Jan 27, 2017

To despair or not despair...

It’s day seven. I considered making this kind of like survivalist’s log of the end of the world.

Day seven, the rivers have dried, the food is scarce, and chances of survival seem slim.

I have been struggling since November, as the last two posts have shown, and finally after two months of burying my head in the sand and singing la-la-la-la-la to myself while covering my ears, I realized that denial didn’t make me feel any better than I was feeling. The sense of impending doom was there, whether I acknowledge it or not. So, I opened news, and clicked on headlined and struggled against the urge to cry and rail. I wanted to despair, to ask myself for the millionth time how we got here. How we are replacing a Nuclear Physicist as Secretary of Energy for a guy with a degree in Animal Science and more experience asking his constituents to ‘pray for rain’ in times of drought than to come up with a scientific solution for our climate problems.

I want to despair, so badly, but I cannot, I will not.  I refuse to despair because I think of the fact that Executive Orders are not written in stone and may not come to pass.

Maybe we won’t fuck up the water source for millions and destroy the sacred land of native people by building the Dakota Pipeline. Maybe, just maybe, we won’t rape Alaska’s pristine beauty, endangering its soil, water, flora and fauna by building the rejected Keystone XL pipeline.

Maybe we won’t cancel the Sanctuary cities all over the country, which embraced and sheltered so many, many immigrants that have tried to make this country their safe heaven and home. Maybe, just maybe, we won’t forget the words that so proudly stand under the Statue of Liberty. Maybe we won’t forget that promise, maybe we will remember to be proud of what this country used to stand for. Maybe we won’t make a mockery of the words. Those words, that have forever haunted me and made my heart skip a beat with their beauty.  When the country takes a turn for the worse and does objectionable things I don’t agree with, I try to remind myself that at its core, the goodness, the need to help other, the striving for betterment is its true calling, even when straying from its path.

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”


I think back and wonder how different my life would be right now if I was one of those wretched refuse but on today’s current climate. How would my future look if I was one of those in the huddled mass, not then, but today. One of those tired, one of those poor as I was 15 years ago, when I came to this country.  I am no different from them, except I came earlier.

I don’t want to despair because I hope we don’t defund and ignore the needs of millions of women who use the services of Planned Parenthood and similar programs around the world, who depend, like I did on programs such as this one for their health.  When I was newly arrived in the country PP was the only way I could afford to do annual pap smears exams. Life-saving pap smears that screen for cervical cancer. At $6.50/hour working at McDonald’s, Planned Parenthood was the only way I could afford those. And it’s not just people like me, dirty immigrants who came to sap away resources and steal your jobs that benefit from Planned Parenthood. Born and bred US Citizens also benefit from them.

While despair beckons, I want to ignore it, I want to think that we can rise above the ridiculous notion of building a wall between neighboring countries. A wall between a country with such deeply rooted history with our own. I want to despair when I think about history repeating itself so shortly after it happened, when is barely even history. Didn’t several of our former presidents fight against walls, merely decades ago? Why cut ourselves from the world? Why, WHY do we think divisiveness is a solution to anything? Isn’t it obvious that together it’s the only way we’ll rise?

When despair and fear, anger. heartbreak and the overwhelming sense of betrayal are threatening to consume me I repeat to myself the incontrovertible truth that Victor Hugo shared with the world just two-hundred years ago:

“All the forces in the world are not so powerful as an idea whose time has come”

When I want to despair, I remind myself that this, what is happening right now, are the last struggles of a dying breed. What you hear; the pomp and circumstance, the backwards thinking, the rampant ego, the oppressive thoughts, anti-intellectualism, the racism, xenophobia, homophobia, trans-phobia and militant sexism are but the death rattles of a perishing era of thought.


I won’t despair, I won’t quit. Because tolerance, unity, progress itself cannot be stopped, its time has come. 

Jan 6, 2017

Why is this happening?!! Part 2

My last post was December 20. I was hoping for some solace for the negative feelings and the cloud of sadness that I was carrying around like a blanket. As if mocking my request to the heavens the very next day they found the body of J-34 “Doublestuff” one of the whales from the Jpod that I saw in June in Victoria, BC. One of the endangered Southern Resident Killer Whales (SRKW).

Doublestuff was young, just 18 and entering his reproductive years, which is a double blow to the population since there is one less male that can mate and produce more babies.

Then George Michael, then Carrie Fisher, then Debbie Reynolds and it seemed like some sort of bad omen, like Jesus 2016, haven’t you had enough? I was flying to Indianapolis and thinking I would die on a plane crash (as I always do when I fly) and thought well, that wouldn’t be too shocking a closure for this year and I how I’ve felt about it.

But then, I watched on TV while Pitbull welcomed the new year in Miami, dancing and singing and so damn happy and having fun, while I sat in my in-law’s basement, in my pajamas, alone with my husband and not ‘celebrating’ a New Year’s Eve for the first time in my life. I facetimed with my sister who was tipsy, in Miami, also not celebrating, and both of us feeling melancholy without each other and I talked to my mom who sounded tired from work but was having fun with her friends and I thought, it’s okay. 2017 it’s a new year, new opportunities to make life better.

And then the bombing at that club in Istanbul… and the approaching date of the inauguration. Yesterday, J-2 “Granny” the oldest recorded whale in the wild was officially considered dead since they haven’t seen her with her pod since October. I saw her too in June, she seemed so young with her pod, so active, swimming so fast, cutting through the water like a bullet.  Now she is gone and the Jpod is down to 78.

Today, Tilikum, another whale close to my heart, passed away after 33 years of captivity. Tilly was the subject of Blackfish. In the end, his life changed the rules, changed the future for other Orcas. Three people died because of Tilikum and that’s what the news are reminding people of today. Maybe I am heartless because all I can think about it’s that Tilly is finally free in death and how damn fucking sad it was that he never got to swim for miles and miles with his family in the cold waters of Iceland, where he belonged. After seeing the Jpod all together and how they jumped and breached and slapped their tails and rubbed against each other it made the captivity suffered by the Orcas in tanks even more horrible to me.

I have this…knot in my throat… and I hate it! I hate feeling like this and I hate that I have felt like this since November and I hate that every time I step closer to the light, to feeling better something like this happens and it makes me feel like we, as a world, fucking blow. I want to concentrate on the good but I am just so....sad.

Poor Tilly…at least now he will swim free in the beyond. Poor Doublestuff, so young. At least granny lived a long life.

I am afraid to open the news.

Dec 20, 2016

2016... Are we done yet?




What with the disastrous result of the election on November 8 and the slow yet inevitable socio-economic collapse in Venezuela, I am feeling rather dark. Two of the three countries I consider my own seem always to be breaking my heart.

My self-imposed news moratorium continues and I am not at all informed of what is going on. I know what is happening in Venezuela because my friends let me know through WhatsApp. I catch a glimpse of a ‘Presidential’ twitter meltdown, of a cabinet placement and I want to cry and look away.  I have no idea what is going on. I am not watching Trevor, Samantha or John, or even the more acerbic Bill.   I am avoiding SNL. I am not clicking on anything.

I saw a picture of the last Christmas card the Obamas will ever send as the First Family. I might have hugged my computer screen sobbing.

I have hidden myself in the silent and mindless joy of craft gift wrapping. I focus on the glitter and the brown paper and twine. Yes, my Christmas tree (named Hedwig this year) fell and broke two of our glass ornaments with mine and DH’s initials which felt somewhat prophetic or something but it’s now up and looking rather pretty.  

To put it mildly 2016 has been an interesting year. I got to fulfill a life-long dream of seeing Orcas in the wild. It is not lost in me how privileged I am to be able to travel unrestrained from one country to the other, stay in a floating home, see the whales, eat and drink and be marry. I returned from that trip back to Florida to the heartbreaking news of the mass shooting at Pulse in Orlando. I became a citizen, excited for the possibility of being part of this country and casting my vote, to find myself the future subject of a president elect who won by a system that makes no sense to the rest of the free world.

While I have never been the upbeat, blindly optimistic, cheery type, I have always ended every year of my life with a silent hope for something better and greater ahead. It was this knowledge of hope which kept me from spiraling into sadness when I spent my first New Year here in the country. Despite all the uncertainty ahead of me that New Years’ Eve 2003 I felt, mingled with the tears and sadness, a sense of wonder for what lay ahead.

I know that when my mom feels like I do, she places herself in the hands of her God and it offers her a blessed comfort. Nothing is in my hands, I place myself in yours. In your infinite wisdom, guide me. And all that.

Not even when I was a practicing Catholic did I have the personality to place myself fully in the hands of a superior power and let the chips fall where they may.

Part of me wishes now, I had the same escape route and solace.
What else is left for me to do than wait? What will 2017 bring? I have many plans for the year. Trips abroad with my best friend, visiting family in June, hopefully buying a house with a pool Zoey can enjoy. But what about the bigger things? The things outside my bubble? The ones I don’t want to care about but do? 

Maybe those I will put in the hands of…someone else. Maybe I will just be like the blind guy in Rogue One and just mutter to myself “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me” And walk into the fire and see what happens.