reopening my pandora’s of trauma makes me tear the old version of me apart makes me revisit parts of myself I’d rather forget and makes me angry at how my insanity was enabled I know I should be compassionate, I know I should understand that the past can no longer hurt me but -oh-every time I open that pandora’s box of trauma the fire of self loathing and rage threatens to consume me and while I could leave that pandora’s box closed- I have no choice but to open it over and over again it’s one of the most important parts of my story Emotional scars need to be ripped open and analyzed to heal and make sense of who I am now
no fuck you and your pedantic machismo- oh and PWM =privileged white male
I light a candle, put on music, and pay tribute to all that I will never be- it’s not like I’m denying myself possibilities or opportunities I’m just acknowledging certain realities I’ll never have the proper words, the necessary pretentious words of the upper class pedigree to be published in one of those prestigious journals or win a pulitzer prize I’ll never be seen as an equal in American because I’ll always be a foreigner and while this brings me a certain kind of grief I also celebrate how different I am I’ll never filter my words or fake eloquence or elegance to make myself digestible to those with multiple degrees Nah, I’m a mosaic masterpiece, with my bad grammar, my simple vocabulary and my powerful and emotionally charged phrases I’m not and never will be for those with sensitive ears or palettes and I’ll always take pride in that
esa segunda raya rosada fue el Karma llegando cobrando su deuda porque yo reze que mis enemigos de enfermen con COVID y ahora moribunda en mi cama con una fiebre alta le prometo al universo que será más cauta en mis palabras y no dejaré que mi ira me controle
so I actually wrote this poem in December of 2022 after I got sick with COVID. This poem was actually inspired by the 2005 poem, “Here we again”- I was editing it to post it on instagram and something about it screamed turn into a poem about your ailment and this is what I ended with. God, my mind was extra crazy with COVID brain. lol.
Another unexpected surprise confirmed with the second pink line Is this Karma coming for me? for wishing this on my enemies this puts a pause on my life for a few days and I lay in bed in a fever haze soon I lose my sense of smell and taste I’m humbled and make a promise to the universe I’ll be more careful with my words and stop giving into my rancor
Cry in front of me and show me your vulnerable side I won’t run away or shame you for sharing your pain I understand what it’s like to be left alone when you start to drown in your emotions and you reach for someone and that person turns you away I will never be that callous when I say you can be safe with me, I really mean it
so I was named for my mom’s sister Patty. My aunt Patty was also the rebel and the baby in the family. My mom named me after her because I had another aunt who wanted me to have her name and my mom hated being pressured about it. So she was pregnant and feeling petty and named me after my aunt Patty. Growing up I was intimidated by her because she was the beauty bombshell and I was this awkward and shy kid growing up. Maybe she’s who I channeled when I pose in my pictures, lol. Anyways, like me she’s also divorced and has three boys of her own. We also both go by Patty rather than our formal name cause Idk Patricia feels like it belongs to some old stuffy Irish nun. Anyways, unlike me, my Aunt Patty is a fabulous cook while I can hardly make rice. Her ceviche will make you cry not only because it’s spicy but because it’s super delicious. As far as the etymology of the name which is such a boring thing to investigate, here’s a link to it:https://www.etymonline.com/word/Patricia
my aunt Patty in the late 80s vs middle age me in 2023
When I think of a good leader, I think of the good bosses I’ve been lucky to have. In my opinion, a good leader treats their workers with respect, is compassionate while also holding their subordinates accountable for their errors. A good leader also challenges and encourages their subordinates to evolve and improve. An example of a good leader is my gen-z boss at Kroger who’s always been kind and respectful to me and who has gone out of his way to accommodate to my scheduling needs when my life got crazy. He also gave and my other coworker a $100 gift card for Christmas. At 23, he’s more mature and way better than some of the bosses I’ve had who were way older. It makes me want to always work hard at Kroger. An example of shitty leader is Joe Biden. IMO, my genz boss would make a far better president than Joe Biden.
I still wonder who Peruvian Me would have been-probably not wearing this beanie…lol
if my parents hadn’t chosen america as their new homeland I wonder who I would’ve been a woman of priviledge married to a man who loves me for me or would it have been inevitable for me to turn out as a rebel who’d cause many scandals would I have take my education more seriously because of the pressure from society and my parents or would I have still struggled with my ADD and said fuck it I wonder who Peruvian me would have been if I didn’t have a bilingual and bicultural identity
In an ideal world, I would reduce a lot of clutter in my life if my emotionally supportive ex husband moved out. I can’t kick him out though cause my children would cause a ruckus and hate me. Plus, I’m trying to be patient and give him time or find some way we can live apart (I’ve been set on this goal for years), I guess I could find other ways to reduce clutter. I could go through my closet and dresser and get rid of clothes I don’t wear anymore and donate them to goodwill. I could also go through my bookcase and donate books. Honestly, I need to go through my room and the entire downstairs of my house and do a deep decluttering and cleaning. I could also through my google storage and delete the videos, pictures, and files I don’t need since I’m always running out of google storage so this is something I really need to do. My problem is that with little free time I have off, I like to get lost in writing poems, reading, or watch TV and have no desire to do adult things unless I absolutely have to. I guess I could add it to my 2024 goals.
I remember being super excited and happy going on this bus ride because going to Oxapampa has been a dream of mine for quite some time. Oxapampa is the town my dad was born in and raised. When my dad talked about it, it always seemed picturesque and like something out of a fairy tale. I was also excited to meet my dad’s relatives (aunts and uncles) who helped raise him and the cousins who he played with. His relatives also seem to be larger than life characters who were genuine and good people according to my dad’s description of them.
my feet and legs on the most comfortable bus trip I’ve ever made
when I think about my most memorable road trip, I think of my 10 hour bus ride I made from Lima to Oxapampa when I went to Peru last spring. It was memorable in a good way. The company we booked the trip with was wonderful and me and my son were mostly comfortable. So the trip to Oxapampa meant going up into a high altitude of 5951 ft above sea level from the 528 ft above sea level altitude in Lima. We were advised to consume coca leaves before going to prevent motion sickness so we went to the pharmacy and they gave us coca leave in pill form.
the pills we took to prevent motion sickness
Our seats themselves were super comfortable and we could recline into an almost bed so we slept super comfortable. They also had screens where we could watch American movies dubbed in Spanish. One reason we were super comfortable was because we were on the upper deck of the bus which had more space for seats. Of course, we paid more for this V.I.P seating but damn , it was well worth it. Unfortunately and fortunately, it didn’t have WIFI so I just listened to my downloaded spotify playlist. There was a lot of Conan Gray and Taylor Swift I played on my way there. We went at night so we slept most of the way there but I did manage to capture some short videos of what I saw outside the video. We went through a lot of provinces and small towns. Here’s a short video of going through Pasco. This was shortly before we arrived.
going through Pasco…
I also want to mention that going on this bus ride was also kind of exhilarating because some of the roads are treacherous and narrow and sometimes we were going on terrain that was high. That meant if the driver lost control of the vehicle, we were SOL. Haha. It’s a good thing that a lot of drivers in Peru start driving between the ages of 12 and 14. There’s probably more I will write about this trip. So when we arrived, my great Aunt picked us up and we stayed at her air b&b on her property. Where we stayed had this rustic and magical vibe. I’ll probably write more about this trip that was life changing and healing in so many ways but for now, I’ll just answer the prompt for bloganuary about memorable roadtrips.
the sign for my great aunt’s air b&bthis long entrance looked like something out of fairytale…like going into a magical forest
Jealousy is a normal emotion of the human condition and shame shouldn’t be associated with it everyone feels it I used to run away from it but now I sit with it ask what it needs Sometimes it’s me projecting an insecurity or sometimes it’s a legit feeling And that’s okay too- and jealousy doesn’t have to destroy anything as long as I know how to acknowledge it and don’t allow it to consume me
An item of my youth I was incredibly attached to was my doll Dandee. I actually had two of these dolls given to me as a young child. The first Dandee was given to me by my aunt shortly after me and my family immigrated to the states when I was 5. This was in 1986. What happened to the first Dandee? Well, it’s a sad story of trauma. When me and my family first moved to the states, we moved into the apartment next to my aunt C and her family. The living situation there was not ideal. Actually that’s the understatement of the year. Here’s a poem I wrote about her:
Anyways my aunt C owned the apartment we were renting so she was our landlord. She was also the one who was giving sponsorship for our green card. At the time we immigrated, we had done so four years earlier than we were supposed to so we lived undocumented for four years. So my Aunt C took advantage of the situation because A) with a call to immigration she could deport all of us back to Peru and B) she was our landlord so she also held control and power over where we lived. It was a terrible situation. Aunt C had a massive 3 year old son J. He was probably one of the most terrible toddlers I’ve ever encountered. Aunt C would not control him and when he would bully me, either hit me or take away my toys, Aunt C would say, “dejalo, es chiquito” which basically translates to “allow him to do whatever because he’s small”. It was hard for my mom to say anything to her or protect me because of the living situation we were in with Aunt C. The best she could do was take me somewhere else. Shortly after Dandee was given to me, he became my most favorite toy in the world. He was given to me by my favorite Aunt Luz. That toy went with me everywhere. However, one day, Dandee was taken away from me by my cousin J, and he wouldn’t give him back. My aunt didn’t do anything to remedy the situation. According to my mom, this broke my little 5 year old spirit and I was inconsolable and cried and cried for days. My papi was upset that my mom wouldn’t say anything to Aunt C. He hated to see me cry every day for that damn doll so even though they really couldn’t afford it (it was an expensive doll), papi went to the toy store and bought a brand new Dandee for me. I was a happy child again taking that doll everywhere with me. Playing with him and my imaginary friend Calincha. Anyways, a few months went by and I was at my aunt C’s house with my mom. I was playing with Dandee and my cousin J came up to me and started trying to take the doll away from me. The adults weren’t doing anything and I got angry. My five year old self could not take the bullying from J anymore and was not going to allow him to take my doll away from me so I punched him and he fell to the floor. I wasn’t punished for it and went back to playing with my doll. My mom tells me that her and my aunt C were surprised by what I did and had no idea until that point that I had a temper. I was always such an obedient and quiet child, it was shocking to them that I had it in me to fight back. Needless to say, my cousin J never messed with me after that day.
So fast forward to 37 years later, that Dandee sits in my bookcase in my room next to the baby Yoda I bought for my youngest son a few years ago (that he didn’t want anyways cause it looked creepy). When I look at Dandee, I’m reminded of my fierce and fiery spirit at 5 years old that I’ve carried with me since then. When I told my sons the story of Dandee, my oldest son said, “Dandee carries your 5 year old warrior girl spirit” and that felt empowering to me. Dandee taught me a lesson in how to take my power back from a situation I thought I had no power or control in.
my granddaughters will love me even as they rolls their eyes at me- as I try to awkwardly relate to their slang and taste in music- they’ll be like “abue-that’s so special” and while I’ll know what they’re trying to say I’ll annoy them even more out of spite or to make them laugh my granddaughters will appreciate that I’m not like other grandmas
I wrote the poem above a year ago thinking about what kind of grandmother I’d be. One thing is for sure, I won’t be like my mom who goes above and beyond her role of mamacita and is the most wonderful grandmother to mine and my siblings kids. I’ll be different but in a fun way. If I’m blessed/cursed to live a very long life (which could happen because my grandparents on my maternal side have lived past their 90s), I want to be like my grandparents who had a very good quality of life until the end. I want to be as active as possible in my old age.
me with my grandmother in 2014
I also envision myself as a storyteller with my granddaughters gathered around me as I tell them about the olden days before the internet or when we had to take our pictures to the photo place to get them developed. I want to be as candid as possible with them about my misadventures in life and love so maybe they’ll learn from my mistakes and learn to have grace with themselves when they make mistakes. I want to be a safe space for my granddaughters when they have problems. I also want to be like my great-great-grandmother Mercedes who still smiled for the camera in her old age while holding her beer in her hand.
My great great grandmother Mercedes
It would also be kind of ironic if I did live to my 90s and beyond, considering how I’ve been romanticizing death since I was 15. However, at the end of the day, I do love being alive on most days and do try my best to be as healthy as possible to live a long live to annoy my loved ones, especially my granddaughters. I’m kind of excited to see what technological advances I’ll live to see. Like, will AI become part of our everyday existence? I mean, it already is part of mine with Alexa waking me up every day. Will men, gasp, finally do their part and take birth control pills instead of leaving it up to women to take responsibility? Will there be a magic pill for PMDD for future generations of women who can take it so they don’t go to crazy town every month? Will the internet read your algorithms so hardcore they erase any vestiges of anyone you have a falling out with from your phone/social media? I’m not sure if any of these questions will be answered, but it would be great if some of them were.
hay que decir al carajo con todas las expectativas que la sociedad y nuestros padres no adoctrinaron y aprender a escuchar nuestra intuición y apoyarnos en nuestra salvajismo aullar a la luna llena para encontrar nuestro ser primal que nunca pudieron respirar quizas asi empezamos a sanar y a encontrar comunidad en gente que nos apoya, nos apapacha, y nos ama con autenticidad
it’s me and my trauma-watch out, there won’t be a story left untold
I hold hands with my trauma and show her off to everyone most people look at her with curiosity some people are horrified my family cringes and and whispers to me, “it’s embarrassing, showing her as some kind of trophy” I get mad and flip everyone off and me and my trauma link arms and skip on our way to share her story and create drama and chaos who cares if no one understands our process of how sharing her story is the key to my recovery
Life on the BPD 