one of the most beautiful days I have experienced in a long time.  I felt like a lazy bone all day, but my husband decided that we should go outside and he could teach me about the different baseball positions by learning them in an actual field.

To be honest, I’ve always hated sports (and exercise), particularly those involving any sort of ball.  I remember sitting in PE class petrified and horrified at the possibility of getting hit in the face by one of them. My fear was not unfounded either, for it is something that has literally happened to me on more than one occasion.

Anyway, as I was saying, the day was gorgeous.  Prior to leaving the house, husband had made some delicious veggie sandwiches.  I decided to sit in the deck to eat mine and the minute I looked up, I was mesmerized.

The sky was covered with cotton-like clouds, and as a backdrop, luminous rays of light began to shine through them. The mountains looked splendorous, vibrant greens, hints of yellow, and redish brown rock witnessing the magical nature of the skies above them.  Then there were these birds.  Huge wings floating in the air, they appeared to be dancing around the sky, careless and yet so involved in what appeared to be their very own orchestrated performance. It was truly beautiful.

So beautiful, that when I looked down I felt like crying.  It was intense.

I’m not a crazy person, but I guess I am somewhat passionate about certain things.  One of these is the feeling or realization of being alive.

Nature does that to me.  It’s the energy that’s present—particularly in trees.  Here near Bisbee, upon entering sierra vista, is the San Pedro River.  It is surrounded by trees.  Tall ones, short ones, green leaves everywhere.  It is something truly worth seeing.  Even in the fall, when the leaves begin to yellow and the sun begins to set, the radiant energy of this landscape is one I will never forget.

I also feel this way when surrounded by lots of people.  I think energy is contagious.  In a protest, a concert, a church, or even in a basketball or baseball game, energy exists and for a minute or two it exists you.

Needless to say, it was quite difficult for me to leave our deck.  I felt captured by the beauty that was present. But boy was I glad I left.

What followed was a wonderful afternoon. My husband is a fabulous teacher.  He can make the most mundane thing seem fun and exciting. For the first time in my life I felt excited to learn a sport. He taught me about the bases, about hustle, and I even got to swing a bat. It was super fun.  I had no idea what I was doing, indeed.  But, you know, I felt present. I was there, not in my mind or in the sky, but out of my realm, con mi esposo, and I,

                                      I loved it.

Weeks

Week 7:

Something has changed

I can’t describe it

I just feel different

I know something is wrong

Week 9:

I’m screaming

I’m crying

Why is this happening to me

I’m angry

I’m so not alive

Week 10:

I cannot deny this void

This void of emptyness that has been carved inside my heart

That every morning when I wake,

My chest hurts to know that I will never hold you in my arms

I struggle.

I struggle to face the cold reality

that you are gone.

That I will never hold your little fingers

perhaps you never had any?

I may never be able to touch your skin,

or see those eyes that never formed?

That every night I stayed up worrying

Occurred

And yet in vain

Slowly…

Slowly my stomach has lost its volume

And yet you still lie inside me

But Dead.

Yes perhaps I’m crazy

Life in America is defined upon entering the great big world of oxygen, pain, and injustice

But this wasn’t a mistake

An unplanned occurance

An unexpected miracle

A mishap

I was counting on you living

I intended you to be

And yet life has shown me otherwise

You can’t plan life; It happens

Week 10: the blood from my veins continues to be drawn

HCG, slowly gone

Week 11: New nurse

“How you doing today?” “Looks like someone is having a baby!”

But I can’t hear or maybe I just don’t want to

I shrug my head and begin to explain

“No, I’m having a miscarriage

The baby is still inside me

But there’s no heart beat”

My heart also stops beating at the sound of my own words

Week 12: you are supposed to be an inch an a half long

I want to unsubscribe from the babycenter

You know that site

That site I so excitedly signed up for

Which sent me weekly updates about your growth

Weekly updates

The weeks continue to go by

My breasts have disinflated like day old balloons after a party

The weeks continue to go by

I know I will never forget you

September was your due date

The weeks continue to go by

Week 17: your fragile body finally exits me

The excrutiating pain

And yet no more tears

Blood rushing down my legs

I don’t want to look at him

my husband, the man whose hurting too

I feel ashamed

I don’t want to see him cry

His strong arms hold me and tell me it will be okay

I know he is hurting too

I know he is hurting too

The weeks go by

You are now in my freezer

I can’t flush you away

The only thing I wish to flush away is the weeks that took you from me

It’s over

The weeks are over

And yet continue to go by

I worried about what kind of crib you would have

What colors I would paint the walls of your room

Little did I know that the toughest choice I would make would be what kind of plant you would die in

Good bye my love

Goodbye my baby

The weeks will continue to go by

But my love for you

Will live forever.

Spaces of Resistance

The migrant center in Naco is small and often crowded, yet it has already found a special place in my heart. I want to say that it’s the people that I meet that make me love to be there, but reality is that it’s the place itself. I have always found that places, spaces, are juxtaposed in such ways as to bring about the most interesting lessons about life and living. Your position within the space, teaches you so much about who you are and who you want to be. I suppose it becomes another symbolic reminder that learning is always taking place, both in and out of the classroom.

It is there where I am learning over and over that life itself is so very random. It is a paradox that we struggle daily to embrace. The situation of so many migrants is no different or is drastically different than the situation I once knew or didn’t know. What I mean is that there is not a day that I don’t say to myself I’m glad that isn’t me or that the person I just met is just like me. There is nothing intrinsically different from the communities that live on either side of the border.  But the border is there, and with it are the many unheard stories and reasons for crossing it.

Se van a regresar? O van intentar de Nuevo? (Are you returning home or trying again?) These are some of the questions, among others, that we ask at the migrant center. The answer is irrelevant from our perspective. Our only concern is of how to help. If they are going back, we try to inform them of their resources for return. If they are trying again, we give them food, water, a phone call. It’s not much. But it is. I think that perhaps the greatest resource is simply welcoming them into the center. As I said, it is a space where learning happens. Where for an hour or two, people get to feel human once again. The outside contains not one border, but many. The police, the polleros, the financial borders, the wall, the dessert, border patrol. So many barriers to cross and overcome. Identities constantly challenged against the many institutions of power and control. Dominance and submission; and from all of it, resistance continues to be born.

Why Mrs. Mafalda

Simply, this blog is about things I care about and things I hate. I grew up watching mafalda; a cartoon about a little girl full of opinions about humanity and the world. This was my first introduction of what it meant to be critical.

Like Mafalda, I spent countless hours interrogating and questioning things, and now as an adult, I continue to have a little bit of mafalda in me. From dumb and irrelevant decisions at the grocery store to life changing events, my nature is to think why, and or complain about why not.

With time, I’ve learned that our minds push us around so much that it’s hard to know any one thing for certain, but at least in maintaining an ongoing dialogue with yourself…there is hope.

       

Beginning

I don’t know why but for some reason I’ve always had a problem with beginnings. Like time, it seems unclear and many times arbitrary where one chooses to put a start and an end to things. At any rate, most things need to begin somewhere or at least be titled or indicated as such in order for that which unfolds to make sense.

So, this is the beginning of my blog. I wanted to “begin” reflecting or at least recording some of the reflections that I find interesting. There is no good reason for why I want to do this, other than perhaps my own desire to take a picture of things that have no beginnings or ends but rather are a part of this life that is continuous, erratic, and full of possibilities, limitations, and most of all contradictions.

I’ve always enjoyed journaling. It began for me at the age of ten or eleven when I began reading Judy Blume books such as “Are you there god, it’s me Margaret.” I remember spending night after night recording memories, snippets of my days such as “I eat gravy for lunch, it was grows.” When I go back and read some of the things I recorded, I can’t help but laugh or cry. I’ve always been a melancolica. I’m guilty of holding on to useless notebooks and reminders of things from my past. No se porque, but it’s a habit I don’t find a reason to abandon.

My old journals are filled with grammatical mistakes, spanglish entries, typos, and doodles. And it is these ‘errors’ that most accurately capture who I was and whom I was becoming. I realize now that there is something to be said or understood from what one chooses to talk about, from the stories one remembers, or the memories one chooses to recollect.

I’m hoping that in this blog I can continue to record these little remnants of my soon to be past so that one day I can look back, reflect, laugh, cry, and perhaps learn a little more than I know now about life and how I chose to situate myself within it.