It always happens. Every 4 years, right about this time, the constant back and forth between Republicans and Democrats increases exponentially the closer we get to election day, reaching a deafening crescendo that threatens to obliterate human reason ... and yet, I have never seen anything like this year.  It is not just in terms of the sheer volume of comments flying one way and the other, but the vitriol being spewed from everyone's mouth (or keyboard, rather).

One does not need to look too far to know that the so-called leadership we have experienced in the past 4 years is responsible for this catastrophic rift that is reaping apart the fabric of our society. Sowing division among people is the number 1 tactic used by every authoritarian regime known to man, regardless of political leanings. Dictators have existed since the world is world, and they come from the far left as well as from the far right. Their political ideologies may differ, but one thing in which they are remarkably similar is their outsized (and yet fragile) ego, their need to be above everyone else, their need to be godlike, blindly loved and revered by their subjects.  These individuals know that the only way to perpetuate themselves in power is to divide and conquer. The more divided a society is, the more susceptible they are to manipulation.  

And yet, even though we can easily place blame on the current president for leading us to the edge of this abyss, as a nation, we must start looking inward and take responsibility for our part in this debacle. We have all too willingly taken the bait and done the work for him. Even when our grievances are legitimate, we seem to think that only our grievances are legitimate. We tend to minimize the other side's ideas, opinions, and concerns, simply because they are not our ideas, opinions, and concerns. 

I don't know, maybe it is because we're tired of fighting, of defending our positions, that we slip into complacency and begin to let our basest instincts take over and start insulting and denigrating instead of doing the hard work of trying to listen, talk, and reason. We have forgotten an old, but mighty effective rule of civil society: agreeing to disagree. We have turned deaf ears to the worries and anxieties of the other side, as if they were less valid. We have decided to ignore their humanity.

I wish I could say I am optimist about our future. I am not. Too much damage has been done. The task of rebuilding trust in government and - more importantly - in each other is titanic... That doesn't mean we should stop trying.

Silver Linings

So it looks like I made it to the end of times after all. Little did I imagine when I was a young girl that I would ever live to see times such as the ones we are living, and yet, here we are. Life has finally come to imitate art. Every dystopian young adult book I've read, every end-of-civilization movie I have ever watched seems to be condensed and distilled into what, in just a matter of weeks, has come to be our very current, very real lives.

Behold! Humanity is being challenged to justify its existence. It is almost as if the planet that we have so cavalierly and dismissively taken for granted is now exerting revenge on us. Mother Earth has unleashed its most destructive weapon upon us saying, "there, see what you do with that", and with a sly smile has sat back to watch. 

So, what now? Do we rise up to the occasion and unite our very formidable forces to overcome this challenge? Or do we fall into the usual trappings of imagined boundaries and made-up differences and guard our own leaving the rest to fend for themselves?  Do we cooperate to find a cure, regardless of whether the scientists are from the United States, China, India, Iran, Germany, or wherever? Or do we race to compete for the title of "first" in finding a cure?  Do we take this opportunity to make a radical change for our own sake and that of every other living creature on the planet? Or do we just work to overcome this obstacle but ignore the greater challenge? In short, will we survive covid-19 just to succumb to an ever-warming, overextended planet? To war and famine caused by greed and injustice? To the ironic phenomenon of soul-crushing stress and isolation in a world that is increasingly more connected?  Will we bridge our differences to realize that there is more that unites us than what separates us? Will we let kindness win?

It is hard to see any upside when we are in the midst of this terrible situation, when the number of dead keeps on climbing and we're told the worse is yet to come. And yet, for as long as the world has been turning, we have faced terrible challenges that at the time seemed unsurmountable. Horrors and catastrophes that have threatened our very existence. But a new era has always dawned, and some great initiatives have been born of great strife. The United Nations was born from the horrors of World War II, and imperfect as it is, it has done a commendable job in fostering human rights, economic development, health and education. Could this be the time we realize that we have veered seriously off our path and correct our course to avert disaster? 

Whether we like it or not, this pandemic has forced us -- ALL of us -- to slow down and take stock of what is really important. And even though some people keep resisting this unwelcome change of pace, by and by, everyone is falling into line and heeding the advice to stay put for the common good. And in doing so, humankind unwittingly has allowed the Earth to breathe. Quarantine -- whether self-imposed or mandated -- means that vehicular circulation is dramatically reduced, as is industrial output, thus significantly reducing greenhouse gas emissions and water pollution. Quarantine also means that families are forced to interact with each other, eat with each other, and perhaps have actual conversations with one another, something that modern society has skewed in recent years in favor of a faster-paced lifestyle that precludes interaction unless such interaction is over a phone screen. And in the absence of theaters, bars, restaurants and other avenues for entertainment, people are more apt to go out and enjoy walks and nature hikes, increasing their physical health without even planning on doing it. 

I wonder, once this crisis is over, will we keep the silver linings? Or will we throw it all away?

Ode to David

Superlative
[suh-pur-luh-tiv] 

adjective

1.  of the highest kind, quality, or order; surpassing all else or others; supreme; extreme:

2.  being more than is proper or normal; exaggerated in language or style.

If I were to define my youngest son in one single word, this is the one I'd pick. From the moment he was born, David made sure to let all of us know that he was here, and he was not to be ignored. Everything David does, he does with gusto. It is as if deep down inside, he knows intuitively what most adults seem to forget in the process of growing up: that life is meant to be lived to the fullest, that when something is worth doing, then it is worth doing full steam ahead, no questions asked. 

Everything David does, is done in grand style. When he smiles, his smiles are the widest in the room, with enough inner light to fire up everything around him. When he's mad, his mood is explosive and cataclysmic (luckily, like with most explosions, it is big and loud but short-lived). And when he loves, oh boy! when he loves, he does so fully, deeply, and without reservations. He is loyal to a fault, so if you are privileged enough to be part of his inner circle, then you know he's got your back. He has a very finely tuned sense of compassion, unmarred by cynicism. He is the yin to his brother's yang, and I, for one, cannot get enough of my two very different, very polar-opposite boys.

I am unabashedly in love with this little creature, and I suspect that it has very little to do with the fact that he's my son, and a tremendous lot to do with the magic he seems to exert over those who surround him. To know David is to find a thousand different reasons to love him, but if I were to venture a guess, I'd say the reason why he's so easy to love, is because he is unfailingly kind. The one thing I always strive for as a mother is to instill kindness in my children. I tell them that, if nothing else, the lesson I hope I have been able to share with them as they grow up is to be kind. And what do you know? David has known that lesson all along. I find that I still have much to learn from him.

Well Worth the Sacrifice

My mother is a saint.

Growing up, she was the kind of mother who would literally give up the last morsel of her favorite food to give it to her children. She sacrificed her dreams of becoming a doctor to be our mom. Like many other mothers, she became our taxi driver, short-order cook, fashion designer, hair dresser, sounding board, therapist, nurse, advocate, among many other things that are too numerous to list. If you were to look up the definition of mom in the dictionary, you would find a picture of my mom in it. As she usually says: "There's just one mother, and that's me".  But a lot of sacrifice went into being that kind of mother, and that's why to me, she is nothing short of a saint.

A lot of the mothers I have been blessed to know are like that. They are perfectly happy to sacrifice their own wishes and dreams on behalf of their children's.

Not me.

I am a selfish mom. I love my kids beyond all limits of imagination, but I cannot fathom giving up so much of my own self for these two little creatures that sometimes just don't appreciate ANYTHING.  No, I won't give you the last bite of my cupcake just because you want it. No, I won't clean up YOUR mess just because I'm mom and I'm supposed to. No, I will not change the channel to watch yet another mind-numbingly boring Disney show. No, I will not sacrifice my summer to your desire to play summer baseball...

And then we have a weekend like this weekend, which was long and, ironically, full of my sacrificing my free time to shuttle little critters back and forth between multiple sporting events. A weekend full of pressure, as oldest child tries out for one of the much coveted spots on the all stars baseball team, and tries very hard not to show how anxious he is about making it. A weekend made all the more stressful after a game where said child's Sunday travel team was slaughtered and said child overheard an adult in the other team call them "the crappiest team ever".  And when he tells us with his little voice breaking up that he felt hurt and offended at that comment, well, heck, I was then hurt and mightily offended myself.

After a small part of me was secretly harboring a desire not to have to run all over God's creation to take this child to the many tournaments that making this team would entail, I now felt a raw, very personal ache for him to make that team. Because, lets face it, he is a good kid. A kind, decent, hard-working boy who actually asks very little from anybody, and all he really wants is to play ball. So, when we finally got the news this morning that he made the team, I could not wait for him to get home from school so I could tell him. And his reaction was well worth all the sacrifices that are sure to come.

I'm a happy mom.

The Point of No Return

Tuesday, January 7, 2014.  The morning routine starts a bit out of whack, thrown off by the Polar Vortex that transformed the usually mild winter of our little corner of rural Maryland into a frigid wonderland, with sub-zero wind chills. In the continental United States, the weather was the news of the day.  But it was news from another, faraway place that froze my heart solid.

The news came of yet another murder in Venezuela. Another number. Another statistic that colors my homeland in ever darker hues of black, as if that were even possible. But this time it was a public figure. The news came of the murder of Monica Spears, a 29-year-old actress, former Miss Venezuela, and above all, mother of one. I didn't know her. I didn't even ever watch her soap operas or saw her win her crown. And yet, I cannot erase the image in my mind of such horrendous turn of events, the image of a 5-year-old found injured in a car, next to the dead bodies of her parents, who were shot dead in front of her.

The Venezuelan diaspora—those Venezuelan citizens living abroad—is estimated at 1.2 million people. That is 3.5% of the population. By all measurements and statistics, the Venezuelan migrant has been characterized by being highly skilled, educated, and professional. This exodus, better known in Venezuela as "brain drain," has intensified in the last 14 years, the result of young people fleeing a country that no longer offers them a future, a country whose government—or lack thereof—has strangled entrepreneurship, innovation, opportunity, safety, decency, and security out of the lives of ordinary citizens. Our rich and prosperous history as a country that became great by welcoming immigrants from all places, a country that opened its arms to all people, is long gone. We are now a country that exports its most precious resource: its young people. The world is now peppered by 1.2 million people who work hard, and usually succeed, at adapting to their new homelands, but that even as they are grateful for the opportunity they have, cannot help but to live their lives longing, yearning for that which is familiar, for those 912 thousand Km² that beckon them to come back, that whisper in their ears, late at night, when no one is watching, asking them to return. And like sailors following the sound of the siren's song, you make plans, you buy tickets, you get on a plane, full of dreams, and hopes, in the company of the family you have formed in your time abroad, giddy at the idea of showing your children everything you have been telling them about since the day they were born, when the first lullaby you sang to them was Gloria al Bravo Pueblo. You bring your husband, and your U.S. born daughter to spend the holidays home. Your home. You proudly show her the beauties of the mountains, of the plains, of the terrain that makes your homeland the true wonder that it is, that makes you believe in the existence of a Creator, because such magnificent beauty cannot be the result of an accident. And while you traverse its landscape, fate decides that you should become one more among the thousands of people who fall victim to the crime that is crippling the nation. Your car breaks down, and while you wait for help, death arrives, in the shape of misery, ignorance, indolence, and impunity. Six close-range shots aimed at you and your family, including your 5-year-old daughter, because you locked yourself inside your car when they came to rob you. Only your daughter survives. And for all your efforts trying to instill in her your love for the motherland, the last memories she will ever have of your home are memories of horror, distress, and desolation.

Venezuelans have many traits that set them apart. Tenacity is one of them. Some may call it stubbornness. We are dead set on maybe someday returning. We all harbor the hope of going back, even if for just a little while, to rekindle that fire, that invisible, primal connection that keeps us attached to the homeland, and that doesn't loosen its grip, no matter how long you have been away. But, like an old childhood friend now living in Australia said, one by one, we are beginning to discover, that there are some things that signal our own personal "point of no return."  That one event that tipped the scales for you. That one thing that told you, once and for all, that there is no going back. That the land of your dreams, the country of your past is forever gone.

This year will mark 20 years since I left. Twenty. Half a lifetime. On Tuesday, January 7, 2014, I read the news, and I heard the sound of a door closing behind me, and with that sound, my soul shattered in a million little pieces. I was left bereft.

On Tuesday, January 7, 2014, I reached my point of no return.

Good Byes

A friend of my friend just passed away, and I am heartbroken.

It's odd, because I have known this person since I was young, and hard as we tried, ours was a cordial relationship at best. Most times we did not quite see eye to eye, and other than for the mutual friend we had in common, we probably would have never even turned our heads to look at each other.

In the maturity and insight that comes with age, I have come to recognize that I grew resentful of her, because in a way, I felt that she somehow stole my friend away from me. You see, I was the childhood friend, the very first one. Me and my friend met at the age of 3 & 4, and grew up together, went to school together, went through the hardships of teenagehood together, and then, before we knew it, the time came for us to go our separate ways. We went to different colleges, and that's when Maria Elena came into the story.  She was the college friend, and she was engaging, fun, confident, and she truly cared for my friend. I resented that.

The years went by, and our lives took all of us in different directions. We all moved thousands of miles away from home and from one another. We built families that kept us busy, and we didn't speak nearly as often as we'd probably liked to, but it didn't matter, because the love was still there. Oddly enough, I felt peace of mind knowing that my friend still had a strong relationship with her "other" friend. Being so far away from home and family, it is comforting to know that someone still has got your back. I know I am not a very communicative person. I am not one to pick up the phone and make a call. That doesn't mean that I don't care. It is just the way I'm wired. But because I know my failings, it gave me a measure of comfort knowing that she was still there, that she would do the things I wouldn't. She would pick up that phone and make that call, just to see how things were going with my friend. I am grateful for that, because my friend has had a few rough years, and that support has meant the world to her. She hasn't told me so, but I know it.

And now I find out this terrible news, and I am surprised to find myself feeling very sad. I think of her family, the young kids she left behind, and I cannot help but to feel an immense wave of sorrow. Her daughter, in the throngs of teenagehood herself, lost her mother when she most needed her, but at least she will have memories of her, and of the sunny person she truly was. In a few years, her young son will probably have next to no recollection of his mother, a thought that tears me up, as I look over at my own little guy, and wonder what if... the idea is too daunting to bear.

I am grateful that my friend was able to flight to her bedside and be with her just hours before she passed away. I know this made a huge difference to her. She was able to show her friend just how much she loved her. She was able to show her in the way that matters most, that she was a beacon of light in my friend's life, that her life was meaningful in so many intangible ways, that she truly touched other people's lives, and for that very reason, her short time on this earth was not in vain. She lived a life of purpose, love and laughter.

I am sad. My loved one lost a loved one today.

Technology, Blessing or Curse?

WhatsApp is great!  It may just be one of the most genius inventions EVER!! I mean, imagine being able to text (who needs to talk? That’s soooo 20^th century) with anyone you want anywhere in the world, and not having to pay one single cent for every message you sent. Genius.

And to someone like me, whose family is spread out far and wide (and I mean FAAAAR and WIIIIDE), the neat opportunity of finding out what everyone is up to at the single touch of my fingertips, just makes family feel so close (without the added inconvenience of actually having to be close to them, yah know?). So, it stands to reason that I felt eager to have the little app added to my iPhone, and myself added to my beloved family unit’s group. Instant gratification. As soon as the app was on my iPhone, the first ‘ding’ took less than 2 minutes to be heard. Oh! A message!!  So, I go and check it out, to find out immediately that it was one of my nieces sending a message to another one of my nieces, half a world away, but since I’m part of the group, I get the message too. I spend a very entertained afternoon reading what the younger lot of my family has been, is, or will be up to… and the evening, and the early hours of the morning, and noon…. and the darned thing doesn’t. Stop. Dinging!!!... And not a single one of the messages is actually for me. That’s what I get for trying to be interested in my family.

But, when the one niece in Spain is sending texts at 9:00 AM, just on her way to school, to the other one that is in L.A., just getting ready to party at midnight, with input from the gallery in Washington state, south Florida, and lord knows where else, it wakes the fudge up of this ole lady who is trying to sleep at 3:00 AM (what? None of you sleeps with their cell phones next to them??). Whoever thought it was a good idea to be THIS connected?!? Especially when you have a gang of girls (and one lonely guy), ranging in ages from 12 to 23+ in your family. And that is excluding the ones under 10, which I KNOW are just bidding their time to come out and deliver the final blow that will off us all.

And, yes, you could very easily just turn the phone to silent mode, but then, the light goes on every time a message comes through, and no matter how much willpower you think you have, the lure is just too strong. You can’t help yourself. You just need to see what the last ditty is about!! Believe me, I have tried. I am like a drug addict: I know this is not good for me, but I just can’t help it. And I know I’m not the only one. People have been known to have gone insane within this crew. Legend has it that my poor aunt down in Venezuela was last seen pulling her hair out and throwing the danged phone into a pond to “make the voices stop!”  

As for me, I found the feature to mute them all (yeay!!), but the longest I can mute them for is one week. One week of silence. One week of blessed peace… and then, the closer we get to the end of the week, my eye starts twitching, my breathing becomes fast and shallow, my skin is clammy, my hair disheveled…. “Are you feeling ok?,” some concerned stranger asks. “Oh, she’s fine, it’s just that the voices are about to come back,” my 9 year old answers…