—-Jesse Isn’t that Jesse over there?” Said a friend as I turned from the pool and took of swig of my beer. Silence. Isn’t it?” More silence. With the taste of beer fresh in my mouth I replied, “Yes”. “Yeah it is”. I thought of this moment a lot. I thought of what I would feel seeing my ex in public and with another man. I thought of what I would say, how calm I wanted to be, how “together” I wanted to seem. I thought about what he would think of me and all of the emotions that would overwhelm us. Would I be angry? Would I be sad? Would I be corgal? Now here, everything felt different but somehow I was unmoved by the feeling. All of the hurt that was once there, now gone. I struggled to find an emotion and could not. Are you okay?” Checked in my friend. “You know what?. I am surprisingly okay”. I could see the doubt in his face but I knew in that moment that I was. Somehow all of our history, all of my anger dissipated. I took a zip of my beer again.
—-Vladimir
As I turned from the bar and took a swig of my beer, I could see the unescapable smile of his. The group of friends surrounding him. Gragarious as he always was. There he stood. Not a mirage, but him. In the actual flesh. I took another sip to ensure it was not the booze kicking in. It’s him. It really is. I though of the last time we had been face to face together. It was 6 years ago as he was walking out the door. Anger in my heart is where I had stored it, but now…not anger. A feeling of joy took over. Seeing his smile made me remember the good times we had together and all of the laughs. Oh his laugh. But what would I say? I had done him so wrong that finding the words to greet him would not be sufficient. Should I bring up our past now? 6 years later? And in this social space? What was the point? I wanted to walk away, but I couldn’t. My body frozen. I look to find his gaze but was unable to. So i dug deep, to find that courage I once had and forth I went. A day later we were having coffee as if nothing had happened. We did talk but this time we both felt so adult. Me with my guilt and him with his anger. Somehow all of that felt to have dropped and what remained was kindness.
—-Raul Oh Raul…Love of my life. What words can be said to describe how I feel about you. It been 5 years since I last saw you and thinking about seeing you makes me nervous again. You about all were the person that opened my heart when I thought it would be closed. You showed me love even in the times when I was not kind. You allowed me to be me and in all ways accepted me. You showed me adventure and what things in life are the most important. I miss that and I missed you. So sitting here across from you make all these feeling boil up. From the night that we slept on the street and cried, not because we were sad, but because were happy. From when I saw you the first time, naked, exposed and in all your glory. I knew then that I would love you. So what do I say to you now? What do I say that will allow you to forgive me for the cowardly decisions I made in my life. Somehow I know that you will not see it as so, and you didn’t. You accepted me and now I can move forward in my life knowing someone like you has a space in my heart. A big space that I don’t think will soon be replaced. “Te quiro chino”
The emotion overwhelms me as I hop onto the bus. It’s a particularly hot day and all of the children around me are screaming from excitement. The air is damp and sweaty bodies touch each other as we board the bus. The smell of body odor is so rank that it’s hard to breathe; it is a typical day in Havana. The bus is bound for Pinar Del Rio and the last one of the day. I am upset because I have always wanted to go to Pinar for the beach, so then why are we taking this last bus? Through the happiness of the passengers, all I can see is the worried look on my moms face. “Mami, que te pasa?” I ask. She immediately barks back – “Callate nino. Para de preguntar preguntas”
This response has become the norm for the last fifteen months since my father left us. My uncle tells us that my father left for a job in Santiago. My aunts say he left us for another woman. My grandfather tells us that he will be back any days now. And my grandmother can’t even look at me when I ask her about it. It’s hard to believe anyone in those days, as there were so many changes happening all around us. The Soviet Union has collapsed; Cuba’s biggest aid following the embargo from the US. The food and social situation in Cuba has become dire. The lines to the supermarket are getting longer. People are waiting five hours just to get some “cafe”, “arroz con frijoles”, and “pan”. My mom says it is because the government doesn’t know what they are doing but all I care about is that we have pan in the morning; I love bread. We spend most nights starting at the news on TV; watching the endless reports of people trying to escape Cuba and failing to do so. It is quite common to hear of bodies being found in the ocean of those attempting to get to Miami. My brother says its all fake. That the government is making it up. There is so much hysteria and misinformation being disseminated. I didn’t know fake news existed back then.
My mother is quiet during the entire bus ride and says nothing, staring blankly into space. No expression. No talking. I can tell she is nervous about something. My brother and I look at each other with the ‘something is wrong’ look. The only words we hear her speak are “estoy bien” [I’m fine]. We both know she is not fine. As we pass San Cristobal, my mom finally breaks her silence and says, “Habre las manos y tomate esto.” [Open your hands and take this]. She hands each of us two white pills for us to consume. My brother, as always, obliges. I, however, have questions…. “What is this? Is it candy? Why does it look like a pill, if it’s candy? Is it a pill? A pill for what?” My mother’s response is a slap in the face followed by an additional pill for me to take.
From this moment on I can’t recall much of the remaining hours. There are glimpses of visions; in one I am being carried off the bus; in another I am in a bush next to my brother. Eventually I come to realize that my brother is holding me as he wipes blood from my nose. The smell of seawater and burnt tires is in the air all around us and I hear my mother yelling something; we are on a boat and all I can hear is yelling. There is an older man with us as well as two twin girls and I recognize them; they are friends of my father. I hear more yelling but I cannot quite understand what is being said. My head is pounding and when I try to open my mouth, my mother shoves two more of the white pills in my mouth. “Swallow!” she screams, “or I will make you swallow.”
I finally awake in a hospital bed with my brother sitting next to me. He is holding what appears to be a magazine with the words “Florida” on it. “Where are we?” I ask. “Estamos en la Yuma”. “Yuma” is the name that Cubans refer to as the United States. “What?” I shout. “Yeah, we are going to go see papi”. We had arrived in Key West Florida and under the current law at that time; any Cuban who touched land would be allowed to claim political asylum. We were one of those Cubans. Before I can comprehend what was happening, my mother walked into the room with a cop. I am taken back by this image, not by the cop (although he is really handsome), but by what he is holding in his hand. A. Bright. Red. Can. The cop speaks a strange Spanish and he and my mother begin talking about what will happen to us next. There is talk of a refugee home, some money they will lend us, and about how they have contacted my father. Through all of this, the only thing I can focus on is the bright red can that the police office is holding and drinking. “Que es eso?” (What is that?). He looks at me puzzled. “It’s a Coke,” he replies. “What is Coke?” He laughs and hands it to me. I take a sip. What happens in the next 30 seconds can only be described as the most sensational feeling in my mouth. I have never tasted anything like this before. “Can I keep this? I ask. “Yes. You can have as much as you want.” This response overwhelms me and I finally cry.
The next few days are a blur as we go from refuge home to refuge home. My mother kept arguing as to why they had not yet found my father. I honestly did not care. Everything around me felt so brand new. The smells. The colors. The people. There was air conditioning everywhere! Even now, the smell of new carpet takes me back to that time. I had never smelled carpet. But above all, I remember drinking Coke; this magical drink that in its own way represented safety, freedom, and America.
My father arrived four days later. My brother was over the moon and my mother was uncontrollable; she hugged my dad and cried for what seemed like forever. My father drove us from Key West to Miami and we went directly to a 24-hour supermarket. As we entered I remember the sight of that supermarket…THERE WAS FOOD EVERYWHERE, and I mean EVERYWHERE! I had never seen so much food in my life. My brother and I ran to the “candy-by-the-pound” tubs and like savages began shoving candy into our mouths. “You have to pay for that!!” my father yelled. Pay? This was “la Yuma”, land of free; I can shove as much candy in my mouth as I wanted.
As we packed eighty-nine bags of groceries into the back of a Toyota Corolla, my dad began to lecture. “Now that you are American’s, there are things you must know” As any immigrant child will tell you, expectations of immigrant parents, are a bitch. We were expected to:
Get a job
Go to school
Learn to speak English
Bring the family from Cuba
Meet a girl
Have children
Raise a family
Buy a house
Buy a house for your parents
Buy a house for your grandparents
Buy a house for your wifes parents
It turned out, America wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
It was not until high school that I began to see the crack in my parent’s “American Dream.” I knew early on that I was gay but coming out to my parents would be heartbreaking; not because they wouldn’t accept me, but because I would never achieve the things that they needed me to achieve. They constantly reminded my brother and I that they had a difficult life here. In Cuba, my father was a chemistry professor and my mother a nurse; but here, he was a truck driver and my mother was unemployed. Not having the Ensligh skills to continue their careers hurt them. And here I was, not appreciating any of that. It’s not that I didn’t want all these things; it’s just that I wanted to create my own path forward in this new land. I didn’t want to marry and have children and buy a house…”the American dream.” And telling them I was gay meant that I didn’t’ appreciate all the things they had sacrificed to bring my brother and I here. That somehow I was disrespecting my parents for not being grateful and appreciative of all they had given up in Cuba to bring us to America. Couldn’t I just remain “straight” and give my parents what they wanted?
The day I had the ‘talk” with my mom was about a week after I met my first boyfriend. I was so happy every time I saw him but my heart felt so heavy because I lied to her about it. So I decided to come clean.
“Mami, me gustan los hombres”. Latinos do not understand the word ”gay” and using the word “maricon” sounds even worse, so the easiest to say was…“I enjoy the company of men.” She sat there perplexed, as tears streamed down my face, and remained quiet. After what felt like an eternity, she finally said, “Do you want to be a hair dresser?”
“Um…no.” I replied. To which she said, “Well then, I don’t understand…” As I began to explain myself, she interrupted…”Mira niño!” She went on to tell me how I was not gay; that I was going through a phase, that I could be a “bugaron” [A “bugaron” being a man who is married to a woman and has children]; the wife knows, but they still maintain a life of “normalcy”, but when I told her I did not want this for me and that I wanted to love a man, she became angry. This is when she raised her voice and lectured me for twenty minutes about all she had given up to bring me, all of us, here. How I was being selfish by choosing to be gay…and all I could do was to sit there and listen. I was angry, I was sad, but above all else…I was silent. “oh so you have nothing to say?” she barked
I looked at her and thought of how disappointed she must be in me, of all things that she had planned for my life and all the dreams she had for her children. I imagined my mom holding us on that raft years before knowing that no matter what, her children would be in a better world and that they would have the life she never could. I thought of my father, risking his life year earlier on a raft full of nine men, working at a car wash and fixing broken vacuum cleaners to make ends meet. Yet having a masters education and giving that up for his children….and here I was, selfishly shattering that dream for my family.
With tears in my eyes and my heart in my throat, I could think of nothing more to calm me down and so I said…
I took another zip of my coconut. The water tasted sweet, refreshing, as if I was drinking it for the first time. “...É o momento em que você sente todas as emoções de uma vez. O momento em que você começa a entender que nem tudo na vida precisa ter uma resposta. Que algumas coisas precisam ser sentidas … e não compreendidas …” I felt what he said and at the same time, my hair began to stand up.
This is now my second time in Brasil. This land that is fill with so many emotions continues to fill my heart with so many feelings that are hard to describe. Its people are like no other. Its beaches are one of the most beautiful in the world. Its spirit…unexplainable.
You will hear that Brasil is dangerous place. You will hear that the people are violent. You will hear that there is poverty. You will hear that there is inequality. What you will not hear, is the joy that lives in the hearts of Brazilians. They are people that are fill with joy regardless of the struggle. Regardless of the obstacle. Regardless of what is to come. Similar to mi querida Cuba, this country continues forward in regards to its struggle.
I took another sip of my coconut and asked, “how can you be so happy in the face of such adversity/sadness? Don’t you want to change the things that are wrong?”
“Você tem que encontrar a felicidade no momento que está aqui. Não aqueles que estão por vir”
While here I have truly found much happiness. I have traveled and met some great people. Seeing a Brasilian movie alone (so difficult). Happiness in the ability to be free and to seek the things that make you happy. Be those things that are alone or with someone.
I finished my coconut and the following song began to play….
Muito obrigado Brasil
Deixe-me ir Preciso andar Vou por aí a procurar Rir pra não chorar
Deixe-me ir Preciso andar Vou por aí a procurar Sorrir pra não chorar
Quero assistir ao sol nascer Ver as águas dos rios correr Ouvir os pássaros cantar Eu quero nascer Quero viver
Deixe-me ir Preciso andar Vou por aí a procurar Rir pra não chorar
Se alguém por mim perguntar Diga que eu só vou voltar Depois que me encontrar Quero assistir ao sol nascer Ver as águas dos rios correr Ouvir os pássaros cantar Eu quero nascer Quero viver
Deixe-me ir Preciso andar Vou por aí a procurar Sorrir pra não chorar
Its hard sometimes to swallow. My family is falling apart. What was once the one thing that kept us all together, seems like its now all deterating and there is not way to stop it.
I think about it more and more as times goes by and especially during the holiday season. Its the one time of year, that over the years, I am beginning to regret more and more.
Call me selfish, but it seems that every year I spend about $700 bucks to fly home, rent a car, etc etc. But I wonder…”damn..how come no one has ever come to visit me?”. Now i know this may seem selfish, but I cant seem to shake the feeling. Why is it always me who goes to visit? Isnt my life just as important? And I dont mean for the holidays….anytime of year would do. Let me show you my new life here in the city.
When posed with the question as to why my they dont come visit me, my family always seems to have the same answer. “Si pero, es mas facil para ti venir aqui”. NO! , fuck that..its not easier for me to come down there. I still have to take the time off work, get my ass on a plane, rent a car, and go house to house visiting everybody. Cause god forbid you dont spend at least 23 hours of the day with the family!!
Aside from the cost and selfish feeling, I now have to hear complaining of how one part of the family is better than the other(divorced family). Not to mention you have to spend time in one house and then go to the next. Also, my family makes me feel guilty if I spend 1 eve. with one parent, one with the other…all a viscous cycle that I really did not mind while I was in college but…now, I just feel distant, and I resent the fact NO ONE EVER COMES TO VISIT ME…my Dad barely pays attention because he is always working, my Mom complains about why I am always on my father’s side, and my brother complains because I dont spend enough time with him while I am down there. Sorry…smoking week 22hours of the day is just not my thing anymore….
I could feel my blood boiling when I picked up the phone. My subconscious reminding me wether this was the right decision. How would I pay for my rent? What about my family? Fuck it, just do it. I called my boss who was visiting her family in Michigan…
“Hey…[enter small talk here] ….so anyways…I just wanted to let you know that Friday will be my last day”
“What!!!!???” said my boss.
“Yep…I am leaving the company”
It all started during my four year performance review. I informed my boss that I had been underpaid for the past 2 years and my expenses were beginning to rise. I could no longer afford to live where I was and help my family with my current salary. I also informed her that while my job responsibilities has dramatically increased, my pay surely had not.
She informed me that the company would be reviewing my request and that they would get back to me. I soon began looking for another job. While I did receive 2 offers, I was still patient in waiting for my current employer to come back with an answer. I wanted to continue working there, but also needed the raised.
A week after my request, my boss called me into her office. She explained the situation about the company, but the message was clear…a simple, yet firm…NO. I immediately called one of the offers only to find out that they had given then job to someone else. FUCK! I immediately emailed back the second offer and waited. I waited and waited. Finally I decided to take matters into my own hands. I decided I would just leave my current employer.
Its funny to think about it now when my friend asked me why I would quit before having another job. To be quite honest, I am not really sure. I guess i was a bit upset that my current employer would sit on something like this for so long. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was stupidity. Or maybe..it was fate.
I am still a bit fuzzy as to what happened after breaking the news to my boss but I know that I had to answer a whole deal of questions as to why I was leaving. She was not happy. She was also not happy that I was giving them a week and a half notice after being there. The first in my company to do so.
I walked back to my desk and put my head down. While my first reaction would have been – ” How could you leave without having another job!!! You fuck!!. ” I instead let out a heavy exhale. It felt good. Somehow I was not scared. I felt liberated. Scared but at the same time excited as to what was to come next. A wave of emotion came over me as I opened my email to find in my inbox the offer letter from the second employer!
If you ask me now how and why it all happened, I could not tell you. I am still trying to figure it out myself. I guess its kinda like a friend of mine said – “…sometimes you have to leap forward with your eyes closed in the hopes that you will eventually find your footing and open your eyes to see a brighter future…”
It was finally when I wiped the blood from my forehead that I could not help but laugh. Laughter felt better now than fear. Altough temporary, it offered a way of coping with what has just happened – I was assulted at gunpoint.
It was 8:43 pm when I got off the subway and started my 5 minute walk home. On the walk home, all I kept thinking was about doing my laundry but figured it was too late and that I had to go to work early the next day. When I entered my building lobby I noticed a couple waiting for the elevator. They were concentrated in their conversation, and I into my ipod. As we got on I noticed them press floor # 5 and I asked for them to press floor #2. They continued their conversation.
The elevator stoped on floor M. (M is the floor where the laundry mat is found in my building). As the doors open I noticed a young man standing there about to get on. As he was getting on, he waived to another guy to get on. 2 guys got on and one of them pressed the number 5, although it was already pressed and lit up. When the doors opened on the second floor, still listening to my ipod, I walked out. As I walked down my hallway, I felt a shadow upon me. From the corner of my eye I could see it. 2 shadows. My heart stopped.
“Give me your wallet” one of the man from the elevator yelled out. I stooped. I froze. Holy Shit! Was this really happening????? Wait this cant be happening, I thought, this is my building and am 20 feet away from my apt door. “Give me the fucking walllet!!” they yelled again. Still frozen, I could only muster the words, “Wait, are you serious??” He reached for his gun.
I can’t really explain the feeling but it was something that seemed to play out in my head from a movie. I mean shit like this dont really happen in a hallway, does it ? ?? I could not say anything. To my surpise I was not scared. All I can remember was a conflict in my mind as to try and figure out if this was real or not. Was this really happening?
They came for me and tried to reach into my pocket. I struggled and my coat was broken. I was struck in the forehead with the edge of the gun. “Stand back ama shut this muthafucka” yelled the older one. I quickly grabbed the young one and put him in front of me. I could hear my dog barking from my apt. I wonder now if he knew what was going on or if he was simply excited to hear my voice and for me to get home. “Dont shoot”, yelled the young one as I threw him down and ran up the stairs at the end of the hall. “Lets go”, yelled one, but by them I could not make out who was yelling. I was two flights up.
I noticed something red on my shirt. My blood. I knocked on a door and tried to ask for help. “Call the police man” i yelled out. To my surprise there was no answer although I could see a shadow beneath the door. I grabbed my cellphone and dialed 911 all the while still thinking….wait, did this really happen? A neighbor opened the door and asked what was going on. Noticing that I was bleeding form my head, she offered a wet paper towel. I held it against my bleeding head.
It feels all to strange to think that something like this can happen. But it does. But it did. The most stricking thing of all was that it happened 20 feet away from my apt door. That feeling is something that I can’t seem to shake. Can”t seem to deal with. Can’t seem to forget. A feeling that will be remembered when I get home tonight.
I let go of your hand and leaped forward. The feeling was something un-describable. I was independent. Confident. Full of energy. “Balanceate contra la calle”, you said with a smile on your face and a sweat on your brow. “No te caigas!”, you screamed. I fell. I had learned to ride a bike.
I look back on it and wish I had the words to thank you. To let you know how much that day trully inspired me. While some dads resorted to drinking, smoking, and leaving their families – you did not. You stuck around. Even though at times there were arguments between you and mom, you stuck it through. You listened. You kept your mouth shut. You sacraficed.
I think of the day you taught me to fly a kite. We stayed up all night building it. I chose to color mines red so that it could be seen by all. You told me to be creative and use tools that were light. You laughed at my oginial kite, but helped me to fix it. We went down to the Malecon and you told me to hold it up high and tight. “No lo dejes ir”. I ran accross the plaza holding it as high as my small hands could lift it so you can see it. “Mira, papa, Mira Papa!!!” I screamed. You looked back and nodded.
No words can express how thankful I am for what you have done for us. How you taught me to be the man I am today. I often think how much more than I can do for you because of all you have done for me. You have been everything that I hope to some day be, papa. You have changed the world. You haved righted wrongs. You accomplished great things. You sacraficed your life for us. You never left us, and you never stoped loving us. You were born to a life less privledge than mine, and now that I look back you gave up more than what I could have ever think to give.
I feel inspired as to what is to come next. I am inspired because you are here, papa. I am inspired to be the man you are today. I am not of the wealthiest man, but I have more than most. I am well educated. I am opinionated. I am giving. I have true friendships.
As I stepped out of the airport I could feel the humidity hit me straight in the face. It was like slamming into a wall of hot, humid, sweaty air. My hoodie and boots made me look foreign next to all the others. I had arrived in Miami.
For the past 4 months I have thought of nothing but my “birthday – thanksgiving” vacation. Every year around my birthday I think of nothing but going away on vacation. My birthday give to myself. This year I was to go to Santo Domingo, Boca Chica, and then Miami to visit my family for Thanksgiving. This vacation is meant to relax me from all the problems encountered throughout the working year. A ventilation from it all. To my surprise, as i arrived home, all I could think about was how “chimi” was doing back in the Bronx. I had spoken to my family earlier and told them of my arrival but to my surprise there was no one at the airport to pick me up. Something felt strange.
I took a cab home and on the way called my mother. She informed me that she was working and so was my brother. In the past my mother would be the first one there. She would show up with my brother, uncle, grandmother, dog, dog’s girlfriend, and any other family member they could possibly dig up to come see me at the airport. She would be holding some kind of sign and yelling from across the airport – “hijo!!!!”. In my trips returning home from school upstate I would dread moments like these. Today, however…I missed them.
Home seemed like a far away place. Sundays at my house were spent playing domino, talking loudly to each other, drinking Coronas while Willy Chirino played in the background. I could still hear my mother yell out into the back yard – “oye vengan a comer lechon, que se esta poniendo frio” My brother and I would shrug and laugh with each other. This time however, those moments were not more.
As I sat at the dinner table this Thanksgiving, I realized that my family was beginning to move on. From the moments where everything seemed okay. From the moments where everybodys bullshit was not brought home to the dinner table. From the moments that brought us closer. They had all gone about their lives: My brother would soon find a girl, marry her, and make her pregnant. My mother had gone back to school to become a US citizen. My father had opened another business and would now work another 100 hours a week on top of the 300 hours he already works. My uncle had grown his business and now we saw less and lesss of him. Any my grandmother, how I love her, had been captured by the hand of time. I yern now to go back to those moments where home was home. Where at any given moment I could say that returning back was what I wanted to do. That I would still have my old room. My old friends. My old family.
I return back now to New York with only a distant memory of those moments and the hopes that I will find the home I yearn for here in new york city.
Have you ever woken up and instantly feel like its a start of something new? A breath of fresh air? Those mornings where you feel a sense of agility and your eyes open wide, glimmering before your alarm can go off? Today was my day.
As I walked out today my body felt a shiver. A shiver I had not felt in a long time. Every morning as I walk out the door there is this older Spanish lady sitting on the stop of my building. I often wonder what her story must be. Why is she always there? EVERY MORNING. Is she waiting for the mailman? Soaking in the sun? Or simply just sitting?
Every morning we look at each other but never say a word. This partly due to the fact that I am half asleep and/or my mp3 is glued to my ear as my door closes behind me. Today however I smiled and gave her a very fine-assertive, “Buenos dias senora.” She looked surprised but did not respond. Her face stunned. I payed it no mind but looked back as I crossed the street and noticed a small smirk on her face. Priceless.
The subway platform seemed to be empty when I arrived and oddly enough so where the subway cars. Now I usually have to fight through viejas, baby carriages, people stumbling from the night before, bums, and the nasty -“I buy my coffee at bodegas because they dont have starbucks in the Bronx AND I don’t live in Manhattan ABD have to wake up an extra early AND deal with this kind of bullshit” – green line riding young professionals. Today however, there were only 4 people in my cart. FOUR! I smiled.
My subway ride seemed uneventful until on 106th street stop I noticed this young sexy little caramel chocolate yummy thing get on with the most amazing lips I have seen in a long time. We immediately stared at each other. I smiled some more. I couldn’t help to feel the gaze upon me and so I returned the gesture. We locked eyes and didn’t say a word – we just stared. Maybe it was a game? But for a good minute or so we locked dead on. I must admit I ended up loosing – my gaze was broken by a mischievous smirk. This flirtatious behavior continued all the way to 51st where she got off. I smiled again.
Through the past few weeks there seems to have been some clouds above me due to family, work, and personal issues, but today I felt none of those things. It’s true what they say: “you must first go through darkness in order to find the light”.
I can feel my energy back again and the sky looks bluer today than it did yesterday. I can see the clouds no more.
