A static-y version of Lauryn Hill's Doo Wop filled my ears as I rode my '88 Toyota Camry home from Stinson beach this afternoon. We wound around the curves of the road, teetering on the edge of cliffs that drop off to sparkling oceans and abundant evergreens. Afternoon sunshine coupled with pockets of cool, cool shade covered me and my beloved car (we been through a lot together--she was stolen from outside my house two years ago and we are still together and goin' strong!). I let the sunlight and the Doo Wop fill me, taking me over. "How you gon' win when you ain't right within?" Lauryn's voice questions me. In this moment, there is no doubt in my mind; I am right within.
Let me take you through my day. I awoke to grey skies and Bay morning fog, after spending the night in my own bed. I stepped off a plane last night to my mom, dad, and sis waiting for me at the airport, was driven home to find a veggie burrito, dad's guacamole, and freshly cut watermelon waiting for me. Crawled into bed and passed out under the layers of covers.
I woke up to a bbm from one of my closest NY friends, sending salutations to my mama and telling me she can only imagine how ultra-bubbly I am right now, in my happy place and space. Dad's oatmeal pancakes and a convo with mom about where I will land after college. We are leaning towards home, discussing the fact that we are a family-oriented family. Then again, you never know...baby sister is talking about East Coasting it next year. I have already been gone for her crucial high school years, so being nearby for her college years means a lot to me.
I decided at about 10:45am to go to Stinson beach--with a group of people leaving Oakland at 11am. My boy runs a high school drop-out prevention program, and they were taking the youth to the beach. When he called me asking that I pick up one of the young folks on the way, my decision was sealed; I was beach bound. I threw on a bathing suit, long cotton dress, mega-sized earrings my sister bought me as a welcome-home gift, and was en route. We spent the day BBQing, sun-soaking (the three lighter-complexioned folks lathered up with sunscreen, which prompted the comment, "now it smells like white people!"), and sharing words.
I arrived home with plans to visit a friend, but when my dad suggested family dinner, family dinner it was. We went out to this new little Italian place on MacArthur, which I used to scowl at when I drove past because from the outside it looks unaffordable and too new. Not the case. A boy who grew up around the corner is the main waiter, and we drove up to his dad sitting outside with their pitbull-and-something mutt, enjoying some shrimp spaghetti. The boy-next-door wasn't our waiter, but came over and checked in with me about life, and then let us know he'd make sure we were well taken care of. Town business.
I'm off now to do more checking-in and freeway-driving with my windows down and jank radio all the way up. And I just might win. I am right within.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Time flies and Lilly forgets to blog
Time has blown by. It is Wednesday night, and I return home to New York Saturday night. Please forgive my lack of blogging. I have so many thoughts that I have not even been able to journal properly the past couple of months.
I am in such a good place, so happy to return to New York City. For summer nights in the city, just chillin', legally drinking, looking cute and not worrying about too much (we'll leave the worrying for the semester and beyond). So looking forward to reading books for pleasure and sipping iced coffee and sitting in Washington Square Park basking in after-work sunshine. For hosting dinners and cooking and being happy and young and having fun. For journalling and hanging on to myself within the madness--and wonderfulness--that is NYC. I have been nothing but excited to go back, but then when I told one of my roommates that I am done with finals, she urged me to rest up now, because there is no sleep to be had in NYC. I guess we'll see.
My time in Buenos Aires has been slowly winding down, and I feel like I've had lots of closure in many ways. Last week we had our NYU-sponsored end-of-semester party, at which I gave a mini speech, I have turned in my last final paper, given my last final presentation, reflected with the administrators on the program. I made reservations today for our crew to have one last family dinner at the most famous steakhouse in Buenos Aires (La Cabrera), we have birthday parties lined up for the next few nights, I sort of began to pack up, have purchased most of my gifts to bring home... it is becoming real that we are leaving. I have been waiting for this moment basically all semester, but now that it has arrived it is bittersweet. The whole summer without these amazing folks that I have been with every day will be so bizarre. As D pointed out, it would be different if we were all going back to New York, but everyone's off to romping around the country or the world, so who knows how we'll end up in the fall. Regardless of what happens, I would never ever ever want to trade this semester.
This semester I became comfortable with using my Spanish...and picked up the pretentious Argentine accent, sadly. I traveled 2 hours out of capital twice a week to volunteer with an amazing co-op. I took all my courses in español and did pretty damn well. I went to Patagonia, saw glaciers and kayaaked on potable lakes. I went to Mendoza, Argentine wine country, and saw the beautiful Andes mountains between Argentina and Chile. I went to Iguazú and saw the most majestic waterfalls/nature of my entire life. I turned 21. I danced the night away in the middle of a golf course. I developed a taste for Argentine wine and learned that I really just don't crave red meat, ever. I had a mini anxiety attack and bought copious amounts of new journals and rings. I couldn't find pants in this country that fit me, and wasn't phased by it. I dressed more casually than I ever have since I came to New York. As the seasons changed, I reaffirmed my belief that I am an autumn girl at heart, not a summertimer. I made a new group of close friends, missed the ones at home so much my heart almost broke, and realized that I have two homes now--Oakland and New York. I fulfilled my wanderlust, for now. My head and soul are full from this semester's experience, despite my problems with the hidden poverty and the largely undiscussed colorism and eurocentrism, and I do not for one second regret any of the past four months. I have changed, although I am not sure how. I will keep y'all posted, 'cause one of my dear friends will have analyzed and pointed out every tiny change within the first night of my being back, as he did when I returned from Kazakhstan.
What I have taken the most from this trip is my Spanish, my friends, but, above all, my desire for roots and to stay in one place. Those of you who have been reading for a while know that my NYC friends think I have a problem: I don't know how to stay in one place. Well, friends, my heart is craving that stability. With you, of course. :)
I am in such a good place, so happy to return to New York City. For summer nights in the city, just chillin', legally drinking, looking cute and not worrying about too much (we'll leave the worrying for the semester and beyond). So looking forward to reading books for pleasure and sipping iced coffee and sitting in Washington Square Park basking in after-work sunshine. For hosting dinners and cooking and being happy and young and having fun. For journalling and hanging on to myself within the madness--and wonderfulness--that is NYC. I have been nothing but excited to go back, but then when I told one of my roommates that I am done with finals, she urged me to rest up now, because there is no sleep to be had in NYC. I guess we'll see.
My time in Buenos Aires has been slowly winding down, and I feel like I've had lots of closure in many ways. Last week we had our NYU-sponsored end-of-semester party, at which I gave a mini speech, I have turned in my last final paper, given my last final presentation, reflected with the administrators on the program. I made reservations today for our crew to have one last family dinner at the most famous steakhouse in Buenos Aires (La Cabrera), we have birthday parties lined up for the next few nights, I sort of began to pack up, have purchased most of my gifts to bring home... it is becoming real that we are leaving. I have been waiting for this moment basically all semester, but now that it has arrived it is bittersweet. The whole summer without these amazing folks that I have been with every day will be so bizarre. As D pointed out, it would be different if we were all going back to New York, but everyone's off to romping around the country or the world, so who knows how we'll end up in the fall. Regardless of what happens, I would never ever ever want to trade this semester.
This semester I became comfortable with using my Spanish...and picked up the pretentious Argentine accent, sadly. I traveled 2 hours out of capital twice a week to volunteer with an amazing co-op. I took all my courses in español and did pretty damn well. I went to Patagonia, saw glaciers and kayaaked on potable lakes. I went to Mendoza, Argentine wine country, and saw the beautiful Andes mountains between Argentina and Chile. I went to Iguazú and saw the most majestic waterfalls/nature of my entire life. I turned 21. I danced the night away in the middle of a golf course. I developed a taste for Argentine wine and learned that I really just don't crave red meat, ever. I had a mini anxiety attack and bought copious amounts of new journals and rings. I couldn't find pants in this country that fit me, and wasn't phased by it. I dressed more casually than I ever have since I came to New York. As the seasons changed, I reaffirmed my belief that I am an autumn girl at heart, not a summertimer. I made a new group of close friends, missed the ones at home so much my heart almost broke, and realized that I have two homes now--Oakland and New York. I fulfilled my wanderlust, for now. My head and soul are full from this semester's experience, despite my problems with the hidden poverty and the largely undiscussed colorism and eurocentrism, and I do not for one second regret any of the past four months. I have changed, although I am not sure how. I will keep y'all posted, 'cause one of my dear friends will have analyzed and pointed out every tiny change within the first night of my being back, as he did when I returned from Kazakhstan.
What I have taken the most from this trip is my Spanish, my friends, but, above all, my desire for roots and to stay in one place. Those of you who have been reading for a while know that my NYC friends think I have a problem: I don't know how to stay in one place. Well, friends, my heart is craving that stability. With you, of course. :)
Friday, May 14, 2010
Coming Soon
Holas!
I have been neglecting my blog. I am currently sitting in MALBA, Museo del Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, waiting for a Cinema Symposium to start. How posh my life has become, huh?
Anyways, I will write more later this weekend when I have a bit more time to really sit and reflect. For now, though, I will say that knowing I am going home in 3 weeks has eased my mind and brought me a sense of happiness. Because the end is in sight, I have been able to completely release any tension or anxiety and just roll with the fun times here. More details to come :)
Besos, abrazos, and missing you all so much,
L
I have been neglecting my blog. I am currently sitting in MALBA, Museo del Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, waiting for a Cinema Symposium to start. How posh my life has become, huh?
Anyways, I will write more later this weekend when I have a bit more time to really sit and reflect. For now, though, I will say that knowing I am going home in 3 weeks has eased my mind and brought me a sense of happiness. Because the end is in sight, I have been able to completely release any tension or anxiety and just roll with the fun times here. More details to come :)
Besos, abrazos, and missing you all so much,
L
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Post Relaxation?
Spring Break is definitely over, but I am retaining the sense of calmness that I gained. Let me recap it so you can visualize, and then we will get down to the business of analyzing. It was just the two of us the whole break, which made decisions and meals and traveling much easier.
Step 1: Overnight bus from Buenos Aires to Mendoza, Argentina
By the end of Day 1, Mendoza had my heart. It is near the border with Chile, and known for its vineyards and olive oil. I arrived expecting fantastic wine tasting, food, and beautiful greenness, but the thing that I loved the most was the warmth of the people. Everyone was so friendly, so laid back, so relaxed, just had the best vibes. I love cities where the people look you in the eyes, where you don't feel rushed out of conversations, where a smile in the street is more common than a glare. Granted, it is a machista culture like much of South America, so Des and I also got growled and whistled at incessantly, but if you take that as it is, the people treat each other with so much warmth and respect. Another thing that I loved: the women have actual curves. In Buenos Aires, in Capital, there is one primary body type: tallish, very thin, curvy within a petite framework. Mendoza has much more physical diversity (and we all know how much I love diversity). We spent a day in the Andes mountains, on the Chilean border, which was breathtaking and full of so many shades of red, browns and yellows juxtaposed with the bright blue of the sky and the intense white of the clouds. I had one of those "I AM IN (insert name of place in the world here) RIGHT NOW" moments, and could barely believe it was real. In between wine and olive oil tasting and lounging in the many green plazas in the city, I found a comfort and easy breathing that had been lacking in Buenos Aires. Maybe I am a slow-paced, urban but friendly-sized city girl and not the bustling-city girl I thought I was? (Okay, so I guess I am completely unable to leave the analysis out of the summary. Big surprise, huh?)
Step 2: Overnight bus to Bariloche, Argentina
Bariloche is in the Northern area of Patagonia, known for its many beautiful lakes and for being the Argentinian home of chocolate. We went kayaking on the clearest water I have ever seen in my life---all of it is potable!! It was absolutely beautiful, and so tranquil. We ran into a café that had "churro and chocolate caliente" happy hour--2 cups of steaming hot, amazing hot chocolate and two churros a piece for a grand total of 12 pesos (about 3 dollars). We only stayed for a couple of nights, but our hostel had free dinner included, we roamed the streets and shops, the air was perfectly autumn-tinged, again, the people so so friendly and wonderful.
Step 3: Flight to El Calafate, Patagonia, Argentina
El Calafate is most famous for its glacier, Perito Moreno (not my photo, but check it out here: http://duke3d.com.ar/bluke/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/perito_moreno_glacier_patagonia_argentina_luca_galuzzi_2005.jpg). I am overusing this word, but no other will suffice; it was BREATHTAKING. There is not a lot to do in El Calafate but see the glaciers, but we were at the end of our trip and in relaxation mode. We went to Perito Moreno one day, spent another day and night in El Chaltén, a nearby hiking town, saw the flamingos that live in a lagoon in Calafate another day. I read lots of books and journaled more than I have the entire time I've been in Buenos Aires, met lots of interesting people in the hostels and on the trails (LOTS of Israelis, because a lot go to tours of South American after they exit the army), and were genuinely cold for the first time since we've been here. El Calafate is way South, almost at the very Southernmost tip of South America.
Step 4: Returning to Buenos Aires initially filled me with dread. I didn't want to return to a huge, impersonal, non-green city after this week and a half of indulging in rich foods, clear air, gorgeous scenery, and friendly people. If I had to return to a big city, I wanted it to be New York. Sunday night, the night we got back, I spent moping and missing my friends and family from home (both homes). But the natural high of nature and good spirits has remained with me, and I have been in such a healthily happy mood all week. It doesn't hurt that almost everyone in our program has been riding their own personal nature and relaxation highs. The real analysis and in-depth descriptions will follow shortly. I wanted to check-in a bit, for now.
I love you all. Thank you for reading! It means a lot to me :) If you have a blog, please send me the link so I can keep up with you.
Besos, abrazos, y buenas ondas,
L
Step 1: Overnight bus from Buenos Aires to Mendoza, Argentina
By the end of Day 1, Mendoza had my heart. It is near the border with Chile, and known for its vineyards and olive oil. I arrived expecting fantastic wine tasting, food, and beautiful greenness, but the thing that I loved the most was the warmth of the people. Everyone was so friendly, so laid back, so relaxed, just had the best vibes. I love cities where the people look you in the eyes, where you don't feel rushed out of conversations, where a smile in the street is more common than a glare. Granted, it is a machista culture like much of South America, so Des and I also got growled and whistled at incessantly, but if you take that as it is, the people treat each other with so much warmth and respect. Another thing that I loved: the women have actual curves. In Buenos Aires, in Capital, there is one primary body type: tallish, very thin, curvy within a petite framework. Mendoza has much more physical diversity (and we all know how much I love diversity). We spent a day in the Andes mountains, on the Chilean border, which was breathtaking and full of so many shades of red, browns and yellows juxtaposed with the bright blue of the sky and the intense white of the clouds. I had one of those "I AM IN (insert name of place in the world here) RIGHT NOW" moments, and could barely believe it was real. In between wine and olive oil tasting and lounging in the many green plazas in the city, I found a comfort and easy breathing that had been lacking in Buenos Aires. Maybe I am a slow-paced, urban but friendly-sized city girl and not the bustling-city girl I thought I was? (Okay, so I guess I am completely unable to leave the analysis out of the summary. Big surprise, huh?)
Step 2: Overnight bus to Bariloche, Argentina
Bariloche is in the Northern area of Patagonia, known for its many beautiful lakes and for being the Argentinian home of chocolate. We went kayaking on the clearest water I have ever seen in my life---all of it is potable!! It was absolutely beautiful, and so tranquil. We ran into a café that had "churro and chocolate caliente" happy hour--2 cups of steaming hot, amazing hot chocolate and two churros a piece for a grand total of 12 pesos (about 3 dollars). We only stayed for a couple of nights, but our hostel had free dinner included, we roamed the streets and shops, the air was perfectly autumn-tinged, again, the people so so friendly and wonderful.
Step 3: Flight to El Calafate, Patagonia, Argentina
El Calafate is most famous for its glacier, Perito Moreno (not my photo, but check it out here: http://duke3d.com.ar/bluke/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/perito_moreno_glacier_patagonia_argentina_luca_galuzzi_2005.jpg). I am overusing this word, but no other will suffice; it was BREATHTAKING. There is not a lot to do in El Calafate but see the glaciers, but we were at the end of our trip and in relaxation mode. We went to Perito Moreno one day, spent another day and night in El Chaltén, a nearby hiking town, saw the flamingos that live in a lagoon in Calafate another day. I read lots of books and journaled more than I have the entire time I've been in Buenos Aires, met lots of interesting people in the hostels and on the trails (LOTS of Israelis, because a lot go to tours of South American after they exit the army), and were genuinely cold for the first time since we've been here. El Calafate is way South, almost at the very Southernmost tip of South America.
Step 4: Returning to Buenos Aires initially filled me with dread. I didn't want to return to a huge, impersonal, non-green city after this week and a half of indulging in rich foods, clear air, gorgeous scenery, and friendly people. If I had to return to a big city, I wanted it to be New York. Sunday night, the night we got back, I spent moping and missing my friends and family from home (both homes). But the natural high of nature and good spirits has remained with me, and I have been in such a healthily happy mood all week. It doesn't hurt that almost everyone in our program has been riding their own personal nature and relaxation highs. The real analysis and in-depth descriptions will follow shortly. I wanted to check-in a bit, for now.
I love you all. Thank you for reading! It means a lot to me :) If you have a blog, please send me the link so I can keep up with you.
Besos, abrazos, y buenas ondas,
L
Thursday, March 25, 2010
A musical day
Today has been a day of music. I wiped the sleep from my eyes as I entered the Subte with thoughts of the Coca Cola tango-dancer billboards around the city. I shimmied in my seat to outdated American jazzy pop music as our van to La Matanza flew by sunshine and the city and horses and fields, leaving Capital behind us.
Upon arriving at my volunteer site, we were told that until the kids arrived for classes that we could help pack up the Semana Santa pan roscas (sweet breads for Easter). In the midst of sweet, sugary-smelling breads and celophane wrapping and crinkling and the snipping of pink ribbons, two Argentine brothers walked in. They smiled and said hi in a familiar way that prompted my compañera to ask if I knew them. They promptly unpacked a guitar and announced they would play for us as we worked. They opened their mouths and my heart stopped (and melted); all jokes aside, they had the most beautiful voices I have heard in years, each like a different texture of honey. In between 4 or 5 songs we chatted a bit and learned that each is in a different band. One is an Argentine rock band, the other a Mexican Mariachi and Ranchera band. The Mariachi brother plays just a few blocks from my dorm on weekends, so at least one of this weekend's nights is now booked.
(Oh, and let's talk about how last night I fell asleep with freshly beat-boxed rythms in my head. One of the friendliest boys in my dorm is a famous Hip Hop artist in Paraguay, where he's from. He wouldn't freestyle for me, but agreed to beatbox, and upon beginning was joined by an NYU kid who's also really good.)
The evening wound down with a Tango Orchestral performance and presentation on the history, methodology, and music of tango, conducted at the NYU academic center. Check the mout at www.myspace.com/orquestaimperial. My mind drifted as I soaked up the notes and smiled to myself and to the performers (which I'm sure weirded out one of the women who got caught off guard when she looked up from her accordian-like tango instrument to a cheesing Lilly), and in the moment I felt so utterly happy with Buenos Aires. I also felt so thankful that I attend NYU... I am living a charmed life in Buenos Aires, via New York City--specifically Greenwich village, Manhattan.
I love my life the most in the moments when it is filled with music. And the moments it is filled with love... but love is its own flavor of music.
Here's to a musical day and the hope and belief that this music is a foreshadowing of what is to come,
L
Upon arriving at my volunteer site, we were told that until the kids arrived for classes that we could help pack up the Semana Santa pan roscas (sweet breads for Easter). In the midst of sweet, sugary-smelling breads and celophane wrapping and crinkling and the snipping of pink ribbons, two Argentine brothers walked in. They smiled and said hi in a familiar way that prompted my compañera to ask if I knew them. They promptly unpacked a guitar and announced they would play for us as we worked. They opened their mouths and my heart stopped (and melted); all jokes aside, they had the most beautiful voices I have heard in years, each like a different texture of honey. In between 4 or 5 songs we chatted a bit and learned that each is in a different band. One is an Argentine rock band, the other a Mexican Mariachi and Ranchera band. The Mariachi brother plays just a few blocks from my dorm on weekends, so at least one of this weekend's nights is now booked.
(Oh, and let's talk about how last night I fell asleep with freshly beat-boxed rythms in my head. One of the friendliest boys in my dorm is a famous Hip Hop artist in Paraguay, where he's from. He wouldn't freestyle for me, but agreed to beatbox, and upon beginning was joined by an NYU kid who's also really good.)
The evening wound down with a Tango Orchestral performance and presentation on the history, methodology, and music of tango, conducted at the NYU academic center. Check the mout at www.myspace.com/orquestaimperial. My mind drifted as I soaked up the notes and smiled to myself and to the performers (which I'm sure weirded out one of the women who got caught off guard when she looked up from her accordian-like tango instrument to a cheesing Lilly), and in the moment I felt so utterly happy with Buenos Aires. I also felt so thankful that I attend NYU... I am living a charmed life in Buenos Aires, via New York City--specifically Greenwich village, Manhattan.
I love my life the most in the moments when it is filled with music. And the moments it is filled with love... but love is its own flavor of music.
Here's to a musical day and the hope and belief that this music is a foreshadowing of what is to come,
L
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
People are people are people?
And so we return to the theme of my blog, to the inspiration with which I began this journey of airing my dirty laundry on the internet.
I have spent the past week going to events in the young Jewish Argentine world. It's been amazing and enriching and immersive on multiple levels. I have been reunited with hummus and babaganoush (eggplant dip), pita bread and grilled vegetables, prayers in Hebrew and people who observe and appreciate shabbat. One of the young men in my program is working for Hillel International and helping to plan Jewish events for International students, so he is super tapped into the young Jewish scene here. He invited me to a sushi dinner shabbat on Friday night and to a shabbat lunch at a Jewish youth center, both of which I attended this past weekend. I met young Jewish Argentinians and spent the weekend mingling and practicing my Spanish with them. I am always a little hesistant when stepping into new Jewish spaces because I worry about how I will be perceived and received; I have tattoos (an absolute no-no for Orthodox Jews), I am not observant, I support the liberation and autonomy of Palestine, I come from an interfaith family and do not believe that interfaith marriage will kill off the Jewish people... the list goes on. Still, I felt relatively comfortable and very welcomed this weekend. I might even start going to art classes at the Jewish youth center where we had lunch on Saturday/Shabbat. (The center is GORGEOUS and probably the most attractive building I have been in yet in Buenos Aires. It has tons of windows, bouquets of flowers everywhere, skylights, comfortable chairs and couches, huge bookshelves, a rooftop with a view of Buenos Aires... a very calming, purifying, communal space that feels like what I believe a Jewish space should feel like.)
I love thinking back on my childhood and realizing how integral a part of my identity my Jewishness is. Although I was never particularly religious or observant, both Kehilla and JYCA were so crucial in the formation of my beliefs and orientation about the world. Kehilla is the Jewish congregation my family belonged to, and many of the families are interfaith, interracial, multiracial, non-heterosexual, and services almost always include dancing and singing and instruments in the audience. JYCA, Jewish Youth for Community Action, is a group of high-school-aged Jewish students in Berkeley, California, that focuses on youth leadership and community activism and social justice.
Despite all of these wonderful emotions and memories that occur when I spend time around Jewish people and Jewish communities, I can not help but feel creeped out when other Jewish people suddenly seem to like me worlds more when they find out I am Jewish. While I understand the importance of sharing time and relationships with people who also share histories and traditions and beliefs, I can not endorse the idea of treating people with more attention, more energy, more care, more love, and more interest just because you both are Jewish. I believe that we should share our energy and our love with everyone who exhibits the same love and energy for the world that we do. Sure, people cling and flock to those who share their same moral and political beliefs, but I want to be assured that when I am being loved, I am being loved for me and not for my ancestry.
"People are people are people" is a quote that our tour guide on my Taglit birthright trip to Israel kept repeating. He used the phrase to demonstrate that people are the same all over the world, that basic humanity connects us all. But his constant usage of the phrase bothered me, especially in light of the fact that not all Jews are treated equally in Israel (see one of my extremely old blog posts on the situation for Ethiopian Jews in Israel, for example, and the popular belief held by many non-black Israelis that they would never ever bring a black Jew home to meet their parents). So lately, as I've been spending lovely afternoons and evenings mingling with beautiful Argentinian Jewish young people, loving my heritage and roots and the chance to connect to these people here, I have also been contemplating this concept. To me, people are totally people are people (the more I write the word "people," the funnier it looks!). It almost feels wrong, then, against my internal moral compass, to accept this acceptance that I am receiving from communities that might not believe that "people are people are people" in practice. I think that I need to read more about Judaism and what Judaism declares about this concept. In the meantime, I am loving my entrance into Jewishness in Buenos Aires, and eagerly anticipating an Argentinian Passover seder (though nothing can ever compare to my faimly's seders, where we eat potatoes and hard boiled eggs while we read through the Haggadah 'cause no one can handle hunger pains, and the entire seder is sprinkled with pieces and songs on global justice).
With love for people who are people who are people, and with respect and acknowledgment of the ways that people are not always allowed to be or not interested in being people who are people who are people,
L
I have spent the past week going to events in the young Jewish Argentine world. It's been amazing and enriching and immersive on multiple levels. I have been reunited with hummus and babaganoush (eggplant dip), pita bread and grilled vegetables, prayers in Hebrew and people who observe and appreciate shabbat. One of the young men in my program is working for Hillel International and helping to plan Jewish events for International students, so he is super tapped into the young Jewish scene here. He invited me to a sushi dinner shabbat on Friday night and to a shabbat lunch at a Jewish youth center, both of which I attended this past weekend. I met young Jewish Argentinians and spent the weekend mingling and practicing my Spanish with them. I am always a little hesistant when stepping into new Jewish spaces because I worry about how I will be perceived and received; I have tattoos (an absolute no-no for Orthodox Jews), I am not observant, I support the liberation and autonomy of Palestine, I come from an interfaith family and do not believe that interfaith marriage will kill off the Jewish people... the list goes on. Still, I felt relatively comfortable and very welcomed this weekend. I might even start going to art classes at the Jewish youth center where we had lunch on Saturday/Shabbat. (The center is GORGEOUS and probably the most attractive building I have been in yet in Buenos Aires. It has tons of windows, bouquets of flowers everywhere, skylights, comfortable chairs and couches, huge bookshelves, a rooftop with a view of Buenos Aires... a very calming, purifying, communal space that feels like what I believe a Jewish space should feel like.)
I love thinking back on my childhood and realizing how integral a part of my identity my Jewishness is. Although I was never particularly religious or observant, both Kehilla and JYCA were so crucial in the formation of my beliefs and orientation about the world. Kehilla is the Jewish congregation my family belonged to, and many of the families are interfaith, interracial, multiracial, non-heterosexual, and services almost always include dancing and singing and instruments in the audience. JYCA, Jewish Youth for Community Action, is a group of high-school-aged Jewish students in Berkeley, California, that focuses on youth leadership and community activism and social justice.
Despite all of these wonderful emotions and memories that occur when I spend time around Jewish people and Jewish communities, I can not help but feel creeped out when other Jewish people suddenly seem to like me worlds more when they find out I am Jewish. While I understand the importance of sharing time and relationships with people who also share histories and traditions and beliefs, I can not endorse the idea of treating people with more attention, more energy, more care, more love, and more interest just because you both are Jewish. I believe that we should share our energy and our love with everyone who exhibits the same love and energy for the world that we do. Sure, people cling and flock to those who share their same moral and political beliefs, but I want to be assured that when I am being loved, I am being loved for me and not for my ancestry.
"People are people are people" is a quote that our tour guide on my Taglit birthright trip to Israel kept repeating. He used the phrase to demonstrate that people are the same all over the world, that basic humanity connects us all. But his constant usage of the phrase bothered me, especially in light of the fact that not all Jews are treated equally in Israel (see one of my extremely old blog posts on the situation for Ethiopian Jews in Israel, for example, and the popular belief held by many non-black Israelis that they would never ever bring a black Jew home to meet their parents). So lately, as I've been spending lovely afternoons and evenings mingling with beautiful Argentinian Jewish young people, loving my heritage and roots and the chance to connect to these people here, I have also been contemplating this concept. To me, people are totally people are people (the more I write the word "people," the funnier it looks!). It almost feels wrong, then, against my internal moral compass, to accept this acceptance that I am receiving from communities that might not believe that "people are people are people" in practice. I think that I need to read more about Judaism and what Judaism declares about this concept. In the meantime, I am loving my entrance into Jewishness in Buenos Aires, and eagerly anticipating an Argentinian Passover seder (though nothing can ever compare to my faimly's seders, where we eat potatoes and hard boiled eggs while we read through the Haggadah 'cause no one can handle hunger pains, and the entire seder is sprinkled with pieces and songs on global justice).
With love for people who are people who are people, and with respect and acknowledgment of the ways that people are not always allowed to be or not interested in being people who are people who are people,
L
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Crossing Paths
I find it difficult to write when I am in a bad mood. It's not that I want to censor myself or only pen down a bubbly image of who I am and what I think and feel; it is more that I do not like to associate writing with a negative cloud of energy. I haven't been in a bad mood lately, per se, but I haven't been at my best. There is something about the city of Buenos Aires that does not click with me completely. Then again, it took me 6 months to begin to like NYC. That said, we will wait to pass final judgment.
You know those moments when you witness something so wonderful you just have to smile? Those moments that create a secret between you and yourself? Sometimes other people get in on your secret, when they see your internal smile and you lock eyes and share an understanding that what just happened should be preserved, imprinted in memories and tucked away to treasure at a later date. Tuesday night on my way home from volunteering I had a smile-with-myself moment. On my way into the Subte, I noticed signs saying that the station was closed and you had to walk to the next station to catch a train. Despite the signs, however, hordes of people were surging down the stairs, so I decided to follow. All of the turnstiles were blocked off with caution tape, but a security guard had opened a gate and people were flowing onto the platform for free. I waltzed through with them and took a place on the platform. Once my brain registered that there were people waiting for a train that was supposedly not coming, I also picked up a clapping noise that was going on. People all up and down the train platform were clapping in sync. A woman near me asked one of the clappers why she was clapping, and the woman, seeing me looking, told both of us that we should join in; the clapping was to show the train operators that the people are angry and want the train to stop at that station. Minutes later, amidst the claps, a train arrived, slowly inching along and finally stopping to pick us up. I was thrilled. That would NEVER happen in New York. MTA has schedule or route changes and you just suck it up and deal with it. I smiled the whole way home as I eavesdropped on a conversation next to me between an Argentine chef and a Korean visitor whose only language in common was English. In Buenos Aires, though, apparently the people have a good deal of everyday power. It sounds trivial, but the power to clap a train into changing its route is a big deal in my mind.
At breakfast a couple of days ago, the 9-year-old daughter of one of the women who works in our residence hall ate breakfast with us. She walked up the stairs, saw me and Desiree, and ran over and threw her arms around us. Having kids around makes such a difference in my happiness level; my happy energy skyrockets when I spend time with kids.
Classes are all solidly good, but I am not feeling intellectually stimulated here, which is hard. I love to love school. I miss my Social and Cultural Analysis classes that address the problematic elements in every part of society, while also talking about the power of the people and the ways that people rally against oppression. I miss analyzing dominant power forces in regards to culture and being assigned readings that help me develop my own thoughts, or put into words what I can not verbalize myself. Especially in light of the interesting immigration-related, racially charged, class-based, and city dynamics of Buenos Aires, I especially feel the lack of support, the lack of encouragement and nourishment for my brain and soul that I receive in New York.
Today I went to a huge bookstore that used to be a theater. Supposedly it is the largest in Buenos Aires. Every time I walk into a bookstore I feel at home. (I have realized I have an obsession with the idea of home. It comes out in most of my writing. One day I'd like to write a book called "Home and Wanderlust.")
The world continues to be small: Last night we were walking around a plaza near our residence, and a guy points at us and shouts "Punta del Este!!" Three guys from Switzerland who stayed at our hostel in Uruguay--and who we played cards with at the bar's happy hour--were in Buenos Aires, and just happened to run into us. They return to Switzerland tomorrow. Who knows if we will ever meet again, but it got me thinking: how many people in my life do I cross paths with multiple times and just do not notice? I'm sure there are tons of people in New York who I have seen on a subway train or walking down the street who I come across again in a restaurant or in a park, but we don't take note of each other. The world is too small for us not to be constantly crossing paths with each other, whether or not we realize it as it happens.
More will come soon. I let too much time pass between my posts.
With thoughtfulness and happiness that the people reading this have crossed my path,
L
You know those moments when you witness something so wonderful you just have to smile? Those moments that create a secret between you and yourself? Sometimes other people get in on your secret, when they see your internal smile and you lock eyes and share an understanding that what just happened should be preserved, imprinted in memories and tucked away to treasure at a later date. Tuesday night on my way home from volunteering I had a smile-with-myself moment. On my way into the Subte, I noticed signs saying that the station was closed and you had to walk to the next station to catch a train. Despite the signs, however, hordes of people were surging down the stairs, so I decided to follow. All of the turnstiles were blocked off with caution tape, but a security guard had opened a gate and people were flowing onto the platform for free. I waltzed through with them and took a place on the platform. Once my brain registered that there were people waiting for a train that was supposedly not coming, I also picked up a clapping noise that was going on. People all up and down the train platform were clapping in sync. A woman near me asked one of the clappers why she was clapping, and the woman, seeing me looking, told both of us that we should join in; the clapping was to show the train operators that the people are angry and want the train to stop at that station. Minutes later, amidst the claps, a train arrived, slowly inching along and finally stopping to pick us up. I was thrilled. That would NEVER happen in New York. MTA has schedule or route changes and you just suck it up and deal with it. I smiled the whole way home as I eavesdropped on a conversation next to me between an Argentine chef and a Korean visitor whose only language in common was English. In Buenos Aires, though, apparently the people have a good deal of everyday power. It sounds trivial, but the power to clap a train into changing its route is a big deal in my mind.
At breakfast a couple of days ago, the 9-year-old daughter of one of the women who works in our residence hall ate breakfast with us. She walked up the stairs, saw me and Desiree, and ran over and threw her arms around us. Having kids around makes such a difference in my happiness level; my happy energy skyrockets when I spend time with kids.
Classes are all solidly good, but I am not feeling intellectually stimulated here, which is hard. I love to love school. I miss my Social and Cultural Analysis classes that address the problematic elements in every part of society, while also talking about the power of the people and the ways that people rally against oppression. I miss analyzing dominant power forces in regards to culture and being assigned readings that help me develop my own thoughts, or put into words what I can not verbalize myself. Especially in light of the interesting immigration-related, racially charged, class-based, and city dynamics of Buenos Aires, I especially feel the lack of support, the lack of encouragement and nourishment for my brain and soul that I receive in New York.
Today I went to a huge bookstore that used to be a theater. Supposedly it is the largest in Buenos Aires. Every time I walk into a bookstore I feel at home. (I have realized I have an obsession with the idea of home. It comes out in most of my writing. One day I'd like to write a book called "Home and Wanderlust.")
The world continues to be small: Last night we were walking around a plaza near our residence, and a guy points at us and shouts "Punta del Este!!" Three guys from Switzerland who stayed at our hostel in Uruguay--and who we played cards with at the bar's happy hour--were in Buenos Aires, and just happened to run into us. They return to Switzerland tomorrow. Who knows if we will ever meet again, but it got me thinking: how many people in my life do I cross paths with multiple times and just do not notice? I'm sure there are tons of people in New York who I have seen on a subway train or walking down the street who I come across again in a restaurant or in a park, but we don't take note of each other. The world is too small for us not to be constantly crossing paths with each other, whether or not we realize it as it happens.
More will come soon. I let too much time pass between my posts.
With thoughtfulness and happiness that the people reading this have crossed my path,
L
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