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Monday, January 24, 2011
Summer where art thou???
Oh, how I long for the sticky days of bronzed skin and Orange Julius Smoothies. Of flowers in my hair and sunshine in my tea. I am ready to retire these scrappy boots and wool scarf. I am so over relentless winds, and ridiculous gas bills. Whatever shall i do? Summer...please get here soon.
I put together a summer ensemble to tide me over
Bright Idea Dress | Mod Retro Vintage Printed Dresses | ModCloth.com
$110 - modcloth.com
Vintage style dresses »
$110 - modcloth.com
Vintage style dresses »
Akia's Turquoise Stone Cascade Style Chandelier Earrings
$35 - fantasyjewelrybox.com
Chandelier earrings »
$35 - fantasyjewelrybox.com
Chandelier earrings »
Monday, January 17, 2011
25 Random facts about me.
1) Sometimes when I'm cooking, I pretend I'm hosting a cooking show, and I talk to the "audience"
2)I never ever match my socks. I think it's bad luck.
3) My dream job is to be a novelist, and a teacher.
4) I can tap dance
5) I have a stuffed toy lamb, that I refer to as my son, and talk to all day.
6) I have a weird facination with dentistry
7) I don't want a house. I'm afraid of contracts, and I think it's too much maintenace.
8) I want to adopt a child
9)I'm severely allergic to jalapenos
10) As outgoing as I seem, I am really a homebody. My idea of a good friday night, is baking cookies, drinking wine, and watching Netflix.
11) I look way younger than I am. People always ask if my "mom" is home when they ring the door bell. Especially, if I am in PJ's and no makeup. I usually tell them ."Yes, would you like her address?"
12)Sometimes I wish I was a boy.
13) My middle name is Tilena ( pronounced Tie-Lean-ah)
14) Sometimes when I call up an 800 number, to pay a bill, or ask a question about something..I use a british accent out of sheer boredom.
15) I could eat Beignets everyday of my life.
16) I know at least one sentence from 6 different languages.
17) I have 4 brothers... 2 older..2 younger
18) I like pickles with chocolate pudding. Yes, I'm serious.
19)I absolutely LOVE salsa dancing.
20) I have a very bad temper
21) I am not materialistic. As long as my car has wheels, and my tummy has food, I am good to go.
22) I make the best "everything soup"
23) Sometimes, when I am on an airplane or a cab, and a stranger starts to chat with me. I make up my life. I tell them my name is Isabel, and I am from Brazil on a scholarship for belly dancing..and I go on and on, until they start looking at me weird.
24) I am a civil rights activist, and work with different campaigns and fundraisers. <3
25) My fav. thing to drink is rootbeer.
Enchiladas For Everyone
Ok, so I have a confession. I have no clue what an Enchilada is. Sure, I have seen it on a menu before, but I never stopped to see what was actually in it. Which is funny, considering the amount of times friends have asked me at a restaurant “Hey Tiff, What’s in that?”.
The truth is- I have absolutely no clue. What I do know however is that it’s a food that originated in Mexico. So it should come as no surprise that this is something that I may not be that familiar with, right? Wrong. It seems that lately, Mexican and Puerto Rican have come to be used interchangeably. I have been asked by countless people how on earth could I possibly be allergic to jalapenos?! Why don’t I like tacos, and other seemingly innocent questions regarding my ethnic “musts”. Which is astonishing to me to say the least, considering how obviously different these two countries are. When I try to explain that my ethnic background is Caribbean, they stare wide eyed and nod slowly. “But don’t you still speak the same language?” I was even asked once, if I was here legally. Say What????
The other day a girl invited me to join her “Hispanic” club at school, and proceeded to describe the clubs activities, which included lighting candles and praying to Saints for the “Day of the Dead”. Also, decorating skulls with flowers and preparing an elaborate meal which was to be left out overnight for the spirits. As fascinating as the traditions were, I was neither accustomed to them, nor familiar enough to feel comfortable partaking. They were Mexican traditions, and I am not Mexican.
Let’s put one thing on the table here. I was raised in New York City. You know, tall buildings, lots of lights? So I could not even begin to tell you where the best beaches in Puerto Rico are, though I really wish I could. My Spanish is a twisted, tangled mesh of English and Spanish, which couldn’t take me to the United Nations, but could definitely get me to the best Restaurant in town. Despite all this, I can still tell you this. Our dialects, customs, traditions, cultures, are immeasurably different. Not to mention the very obvious GEOGRAPHICAL difference. So why the confusion? Is skin color the only determining factor of who a person is, and where they come from?
As an avid reader and lover of the arts, some of my favorite pieces of literature are by Mexican authors, as well as my favorite artists (such as Frida Kahlo). I love the rich, pigmented turquoise and corals that formulate the color palettes of Mexican tapestry, and handmade jewelry. Yet while I greatly respect the rich, historical culture of Mexico, I simply cannot identify with a lot of it, and I should not be made to feel badly about this. I am not familiar with the tastes of the food, nor the sounds of the Mexican dialect. So I do not recognize it. I do recognize however, the smell of Mofongo, or roasted pernil wafting from the kitchen. I am familiar with the sound of the coqui on a night in the Caribbean, and the beat of the Conga making its way to my hips. I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to deal with being racialized constantly within my own heritage, and now having to deal with being racialized OUTSIDE of it as well. I respect our similarities and differences, but refuse to be categorized into one lump definition of what “Latino” is. I am no more Mexican, than I am Cuban or Ecuadorian. Just like a person of Irish ancestry is not the same as a person with Italian ancestry. I think you get the picture here.
I refuse to let the history of my own ancestors be blended into the milieu of something that one was existent and valid, but now is only referred to as Hispanic. Hispanic is a Eurocentric term used to categorize all “Spanish speaking” citizens, which inadvertently disregards the African and Taino bloodlines of Puerto Ricans and was only recently adopted by the United States for census purposes because it seems that some people can’t wrap their heads around the very notion of Diversity.
Having said all this, I beg you to be the first one to identify the long term consequences of mass generalizations in regards to ethnic backgrounds, while acknowledging the remarkable cycle of that thing we call life, which brings us all together.
Oh, and if you’re not busy, let’s go grab some Margaritas. ;)
The truth is- I have absolutely no clue. What I do know however is that it’s a food that originated in Mexico. So it should come as no surprise that this is something that I may not be that familiar with, right? Wrong. It seems that lately, Mexican and Puerto Rican have come to be used interchangeably. I have been asked by countless people how on earth could I possibly be allergic to jalapenos?! Why don’t I like tacos, and other seemingly innocent questions regarding my ethnic “musts”. Which is astonishing to me to say the least, considering how obviously different these two countries are. When I try to explain that my ethnic background is Caribbean, they stare wide eyed and nod slowly. “But don’t you still speak the same language?” I was even asked once, if I was here legally. Say What????
The other day a girl invited me to join her “Hispanic” club at school, and proceeded to describe the clubs activities, which included lighting candles and praying to Saints for the “Day of the Dead”. Also, decorating skulls with flowers and preparing an elaborate meal which was to be left out overnight for the spirits. As fascinating as the traditions were, I was neither accustomed to them, nor familiar enough to feel comfortable partaking. They were Mexican traditions, and I am not Mexican.
Let’s put one thing on the table here. I was raised in New York City. You know, tall buildings, lots of lights? So I could not even begin to tell you where the best beaches in Puerto Rico are, though I really wish I could. My Spanish is a twisted, tangled mesh of English and Spanish, which couldn’t take me to the United Nations, but could definitely get me to the best Restaurant in town. Despite all this, I can still tell you this. Our dialects, customs, traditions, cultures, are immeasurably different. Not to mention the very obvious GEOGRAPHICAL difference. So why the confusion? Is skin color the only determining factor of who a person is, and where they come from?
As an avid reader and lover of the arts, some of my favorite pieces of literature are by Mexican authors, as well as my favorite artists (such as Frida Kahlo). I love the rich, pigmented turquoise and corals that formulate the color palettes of Mexican tapestry, and handmade jewelry. Yet while I greatly respect the rich, historical culture of Mexico, I simply cannot identify with a lot of it, and I should not be made to feel badly about this. I am not familiar with the tastes of the food, nor the sounds of the Mexican dialect. So I do not recognize it. I do recognize however, the smell of Mofongo, or roasted pernil wafting from the kitchen. I am familiar with the sound of the coqui on a night in the Caribbean, and the beat of the Conga making its way to my hips. I cannot tell you how frustrating it is to deal with being racialized constantly within my own heritage, and now having to deal with being racialized OUTSIDE of it as well. I respect our similarities and differences, but refuse to be categorized into one lump definition of what “Latino” is. I am no more Mexican, than I am Cuban or Ecuadorian. Just like a person of Irish ancestry is not the same as a person with Italian ancestry. I think you get the picture here.
I refuse to let the history of my own ancestors be blended into the milieu of something that one was existent and valid, but now is only referred to as Hispanic. Hispanic is a Eurocentric term used to categorize all “Spanish speaking” citizens, which inadvertently disregards the African and Taino bloodlines of Puerto Ricans and was only recently adopted by the United States for census purposes because it seems that some people can’t wrap their heads around the very notion of Diversity.
Having said all this, I beg you to be the first one to identify the long term consequences of mass generalizations in regards to ethnic backgrounds, while acknowledging the remarkable cycle of that thing we call life, which brings us all together.
Oh, and if you’re not busy, let’s go grab some Margaritas. ;)
Friday, December 31, 2010
Daughters
I feel compelled to reach you.
To let you know we share the same moon
and the sun for that matter.
I feel the trouble trusting...
and the waves of solitude thrusting
their stormy jaws upon me.
I feel the words of those who wronged me
and the roots of the tree that sprung me.
I too, see the eyes of this man in my mirror
the moniker of a long line of
Patronymic tales
why do we mimic those we love?
The internal ringing of the trembling bells
that so badly yearn to be a part of it all.
I have slept with this thing called time
and have awoken to it whispering in my ear....
It spoke of a river of reeds
This sweet, sweet flag of kinship in which
I learned not to lose, but to let go.
That lost mothers fathers..are merely lost.
Yet they visit in your laugh
and in the early morning frost.
And sleepily I watched
Time drift out of my room
and down the candle lit stairs....
I reach out to every young and glorious
woman...
by the windowsill women..
swaying, praying women...
Waiting for the words of affirmation
I taste the seeds of this new fruit that found me
and I reckon this is family.
Sweet, dewy, early morning family.
I dedicate this to you.
CHECK OUT THE VIDEO BELOW TO HEAR THIS POEM AS A SONG.
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