Story of the Week :D

Hi sugar plums!
Well, I have news to share. Good news that is. My short story "Missing Doctor" has been published as the Story of the Week at LiterateNubian.org. Check it out, and tell me what you think.

Missing Doctor

Hugs!
Cynthia

Little burning crosses buried in pockets and phones.

The other day I called an agency to possibly model for them. I said the usual hellos and how are you's. You know, the cordial phone stuff. Then the receptionist went straight to business: "How tall are you?"

"5'5."

"And whats your race?" he asked.

"Latina," I proudly told him.

"Oh, so you're Puerto Rican." he informed me.

"Noooooo. Actually I'm Dominican American." I didn't know that Puerto Rican was synomous with Latina. Hmm what about my Chicana sisters and my Brazilian brothers? I guess we're just aliens lacking green cards and seeking aid from the extra-terresterial in the construction of our temples. Of course, I didn't say any of that to the white hooded man in the other end of the phone. By the time, he finished telling me that I was too short for what they were looking for in a model, all I could do (amidst my blinding and muting rage) was say "Fine!" and hang up in the middle of his sentence. A few hours later, as I lathered up my hair in the shower, I finally came up with the best reply, "I didn't know that little burning crosses were still in style."

Fortunately, I haven't suffered through a lot of racism because of my ethnicity. It's usually because of my darker skin tone: many racists often group people with a bit of brown in them as black. It's strange because I identify myself to my mom's island cooking, Marquez and Cervantes language, and my family's Caribbean history, yet I'm hardly ever thought of as Dominican American. I'm often confused for Brazilian, Hawaiian, Indian, Native American, Central American, etc. It's actually a lot of fun to hear people's guesses on my ethnicity. But my biggest concern lies in the stereotypes they enforce with my skin tone and their later discovery of my ethnicity.

"You must eat mangu everyday."
"You must have a kid already."
"You must be married to your cousin."
"You must be so stupid, but FANTASTIC in bed. Come up, and show me how that Latina swing works. *wink, wink* No books required."
"You must talk Spanish, you know, the language with an o at the end of every word, like computero, camero, sexo."
"You must..."
"You must..."
"You must..."

And to add insult to injury: I don't get it only from non-Latinos. I get a lot of it as well from other Latinos. You wouldn't expect that from your own ethnicity, but the race complex in Latin America is so mind-boggling it can make anyone go cuu-cuu for cocoa puffs.

I'm not ungrateful at all with the progress that has been made after the civil rights movement. A lot has been done. Now a black man can actually play golf in the Westchester Country Club, without caddying for someone. A Latina can own a magazine that has as large an audience as Cosmo. However, when two talented African American golfers are accused of a crime without envidence, and when a group of Latino and Pakistani boys are patted down by the cops in Queens simply because of their brown tint, it makes me wonder: maybe we haven't reached the finish line just yet.

New News

So I've been MIA for a few weeks. School has been keeping busy, and with all the political strifes going on, I just haven't had the strength of actually commenting on it. I can't imagine how the people in Lebanon and Israel feel. They must be heartbroken, enraged and helpless with the large number of innocents dying. I promise to comment on everything at a later date when my fingers are banging the keys of my keyboard. I'll just say that there are so many times that I shed a tear for the deaths which could've been prevented, and I find myself shaking from head to toe because I can't do anything about it. Ok, I'm done. My lips are sealed in regards to wars, politics, and governments (which have less common sense than the pigeons pecking at rats in Washington Square Park).

In more domestic news, Queens, one of the New York boroughs, suffered a bad electric outage. So bad that more than a thousand people didn't have electricity for more than 5 days. Let me repeat myself so it'll soak in: 5 days! That's 5 days of cooling showers in the summer heat, 5 days without air conditioner, 5 days without ice and Haagan Das, 5 days of closed supermarkets, and 5 days of plummeting profits for restaurants and food shops. And the problem hasn't been fixed. Con Edison (the only electric company in New York City) has claimed that a lot of people are relying on generators. I wish that another electric company competed in Con Edison. It should be like UPS and DHL. UPS ruled the postal world, then DHL came into the picture. And now there's options and there's a back-up. Unfortunately Con Ed has become an unreliable monopoly, especially in terms of its figures. Even the New York Times says that the only way you can know how many people were really affected by Con Ed's misshaps is by quadrupaling its published figures. If another company doesn't step up to the plate and be Con Ed's electric competitor, every New Yorker will soon have a generator in their closet-apartment.

This black out and the potential ones (which are possible with the current heat wave) made me think about how those living in the cosmopolitan have extended their lives through the night. I sometimes stay up until 3AM because the computer and lights make it possible for me to finish my work through the wee hours of the night. In contrast, that's impossible in my grandparents' farm in the Dominican Republic. It's lights out at 9PM since there's hardly any electricity at night. Besides, some creepy crawlie creatures, which you really would rather not see, such as bats and flying cockaroaches, come out after 9 and you'd rather sleep through them than stay up browsing the web. Those who are cosmo-savvy have colonized the night. With electricity, we own the night. Hopefully, we won't lose our ownership because of Con Ed.

Haters

I checked my email today and I noticed that I received some interesting comments on my blog. To my surprise, I actually have some haters. It's remarkable how some people will insult me and hide themselves behind the "anonymous" veil. And it's shocking how someone will insult another without knowing them. How ignorant a person can be!! I'd like to say to whoever is smudging my blog with their lies: I'll still be blogging :) much to your dismay.

And for all those who have been loyally reading my blog. Thanks for the support. Each one of your comments means a lot to me.

Hugs,
Cyn*

Happy summer!

Can you believe it's only the first day of summer? Actually, it feels like New York has been deep in summer heat for weeks now!

It's tough to stay in class or in the office on a beautiful day like today. But my girly readers will agree with me on this one: Being able to rock those cute sandals you bought last week does help just a tiny little bit :)

El fourth isn't too far off, either—I hope you're planning something fun for fireworks day!

The New York Shove

Before I start ranting and before the hate mail rolls in, know that I am a New Yorker. I was born and raised and I still live in the Big Apple. I love New York City, especially its diversity, conveniences, and its people who don't take slack from anyone.

But this New York guard has its drawbacks. Many tourists confuse it as rudeness. While I may the loudest in the city to refute such an inaccurate stereotype, this generalization often hits the bull's eyes. For example, in London there are signs everywhere (including in the Underground Tube [the London subway system] and in the streets themselves) which direct pedestrians to walk on the right side of the walkway, and many people actually follow these signs. I have been trying to practice this rule since myreturn a year and a half ago. The result: countless shoves, pushes, and strangers feet stepping on my Aldos pumps before scurrying (or shoving) through the crowd. I understand that most of these shoves are accidental. But if your intention is not to be cursed out in Spanish by a short Latina, then an apology has to follow. Unfortunately, "I'm sorry", "Please," and "Thank you" are not common courtesies in the Big Apple.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Daddy's Day everyone!!! Now most of you know that today is a celebration of all the Papis out there, all the men who have been father figures in your life - whether as Stepfathers, Uncles, Grandfathers, or "Big Brothers."

As any other Father's Day, get ready for the burnt toast and breakfast in bed, family gatherings, crayon scribbled "I Love You"s and, of course, that lovely new tie!

HISTORY OF FATHER'S DAY
Hallmark was not the creator of Father's Day. It actually was born when Sonora Dodd decided to commemorate her father William Smart for raising her and her siblings as a single parent. Since her father's birthday was in June, she celebrated her father's selflessness that month. A few decades later, President Richard Nixon made the Father's Day a permanent national holiday.

QUOTES
"If the new American father feels bewildered and even defeated, let him take comfort from the fact that whatever he does in any fathering situation has a fifty percent chance of being right." -- Bill Cosby

"I watched a small man with thick calluses on both hands work fifteen and sixteen hours a day. I saw him once literally bleed from the bottoms of his feet, a man who came here uneducated, alone, unable to speak the language, who taught me all I needed to know about faith and hard work by the simple eloquence of his example." -- Mario Cuomo

Little Kid Games

Yesterday at school, my class talked about classical rhetoric. After an hour of Aristotle, logic, and syllogism, the conversation turned to something a bit less intellectual-- childhood games. My professor described the games he played as a child more than 40 years ago, and I noticed that the games I played about a decade and a half ago are not very different from the games he played.

I remember that during gradeschool recess when the days were sunny the boys would always play a game that would involve throwing rocks and running around; meanwhile us girls would either occupy a city block for our double dutch championship or merely a corner of the block for our "Ms Mary Mack Mack" and "Numbers" game. Of course yours truly won most of the handgames or she learned a new trick in double dutch to impress the older 6th grade boys.

40 years before my recess games, my professor played in the streets of Brooklyn. While the girls stayed inside the house and talked about each other, the boys threw rocks at one another, fought, played "Kick the Tin Can," chased cats and tied differents objects to its tails, and played good old fashioned Tag.

While some things have changed (many girls now play Freeze Tag and soccer with the boys), some have not. All five year olds think they're rich like Bill Gates with $5, and $1 always went a long way ($.50 for a can of Coke, $.25 for a bag of Doritos, and $.25 of loose candy).

A lil girl's VaJJ Story

A certain girl (whose name shall not mentioned) told her father that she couldn't use the bathroom yet since her father, who has a peanut, is in the bathroom. Her mother asked her "So carino what do you have." She replied, "Everybody knows that we girls got pinatas, Mami."

In the mood of the heat

So the heat affects people's temperament, especially in today's Big Apple, which is suffocating under a very humid and muggy 80 degrees. Grannies are cranky. Little kids seek cool solace in playground fountains. Couples bicker and later make love under the stars and winds of the night.

Today as I took the elevator in the train station, a woman suddenly called a man "estupido" (Spanish for stupid). Casie and her "Me & U" song in my mp3 player muted the first half of the conversation. But I suspect that the woman told the man to stand further into the elevator because it couldn't close with him in the way. The doors of the elevator clossed, and we ascended to the ground floor. The stranger replied, and she replied. Soon she called him "estupido," and he defended himself, "I'm not a stupid man." Naturally, the other people in the elevator observed and heard this scene as if it were an argument in a novela. We smiled and laughed. Someone even said "Calm down. It's the heat pissing you off. " And someone else replied, "Man, just give her un besiton (a little kiss) on the lips. That should calm her down."

Wouldn't it be sweet to have a cute stranger to soothe us with a steeming kiss. Next thing you know, your hand will creep towards the emergency stop button. ;)

I Miss High School

This morning I went to the gym. While I did my usual stretches from dance class, I noticed a group of women (friends) helping each other out with the workouts. They completely dismissed the stereotypical competitiveness between women. Rather, they nagged each other through the sweat and pain of losing those last 5 pounds.

I smiled as I observed them from my solitary corner. I tried to remember the last time I had an all-female support group. I'm ashamed to say that it was in high school (mind you: I attended an all-girl high school). I was the three musketteers with J. and W. I could call them up and say "I'm dyin to try to this new Asian restaurant. Wanna come with?" or "There's a new nail salon. Wanna come with?" Most importantly, when adolescence brought up its usual drama, I could turn to them for a moment alone to release my frustration, sadness, anger, etc. Now we don't talk as much anymore. We attend different schools, and we have different schedules. In a city that moves like a comet in a sky, it's hard to keep in touch with old fond friends.

Could it be adulthood that's replacing timeless friendships with shifting acquaintances?

9.11 movies

Recently, I went to the movies and I saw the preview for one of the several 9.11 movies that will be released this summer. I haven't felt to so used, betrayed, and chilled as the theater projected one of my worst memories on the white screen. The smoke, the dust, the police officers, the fire fighters, the coughing, the buildings (the giants) coming down. I felt goosebumps trail down my spine like cold sweat. It's too soon my head kept screaming and my lips kept whispering. Less than 5 years have passed since I heard the news in my high school hallway, and already someone is cashing in.

Followers & Spies

After an unsuccessful trip to the pool (it turns out that the public pools will be closed until June 24th), my mother and I decided to walk around 231st ST, which has numerous cheap shops. We went to a store that someone recommended my mother and we browsed its shoes' aisle. There were plenty of cute shoes for (get this) under $10. So we put my mother's $20 to good use.

As my mother and I picked out some cute shoes, Mami noticed a woman nearing us from the corner of her eye. Now this woman was skilled. If she was in the wild, she would've been a snake, slithing on the grass unnoticed to her prey. The stranger watched my mother as she tried on a cute pair of white sandals. After she deemed it to her satisfaction, she picked up a pair of white sandals in her size. Mami quickly said "Why is it that when you find something nice, some stranger comes around and spies it too?" I said "Shhh!" so the woman wouldn't hear it.

The lady left, and two friends took her place. They looked at the cheap shoes. My mother and I walked away, and as we did, my mother commented on the black sandals. I said that they look ugly and dark for the summer. Well, I guess one of the ladies heard it because once I said that, she quickly slipped her foot out of the black sandal and into a blue one; acting like she didn't prefer the black sparkly sandal.

It's amazing how many people are followers. I would say 99% are followers, and then there's the 1% who are unique enough to lead us through new modes of creativity (because anything new is simple and creative; simply creative).

Hmmm. Maybe I can use this stat to my benefit. Maybe, the next time I see a cute pair of Blahniks look-alikes and a girl is trying on the last pair in my size, I'll just comment on the ugliness of the color and the displacement of the sparkle because a girl will do anything for a cute pair of stilettos.

Oprah & Elie

I just saw Oprah's special w/Elie Weisel. Mr. Weisel's accent is so cute. It reminds me of my b/f's parents' accent. They're from Poland too.

But oh my god: I've never felt so sad without tears able to sooth me. I read Anne Frank's diaries and I learned the Holocaust details in history class. But Mr. Weisel's personal account was extroadinary, remarkable, inspirational and daunting.
Here's some things I hope to never forget that Mr. Weisel said:

"Here (in Ausherwitz) there is no God.
There is only the God of death."
At 1st, it didnt make sense to me: how can a person who's alive need to get used to life? But as he explained that in the Holocaust he couldnt shed a tear at the time for all those who died because he didnt know if he could stop crying; while in the outside world, U cry for all those who die. What a contrast! I've always associated death w/funerals and tears. But to not be able to cry for someone's death seems to take away the humanity behind it.

OPRAH: "How did you overcome this hate for those who did all
those?"
ELIE: "I write and teach to sentizize
people of this atrocity. But I don't believe in hate. I feel angry. I feel angry
because I was helpless. I've seen people starving all around the world. I've
seen children hugging their mothers, starving. And I feel angry because I can't
do anything but shout helplessly."

OPRAH: "It's amazing that you're alive and sane."
ELIE: "Alive: yes. Sane? I don't know if I'm crazy or not. Maybe I'm crazy for still believing in the humanity of
human beings."

This special has made clear to me several things: all person (black, Jewish, white, Muslim, asian, Christian, or Latino) is united by actions of mankind. There was Rwanda. There was the Haitian genocide during Trujillo's dictatorship. And there was so many others whose voices have been silenced by time and ignorance. We have to hear those who cry and scream during our lifetimes.

Note: Photo copied from the website Oprah.com

Plastic surgery

A middle aged Chicana had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital.
While on the operating table, the comadre was delirious, she had a near
death experience. Seeing God, she asked, "Hay Dios Santo, is my time
up?" Dios said, "No mijita, you have another 43 years, two months and
eight days to live." Upon recovery, the Chicana decided to stay in the
hospital and have the works done: a face-lift, liposuction, a chichi
lift, nalga lift and a pansa tuck. The Chica was all excited cause she
knew she had a long life ahead and wanted to look bien good! After her
last operation, she was released from the hospital. While crossing the
street on her way to a taqueria, she was hit and killed by an ambulance.
Arriving in front of Creator, she demanded, "Orale pues - Que paso?
Thought you said I had another 40 years to go? Why didn't you pull me
out of the path of that pinche ambulance?" The Creator replied, "Orale
Chica, I didn't even recognize you!"

I was accepted!!!!! :-D

Oh my gosh!!

This week is the best week ever. I just received the acceptance for an internship at Criticas magazine (sorry for the lack of an accent in Criticas, my tech ignorance won't let me do it). I can't wait to start working there. The editor I met last week, Carmen Ospina, carino. She was so sweet and helpful. She answered so many of my questions, and she even gave me her personal email address in case I have any other questions (she's leaving the office in a week and a half to work in Spain). I hope the rest of the office is just like that. I'll be working there on Fridays during the summer.

A few days ago I received an acceptance letter from the IRT Associates Program. They will help me with the graduate school application process, and will even pay most of the application fees. How awesome is that!!!!!!!!

Then a few weeks ago I got am acceptance email from the CUNY Pipeline Program. That program is superb. They will help me with my senior thesis and with my graduate school application program too.

It's so wonderful to know that my graduate school and book publishing prospects are starting to look up. I sort of hit a dry spell the last two years. I didn't get accepted to any of the dozens of internships and programs I applied to. But these three acceptance prove that if you're patient, you'll acquire something better than what you initially strived for. :o)

Overdeveloped Teens and Disrespecting Males

Today, I had lunch at a Dominican restaurant with two good friends, V and E, after an early dismissal from a class. We ate the underpriced overfilled plates of arroz, habichuelas, y pollo gizado. And in that hour, we did the Latina thing: contar chisme three-quarters of the time. In between mouthfuls and gossip, we started talking about girls in the current generation and their early development. In other words, a lot of the young girls nowadays look older than the young women in my generation. I can't count the times I've met a high school freshman who looks older than me, a college student. Their chests bea my 34B out of the ballpark. V brought up the good point that one reason for the fast development is the hormones in fastfood. It's so true! When I pass by McDonald's, I only see teens in their stuffing their already full stomachs. When I'm in the train, there is always a teenager chumping away on some Lay's or Doritos. And all this fastfood has so many hormones and preservatives that the human body is not use to. We're supposed to be eating fruits, veggies, and meat (food from the earth or made by God's hands), not chemicals that the average Joe can't read.

Then E brought up the topic of men who say such disgusting pick up lines to women, especially to these overdeveloped girls. There's so many Latinos who say such perverse things to women because:
(A) they're mad that the targeted female hasn't succumb to his "charm"
(B) they actually think they'll get some a** by saying such private things.
E brought up the example of her neighbor, who's 15 and thick (therefore beats my pair of 34B). She's often harrased by these perverted men. Some guy even said "Come to me baby. I'll make you cum 5 times straight." Excuse my language but what kind of sh** is that!!!!! How can a grown man say that to a kid.

When E talked about her neighbor and the disrespect she gets from the men on her block, it brought back so many memories. There have been so many men who never let their age stop them from making inappropiate comments to a woman who can be their daughter or granddaughter. And when I defend myself, I'm called a puta. Now does that make any sense? I'm making it harder for them, and they're calling me easy.

"Girl, you better get some meat on them bones for me jump 'em."
"Oh girl. Keep on walkin' and I'll keep on lookin'"
"Psss. Pssss"

I especially hate the last one "Pss, Psss!" I want to say to every man (may he be Latino, Asian, European, white, or African) I AM NOT A DOG!!! I should not be called in such manner because the only time I hear people doing such a sound (outside of the pick up line setting) is when they're calling a squirrel or dog to feed it some scraps.

Now some women are okay with men saying things like that because "it lets us know that we're sexy." But ladies, we shouldn't need the opinion of men. We should be comfortable in our skin without any approval or disapproval from anyone, including the opposite sex.

For all you disrespecting males and women who know where I'm coming from, here's a poem for you:

“Quit Tryin’”

Mamita, why a hot thing like you is alone?
I’m not your mother.

You’re adorable.
Lier, lier. Pants on fire.

Your eyes are the stars illuminating my night.
Err. Please try again.

Your eyes are the diamonds forgotten in the mines.
Your skin is the gold illuminating the island you wish you can return to.
And your mind is the grains of sand in the beach we love to feel,
Imperfect yet stars longing for the tide.
I love you.

The words you say are like the stars in the sky,
Small in appearance,
Great in size.
Nigga, aint that a song?

You’re the cutest thing I ever did see.
Gee, I never knew I was like Fluffy.

Girl, you so sexy.
You make me want only you.
One!

You’re beautiful.
Quit tryin’ to get some ass.

A funny chain letter

Daddy's Gonna Eat Your Fingers


This one is for everyone who
a) has kids
b) had kids
c) was a kid
d) knows a kid
e) is going to have kids

I was packing for my business trip and my 3-year old daughter was
having a wonderful time playing on the bed. At one point she said,
"Daddy,look at this," and stuck out two of her fingers.

Trying to keep her entertained, I reached out and stuck her tiny
fingers in my mouth and said, "Daddy's gonna eat your fingers!"
pretending to eat them before I rushed out of the room again.

When I returned, my daughter was standing on the bed staring at her
fingers with a devastated look on her face.

I said, "What's wrong, honey?"

She replied, "What happened to my booger?"

A Day without Immigrants.

So today was the national walkout. I saw on the news the many protests across the U.S. and how many immigrants linked together as chains in this national demonstration against the new anti-immigration legislations in various neighborhoods in New York City. But I wondered where they were. I didn't see a single protest today. More importantly, there were no protests by Wall Street when I was in the area. I wish that these protests had made it to the fifth avenues across the nation (only a few workers skipped work today at the casinos in Las Vegas, and the suburbs of Maryland and Virginia were pretty quiet today) because disrupting the routines and wallets of the richie richs would definitely scream out the immigrant cause to the entire world.

Fortunately, some large cities, which are heavily populated by immigrants were not screaming out today. Chicago was surprised with a rally of more than 40,000 people on its streets. We will soon find out the outcome of this economic boycott. Meanwhile, this Latina will cross her fingers and toes that it'll be in favor of the illegal immigrants (may it be Asian, Latin American, African, any country outside of the U.S.) who slave in suffocating sweatshops, hot fields, and jobs that we as "citizens" would find demeaning because of our birth origin. Hopefully, we as Americans have to realize that this c ountry is comprised of immigrants. Every one is an immigrant or an offspring of one.

It is just cruel to be forced inside on a day like today. Fake illness! Leave, leave, youngins and seek thy sunshine!

Another gorgeous day in the city! I'm so happy that God is gracing the Big Apple with sunshine and wonderful spring weather. As some of you may know, New York will be blessed with great weather this entire week. Here's some places to go in the city in celebration of spring weather:

• Central Park or any area in your neighborhood with trees
  
• Brooklyn Bridge--deemed as the best makeout spot by several anonymous sources ;-)
• Flea Market/ GreenMarkets, such as the Union Square Farmer's Market
• Brooklyn Botanic Gardens--there's an awesome Cherry Blossom festival going on now
• Coney Island

P.S. Don't forget your SPF. We love you even if you're burned, but I don't think you'll think the same of yourself. ;-)