Dancing to the songs of Love

This week my boyfriend and I decided to go see Eddie Santiago playing at a night club in San Francisco. It was Valentine’s Day and Santiago sings romantic salsa songs, so on Saturday night we were in the city nicely dressed and waited for our friends—until they decided not to go. I couldn’t say no to my boyfriend this time, so we didn’t let that bother us.

I called the nightclub to make table reservations, because I knew how packed it would be, but they gracefully said there were no reservations left that day. A friend of my boyfriend’s called and said he had two extra reservations, so after stopping for food at three different places (all packed), we finally left for our salsa night. Getting there, we didn’t spend less than an hour looking for parking. Even the paid ones were all taken. After losing every bit of patience we had left, we found a spot four blocks away. I was wearing a dress and very high heels, so the walk and the freezing air didn’t do much to help. The line, needless to say, was enormous, and the friend had left his spot in line to go pick up something, which meant we had to go all the way to the back. When the friend finally arrived, he had ticket reservations, not table ones.

We finally got to enter the club and the warm (not to say suffocating) atmosphere convinced us to pay the $2 to hang our jackets. Then again, everyone seemed to have had the same idea, and the closet was already full—yay for carrying the jackets around the whole night. Ordering drinks took us longer than waiting for the closet line, and they did not have the drink that I wanted. Santiago wasn’t there yet, so we had these other guys playing to hundreds of people that obviously did not fit into that space.

My boyfriend and I tried to dance, ignoring the lack of space, the heat, and the smell of sweat. We were definitely not going to let anything ruin the night. When Santiago finally appeared, the dance floor (which was already packed beyond explanation) got much worse, and we had to squeeze ourselves back a little. It was not the night we had planned, there seemed to be a conspiracy against us, and we were nowhere near the dance floor (or near the steps we had rehearsed so much), but then I turned around a hugged him, and our bodies started moving in slow motion, dancing to something that wasn’t at all salsa: it was our own rhythm.

Suddenly, all of the other factors seemed small, and it was just the two of us standing there, dancing to a very romantic song that was being played very far away, like the first time we danced. Then it occurred to me: we loved each other, and we had survived the conspiracy. For the rest of the night, that seemed to be enough; we danced to the songs of love.

February 2010

Respectable Sister Material

Some months ago my mom went out of country, and I went to pick my sister up at my aunt’s house. On my way back, I was carrying my sister’s stroller, her car seat, bag of clothes and toys, my own bag, and the baby herself. A man saw me and asked: “single mom?” And I answered, “worse than that: single sister.” Which obviously means I had to take care of my sister and my mom. Don’t get me wrong, my mother is a great, caring person. But sometimes she fails to understand that she is the mother (except when she needs the authority), and I never know which one deserves time out. Mother believes she is the only person in the world that works and has a kid at the same time, especially when I ask her why haven’t she read to Evelyn or bought her favorite cereal: she yells at me that “I can’t do everything, you know? I do everything alone!” So I’m still working on a nice way to tell her that is not the case. She probably also thinks that I spend my days laying around, with a coconut, reading a book, but that is also not the case.

Truth is, I don’t think my mom had much training. I was raised by my grandma, and having to raise Evelyn was the biggest surprise my mom has ever had. I remember when she told me she was pregnant, and I promised that it would always be the three of us fighting together, that a father was completely unnecessary. Evelyn doesn’t think the same, and she’s crazy about her dad, but that was not the point I was trying to make. I understand my mom’s lack of wisdom when it comes to the baby, but I never had a kid, either, and I try to be respectable “sister material” all the time. I would certainly appreciate if I could trust that Evelyn is eating the right things, reading the right books, visiting the playground daily, and so on.

We have an aunt that is really good at it, and I mean good. She has it all down to a science, and knows how to make Evelyn behave and eat whatever she needs to. She knows all the songs she should sing and all the places she should take her niece, and how to teach her stuff. I’m obviously not that good, but I try to learn. My aunt has been around for longer, and has been dealing with kids for longer than I can remember, so she’s a model for me. Gone are the times I hoped my mom would be that model. Sometimes it worries me that Evelyn will someday start calling my aunt “mom” since she’s the fun one, the responsible one, the active one … but we can’t really blame her if she does, can we? Mostly I just wish my mom would get out of her comfort zone and have some fun time with our little princess. I know she’s not easy, and she can get to our last nerves sometimes (ok, most of the times), but she’s a kid, and should act like one. I know my mom’s life isn’t easy, but I’m sure it’s not easy for anybody. If we stop all action waiting for life to get better, princess is going to get old and will be mortified if we ever take her to any place again, and then we’ll have to master in all kinds of new techniques.

February 2010

Morning Love and how much it means to me

Today I left for work early and kissed my sleeping sister on the cheek before I left. She opened her sleepy eyes and asked, “Where are you going, mana?” I answered I was going to work. Then she added, “Are you coming back?” and I responded, “Yes, I always do.”

Then she nodded and fell back asleep, as if saying, “All is well with the world now. My mana is coming back.” The smile on her face as she fell back asleep made my day oh so special.

May 2010

Afraid my Heart will just Stop

I did not give birth to the love of my life; my mother did, although that changes nothing, really. I don’t think my heart could take any higher level of this ridiculously big love that I feel for my four-year-old sister. There are already too many occasions where I think my heart will just stop (like that time when she fell and cut her upper lip, or that time when she fell down the stairs), so I have reasons to believe it would be unhealthy for me to experience any larger amounts of love.

I was always the kind of person who had a steady heart: no strong emotions, no breakdowns, no horrible falling nightmares. I had my life all planned out and my stuff together, my clothes clean, and my free time dedicated to myself. I was never a fan of kids or the messy lifestyle that comes with them. The change of heart was much unexpected, surprising, and intrusive, really. Suddenly I found myself changing my steady plans and my eating habits, my priorities and dreams for life. I find it very interesting that I just can’t seem to remember what my life was like before her, or what exactly were my plans for a child-free future. I believe you grow as a person once you feel obligated to succeed because someone else depends on the outcome of your life; that is extremely encouraging and extremely scary at the same time.

Now my most-played songs are from Barney’s or Elmo’s DVD collections, and my favorite food is whatever won’t be too dangerous for her to eat. My long, sharp nails have been replaced by short, soft ones, and my make-up contains no alcohol or any other harming chemical, so we can share. My vocabulary is limited to sweet, encouraging words, since she’ll repeat anything I say until it is a permanent word in her vocabulary. Even my boyfriends have to be “sister tested,” and only accepted if she likes them around, and vice versa. They also have to accept the fact that, for now, I don’t think I have enough soul to give to another child, and I certainly don’t have the extra breath.

I imagine myself a year or so from now, threatening pre-school kids who mess with my baby, pushing them against the wall, and spending some months in jail. Or maybe giving up my job and school to follow her around and make sure she’s safe and sound, all the time. There are times when locking her in the closet where I can watch her seems to tempting to me, that I feel forced to realize how crazy I’ve become. Of course, I blame it all on how hard it is to protect someone these days, specially if that someone means the world to you. I’ll have to work on my skills eventually, or else, I’m afraid my heart will just stop.

February 2010