To my sister:
You think of me when you hear a song that I might like and might want to listen to in repeat, on and on until it makes you so sick it’s not your favorite song anymore. You think of me when you find a photo of me or when you are alone or lonely on the subway and a girl with uneven bangs and dark skin, with overdone blush, sits beside you and you pretend that it’s me. You think of me when you wake up feeling sixteen again, wanting me to make you a sandwich and then pick you up from high school one hour early, so that I make strong eye contact with your guy friends, clumsily trying to flirt with all of them at the same time. You think of me when your boyfriend says do you remember how your sister was so crazy? And you say Not at all instead of Yes because you secretly had fun when I grabbed you from the legs and dragged you outside of my room. Because this gave you an excuse to open the window and shout I hate her! from the thirteenth floor, while I threw light objects at you in the hallway while the cats hid in corners. You think of me when you are alone taking the bus in Buenos Aires and a girl with sandals and curly hair sits beside you and you pretend it is me and that you are sixteen again.
To my ex-boyfriend
You think of me when you put my books in a box that you will return to me eventually. You think of me when you park in the opposite lot and enter the philosophy department from the opposite door to avoid running into me. That’s pretty much all that you needed to change in order to forget me. You save on gas and movie theater tickets and you get to spend more time alone, reading theology and getting closer to God. You say to yourself look how better I am, when you are wondering if my absence really makes a difference.
To Tom Waits
It’s too late to get you to make love to me. You are five steps away from death and I am twenty five living in a 3 bedroom house with leaks somewhere in the bible-belt of the South.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Not even the rain can/wash/away/ghosts
It’s a rainy Sunday night and Hannah and I have readings to finish. We sit in a corner at a near empty Caribou coffee shop and decide to stay there until it closes. I am reading the first three chapters of my “Ethics of Public Policy” book. Later when I arrive home, I will reach for the class syllabus and find that I was actually supposed to read chapters five and six of this book, but I don’t know this yet. Having read the wrong chapters; I will have to work on my class presentation tomorrow afternoon, while babysitting for a one year and a three year old, but right now I believe I am being productive.
Hannah is spread on the couch taking notes, my hair is still wet from the rain, I have no socks on, the two skinny male employees are chatting behind the register, and a man walks in talking on his cell phone. His jeans look dirty; his dark eyes poke out from over the bulges of his cheeks. He has some facial hair that makes him look recklessly unkempt, a jean jacket over his old shirt. Five minutes after he orders his coffee, he begins yelling at the employees. I can hear everything he says and Hannah already looks annoyed. The man mentions how the espresso shot is too expensive, how he is being overcharged. He accuses the employees of wanting to keep one dollar in their pockets, and threatens to call the corporate office. He keeps getting louder and louder the nicer the employees treat him. Yes sir, no problem, we will make your coffee again. Here is the receipt; this was the price of your espresso. The little power this man gets from these young children of corporate America, the more he enjoys it. He makes an employee get him a mug, and then he decides that he wants a paper cup. He asks for creamer, pours it carelessly, leaving traces of white liquid all over the coffee counter and writes down the employees names to keep threatening them.
Hannah and I look at each other. We stare at that man who is giving us plenty of reasons to feel uncomfortable. We stare because we think that if we stare at him enough, he might just decide to leave the employees alone. The man does not leave them alone. Instead, he sits at the table in front of the register and threatens them with his gaze, until one of them turns around facing the wall to rub out the frustration from his eyes. I begin to wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that both employees are gay.
Hannah wants to get up and tell this man to leave: “OK that’s enough, I’m going to go and say something!” She gets up but I make her sit down again. I don’t trust people who threaten and act angry, and I don’t want to deal with this fear tonight. But Hannah, who is younger, who is less frightful than I am, raises her voice and mentions to this man that we are trying to read, and that he needs to stop making a scene. She is louder than he is, and she is not afraid of him.
The man, who was acting so tough in front of the employees, appears to be slightly embarrassed now, as Hannah keeps staring down at him. I stare at this man too, but only because I don't want him to get any closer to Hannah. Only out of fear because I feel uncomfortable and it’s Sunday night, and the situation makes me feel helpless. And I’ve felt painfully helpless for a long period of time, and now that I have past this stage, I recognize this feeling, and it shames me. I am ashamed of my helplessness. I am ashamed of having felt vulnerable in the past, so I stare back at this man to make up for the times I did not stand up for myself.
I am proud of my friend Hannah who has a kind heart, yet no tolerance for other people's cruelty. It takes me back to a saying my father would always repeat to me, whenever I would go to him for advice “Be gentle as a dove, and sharp as a serpent.” The man finally leaves the store; his face is red, his eyes still poking out of the bulges of his face. One of the employees is still upset, his face still against the wall, but the man is gone.
Hannah smiles at me with triumph, but also with dismay for the behavior of this man. Hannah can now go back to her reading and I do the same. But ten minutes later, something about my hair being still wet and the gaze of that man still fervent in the store makes me cold, and I leave the coffee shop, to go back home and wash away ghosts of Sunday under the hot running water.
Hannah is spread on the couch taking notes, my hair is still wet from the rain, I have no socks on, the two skinny male employees are chatting behind the register, and a man walks in talking on his cell phone. His jeans look dirty; his dark eyes poke out from over the bulges of his cheeks. He has some facial hair that makes him look recklessly unkempt, a jean jacket over his old shirt. Five minutes after he orders his coffee, he begins yelling at the employees. I can hear everything he says and Hannah already looks annoyed. The man mentions how the espresso shot is too expensive, how he is being overcharged. He accuses the employees of wanting to keep one dollar in their pockets, and threatens to call the corporate office. He keeps getting louder and louder the nicer the employees treat him. Yes sir, no problem, we will make your coffee again. Here is the receipt; this was the price of your espresso. The little power this man gets from these young children of corporate America, the more he enjoys it. He makes an employee get him a mug, and then he decides that he wants a paper cup. He asks for creamer, pours it carelessly, leaving traces of white liquid all over the coffee counter and writes down the employees names to keep threatening them.
Hannah and I look at each other. We stare at that man who is giving us plenty of reasons to feel uncomfortable. We stare because we think that if we stare at him enough, he might just decide to leave the employees alone. The man does not leave them alone. Instead, he sits at the table in front of the register and threatens them with his gaze, until one of them turns around facing the wall to rub out the frustration from his eyes. I begin to wonder if this has anything to do with the fact that both employees are gay.
Hannah wants to get up and tell this man to leave: “OK that’s enough, I’m going to go and say something!” She gets up but I make her sit down again. I don’t trust people who threaten and act angry, and I don’t want to deal with this fear tonight. But Hannah, who is younger, who is less frightful than I am, raises her voice and mentions to this man that we are trying to read, and that he needs to stop making a scene. She is louder than he is, and she is not afraid of him.
The man, who was acting so tough in front of the employees, appears to be slightly embarrassed now, as Hannah keeps staring down at him. I stare at this man too, but only because I don't want him to get any closer to Hannah. Only out of fear because I feel uncomfortable and it’s Sunday night, and the situation makes me feel helpless. And I’ve felt painfully helpless for a long period of time, and now that I have past this stage, I recognize this feeling, and it shames me. I am ashamed of my helplessness. I am ashamed of having felt vulnerable in the past, so I stare back at this man to make up for the times I did not stand up for myself.
I am proud of my friend Hannah who has a kind heart, yet no tolerance for other people's cruelty. It takes me back to a saying my father would always repeat to me, whenever I would go to him for advice “Be gentle as a dove, and sharp as a serpent.” The man finally leaves the store; his face is red, his eyes still poking out of the bulges of his face. One of the employees is still upset, his face still against the wall, but the man is gone.
Hannah smiles at me with triumph, but also with dismay for the behavior of this man. Hannah can now go back to her reading and I do the same. But ten minutes later, something about my hair being still wet and the gaze of that man still fervent in the store makes me cold, and I leave the coffee shop, to go back home and wash away ghosts of Sunday under the hot running water.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Nude as the News
Despite my unwillingness to start dating again, people have asked me if I am either “single, or unattached,” with the ulterior motive of going out on a date with me. My friends, some who are dating, have also had people ask them the same question.
So I’ve ideated a boyfriend pre-screening form for all my single friends, with suggested questions they can ask, which hopefully might help them sort out whom to hang out with and whom to avoid.
PRE-SCREENING FORM
Name: ____________________________
Relationship status: _____________
ONLY SINGLE APPLICANTS ARE ELIGIBLE
Contact info (please enter a phone number and/or e-mail address): ________________
1. Do you weight less than me? _Yes _No
If yes, do you only finish half your plate of food when you eat? _Yes _No
If yes, do you make comments about how much I eat when I finish my entire plate of food and you don't? _Yes _No
If yes, do you secretly think I’m fat because you weight less than me? _Yes _No
2. Will you cheat on me?_Yes _No
If yes, will you act whiny when I ignore your phone calls?_Yes _No
If yes, will you confess to me that you don’t like the person you cheated on me with, only because you want to keep both of us around?_Yes _No
3. Suppose that you and I are in a relationship and you decide to move somewhere to pursuit a career of choice. How do you communicate this to me?
a) You don’t. You dump me via an e-mail and apply to ten jobs out of the state, assuming that I wouldn’t have followed you anyway.
b) You sit down for a talk, tell me what it is that you want to do, and ask me if I’m ok with accommodating myself to that. And also ask me if I’m ok with a long distance relationship.
c) You sit down with me for a talk, ask ME what it is that I want to do, and tell me if you are ok with accommodating to that.
4. Suppose we are dating and you move out of the state and dump me, but come back every holiday vacation to see your family. Do you:
a) Call me up on those specific holidays, and ask me if I want to hang out with you, despite the fact that you dumped me a year ago, and you are only calling because you are back in town and bored?
b) Casually run into me at the local hang out, and confide in me, saying that you don’t like your new girlfriend, only because you want to keep us both around?
c) If you do this? WHY THE HELL DO YOU DO THIS?! DO YOU THINK IT’S OK TO COME AROUND ONCE A YEAR AND TRY TO HOOK UP WITH ME? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!
3. Suppose you and I are in a relationship and we have a discussion about philosophy, politics or religion, in which it is clear that we disagree. How do you react to the fact that I disagree with you?
a)Assume that it means that we are 100% incompatible, and that we don’t have a future together because I have my opinion, and you have yours. Begin planning how to dump me, most probably, via an e-mail.
b)Demand that I read books on the subject you defend, and bring it up as often as possible until I agree that you are 100% right.
c)Accept that we will disagree on some things and take the fact that I am arguing with you to mean, simply, that I am stating my opinion, and that my opinion is different than yours.
4. Suppose that I am in a relationship with you and we have a discussion, this time in a public place, such as a park, where I end up crying. How do you react to the fact that I am acting emotional?
a) React by telling me that I have ruined your day, walk towards your car, get inside of it without waiting for me, and drive away.
1. If yes to a) WHY DO YOU DO THIS? WHY DO YOU HAVE AN ANGER PROBLEM AND THINK THAT YOU CAN JUST LEAVE ME IN A PARK AND DRIVE AWAY, HUH? WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?
b) Give me books about “Women and PMS Symptoms, and the Men that Love Them,” hug me, and let me act emotional for five minutes, for God’s sake.
c) Accept that I am different than you, and that my ways of handling emotions are very different than yours.
5.Suppose that I have dated you for a few weeks and I am at your apartment, do you:
a)Only let me in as far as the living room, because the rest of the house is a mess and you are a slob who does not clean up?
b)Lead me directly to the bedroom because you want to show me your collection of star wars life saviors.
c)Lead me directly to your basement, because your mom and dad are trying to sleep in the room upstairs, and they don’t know their son has a girl over.
6.Do you have pictures of you, playing with your star wars life saviors, on your facebook? _Yes _No
7.Suppose I meet you at a venue and you are eighteen years old, but I don’t know this. Do you:
a)Try to have sex with me regardless the fact that I’m seven years older than you?
b)Try to hit on all my friends, also seven years older than you, once I reject you for your age.
If yes to either a) or b) WHY ARE YOU EVEN AT A VENUE IF YOU ARE EIGHTEEN. You ARE MAKING ME FEEL OLD, JUST STOP IT AND LEAVE!
8.Do you ever wRiTe oR tExT lIkE tHiS, spell definitely as 'definately,' or use apostrophes inappropriately? __ Yes __ No
9.Do you listen to Classic Rock? _Yes _No
So I’ve ideated a boyfriend pre-screening form for all my single friends, with suggested questions they can ask, which hopefully might help them sort out whom to hang out with and whom to avoid.
PRE-SCREENING FORM
Name: ____________________________
Relationship status: _____________
ONLY SINGLE APPLICANTS ARE ELIGIBLE
Contact info (please enter a phone number and/or e-mail address): ________________
1. Do you weight less than me? _Yes _No
If yes, do you only finish half your plate of food when you eat? _Yes _No
If yes, do you make comments about how much I eat when I finish my entire plate of food and you don't? _Yes _No
If yes, do you secretly think I’m fat because you weight less than me? _Yes _No
2. Will you cheat on me?_Yes _No
If yes, will you act whiny when I ignore your phone calls?_Yes _No
If yes, will you confess to me that you don’t like the person you cheated on me with, only because you want to keep both of us around?_Yes _No
3. Suppose that you and I are in a relationship and you decide to move somewhere to pursuit a career of choice. How do you communicate this to me?
a) You don’t. You dump me via an e-mail and apply to ten jobs out of the state, assuming that I wouldn’t have followed you anyway.
b) You sit down for a talk, tell me what it is that you want to do, and ask me if I’m ok with accommodating myself to that. And also ask me if I’m ok with a long distance relationship.
c) You sit down with me for a talk, ask ME what it is that I want to do, and tell me if you are ok with accommodating to that.
4. Suppose we are dating and you move out of the state and dump me, but come back every holiday vacation to see your family. Do you:
a) Call me up on those specific holidays, and ask me if I want to hang out with you, despite the fact that you dumped me a year ago, and you are only calling because you are back in town and bored?
b) Casually run into me at the local hang out, and confide in me, saying that you don’t like your new girlfriend, only because you want to keep us both around?
c) If you do this? WHY THE HELL DO YOU DO THIS?! DO YOU THINK IT’S OK TO COME AROUND ONCE A YEAR AND TRY TO HOOK UP WITH ME? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!
3. Suppose you and I are in a relationship and we have a discussion about philosophy, politics or religion, in which it is clear that we disagree. How do you react to the fact that I disagree with you?
a)Assume that it means that we are 100% incompatible, and that we don’t have a future together because I have my opinion, and you have yours. Begin planning how to dump me, most probably, via an e-mail.
b)Demand that I read books on the subject you defend, and bring it up as often as possible until I agree that you are 100% right.
c)Accept that we will disagree on some things and take the fact that I am arguing with you to mean, simply, that I am stating my opinion, and that my opinion is different than yours.
4. Suppose that I am in a relationship with you and we have a discussion, this time in a public place, such as a park, where I end up crying. How do you react to the fact that I am acting emotional?
a) React by telling me that I have ruined your day, walk towards your car, get inside of it without waiting for me, and drive away.
1. If yes to a) WHY DO YOU DO THIS? WHY DO YOU HAVE AN ANGER PROBLEM AND THINK THAT YOU CAN JUST LEAVE ME IN A PARK AND DRIVE AWAY, HUH? WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?
b) Give me books about “Women and PMS Symptoms, and the Men that Love Them,” hug me, and let me act emotional for five minutes, for God’s sake.
c) Accept that I am different than you, and that my ways of handling emotions are very different than yours.
5.Suppose that I have dated you for a few weeks and I am at your apartment, do you:
a)Only let me in as far as the living room, because the rest of the house is a mess and you are a slob who does not clean up?
b)Lead me directly to the bedroom because you want to show me your collection of star wars life saviors.
c)Lead me directly to your basement, because your mom and dad are trying to sleep in the room upstairs, and they don’t know their son has a girl over.
6.Do you have pictures of you, playing with your star wars life saviors, on your facebook? _Yes _No
7.Suppose I meet you at a venue and you are eighteen years old, but I don’t know this. Do you:
a)Try to have sex with me regardless the fact that I’m seven years older than you?
b)Try to hit on all my friends, also seven years older than you, once I reject you for your age.
If yes to either a) or b) WHY ARE YOU EVEN AT A VENUE IF YOU ARE EIGHTEEN. You ARE MAKING ME FEEL OLD, JUST STOP IT AND LEAVE!
8.Do you ever wRiTe oR tExT lIkE tHiS, spell definitely as 'definately,' or use apostrophes inappropriately? __ Yes __ No
9.Do you listen to Classic Rock? _Yes _No
Sunday, January 3, 2010
1) Its fifteen degrees below zero in NYC and tomorrow evening, I have to go all the way from Queens to Manhattan in this cold, to tutor Spanish to Steven Spielberg’s daughter. Steven Spielberg’s daughter is eight years younger than me, and has her own apartment near Central Park. Meanwhile, I’ve never lived with less than two people, but what matters is quality, not quantity. Steven Spielberg’s daughter is interested in Don Quixote, and in getting into UCLA, because she wants to go to college somewhere sunny, with beaches, with tanned people, very far away from the NYC weather. Meanwhile, I’m applying to graduate programs in NYC, because apparently I think I can handle this weather. Steven Spielberg’s daughter is my mother’s high school Spanish student, and she has a real name too, that I won’t mention due to celebrity privacy issues. Steven Spielberg’s ex wife is paying me a lot of money an hour to tutor Spanish to her daughter, so that she gets a good grade in her Language class, and gets into UCLA. But maybe I shouldn’t mention this either, because now my friends are going to think I have money and say: “You owe me for this time, and for that time I paid for your drinks and for that time too. And how about donating any extra money to charity?”
2) You know how I manage to handle this weather? I play mind games and imagine I am some hot detective from Florida who is on a mission in Alaska. That is, in my imagination and under my rags, I am actually really good looking, but over my huge winter coat and upon the sock covering my entire face, I am just another homeless lady. I believe in my mind that this is my original idea, but in reality this theme is from a really bad movie I watched once, about a detective in Alaska who is trying to solve a crime. I’ve noticed how sometimes at parties, a guy will try to show off to a group of people by narrating an “original movie script” to them, something they believe they spontaneously came up with. But then the story is exactly like some famous action movie that everybody has already seen. People are so predictably spontaneous, even Steven Spielberg.
3) Allen Ginsberg once wrote in some biography that one could get fat by eating Oreos. He mentioned that even if you didn’t eat anything but Oreos all day, you would still get fat. Guess what I’ve been eating all day? Half a pack of Oreos. You see, I’ve been acting like a skinny person lately. That is, skinny people are always “too nervous” to eat, and they are always too neurotic, or too stressed to finish their entire plate of food. Boo. Skinny people used to get on my nerves, so I always tried feeding them, hoping this would stop making them act so neurotic and stressed, so skinny. I love feeding skinny people because I feel like I’m caring for a starving child. But then I started acting like a stressed, neurotic skinny person myself. And eating like a skinny person was getting on my nerves, but I was too stressed and moody to do anything about it. I mean, I have all these Italian genes, and not enough flesh to go with them, so I thought: I’ve been acting like a moody depressed skinny person, and I’m sick of it. Pass me the Oreos and let me be happy. Yes, happiness is a box of Oreos don’t you judge me.
4) I used to think that to get a good job you just had to be well qualified. I also used to think that to get into a graduate program, all you needed was a good writing sample that showed you could address a philosophical issue clearly and successfully. I used to think people would select you, for a job or for a program, based on your merit. This is why I spent so much time working on my writing sample. But this is Humbug. Apparently, a big part of succeeding in life is learning how to kiss ass. Screw merit.
Kissing Ass applies to your boss, your supervisor, your professors, and also ( I'm recently learning) graduate program committees. Ever since last summer, I have been introduced to professors whom, if I successfully kiss ass, might have enough influence to get me into their program. When people recommend me to e-mail professors who work in my programs of choice, what they are implicitly recommending me, is to kiss their ass.
At this point and knowing that rejection rate is %80, I am still wondering why do I even have to explain myself with a cover letter! Just read my writing sample which I have spent time on, and if you like how I do philosophy, fine, and if you don't, then spare me the trouble of having to meet you, shake hands with you, tell you that I like your work, e-mail you to remind you that I like your work, e-mail you to ask you for a letter of recommendation, kiss your ass. I have other things to do over here. Like write in this journal, or read chick-literature for example. But also, when I get rejected, I may just wonder if it was due to my lack of philosophical abilities, my lack of ass-kissing abilities, or a combination of the two.
5) My sister is wearing two sweaters and a knitted hat to go to sleep; this is how cold it is in NYC. My sister was telling me that for people who are from Chicago; this weather is flip-flop and Bermuda weather. I guess you don’t know cold until you know Chicago. But then again, you don't know Alaska until you spend the night in Flushing, Queens.
2) You know how I manage to handle this weather? I play mind games and imagine I am some hot detective from Florida who is on a mission in Alaska. That is, in my imagination and under my rags, I am actually really good looking, but over my huge winter coat and upon the sock covering my entire face, I am just another homeless lady. I believe in my mind that this is my original idea, but in reality this theme is from a really bad movie I watched once, about a detective in Alaska who is trying to solve a crime. I’ve noticed how sometimes at parties, a guy will try to show off to a group of people by narrating an “original movie script” to them, something they believe they spontaneously came up with. But then the story is exactly like some famous action movie that everybody has already seen. People are so predictably spontaneous, even Steven Spielberg.
3) Allen Ginsberg once wrote in some biography that one could get fat by eating Oreos. He mentioned that even if you didn’t eat anything but Oreos all day, you would still get fat. Guess what I’ve been eating all day? Half a pack of Oreos. You see, I’ve been acting like a skinny person lately. That is, skinny people are always “too nervous” to eat, and they are always too neurotic, or too stressed to finish their entire plate of food. Boo. Skinny people used to get on my nerves, so I always tried feeding them, hoping this would stop making them act so neurotic and stressed, so skinny. I love feeding skinny people because I feel like I’m caring for a starving child. But then I started acting like a stressed, neurotic skinny person myself. And eating like a skinny person was getting on my nerves, but I was too stressed and moody to do anything about it. I mean, I have all these Italian genes, and not enough flesh to go with them, so I thought: I’ve been acting like a moody depressed skinny person, and I’m sick of it. Pass me the Oreos and let me be happy. Yes, happiness is a box of Oreos don’t you judge me.
4) I used to think that to get a good job you just had to be well qualified. I also used to think that to get into a graduate program, all you needed was a good writing sample that showed you could address a philosophical issue clearly and successfully. I used to think people would select you, for a job or for a program, based on your merit. This is why I spent so much time working on my writing sample. But this is Humbug. Apparently, a big part of succeeding in life is learning how to kiss ass. Screw merit.
Kissing Ass applies to your boss, your supervisor, your professors, and also ( I'm recently learning) graduate program committees. Ever since last summer, I have been introduced to professors whom, if I successfully kiss ass, might have enough influence to get me into their program. When people recommend me to e-mail professors who work in my programs of choice, what they are implicitly recommending me, is to kiss their ass.
At this point and knowing that rejection rate is %80, I am still wondering why do I even have to explain myself with a cover letter! Just read my writing sample which I have spent time on, and if you like how I do philosophy, fine, and if you don't, then spare me the trouble of having to meet you, shake hands with you, tell you that I like your work, e-mail you to remind you that I like your work, e-mail you to ask you for a letter of recommendation, kiss your ass. I have other things to do over here. Like write in this journal, or read chick-literature for example. But also, when I get rejected, I may just wonder if it was due to my lack of philosophical abilities, my lack of ass-kissing abilities, or a combination of the two.
5) My sister is wearing two sweaters and a knitted hat to go to sleep; this is how cold it is in NYC. My sister was telling me that for people who are from Chicago; this weather is flip-flop and Bermuda weather. I guess you don’t know cold until you know Chicago. But then again, you don't know Alaska until you spend the night in Flushing, Queens.
Friday, January 1, 2010
A Child's Christmas in Buenos Aires
My mom told me this story about my niece in Argentina, and I thought it was sweet in all its innocence, so I’m writing it here. Ana’s mother (my sister) has a Catholic background, while her husband comes from a non-religious background. When she turned five, my sister who had been talking to Ana about Jesus, decided to take her to a church in Buenos Aires for the first time. “We are going to the house of the Lord!” was the theme of the day. So Ana, excited to get to see the Lord, put on her best dress and shoes, tied her blonde curls away from her face, painted her little nails pink and held my sister’s hand all the way o the church. There was no mass when they got there but there where plenty of sculptures and images of a crucified Christ, and a suffering Virgin Mary, crying at the feet of her son, the usual guilt-trip oriented Catholic stuff that we see a lot in Argentina. Lighted candles with melting wax, holy water at the entrance, the smell of wine mixed with salt and lavender, the usual James Joyce-Dubliners-catholic decorative items, etc.
But Ana was enjoying herself, until she sat down with her mother in front of the altar and waited anxiously for God to come out and greet her. It was his house after all, was it not? After a while of silence, Ana began to yell “God! God?” with her five years of youth and her innocence placed at the altar, she was only waiting for God to stop being rude. She wanted a face, she wanted to see. “Mom, this man is very rude!” she complained to my sister on the way back home, “We waited for him and he didn’t come!” “Maybe he lives in some other church! Maybe this was the wrong house Mom! What a rude man!” “Where is he?!”
And at this young age, and given her upbringing, Ana will probably hear two different answers to this question. Her mother will tell her that even though she can’t see him, Ana will feel God in her heart. And that God loves her unconditionally and that through the gospel, she will learn to love the way Jesus did. Her mother will tell Ana that there is an ultimate truth to God, and that part of her life’s mission should be to get closer to this Truth.
Her father on the other hand, may tell her that Truth is at times relative, that she should believe in principles that help her get along in life, without constraining her mind, and that she should not fall into dogmatism. He may tell her that although some people want to look for ultimate truths in their lives, such as a God, others are ok with the certainty generated by a community. Her dad might say that if some truths don’t work anymore for society, then we can discard them, and that this may only be for the better.
Both her mother and her father’s teachings will, hopefully, only strengthen Ana’s perspective, and her critical skills as a religious or as a non-religious person, whatever she chooses to be. I don’t write to take sides tonight (I spent way too much time debating about this in the past.) But what is interesting is my niece’s initial disappointment at such an early age. This disappointment is linked to her want of an easy answer, and a fast relief to her anxiety. How many countless times have I myself experienced this disappointment? Ana, with her five years of age and her ruffled skirts, her childlike manners, wanted God himself to confirm to her perceptually that there was a God. Because in future times of trouble, she would then be sure that this God would back her up regardless.
My niece’s anxiety at the church, related to her inability to see, reminds me of the time I took a Metaphysics class. One of the first themes we had to cover was Aristotelian substance, which is basically a non-changing, intrinsic aspect of being which we don’t see (we only “see” the changing aspects of being). Fine, but when I commented to another of my professors how interesting that Metaphysics class was, this is what he answered: “Metaphysical Substance?! There is nothing such as a substance Carolina! Where is it? I can’t touch it and I can’t see it, so why do we need a substance? Obviously, he was a pragmatist and a pretty cranky one too. He was not a metaphysician, but who can blame him for wondering? Who can blame him for, like Ana with God, having once felt disappointment due to lack of direct proof that it was there and that it was successfully working?
Something I know from experience is that whatever path my niece chooses from here, in faith or outside of it, will probably be equally as arduous. But hopefully she will pick the one that, besides orienting her in spiritual or earthly matters, will also allow her to handle life’s disappointments as best as possible, so goes it.
But Ana was enjoying herself, until she sat down with her mother in front of the altar and waited anxiously for God to come out and greet her. It was his house after all, was it not? After a while of silence, Ana began to yell “God! God?” with her five years of youth and her innocence placed at the altar, she was only waiting for God to stop being rude. She wanted a face, she wanted to see. “Mom, this man is very rude!” she complained to my sister on the way back home, “We waited for him and he didn’t come!” “Maybe he lives in some other church! Maybe this was the wrong house Mom! What a rude man!” “Where is he?!”
And at this young age, and given her upbringing, Ana will probably hear two different answers to this question. Her mother will tell her that even though she can’t see him, Ana will feel God in her heart. And that God loves her unconditionally and that through the gospel, she will learn to love the way Jesus did. Her mother will tell Ana that there is an ultimate truth to God, and that part of her life’s mission should be to get closer to this Truth.
Her father on the other hand, may tell her that Truth is at times relative, that she should believe in principles that help her get along in life, without constraining her mind, and that she should not fall into dogmatism. He may tell her that although some people want to look for ultimate truths in their lives, such as a God, others are ok with the certainty generated by a community. Her dad might say that if some truths don’t work anymore for society, then we can discard them, and that this may only be for the better.
Both her mother and her father’s teachings will, hopefully, only strengthen Ana’s perspective, and her critical skills as a religious or as a non-religious person, whatever she chooses to be. I don’t write to take sides tonight (I spent way too much time debating about this in the past.) But what is interesting is my niece’s initial disappointment at such an early age. This disappointment is linked to her want of an easy answer, and a fast relief to her anxiety. How many countless times have I myself experienced this disappointment? Ana, with her five years of age and her ruffled skirts, her childlike manners, wanted God himself to confirm to her perceptually that there was a God. Because in future times of trouble, she would then be sure that this God would back her up regardless.
My niece’s anxiety at the church, related to her inability to see, reminds me of the time I took a Metaphysics class. One of the first themes we had to cover was Aristotelian substance, which is basically a non-changing, intrinsic aspect of being which we don’t see (we only “see” the changing aspects of being). Fine, but when I commented to another of my professors how interesting that Metaphysics class was, this is what he answered: “Metaphysical Substance?! There is nothing such as a substance Carolina! Where is it? I can’t touch it and I can’t see it, so why do we need a substance? Obviously, he was a pragmatist and a pretty cranky one too. He was not a metaphysician, but who can blame him for wondering? Who can blame him for, like Ana with God, having once felt disappointment due to lack of direct proof that it was there and that it was successfully working?
Something I know from experience is that whatever path my niece chooses from here, in faith or outside of it, will probably be equally as arduous. But hopefully she will pick the one that, besides orienting her in spiritual or earthly matters, will also allow her to handle life’s disappointments as best as possible, so goes it.
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