What If You Knew?

What if you knew that I have a 6 year old daughter who never knew her father? What if you saw her standing there curly haired, barefoot in the mud, washing her clothes outside on a rock? What if you watched her in the classroom of 40 children, jammed together in the heat beneath noisy tin roof?  If she makes it to high school, this means she will have largely defeated the odds. Please don't ask her what she wants to be when she grows up. Please ask her what she would like to do if I have enough time to be with her today after I finish making tortillas, cleaning the house, feeding the pigs....

What if you knew that this is my story?

That this is part of my story.

What if you knew that I also longed to be a Secretary? I liked to study and I wanted to be able to be an independent woman. That was middle school. That was when the International organization came to build the outhouses for our community. My parents said they were money-makers. She told me that I was cute and that I should go be around them. They would buy me cookies and juice. They were nice to do that, I thought.
Then one day, they gave me a baby.
I didn't understand at the time.
Now I do.

What if you knew that I'm interested in world politics? I don't have access to many books or a computer. I just like to talk to people and ask them questions. And, sometimes, the news comes up spotty on my little television. I don't understand it all but I like to think. What if you knew that I liked to smile? I am a little shy to do so. But I am sarcastic and my toughness is just protection over my sweet vulnerability. I learned that from the men who bought me cookies and juice.

What if you knew that I work really hard? My father does not go to the fields often anymore because he drinks a lot. He says, "What good is it anyways to go? I only get $4 a day." His beans and rice don't provide like they used to. Not since the land has dried up and all the trees have disappeared. Not since the imports became so cheap. He can't compete with the prices and anyways alcohol is cheap. It's like those little bottles of Pepsi that cost less than a bottle of water. I'm not mad at him, though. I just keep working really hard. My friends parents have more money. But they have gotten so sick from working in the industrialized sugar cane fields. I can't stand the smell they bring when they get on the buses covered in chemicals and pesticides. So my father drinks sometimes. Then he goes to sleep. I don't blame him so much, we don't have any other options for work. We are farmers. And we live on a farm.

What if you knew that I am not so unhappy?

I have work. I have children. I have a family.
We are safe here. We don't have much so money so the gangs don't bother us.
My neighbors are around when I need them.
There's not much to complain about when you keep busy.

What if you knew that I am okay?

Sure, I could improve my health. Of course, our house needs a new roof. Damn, I'd love to be able to be a Secretary.

I'm okay, though.

Inside me I have a heart that beats and it grows when I give and receive hugs from my daugther and have good conversations with friends and people who listen.

I like when people come and sit down in front of me and look me in the eyes. It feels good to be respected.

I am a strong woman. Physically and emotionally. Life taught me to be this way. I am also organized, dedicated and hard-working. I don't talk about these things. You just see it in in my calf muscles and the squint in my eyes. You can see it in the way I have my room kept, alongside that of my mothers, daughters, sisters and nieces. You can tell because we get by. We have food on the plate almost every meal.

Not everyone in my community is like this, no. Sometimes, I think people want to stay in poverty. I don't see them working. How did this happen? I don't know. It makes me sad. Do they thing the NGOs will continue to keep coming and giving? Even with the outhouses, paved road, and little spurts of money, I don't see those people changing. I don't see their attitudes getting better or contributing more to our community. No, not everyone who lives here with few resources work hard. And I don't know why! Maybe this is just part of their human nature.

But, I am a strong woman. A mother who works hard. A good friend. And I have a lot to share if people would listen.

I have a lot to offer. But nobody knows about me. They just know the stories that get sold on the internet that flash faces that look like me.
Hardly anyone really listens.
Only a few have sat before me and asked.
Only a few have seen into my eyes.
I would share the things that I know and the things that I can do.

I need help. Of course. Don't you?
Don't you need help with your taxes and your marriage? Don't you need help with your heartburn and your depression? Don't you need help?
But what if someone doesn't understand your bank statements or your relationship with your wife? What if they don't know what really makes you sad?
Does their money fix you?

How can someone help if they don't really understand?
If they don't really listen.

What if you really knew?

What if I asked you to question what you have been told your whole life?
To forget it all.
And, just sit there
and be with me.
As two human beings.

This One Is For The Women

{and men are welcome, too}

It's Friday night and I'm alone in a bathtub full of lavender epsom salts, rubbing my body with Dr. Bronner's peppermint body goodness and sipping on peppermint tea. The double-peppermint-dosage is a mere coincidence.

I'm watching a documentary that is analysing what is both wrong and right with the world.
I'm lying in the tub reflecting on my deepest desires.

Alone on a Friday night.

Ironically, one of my deepest desires is to be a loving partner and mother. I want to build a little home where I know the creaks in the floors and the spider webs in the corners. {I kinda like spider webs}
I want to be the one who cleans it, rearranging the spices on the counters occasionally and changing the placement of homemade decorations, photographs of my travels and flowers that I pick on my walks home. {Maybe someone can help with the floors}.

I want to be the one who raises my children. A few dirty-handed girls and chubby faced boys...or whatever is gifted to me. I want them to play outside and know animals and the spider webs in the corners. ...Or whatever feels right to them. I want them to explore.
I want to watch them.

I want to love my partner. I want to smile when he walks in the door and I want to have long talks over meals that I make, or he makes, or we make. ...Or maybe that we order, once in awhile. I want to go out sometimes, and have a beer or two. I want to watch him laugh with his friends. I want to hear about his ball games and tell him about... my ball games. ...Or, just sit quietly.
I want to hold hands.
...And other things, too.

And, so, here I am.
In all my glory.
Alone on a Friday night in a bathtub overflowing with peppermint.

I am 27 years old. And I am single.

And so, one may think, after reading about some of my deepest desires, that I am unhappy.
Or, far from what I want in life.

One might ask, as I am often asked, 

"When are you going to start your real life?" 
"What are you doing?"
"What are you going to do next?"

And I sit here, soaking in my peppermentness, alone on a Friday night

And I feel effervescent.

Truly
Madly
and
Whole-heartedly.

I feel free. I feel good. I feel open. I feel real.
I feel
Me.

Inadvertently, I feel happy.
I just choose not to use this word because it doesn't quite capture what it is I am feeling.
No words do, as a matter of fact.

It's just this feeling I feel. I guess it's like how you feel when you are running down the soccer field, if you are a soccer player. Or riding a sweet wave, if you are a surfer. Or finding a beautiful gown, if you are a designer.

This is how I feel.

Immensely grateful.
Free.
Wild.
And

Comfortable in my skin. Even more than that. Joyful in my skin.
Even sexy, I'd say, as long as my readers are all women....

It's too dangerous to feel sexy anymore as a woman walking down the streets in Costa Rica, or New York, or anywhere really. Too many dogs are out there after the skin that hangs off the back of your arms and even more ravenous are the men who lean out truck windows and make faces that leave you regurgitating lunch in your mouth. {oops, side-tracked}

Yet, the truth is, I do
feel it.
Not always, no. I am a human. A female human, to be exact. {well, kinda. I'm quite masculine}
So, I don't alllllways feel sexy.

However, these days, I've been feelin' it.
And I'm not ashamed to say it. Not in the least. 'Cause it's been a battle. One that I am used to losing. That I sometimes feel like I am supposed to lose. I'm not supposed to feel sexy.

And I just don't f*cking buy that anymore.

So, here I am, on a Friday night, rubbing my body with some peppermint body wash, sipping on peppermint tea, in a steamy bathtub,

and I feel f*cking awesome.

And it's a nice little ritual I do, whenever I get the chance. Which isn't often these days since I do not have a bath tub... mostly because I do not have a house... and because I am living on my friend's couch in Costa Rica... and Costa Rica is pretty freakin' hot so I hop in the ocean or a pool and not a steamy tub...

However, at this time I find myself in my house in New York and Fall doesn't feel like it used to feel 8 years before I moved south...

Anyways, the ritual involves the scene above. And as you rub yourself with a hot cloth of steamy smelly goodness, you give thanks for each and every tiny piece of your god-for-saken body. You love your toes, all of them, from the big to the very small. You love the soles of your feel and you press into them with your fingertips as you massage those little guys that carry you ALL day and you hardly once thank them. Damn you. Make the time!

And you love your ankles as you rub them. Your calves and your thighs. And all that's underneath there, too. Those muscles and ligaments, bones and tendons. All the little blood cells dancing beneath your surface.

You keep going, loving your body, the only true home you have been given, your vehicle for walking through this world, your partner.

Did you hear that? I'm talking to myself now.
Your partner.

This is all you have sometimes. Even if you "have" someone, you never really have them. You just have this body.

And you can share it, yes! And I fully plan on sharing it.
And so, what better way to prepare for sharing it than to love it as much as I possibly can right now?

Physically, emotionally, figuratively, literally. Love it.

Give it water and rest. Joy and healthy food. Do special things for it. Spend time in nature. Experience pleasure. Be in awe of your human form. Realize the power of your own body. Awaken.

And as you love it, yourself, your body, your partner
Realize that simultaneously you are loving your future partner, your family, the world, as well.

And for all those who ask me and wonder,
What I am doing? And When I am going to start my real life?

I let them wonder. For I know, if they are asking these questions, then they have no f*cking idea what they are doing themselves.

And, if they think they do, I smile...

Realizing that none of us really know what the f*ck we are doing. We are just doing our best, each and every one of us, everyday. We are doing our best given the experiences life has dealt us.

I don't know where I am going. It would be quite boring if I did.
And quite arrogant, also. Don't you think?
I never know if my plane is gonna land. Or if I will choke on my kale.

So, more and more, I practice appreciating each moment.
Doing things consciously.

Full of effort. Full of love. Fully me.
Which, often times, involves the presence of my weaknesses, my ego, and my past patterns,
that I am still working on dissolving
{in peppermint tea and body wash}

And I so have a brilliant idea of the things I love and want and need in life
And every moment I am living those things

It's just that some of them have longer time lapses than others in the physical world
{such as the partner}

And, I'm {pretty much} okay with that.

Because I am so very grateful at this very moment.

And
that's all I can be.

And all I really ever want to be.

Don't Ask Me Where We Met. Tell Me.

It's the opposite of what I think it will be.

I kinda loved my morning at Jury Duty.

I'll save you all the details of the cool conversation I had with the dude next to me from Yonkers and the lady who made me laugh about putting more time on my parking meter- however, I promise you there are good stories there too.

I was only there from 8:30am - 12:30pm and now I'm clear for 6 years for serving. I missed my first assignment because I was out of the country and it just so happens that the second one fells the only 2 weeks I am in New York...

And this is what it was like:

Upon handing us our certificates of service, the judge looked at us.

His face was wrinkled and he walked hunched over.
His eyes, however, were deep and steady.

And they looked at each one of us as he spoke.
He moves his head, looking around the room, speaking directly at each one of us. And we can feel it.

And then, he points to me and makes a joke.
I blush.
"Am I flirting with him?" I ask myself in my mind.
I have a thing for older men.

He says we can go now. Our certificates are in his hand. But he says, lastly:

Just do me a favor. Tell your friends and family that jury duty is not about having a root canal. Tell them that it's not so bad. Remind yourselves that if you ever fall victim of a crime or need some help for whatever reason that you'd like a fair jury, too. 

And one last thing, 
"What's my name?" 

None of us know. Not one. No one answers.

He looks at us. Not with contempt. Not with anger. Just as a human being.
Actually, I feel a softness.

Right. He continues. Day after day I run into people on the streets. In the grocery story. And people stare at me. And they don't say hi. But here I am fearing that I threw them in jail at some point. It makes me a bit nervous.

So say Hi if you see me okay? Don't ask me 'how do I know you? where did we meet?'. 
Tell me. 

And he walks out.
Before he does, he glances over at me again. Or maybe its the dude next to me from Yonkers.

I smile.
Again blushing.

But also with such a deep feeling in my heart.

I really don't know what life is about. I am learning that more and more. I realize that we don't know anything at all.

That is- when we try to explain it- we cannot.
Life is not words.

Life cannot be captured in spoken or written words.

Same goes for

Peace
Love
Happiness

These are all experiences. These are feelings.

The smell of an orange. The cuddle of a dog. The sunrise.

We know it. Because we feel it.
But we cannot explain it.

No words can explain or capture the essence of these things.
Yet, we try to do so. And in doing so, it is lost. Because it is different for each of us. Yet we all know and share that feeling.

I guess this is what happens in the "real" world.
We see a judge before us and we think that he is a judge.

We forget that he is a human being. We forget that he is just another vehicle of love- who wants to make us smile by handing us a certificate, so that we can go home to our loved ones, our dog, our couch, or wherever it is that we think we would prefer to be instead of serving someone else in their hardship (aka jury duty).

We forget that he is just like us.

Underneath the gown.
Beneath the wrinkles.

He's just another human being who likes to laugh. And smile. And share with people.

I really liked jury duty yesterday morning.
I thought about it all day long.

Things aren't always what you think they will be.
And people aren't always who you think they are.