Note to self..

If I can just get my organizational skills to match my ambition, I would be unstoppable!

I am whoever I want to be.

Full Plate

The ball with LEA is finally rolling and fast.

Today I had a meeting at the congresswoman's office to discuss a community forum, Veteran's Rights: Panel on Don't Ask Don't Tell. Gotta get some work done on that.

Finally set up Thursday's as my shadow day at Zonal, the methadone clinic.

The tobacco program is launching fairly nicely, just need to work out this referral system and fine tune the internal working of the system.

Trying to put the movement back into civil rights teaching...waiting for the book to come so I can start my project.

Fund raising is a bitch.

Time management works.

Having incredibly deep discussions with people this week has made me realize how many people rely on me as a motivator and as an inspiration.

Love for yourself
the ability to inspire oneself
to realize the power we all are capable of
self worth
brings shivers down my spine

Iam on Fire

FIRE.

The Richest Man

I refuse to be a victim of my own condition. I tackle my problems as they come with the end in mind, knowing that they will be overcome. I look forward to the people in my life who I know, as well as to those I have yet to meet, to aid me in achieving interdependence, because I recognize not all battles can be fought alone. I learn from the past to avoid making the same mistakes twice. I read to learn from mistakes which are not my own, and to learn of real and imaginary people who live in worlds beyond my own. I talk with others to empathize with humanity. No excuses for the things I can't change while understanding that some things cannot be changed and that's OK too.

I am the richest man alive.

Angel Chavez

I feel like I'm chasing my own tail here. I've had to laugh at the things life has been throwing at me recently because it's the only way I can cope. My patience for normalcy is being tested and I'm being as proactive as I possibly can be. I can't wait for things to settle down.

Today Maria, Joaquin, and I finished our Cesar Chavez service project and it was a huge success. We went to an elementary school by South Gate, the neighborHOOD by Compton. At the school, we taught the students about farm work and planting. They had the opportunity to plant a few seeds themselves, and we educated them on Cesar Chavez and his struggle for farmers rights by reading to them. One of the books we read from was an illustrated picture book which made Cesar Chavez's biography sound like a story of legends. I began to think of my own story. If someone was to write one about my life up until this point, what would my heroic tale say? How has my past shaped my life purpose? What is my goal? What is my journey?

For me to know, and you to find out.

Big things poppin'

What an amazing week. I'm glad that the March horoscope my roommate read for me was accurate. Spending time with a really close friend made stress at work and the general life stress bearable. I'm so incredibly appreciative that she was with me. It was the first time someone from back home on the east coast came to visit me and it led me to realize the extent of the differences of life in LA compared to NYC. Once she left, I was struck harder with the urge to just leave to NYC right now. At the same time I thought about how established I am here in LA. A great social foundation, an extensive list of business partners, amazing amounts of growth in learning about the world and about myself, and suddenly it made me appreciate how good LA has been to me, and how good I've be in LA.

I'm doing big things, and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. No matter where.

Chavez and Tats

“Once social change begins, it cannot be reversed. You cannot uneducate the person who has learned to read. You cannot humiliate the person who feels pride. You cannot oppress the person who is not afraid anymore. We have looked into the future and the future is ours.” César E. Chávez

WH

"Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me!

Dancehall

I went to a dance hall class today and the instructor whooped my ass. I hadn't been so exhausted after a dance session in so long, but I gobbled up every single second of it. "Vitamin S" came on and it just took me back to the day when I'd bug out with my friends, heel toe, signal da plane, dutty wine and all.

I think it's pretty clear that my monthly April commitment is going to take a dance class regularly. Salsa, Dance Hall, Reggae. Soca, Merengue, Bachata, STEPPING. I can't get enough of it all. Kids have all types of coping strategies, and for me my escape was always dancing. I danced till I couldn't dance anymore, I'd dance it all away, I'd be myself, feeling my body move to my emotions, and nothing else in the world would matter. Just that moment. Just me and the music.

Can't say much besides....It was a great weekend. Looking forward to the next few days.

Cats in a round room

I was not able to update this blog, because updating this blog while Del is here is unacceptable.

APLA

The worst thing about training is having to wake up so god damn early. Granted, I should just go to sleep earlier to make up for it, but it's difficult on a Friday night. Plus, waking up at 6am is never good.

if any one is out there reading. Donate some $ for my marathon, I'm behind schedule and anything would help. :)

http://apla.convio.net/site/TR/Events/NationalAIDSMarathonTrainingProgram-MARATHONONLY?px=1448041&pg=personal&fr_id=1061

Hope everyone is sleeping tight. I'm def gonna KO in 5 seconds.

NY

When I think about NYC I get so nostalgic. I’m planning to take a small break and go visit the second week of April. The thing is, I have never missed NYC and the people there as much before as I do now. Not only do I find myself thinking regularly about those I care about, and of memories we share in places all around NYC (places I probably know too well), but I get thrilled when I think about all that I have yet to do, and the people I have yet to meet.

The strongest feeling, above all, is the feeling to reconnect. Lately, lots of childhood friends have been finding me on Facebook, and although they were around when I was in high school and in college (those rare few times I was even in NYC), I just now want to do something about it. I have no idea who they may have become, but I can’t help but have a sense, that childhood friends are the ones you share some of your best memories with. Before the adult life, before social pressure, before insecurities, before the world hit you, you were you. It’s almost like these friends became time capsules of my former self.

I want to connect with family members who were in Brooklyn and Little Italy and who I never got to interact with. I want to meet my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, one who was scouted out to the MLB and another who graduated from Columbia. Who are they? What are they like? I even have that same feeling of comfort around those I don’t even know. They are family, I should be able to be myself around them, and I look forward to meeting them.

I miss my family, my friends (old and new), I miss the projects.

I miss New Yawk.

The Line

I wrote this a while ago, thought I'd bring it up:

It is very difficult to define ourselves. If there was nothing in the world besides ourselves we would have absolutely no identity. The concept of existence starts with the floor; the boundary which distinguishes ground from air, and up from down. The more elements that we add in our environment the more we are able to define who we are. When it comes to our personalities there is no exception. We only know ourselves because there are other humans around. We learn to define our personality by what we are not and by what people perceive us to be; much in the same way the floor determines what is grounded and what is not. On the other hand, while I cannot define myself without the presence of any environment, I am egocentric. The world I live in only exists because I am living. It is therefore rightly mine. I create how I view the world, myself, other people. I make decisions for myself and absolutely always choose ones that benefit me; because it's my life. Conflict arises with recognition that there are 6 billion other people in the world, who are also just as real as I am. The way of the world is to acknowledge these differences, not imposing the decisions which are best for me, on other people. In this way, I do “good” by trying to do no harm; by both worshiping and fearing the control that I have, I have become who I am.

When 911 calls

Today was definitely a recovery day. This weekend was absolutely insane in that terrible kind of way, and yesterday was atrocious. At least it’s all over now and I thank God for that. Good positive attitude has to be a lifestyle, not a choice ;)

* * *

Today I started making phone calls to patients because tomorrow, my tobacco cessation program finally kicks off. The first call I made was, well…
She sounded like a cool calm breeze in my ear, curious like the first stroke of a painter’s brush. I introduced myself and told her my reason for calling. Her change in tone was enough of a response than her words were, “o I’m so glad you called”. She elaborated more: her brother recently suffered from a stroke losing use of his arm as a result, their mother had just recently passed away, he had just gone through a divorce, and lost his company due to the economy. She was concerned about him having his next stroke; he was concerned about having his next cigarette. Don’t take away from me the only thing which makes me happy she told me he said to her.

20 minutes later revealed their relationship had gone sour after her attempts to convince him to quit. She had all types of people calling him: he would hang up, appointments made: they were cancelled. He was tired of hearing her lecture about what he should do with his own life, and she said just wanted him alive.

She had been seeking help for several years now- made phone calls to everyone and anyone who she thought could help. His doctor, a kind man, was very helpful in throwing meds for depression at him, but it seemed he couldn’t throw in some effort. “You can’t make him quit” is all he said, even after emails pleading for some help, he couldn’t manage to reply to one. Doctor didn’t care. Siblings didn’t care. He didn’t care.

She told me I was her hope, that I was God sent, and she could hear it in my voice.
But I heard God in her voice and I replied.

I have not slept in over 48 hours.

2

I have slept 8 hours in the past two days, but will make sure to sleep 8 tonight. I have no car, (again), but thanks to a stranger who used to be a mechanic I got home safely. I locked myself out of the house, but thanks to my roommate who left the window open I was able to break back in from the 3rd floor. I look forward to the fact that things have no choice but to get better. I'm appreciative that for all that went down today there was/is something good to counterbalance. Thank you Universe.

But I am le tired

I think when people say “things happen for a reason” that it’s just a positive way of making the most out of a situation. Although it’s too much of a deterministic statement for me, those seemingly serendipitous moments are more than welcome. I’ve been having so many great conversations with people lately and it appears they have happened with perfect timing. The final thought of one conversation, left me with an introduction to another conversation with someone else, and so on and so forth. One topic of conversation essentially extrapolated into several others, and they’ve all helped out in further developing a simple observation about me and about the world. I feel those conversations will keep me going. Thank you.

Let’s end that on a vague and positive note. I have to wake up in 6 hours for my marathon training. Peace.

Black Skin

I am currently experiencing some intense shooting pain in my leg. It’s been like this since this I drank two big cups of coffee and ate two donuts. I stayed home today to work on my grad school application and I can’t wait till this is all over. Things haven’t been relatively unorganized for me, since I’ve been focusing all of my energy in finishing up this task. I can’t wait for the return to normalcy. I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about edits I can do, and then I fall right back asleep and forget them in the morning. I want to be able to wake up, go to the gym, go to work, and then spend some time doing work for the organizations I volunteer with. I guess I must have grown pretty used to life after college and not worrying about assignments or tests. Power, however, is not gained without a struggle. I’d rather do something well, even if I have to temporarily sacrifice some things I like to do do, or not do it at all.

In having read just the first chapter of Black Skin White Masks, I was struck by Franz Fanon analysis on the power of language as it relates to Blacks (and minorities in general) and their/our use of it. Fanon argues that to effectively use language is to also tap into the culture, society, and world of its users. For the Antillean Blacks (the group he did his studies on), the use of “France’s French” as opposed to Creole, is demonstrative of an effort to assert their own humanity and more importantly, because to speak is to exist for others, sending out a message to Whites: I have the same mental capacity as you do, so don’t treat me otherwise. Good shit Fanon. Good shit.

Now that we’re on the race note, I’d like to bring up something. Growing up I was well aware of what I call, my racially ambiguous features. Like a chameleon it seemed that wherever I traveled to, I was able to blend in with the people I was surrounded by; In NYC I was Dominican, in DR I was Dominican, In Uganda I was Ugandan, in Egypt I was Egyptian, and so on and so forth. In LA however, many people assume that I am Black. This assumption naturally leads to specific behaviors; ones that I am seriously disturbed by. I feel that I have received second class treatment and attention because of this assumption. As a Latino minority, I know the feeling of going into a White owned establishment and having the feeling of being treated differently, so when I walk into a Latino owned place and feel that same time of oppressive air, I know it’s not because they think I’m Latino. It’s being at the bottom of the totem pole where White>Yellow>Brown>Black; the spectrum of color seems to correlate perfectly with the spectrum of discrimination. Absolutely disgusting. This idea is further supported by the fact that I’ve been keeping an eye on the interaction between the people living in the neighborhood (a neighborhood that is almost 100% Latino) and the Black guys in their 20s who just moved in (mind you -in my 5 months of living here I’ve NEVER seen Black people in my neighborhood). People stare and avoid them as if they were the plague and it pisses me the fuck off. The funny thing is one of the guys is Dominican. The reason this is funny is because when I walk into Latino owned stores and I feel the tension I previously mentioned, and then bust out my Spanish, I literally feel the relief of the pressure. It is the realization that I know Spanish, and their realization that I speak Spanish, which completely changes the situation and puts us on the same level. Because he is darker than me, I would have to assume that not only does he feel the oppression I’ve felt in my neighborhood, but he feels it more than I do. But I’m sure if he busted out his Spanish, people would not be so scared to approach him or to discriminate based off of the color of his skin. The fact that language can break those walls is interesting to say the least, but the fact that even has to be done in order to see someone who is a darker skin than you as your equal is more fucked up than I can say.

Frantz Fanon was most certainly a genius.

Where's my damn seat?

MARCH 11, 2010

I have been so angry lately.

After being a student who graduated from a public institution of higher learning, I am just recently realizing how important the access to that public education actually was. This dénouement came to me in an interesting way: the fact that I'm writing a personal statement so that I can gain special access to information regarding the past of my own people. For some dumb reason I forgot college/university is a privilege few of us get to enjoy.

Let’s say, hypothetically *cough cough* I wanted to learn more about myself as a Latino: the origin of my people, the past struggles of my ancestors, the current situation we find ourselves in, and the work which has yet to be done to develop a socially just world; shouldn’t that information be accessible to me academically!? Shouldn’t scholarly work/cultural analyses/history written on my own people (but not necessarily written BY them) be at my fingertips? Shouldn’t I have a seat at the table discussing my own identity?! The current system in place doesn’t let us move on up, because only a handful of people are getting educated on matters that 1) may not even be important to them and therefore 2) at the end of the day won’t do anything to help me out with my situation. The only person who can fix the problems I’ve experienced/I am experiencing is me and if I don’t have the right knowledge regarding history and the underpinnings of the ills in the system I live in, how do you expect me to fight for me? How do you expect me to make changes, if you don't let me get my hands on this vital information?! You don’t............and that’s probably how you want it too.I refuse to not receive the education I deserve. I demand my own education.

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MARCH 10, 2010

I was going to explode today. I refuse to watch people be kicked while their down. People will do anything to make a buck, especially at the expense of the poor. When all that is left is hope and you have nothing to lose, quick fix solutions are dangerously appealing, yet while they may offer a temporary fix they do nothing to solve the root of the problem.

Writing this personal statement has been interesting. When it comes to human rights, I feel that no credential is better than the experience of being oppressed. I think that’s why although I’ve already written tons of versions of this personal statement in an effort to include “relevant coursework, preparation in language, professional activity”, I continue to return to the version based off of my own personal life. Deeply intimate thoughts and previous feelings of being dehumanized and made to feel worthless, are valid enough for me. My interest in the field does not stem from any formal education, let alone any professional activity I’ve done in preparation to arrive at this point. It stems from my deeply rooted need to develop a world where humanity is treated as such, and where people are free to be whoever they are, or whoever they want to be, without any barriers.

Throw Back Entries

For my weekend entries, I'm posting up two throwbacks from an old blog which I used to write in about six years ago. Funny to see how my writing style has changed!
Enjoy!

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Friday, July 02, 2004

These last few days I realized just how important and useful this phone is to me. While most people chronicle their everyday lives with their digital cameras, I use the keypad on this phone to store memories of the now past present. I choose to draw forth those thousand or more words that comprise a picture, keep them in a log on my phone, and transmit them to an older version of me. I write as I walk.

I will remember having written of a time I left early in the morning to check up on my tuberculosis shot and bring in a sample of my urine. I will have remembered walking to the police station to file a police report for having lost important numbers of my father. I will have remembered calling my friend and setting up a rendezvous; having walked over 100 blocks and still arriving there early, my own calves and thighs beating back up at the sun. I will have remembered a short old lady with at least 7 different shades of brown turning around and asking me to help her cross the street; I thought things like that only happened in the movies. I will have remembered having questioned my hesitation, and then thought about Helplessness and his sister Fear, who take walks in the graveyard with grandfather time and his old undergrown children. I will have remembered slowly walking her to Apple Bank and her asking "are you holding tight?" a few times along the way. Dropping her off at the bank and then waiting to see as she struggled to cash her check, noticing the sweat marks on my arm reminiscent of a hand holding tightly to it. I thought more in those two blocks than I did in the last hundred. I will remember how I pulled out my phone and began to write, and how I changed my pace to that of the old woman's although I wanted to reach a fast food place as soon as possible. How I went to Taco Bell and ate whatever was on the menu as long as it had a large sprite with no ice, and then how I went to Union Square Park. Remembered how I saw mirages of empty seats only to find my eyes neglected the people sitting on them, or to realize there were no seats to begin with.

A picture of her would be nice when old age catches up with me as it did with her. Maybe I should take a snapshot with my writing and not have to rely on that five hundred dollar coveted camera (although It would be a great accquaintance with thse words). Maybe I should take even slower steps when I walk even if I know I can walk faster, showing the sun who's boss. Yes. I will take slower steps hand in a hand with the withered old lady while it's still early in the day in the middle of the year.

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Sunday, August 01, 2004



Last week I went to hell and back; yesterday I killed a cherry...



The stream which manages to shoot out of the faucet and wrap around the corner of the stone, reminds me a lot of the lines we deal with at work. Yesterday unlike other days, there was a huge plump cherry blocking the stream, which would carry all of the left over mix-in residue from entering the drain. So I stabbed it with the scraper, and the juices which escaped from it appeared like a drop of blood in an ocean of water. I killed the cherry.



Working on the coldstone hasn't been anything new. Iit's almost been a month since I've been working there and when I do work, I seem to be thinking of everything but making ice cream for the faceless customers that only care about being served. The line which manages to shoot out of the store and wrap around the corner of the block, reminds me a lot of that forced "niche" I will find myself in at Buffalo and later in the world. White and faceless as my customers are, were the people at Buffalo; and every so often when a minority comes in, I can't help but feel some type of connection with them or even feel that they deserve special treatment, being even nicer than I would regularly be. At times, I laugh when I'm at my nicest and I still get the usual rude customer who happens to be a minority, but even so, I sense the tension that arises when "the whites and non-white's meet" in my store. The whites seem to have no problem associating with the non-whites, and genuinely believe any racial problems that were once, are all solved; the non-whites however would like to believe this.



Working on the coldstone hasn't been anything new. Iit's almost been a month since I've been working there and when I do work, I seem to be thinking of everything but making ice cream for the faceless customers that only care about being served. The line which manages to shoot out of the store and wrap around the corner of the block, reminds me a lot of that forced "niche" I will find myself in at Buffalo and later in the world. White and faceless as my customers are, were the people at Buffalo; and every so often when a gay comes in I can't help but feel some type of connection with them or even feel that they deserve special treatment, being even nicer than I would regularly be. At times, I laugh when I'm at my nicest and I still get the usual rude customer who happens to be a gay, but even so, I sense the tension that arises when "the gays and non-gays meet" in my store. The non-gays seem to have somewhat of a problem associating with the gays, and genuinely believe that many of the sexuality issues that were once, are mostly solved; the gays however would like to believe this.



Working on the coldstone hasn't been anything new. Iit's almost been a month since I've been working there and when I do work, I seem to be thinking of everything but making ice cream for the faceless customers that only care about being served. The line which manages to shoot out of the store and wrap around the corner of the block, reminds me a lot of that forced "niche" I will find myself in at Buffalo and later in the world. White and faceless as my customers are, were the people at Buffalo; and every so often when a poor comes in, I can't help but feel some type of connection with them or even feel that they deserve special treatment, being even nicer than I would regularly be. At times, I laugh when I'm at my nicest and I still get the usual rude customer who happens to be poor, but even so, I sense the tension that arises when "the not-poor and the poor meet" in my store. The not-poor seem to have no problem associating with the poor and genuinely believe any financial differences that were once, are all solved; the poor however would like to believe this.



The world can never be perfect, and the stream can never be crystal clear but there's always hope...

I'd rather not see the faces, so I killed the cherry in hopes that all the residue would go down the drain.

Growing Up

Growing up, I remember having to take the staircase whenever the graffiti-walled, urine and marijuana infested elevators were out of service. One sees a lot when running from the tenth floor to the lobby. If it wasn’t me having to skip steps to avoid feces getting stuck to my shoe on one day (sometimes dog, sometimes human), I would find myself having to evade the couple shooting up, on another. That is just the way it was in the Martin Luther King project building on the New York City corner of 115th street, just one block away from the 116th street 2 and 3 train on Lenox Ave. My neighborhood, and the Latinos and African Americans living in it, made up my world. It wasn’t a marginalized world or a privileged one; it was just my immediate, unquestioned reality.

At the age of five, I was honorably knighted by Sir Public School 185 with the title of “Gifted and Talented” (or G&T as we called it), a label which led me on an upward trajectory toward academic success, and left my obviously not-so-talented five year old peers on a path of lower expectations and poorer education. In second grade alone, I won a total of 27 certificates for achievement (my mother still does not let me live that down), two trophies for earning the highest city wide Mathematic and Verbal test scores in the school, and was the school’s spelling bee champ, now competing against middle school students in the District 3 spell off. The disparity between G&T student and other student's success and accesses to education was only intensified further when in 5th grade, the G&T epithet that will be on my grave, allowed me to take an entrance exam into a highly competitive school near the upper west side, DELTA Honors . Out of the fifty students who were allowed access to the exam, only three of us were accepted: Patricia, Roberto, and I. That is when reality began to change for me.

Being a student at DELTA was an assortment of firsts. It was the first time my over protective parents allowed me to leave the neighborhood, the first time I interacted with White and Asian people, and the first time I got to leave the school for lunch. On the unfortunate contrary, it also marked the first time that I began doing poorly in school and that the words “gay”, “fag”, and “homo” became synonymous with my name. I wasn’t as great as I once thought I was. I was now average. In fact, I would say I was below average. No use in prevaricating, I was definitely within the outlier bracket and my 2 classmates from P.S.185 also seemed to be having the same problem. Average was having teachers, doctors, lawyers, business owners and architects as parents (the list is more extensive than 1000 words allow); living in huge condominiums that had more than one hallway which led to a single room on 115th street (not my 115th street, but the one on Broadway); having a computer at home; and having those damned L.L. Bean book bags. This feeling of misplaced dissonance intensified when on a school project, my house was chosen as the work site for my team. I remember walking up to my building, Jason turning to me, with a look of disbelief and saying, “You live here?”

Democracy NOW!

WOW….today really made up for the not-so-eventful day yesterday. It was March 4th Day of Action where hundreds of people took to the streets to protest the budget cuts to public education, the privatization of schools, layoffs and furlough of teachers, the war (to name a few). It seemed that everyone had a bone to pick, yet the one thing in common between all who spoke and protested was the poor distribution of money in our government, locally and federally. Stats like: $500,000 is spent in just one day by the US military presence in Iraq and Afghanistan; that the top 5% or so of wealthiest people in CA make a total of $150 billion a year when the school’s system deficit is only $15 billion (only 10% of their annual income) is absolutely disgusting. Why are the rich not being taxed more? Why do such a large amount of people have to suffer, when there is apparently money for war and $700 BILLION worth of corporate and bank bailouts? What the hell is going on?

Standing in the protest and seeing and hearing everyone’s concern was overwhelming. There are so many things which need fixing and I wonder whether it can realistically be done. The system we live in is so screwed up and it’s not the responsibility of politicians to fix it, it’s the responsibility of the people to take make change. The problem is we lack numbers. We split ourselves into distinct groups rather than acting as one. Many are also uneducated as to the importance of the issues at hand, or feel that those issues don’t affect them. Most, like to live the myth that things are fine and that we live in a country with leaders who are open, honest, not corrupt, and who represent us. Whose interest are they really serving? The richer are getting richer and the poorer, poorer. “We” are fighting a war against terrorist/criminals overseas, when in reality; the criminals are here, in our country, in our government. When are we going to take back our government?

I tried really hard today to be as productive as my frustration and opatience would allow me to be. After almost one month of driving around with a bent axel and arm, screwed up suspension, tires ready to explode (and one did explode on me while I was driving in stank-ass Beverly Hills this past Sunday), it was time to take my car to the shop. I had previously received an estimate of $960 for all repairs, including labor (the minimum rate/hr is something like $130 here in LA!!!). When I called the mechanics yesterday they told me if I brought my car in by 6PM the job would be done before the shop closed. When I went in at 6PM the cost of repairs went from $960 to $450. Good. Great. Too Great!….to be true.
After 10 minutes of hanging around the shop, I was told, the job would in fact not be done that night, but tomorrow. “I’d say 10am but definitely by noon”. Since I had no way of getting to work, I had to stay home until my car was fixed, and immediately travel to the nutrition class I had to teach at the clinic at 4pm. Of course, that didn’t happen either. Noon turned into 2, 2 into 3, 3 into 5:30, and when I finally went to pick up my car (after having to ask my supervisor to cover MY class), the mechanic working the desk said, “Oh yea, I spoke to you earlier, right? You were the guy who harassed me on the phone.” ***errrrr*** smell of burning rubber*** I could not believe that even though I was more than inconvenienced and decided to very politely yet assertively express my dissatisfaction with my service, that this mechanic could say I was harassed them. The thought was beyond me.
* * *
Today’s unexpected day off did however give me a little time to reconnect with one of my best friends from high school. It was so interesting to listen to what she was doing now and to think about just how much has actually changed for her in the past 3 years or so. Trying to even think about the last time we saw each other, made me also realize just how much I changed. When I was younger, I always wondered how one exactly transitioned into adulthood. Was there some test one had to take to be certified an “adult”? Did one have to learn a special life lesson? Does one really NEED to take responsibility for their actions and have “adult-like” characteristics? Or is it simply just age and/or your physical appearance the thing which really makes you one, and because you look different people treat you different, and because people treat you different you perceive yourself in a different way? ---Random Thoughts

Dim "Some" Thought

The students in my health literacy class (a.k.a. ESL for Seniors) never cease to amaze me. Senior citizens tend to be treated less like citizens because they are seniors. So in an effort to provide equal and interesting education, for the past few months, rather than going off of a boring curriculum, I had the older adults tell me about their health concerns so that I could develop class topics around those issues. By keeping me on my heels I would have to reinvent the way I would facilitate the class based off of those topics, and because they suggested the area of discussion, I would have very little problem holding their attention. They have the right to all knowledge.

3 weeks ago I was approached by the class representative (most likely chosen because his English is the best) and told that outside of class they discussed some issues that were of interest to them. They were given free physicals annually including having blood work done, but had no way of understanding it. They complained that there were acronyms and abbreviations all over the place, and let’s just say even if they did know that HDL meant High Density Lipoprotein, what the hell does it do and why is it important to their health? I went through my own medical records (to avoid any crazy HIPAA violations) and pulled out some results of blood work I had done late last year; Lipid Panels, Urine Panels, Complete Blood Count, Hepatic/Liver Panels. Covering up my name and info, I gave copies of my lab results to the students. For the past three weeks we’ve been discussing every lab item, normal ranges for each test, and the significance of abnormal lab results (being below or above the normal clinical range). Now just imagine: in order to explain the importance of Bilirubin, Creatinine, Albumin in the body, for example, you have to be or become pretty familiar with physiology, concepts of concentration gradient, chemistry, and then some.

Poor old folks with bad memory would never be able to understand.

They understood everything.

* * *
Food for thought.

Old Shoes New Shoes

To give the quick scoop on the year: I’ve been busy. It’s not that annoying type of busy where you just want things to be over, it’s more like the type of busy where you don’t want things to end because they’ve been that good. That healthy stress, which pushes you to the limit, reveals things you never knew about yourself, and reveals the things you never thought you were capable of doing. That kind of busy.

The single thing which triggered this insane goulash of activity was a simple promise I made to myself. My New Year’s Resolution for 2010 was to follow through with my word. How could I ensure that I would follow through with this goal? I decided to support myself by setting up daily goals which I HAVE to complete by the end of the night. I keep note of these goals in a “magical book” I have, and anything that is written in that book NEEDS to be done; if I know I cannot commit to something for the day, I don’t write it in. These goals range from anything personal, work related or financial (for example), and even things like being aware of my character traits, conversations with people, or which types of moods I’d like to portray (proactive, happy, empathy etc) will be included in the book.Furthermore, I have set up monthly goals: these make things very interesting! My monthly goals incorporate a slightly longer long term goal, which I would like to incorporate in my life for a very long time. They say that it takes 21 days for something to become a habit, so I’m kind of working off of that. Many of my daily goals, support my monthly goals, and my monthly goals support my yearly goal. No one goal is more important than the other because they all involve following through with my word TO MYSELF FIRST and therefore to others.

My monthly goal for January was to join an activist group, my February goal was to eat healthier, and now my March goal is to write in this blog every day. Just so you know, my January and February goals were incredibly successful, and because I’m still actively involved in these groups and have incorporated a much healthier diet I will discuss them further in detail as my day’s this month call for me to bring my activity up.

That’s my foreword, now here’s my first entry of the month:

This is the first day of March.

My calendar for this month has been growing since the 3rd week of February. I remember back then it was pretty empty, now there is pencil scribbled in almost every day of the week. I like that. Today was the end of the second quarter of my Legacy grant for my job at AltaMed Health Services. For those of you who don’t know, Legacy is most known for being the organization which brings you the well known truth.com commercials. I’m under a grant from them to create a tobacco cessation program, which will be completely institutionalized into the non-profit I work for by the time my term is over. My coworker and I created a class we call “Tobacco 101”, a culturally sensitive course aimed at assessing individual’s readiness to quit. We are receiving patient referrals from doctors at our clinics, to attend our class. Once they attend we refer them to a third party provider that can offer them a full series 7 or 8 week quit program. Today we presented that class to the staff…

It did not go as well as I wanted but the staff said they enjoyed it. I was able to get a sense of what could be added, and what I should change. I’m happy members of the staff were my guinea pigs. I teach my first class to methadone patients in 2 weeks, and teach the same class in Spanish in 3 weeks. We’ll leave it at that.

The highlight of my day was after work when I had a meeting with the Radical Women’s group at a pie shop. I first learned about the group when I saw an ad on kpfk radio for an event called “The Myth of a Post-Racial Society” and since have kept in contact with the group members. They are incredibly intelligent Freedom Socialists with a great spirit for activism. We’ve been reading Lenin’s “The State and Revolution”. I initially met the well known leader of the group, Muffy, during a protest for immigration rights in January and again at another protest against U.S. presence in Haiti. I randomly met another one of their other members at a Little Rock 9 talk with Terrance Robertson (one of the 9 students who was escorted to one of the first non-segregated schools by the military).


This weekly book club is exactly what I’ve been looking for since I returned from Ecuador. A setting where I could sit down with a group of people to discuss issues which were politically relevant to me as an activist. We spent about two hours discussing the third chapter of the book and the background knowledge necessary to understand. The Paris Commune never seemed as important to me as it did today. That has been my experience with most things lately, I told Luma, the woman facilitating the meeting. Since I’ve realized my place in the world, the importance of my role in the world, and how the world affects me, history has taken on a new form. I feel like I will grow so much with this group and gain a much better understanding of political science and how it relates to the important struggles of marginalized groups, particularly the African American struggle for civil rights. I’m really looking forward to seeing where I go with them.

*On a random side note, check my rank out for my 10K run on Sunday night*

http://www.resultsbyprimetime.com/RESULTS%20PAGES/FEB10/CHINATOWN/fire_10k_age_10.htm

On a sadder note check out the shoes I fricken ran in! I payed $7 for them in China town back in November (and yes, they were talking before I even started the 10k- probably not the healthiest for my joints but it was all I had). This brother is broooooke.



Luckily, I just got some new running shoes. Check these babies out!



-Peace to Middle East