Celebrate you

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

"You're not on birth control?!" Titi Marta asked incredulously.

"I'm gay. That IS my birth control," I replied sardonically.

My aunt laughed for a full minute, doubled over at her waist trying to catch her breath from laughing at me. Goodness, I thought, Spring could use a lot more gaymos. I'm not even that funny.

*Quick lesson in terminology - Titi means aunt in Spanish. Get used to it. I

have a lot of aunts.*

"I forgot, even though I knew, but I meant you're not on any medication to regulate your period?"

I change the subject entirely. I don't want to begin the conversation that my parents raised me not to believe in medication. My mom doesn't even own Advil. If I had one of my mind-numbing excruciating migraines, I would be screwed while my mom’s face was posted three inches from mine, inspecting me, asking her typical questions.

"Did you eat?"

"Were you in the sun?"

"Did you drink water?"

"Did you go to the restroom?"

I went to the doctor to get a physical. I wasn’t experiencing any illness but I wanted to make sure everything is working the way it should. At 26, I’m not a spring chicken anymore and I need to start living a healthier lifestyle. I was told that I have high blood pressure, which can be attributed to stress and that I needed to lose at least ten pounds. After seeing my weight on their digital scale, I would argue that I need to lose at least 40 pounds.

I received the referral from my aunt who is the office manager for a practice of physicians. I hadn’t yet seen her since my arrival in Houston so it was also an opportunity to see her.

Titi Marta is the coolest aunt in the family. Titi Sandy will trick you into thinking that she is the most laid-back aunt, but the second you tell her anything, not only does the whole world know your business, your mom will, too. Titi Marta is the aunt you can go to and tell her anything without judgment and without fear that others will know. I told Titi what really happened with her because I knew she wouldn’t hold a grudge.

If you didn’t already know, Latinos hold grudges like no one else. Latinos never forget. At times, we’re able to forgive, but we never forget. My little sister Isha is still mad at me for ripping her Barbie’s head off when I was six. I never played with dolls, house or made make-believe tea and cucumber sandwiches. I built empires out of Legos and carried my Pillow Person everywhere with me. I was a lesbian even at the age of six. She brings it up every Thanksgiving and then calls me evil. Isha was driving me insane with wanting to play Barbies all the time and she was a whiny brat, so the bitch had to die. RIP Barbie.

My family would never treat her the same again if they knew what really happened between us and since I don’t know what the future hold for us, I think it best that no family member know what happened to land me in Houston. It’s not like I lied. I just didn’t tell them the entire story.

“Wow,” she says staring blankly ahead.

“That’s how I felt. I was blindsided but I’m slowly getting used to being back in Houston.”

“Well, do you and in a year it will be your decision if you want her back. I’m really sad now. I thought you two were such a cute couple,” she said.

I thank Titi for helping with my doctor visit and leave Spring to go to Cypress for my second colonic. An hour later, I leave that appointment and check my phone for unmissed texts and calls when I see a missed call from a number I don’t recognize. I listen to the voicemail and scream in elation. Children At Risk, a non-profit company, was calling me for an interview to be their Development Coordinator. YES!

Children At Risk is an organization that raises awareness in communities about the issues plaguing our nation’s youth. They had a conference in Dallas last fall and I went just to see what issues their conference would touch on and to support one of my closest friends, Tanya.

Tanya and I met in college when Facebook was still a college network. She sent me a message saying that she saw that I was Puerto Rican on my profile, she loved my island and her boyfriend was Puerto Rican, too. She noticed we were in the same Sociology Theory class and asked if I would like to sit with her and her friends. We’ve been friends since, taking boot camp together in the hot, humid Houston heat, meeting up in New Jersey to support her brother at Rutgers in his senior play and leaning on one another for support through breakups, layoffs and life’s most unexpected curve balls.  

Tanya emails me asking if I can help Children At Risk with volunteering at their health fair at Sharpstown Mall on Sunday. Seeing this as an opportunity to show my potential employers that I am a team player after my interview and cement their decision in hiring me, I decide to volunteer the first shift 8:00 a.m. until noon.

“I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing
Just prayin' to a god that I don't believe in
Cause I got time while she got freedom
Cause when a heart breaks no it don't break even

Her best days will be some of my worst
She finally met a man that's gonna put her first
While I'm wide awake she's no trouble sleeping
Cause when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven... even... no

What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you,
And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're ok
I'm falling to pieces,
I'm falling to pieces

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
Cause she's moved on while I'm still grieving
And when a heart breaks no it don't breakeven even…”

Are you fucking serious? I stare at my radio in disgust. Breakeven by The Script made me emotional when I was still with her but now, I learned that upon hearing it I will burst into tears sobbing uncontrollably. My day spiraled down quickly after hearing that song. I was so unraveled by ‘Breakeven,’ I was a sobbing mess for the rest of the day. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I managed to apply to a few jobs through my networking contacts and filed my taxes but felt distracted.

Later that evening, I stopped working on applying to jobs when I realized I had missed almost the entire episode of Glee. I ran into the living room to watch the latest episode only to find out this week’s episode was about love and Valentine’s Day. I began crying again. I switch the channel to The Biggest Loser to find that it too, was Valentine’s Day themed. I cried by myself standing in my living room for 30 minutes until Nick arrived home.

I have been really bothered by Nick’s attitude and behavior. Nick is incredibly arrogant. I don’t understand where this air of entitlement and the notion that he’s God’s gift to women came from, but I was about to shut that shit down with the quickness. I know that most of it can be attributed to his hormones and his age, but the way he had been talking to our mom had been really bothering me and something needed to be said. The fact that other people in my family had also commented on his behavior and how some family members don’t want to even be near him proved that I was not the only one disturbed by Nick’s behavior.

“The higher you go, the harder you fall. You think the world of yourself, but there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. Just because you may be better at something than someone else does not give you the right to berate or belittle them. I am really disappointed that in my absence you have grown up to think that you’re better than others. What you need to know and have to remember is that no matter how great you are, there is always someone who is greater. Please be more considerate of others and the way you communicate with them because you will have a hard time maintaining relationships with anyone in the future.”

“How you speak to Mom is 100% inexcusable. I would never have dreamed of yelling at her the way you do. Are you insane or are you just that much of asshole that you don’t care how to talk to her? I was a massive bitch to Mom and I made her miserable when I was 16. I have since apologized numerous times but it’s something I can’t take back. I regret it immensely. But in all those times I was mean to her, I never once yelled at her. If I had ever talked to Mom the way you talk to her, she would have slapped me in a heartbeat. Because you are a boy and because she knows that you won’t respond to that, she plays mind games with you instead and manipulates you because you refuse to listen to anyone and always think you’re right. Mom is stressed out with work. She has a daily inbox of 1,000 emails a day, is on back-to-back conference calls all day and then she comes home and gets yelled at by her 16-year-old son who thinks he deserves the world simply because of his existence? While Mom won’t slap you, believe me when I say, I will.”

I issue this threat a little worried that Nick isn’t taking me seriously and that a slap won’t really affect him. Nick has been a black belt in karate since he was nine. He is now in Brasilian jiu-jitsu and is an orange belt. A slap will do nothing but surprise him and make him mad, but if Mom wasn’t going to do it, I sure as hell would. I think back to when my cousin Lito, short for Emilio, was Nick’s age and he and his sister, my best friend Gabby, were coming to our house after school until their mom could pick them up. I had been living at home because after not making straight A’s my freshman year, my mom refused to pay for my room and board at UH and I had to move back home.

Lito was exactly how Nick is now – arrogant, argumentative and self-centered. After arguing for weeks, one day I snapped in the middle of one of our arguments. I grabbed him by the neck, threw him against the wall and lifted him off the floor with only my right hand crushing his larynx, suffocating any breath he had in his lungs. I choked him for a full five seconds before I realized what I was doing and dropped him to the floor where he crumpled like a paper bag. He cried - out of anger, fear or relief, I’ll never know. To this day, I still surprise myself thinking about what happened. Lito never argued with me again. I apologized to his mom when she arrived to pick him and Gabby up to go home. Lito and I apologized to one another and if you can believe it, I am now his favorite cousin and have been for years. I really don’t want things to escalate with Nick like they had in the past with Lito so I felt it was important to communicate with each other often so things were clear and no one would be upset.

“Nick, I’m not your enemy. I am not a bitch. In fact, I will help you in any way that I can. When Mom gave birth to you, she missed only one week of school and went back to class. I raised you. I picked out your name. You would have been named Matthew if it weren’t for me. I would do absolutely anything for you, so please realize that. I am interested in building our relationship because I have missed out on your formative years and you have one year left until you go to college. We need to talk more often. I would like to spend time with you, if that’s okay. Understand that everything you say to me is received without judgment and if you want, without advice. As with everyone else in my life, everything you say stays with me. I won’t betray your confidences to Mom and I’ll even help you get around her curfews and rules sometimes. But I need you to be more cognizant of your behavior because it drives people away. I haven’t spoken to you in three days because of your attitude. I know we’re siblings but I would really like to be your friend.”

Nick nods, agrees to work on his behavior and my mom arrives home. By the time she arrived home, I was emotionally drained. I was going to cry no matter what, but when my mom began with her litany of questions concerning by day’s activities and what else I should be doing, I completely lost my composure.

“Mom! Believe me when I say, I want to volunteer, become a mentor, take yoga classes, begin Portuguese lessons and get involved with church. I just can’t right now. I lack all motivation. I have the drive but I don’t have the motivation. I just want to be alone. This is what depression is and while you may not be able to relate, please try to sympathize. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you or that I’m angry or sad. I just want to be alone. I am quiet, mostly all the time. It’s nothing against you.”

“I know, honey. I understand,” Mom says.

“No, you don’t! If you did, you would stop pushing me so hard and you wouldn’t be upset when I tell you I want to stay in my room alone. I’m trying my hardest right now. I am overwhelmed. I feel like I get so much accomplished every day and at the same time, I feel like I haven’t done anything at all because I have so much more to do. I am stressed like you can’t imagine. The doctor said I need to relax because my blood pressure is so high for my young age. I don’t know how to relax anymore. Do you understand now why I need to be on medication?! I need help. I cannot do this on my own right now. If I could have, I would have fixed this long ago and she wouldn’t have left me. I am trying my damned hardest but I constantly feel like I’m drowning. I am barely breathing. I don’t understand why you continue to push me when I am trying so hard.”

“Tina, I’ve very proud of you. I didn’t realize I was pushing you so hard. Why aren’t you happy with all the things you have accomplished this past week?” asks Mom.

“Because I feel like it isn’t enough! I always feel like it’s never enough. I am never enough,” I begin to sob so hard I can’t catch my breath.

“According to whose standards, Tina? You only have to live up to your own expectations, no one else’s. I know the pressure you’re putting on yourself and I don’t understand why you’re so hard on yourself. You are your biggest enemy and worst critic. You always have been. Why don’t you love yourself? You refuse to believe that you are one of the smartest women I know, not to mention the most beautiful. You are smarter than I am. I am just a hard worker but you are brilliant! Sometimes, I just stare at you in awe and think, ‘Wow. That’s my daughter!’ You are truly amazing and I don’t understand why you can’t accept that.”

As she is talking, I knew that the feeling of never being enough was first rooted in me because of her. My mom lives life at 100 miles per minute. She is always doing 20 things at once and expects others to live life and accomplish things just as quickly as she does.

My father contributes to my feelings of inadequacy because rarely have I heard him say he is proud of me. With every new profession I begin, my dad always tells me that I need to be working in another field. It tends to be whatever it is he feels he is missing in his life or needs to have available in his life. In the past, he has suggested that I run for a government position, create a cookbook for diabetics, start my own newspaper and become a nurse technician. I have a bachelor degree in Broadcast Journalism and aspire to be a doctor but he wants me to work at a job that I could obtain by getting a degree from a 1-800 number and push buttons on a machine in a hospital.

Ever since my parents split (for the second time) when I was 22, my dad has been a shadow of a ghost in my life. He’s blown through two wives in the past three years and proposed to one while still being married to the other. His third wife, Erika, was younger than my eldest sister and brother. He married Erika in a surprise wedding in Brasil and told my brother closest in age to me, Lucas, that he was attending a business dinner. Lucas walked in on my Dad’s wedding reception. My dad knew that if he had told Lucas that he would be attending his wedding reception, Lucas wouldn’t have gone. He chose Lucas from his six children to be present at his wedding reception because Lucas is the most passive sibling. He knew that Lucas would be upset but would never cause a scene the way the remaining five siblings would.

He is now married to his fourth wife, Joana Amendoeira, a fado singer from Portugal. Go on, Google her. She looks nothing like her pictures though. The airbrushing and lighting done on her pictures are truly a work of art. I was surprised when I met her in person and saw she was considerably older than her pictures suggested. Fado is a type of Portuguese music similar to opera. In Portugal, you eat dinner at restaurants, a woman will sing fado and her performance stops the entire restaurant. There will be no waiter on the floor, no food served, no eating and no talking in the restaurant during her performance. Later, I found out Dad had met her during dinner at a restaurant while our family had gone on vacation together to Portugal. He hadn’t yet told my mom their relationship was over and he was already building a relationship with his future fourth wife. When we arrived in Houston, my dad sent Isha, Nick and me an email telling us that he was divorcing my mom for the second time. I called Isha. Isha and I panicked not knowing how to tell my mom. We assumed that he was leaving it up to us to tell her that it was over. Nick and I banded together and confronted my mom. She knew but had been waiting until Isha was in town the upcoming weekend so that she could tell us together as a family. She was angry that he had told us anyway, ignoring her wishes. After spending a week on an Alaskan cruise together, he sent my mom a similar email telling her their relationship was over.

It hurts that I am not important enough to him for him to maintain a relationship with me. However, out of his six children I am the only one that he listens to because I am the only one he thinks of as intelligent and without an agenda. My three eldest siblings work for my dad’s business. My dad is an entrepreneur who creates a new company for whatever he currently needs but cannot find in the world. He has a new business venture every six months. Because of his two strokes within the past two years, he has not been able to travel as much as was required and secure the contracts needed to keep his companies afloat. My dad’s business, that supports his other ventures, is going bankrupt. He refuses to admit that he is failing because his ego and pride won’t let him. His solution? Spend more money. Pretend he is living the good life.

I pour myself another whiskey and Sprite. My soul is at the bottom of the whiskey bottle. I see it glimmering, dancing in the sweet brown liquid.

“Love yourself. Do you know what I do every morning? I look at myself in the mirror and I tell myself, ‘Man! You are hot!’ Well, no. I don’t say hot. I don’t think that at all. I say, ‘Man! You are beautiful!’ and I do things that make me happy. I do things just for me. Find out what makes you happy and start doing things just for you. Find out what has been hurting you and what you’ve been holding on to. Acknowledge it, grieve and let it go. You’re suffering and you’re suffering unnecessarily. Write a list of ten things you love about yourself every day.  It doesn’t have to be anything deep. It can be as simple as, ‘I love my nails.’ But start working on loving yourself and treating yourself better because you deserve the best, Christina. Celebrate you.”