Recoding

I have lately been expressing my feelings out loud with a higher frequency. The verb for expressing in French is "exprimer", which always reminds me of the Spanish exprimir which means "to squeeze". As Canucka has blogged about, there are certain words in our L2s (L2 is language research slang for "second language") that just stick with us and we like to use. Most of them are swear words, I guess, because they don't carry as a strong feeling or meaning than to native speakers. However, I was talking to Gabrielle about how English has become my main language for expressing positive feelings. I *feel* in English, and that is not to say that I don't feel when I used words expressions like mi cielo or preciosa, I DO mean them. However, I have re-coded my life experiences into English.

Just last week I finished a five month individual counselling process with the Counselling and Development Centre(CDC) at YorkU. It is not my first time in my life in which I have sought help, nor the first time that I have attended the CDC to get help. In the half dozen or so opportunities I have been seeing a mental health professional this is one of the best experiences I have had. To begin with, I was driven completely by my own motivation to change and to explore my behaviour patterns, thought processes, and emotional responses to life. This sounds so dry and contrived, but really, that is all it is to experience life: how we act, how we think and how we feel. And I was (and still am) on a period of my life in which I needed to tame my wild introspection and finally make it work to my advantage.

Even though it was more a "here and now" kind of process, where every week I was able to reflect on the events of previous days, there was always the presence of the past. A reframing of my life and of the image I have had of myself throughout my life was at the centre of the growth I experienced in the past five or so months. My counsellor was not only the perfect squash court to bounce back ideas, but a very impartial voice of advice at the right time. The counselling stopped at this point because she was only doing an internship at the CDC. I've been asked if I would've continued going to counselling and yes, I would have. However this is a good point to transition into being my own voice of reason and will keep the hour a week to myself. I have decided to start going to play squash once a week, alone, to give me the appropriate time and space to review my week and continue the path I am taking.

All of this to say that I believe that among many many things, this process not only reinforced the recoding of my life into English, but also helped me integrate and accept all the different parts that form me, like a stained glass window or a 3D puzzle. My different identities can come out every now and then and I can let them be. I have been given the chance now to explore even further a new part of my cultural experience. As I start to get to know Gabrielle I get to see myself through her eyes. Moreover, being French her first language, it has given me a chance to understand and share this ESL experience, and also to push myself into using a third language (every now and then at least) to squeeze meaning out of this life. Just a couple of weeks ago, as I was trying to describe a Guatemalan enchilada to her, due to my lack of vocabulary in French, I wasn't able to come up with the word "betterave", but more interestingly both the words "beet" and "remolacha" (what betterave means in English and Español) were completely blocked. I was aware that I knew them and I had the image of such vegetable but I couldn't even do the "switch coding" and interject English into my very primitive French conversation. Oh, the mind and its games.

Note on frequency of postings/comments
As you may have noticed there was almost a month in between my previous post and this one. I confess I have been doing some living lately and thus have neglected elToronteco. I still read the postings on my favourite blogs and every now and then I drop a line as a comment. I also appreciate the comments on any posting I have written and I get a laugh at seeing the google searches that result in unexpected visits. I make no promises of future postings, but I am not riding towards the sunset just yet. After all, besides squash, blogging will become part of my self reflection exercise on a more consistent way now that counselling has ended. So, stayed tuned.

Mis amantes

Durante mi programa de licenciatura en la UVG hace ya tres lustros solía decir (usualmente a mí mismo) que estaba comprometido con la Psicología, pero que tenía una amiga que era la Matemática y una amante que era la Antropología. El catedrático de mi curso de Matemática me dió dos años en "esa tu carrera". Era evidente que mi fidelidad a la psicología estaba en peligro y hasta llegué a hacer trueque entre mi práctica de investigación y un trabajo de campo en antropología. Eventualmente me licencié en psicología y trabajé como tal por un par de años antes de venirme a Canadá. Lo irónico fue que el casarme con una psicóloga produjo mi divorcio de la psicología y que sólo al divorciarme de la psicóloga que pude reconciliarme con mi primera prometida.

Más de cinco años luego de mi divorcio (el de la psicóloga) estoy bien avanzado en volverme a "casarme" con las ciencias del comportamiento. He retomado el camino que inició en el Liceo Guatemala, aprendiendo sobre desarrollo cognoscitivo y preguntándome por qué el aprendizaje es fácil para unos y difícil para otros. La Matemática me presentó a su prima la Estadística con la cual he estado saliendo de vez en cuando. Aun sueño con la Antropología, pero he encontrado que la Psicología puede ofrecerme parte de los encantos de la primera. Una perspectiva cultural, basada en el contexto en el que el individuo se desarrolla es una fusión ideal de Psicología y estudios culturales. Al menos eso creo yo.

En los próximos meses tendré que elegir tema de disertación doctoral. Como mi amiga Ale me recuerda, uno se "casa" con su tesis. Otra amiga bloguera, Stephanie Falla, hasta ha utilizado este medio para "rebotar" algunas ideas sobre como elegir tema de tesis. Aunque aun no estoy listo para "comprometerme" a ninguna idea, mi pasado, mi presente y mi futuro se reunen de vez en vez a platicar conmigo y, aunque nunca llegamos a nada, estamos conscientes que esta es una de esas encrucijadas en las que puedo tomar varios caminos. A veces me desilusiona la Psicología, especialmente el poco alcance que la investigación pura tiene en "el mundo real". La Estadística me ofrece una solución aun más "escapista"... un mundo de ideas y de números y de mundos simulados, y al mismo tiempo un arte y un potencial en cuanto a carrera profesional mucho más emocionante y amplio que la investigación psicológica.

¿Será que podré reconciliarme una vez más con la Psicología? ¿Terminaré cayendo en los brazos de la Estadística y para siempre teniendo una relación de semi-infidelidad hacia mi "primer amor" académico? ¿Hay alguna salvación para este pobre hombre entre dos tierras?
¿Escapismo o fidelidad?, que piensan Uds...

Everything I learned about blogging...

Recently a dear friend pull the plug or better off "signed off" on her blog. I have since started to write this post that I hope to publish soon. It is an idea I have had from the get-go when I decided to create elToronteco. It is a huge tribute to the blogs that showed me the power of this new media. Then I realized, What do I know about blogging? Not much, I guess. But what I do know is that these blogs and their authors have influenced more than my "extra-curricular" activity of blogging but the way I see and live life. The very first blog I consistently read was:

Bitácora de Mauricio Romero http://romerogt.delaermita.com/ [Español]
Nepotism-shmepotism... I believe that the melange of personal notes, rants about open source technology, the occasional political diatribe, reiki and other spiritual and material matters really describes the person with whom I share most of my genetic configuration. RomeroGT is my older brother but more than that is a great friend and a real traveling companion. Space separates us, but distance is not measured in Kms. I've been reading this blog since 2004 and I believe I started by commenting via e-mail and then I figured out how to post my comments. This blog changes its css every now and then, always looking for different layouts. On one of those layouts had a widget with recent posts from other "Blogs chapines" (chapín is slang for a person from Guatemala) and through those links I was able to discover other blogs, particularly, in October of 2006 I stumble upon this blog:

Hello from Here http://hellofromhere.blogspot.com
LD is a Canadian journalist who was living at the time in Quetzaltenango or Xela as it is also known, the second largest city in Guatemala after The Capital. The personal touch of her postings and the struggle she was having with integration of her experience in Guatemala, which was in many different levels quite deep, with her Canadian identity caught my attention. Then there was a personal link because a friend here in Toronto actually have met her a couple of Summers before while visiting Xela. One important think I learn from HFH was to always keep it personal. Not just report the news (which in LD's case is her actual job), but find something that you cannot deliver in any other way. HFH could be seen as an Ex-Pat blog, one of those transition from the "dreaded mass e-mail" to the public posting of the author's adventures in the foreign land. On the posts of HFH you can find a human side of Guatemala and the transition from being an outsider to becoming part of that reality... because Guatemala, as Francisco Goldman describes in The Long Night of the White Chickens, is a country you don't live in but you live with. And LD also showed this on a post called "Ni de aquí ni de allá" just before returning to Canada.

LD decided to pull the plug on HFH recently. She's been back on Canadian soil for more than a year and the "novelty" of living in Toronto is not really inspiring. Believe me, I know, and you can see my own sparseness in posting as such. One last lesson from HFH is that sometimes you need to live in order to blog. It has to mean something to you. It took me a year to come across a situation that merited starting a blog. In the meantime, through the Web of relationships the Internet is I was able to find two of my best friends' blogs: From Ronald Flores, well www.ronaldflores.com [Es], and from Ale her two blogs Congo Days [En] and Desde Kinshasa [Es].

From Ronald's blog I have learned that I don't have to fear to elevate the level of the conversation. From both of Ale's blogs I have rediscovered that kindred spirit I met back in Guatemala and also to dare to write in both languages. I took the single blog two languages approach whereas she keeps two separate yet equally important blogs. These two friends of mine make me proud of being a Guatemalan blogger.

The last blog I would like to mention as part of my formative time as a budding blogger is La Antigua Guatemala Daily Photo (http://antiguadailyphoto.com) whose author, Rudy is one of the first great friends I have never met (although I will try again to correct this later in the year). LAGDP has given me the opportunity to craft my commenting skills (as HFH and RomeroGT did as well). It is also "concerned" with design as RomeroGT. However, one of the key lessons is the beauty of using pictures to tell a story.

I must mention two good friends (and their blogs) that I made since I started elToronteco. Carmencita, a Guatemalan woman living in California, where she grew up, is another two languages/two blogs kinda person with the recently renamed "Un viaje a las raices" (http://carmendebizet.blogspot.com/) and with her personal Xanga blog http://www.xanga.com/CarmenDeBizet/ , which heading reads "Given enough coffee I could rule the world". Carmencita is a wonderful story-teller with a good sense of humour and also with a complex identity (which is a common denominator on the whole bunch described here, me included). The other amiga is Cancun Canuck (http://www.cancuncanuck.com/) or Canucka as I call her in the blogosphere. A former Toronto resident now transplanted into that Caribbean tourist hot-spot of Cancún where she is living a life among the nativ.. I mean locals. Her insights are great, her stories are funny and human, and (I must mention it) her 3-year-old son is just the cutest MexiCanadian ever (there is something to be said about mixing the races ;-) ).

So, I might not know much about blogging. But my journey started by lurking and commenting, particularly on the blogs mentioned here. To all you guys, a YouTube dedication:

Contigo Aprendí by Armando Manzanero
Interpreted by Costa Rica's Trio Azul Kristal

Hallazgos Arqueológicos

Desde ya me estoy disfrutando la cantidad de visitantes que el título de esta mi entrada dominical creará. La verdad se refiere a un descubrimiento que hice mientras estaba buscando unas notas que tomé sobre El Principito de Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Aunque no las encontré lo que si pude "escarbar" fueron una serie de poemas, algunos inéditos y algunos de verdaderos poetas copiados a mano o en la computadora durante la década de los 90. Anteriormente había hecho mención y había compartido un par de poemas de este "Folder Español" HISPASA de pasta azul que tengo por acá en mi tierra madrina. Es divertido leer las babosadas que uno ha escrito en su pasado. Pero lo que es realmente interesante es (1)tratar de recordar/entender/relatar el origen de estos poemas y (2) encontrar cierta afinidad con el tiempo presente.

Con toda discreción me pregunto ¿será que no he crecido emocionalmente en estos 10 o 15 años? ¿será que la historia, mi historia, es circular? ¿por qué es que no puedo escribir palabras tan "apasionadas" en estos días (en los que no sale el sol sino tu rostro)? ¿será que estoy viendo "micos aparejados" (lo cual realmente es una imagen grotesca y perturbadora)?

Bueno, les dejo unos cuantos poemitas para que uds. juzguen si el patojo que le gustaba gastar tinta tenía algún futuro como escribidor o si al menos iba a tener suerte con las patojas. ¡Ay si uno pudiera re-escribir la historia! Hago una vez más el énfasis que estas líneas fueron escritas circa 1994 (a principios de la U pues).
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Las palabras se posan
sobre tu cabello,
sin embargo,
sigues indiferente
a su vuelo de cortejo
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
En tus ojos
una noche
soñé que sumergía
mis labios
en busca de ti
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
El mundo y tu sonrisa
tan pequeños
y aun así tan inmensos
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ama la noche a sus estrellas
Aman los árboles a sus nidos
Aman los ríos a los peces
y sus orillas a las serpientes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inútil,
la distancia,
rellena las cavidades,
de mi corazón palpitante
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Estas allí,
con tus ojos de siempre
y tu mirada de "nunca"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Llené mi alma
con tu mirada
y no la he querido vaciar
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoy me levanté con la impresión
de haber conocido al amor de mi vida...
...otra vez
______________________________________________________________________

Primavera

(...)porque en tales días obtuvieron los judíos paz contra sus enemigos,
y en este mes la aflicción se trocó en alegría y el llanto en festividad;
que los convirtieran en días de alegres festines y mutuos regalos,
y de donaciones a los pobres (Ester 9:22; Nueva Biblia de Jerusalén-NBJ)

La primavera ha iniciado con un nuevo día (o Norouz) y mientras en Toronto esperamos que finalmente el verde empiece a crecer y los árboles se re-vistan con sus hojas y sus flores. Este año tres celebraciones se han conjugado en esta semana primaveral: El año nuevo Persa(cómo me lo recordó este año la entrada en [daily dose of imagery] ver también el enlace sobre Norouz) que inicia el primer día de primavera o sea en el equinoccio de primavera. Este año, junto con el primer día de la primavera, los judíos celebran la fiesta de los Purim, siguiendo el relato del libro de Ester en el cual gracias a la intervención de la bella reina, el pueblo judío fue salvado del exterminio mientras estaban exiliados en Babilonia bajo el mando Persa (coincidentemente). La historia es una de aquellas sangrientas historias del antiguo testamento en las que se exageran los números de muertes de enemigos del pueblo elegido, sin embargo no es una historia solamente de venganza, sino de acción de gracias y de cómo los oprimidos, gracias a la intervención divina, salen victoriosos frente a la aflicción y el terror. Personalmente Purim me recuerda el haber compartido el año pasado unas galletas de forma triangular que dicen representar (depende de quien se le pregunte) la oreja o el sombrero de Amán, el enemigo del pueblo judío que pretendía hacer que el rey Asuero decretara la muerte de ese "pueblo disperso y diseminado entre los pueblos de todas las provincias (del) reino, con sus leyes, distintas de las de todas las naciones, y que no cumplen las leyes reales" (Ester 3:8, NBJ). Gracias al encanto y los banquetes y la oración de la reina Ester, el rey Asuero entra en razón y la balanza cambia de lado y los judíos terminan "exterminando" a sus enemigos ayudados de un nuevo decreto real. Mi buena amiga que me convidó sus galletas y su cultura anda de viaje por Nueva Zelanda en estas fechas. Así que le mandaré electrónicamente de alguna manera un saludo de Purim.

Por otro lado el año nuevo Persa es personificado en mi mitología personal por otra buena amiga, la cual le debo el haber empezado este camino de búsqueda de identidad. De origen Persa, pero con afinidad a la cultura latinoamericana, SM hizo un viaje a Guatemala en el verano del 2005 y previo a su viaje le pude compartir lo que yo "sabía" sobre mi amada matria. El convertirme en un "informate nativo" y poder reflejar mis opiniones y añoranzas despertó en mí esa "chapinidad" que al día de hoy escapa definición para mí. Así que sin saber mucho de la cultura Persa, esta amistad me hace respetar y apreciar esta celebración del primer día de la primavera que antecede al cristianismo.

La celebración que es quizás más conocida para quienes lean esta entrada es la Semana Santa. Anoche la luna llena me recordó la conmemoración de la última cena y la visita a sagrarios que al menos un par de veces hice con mi abuelita materna. No puedo decir que he dejado de ser cristiano, ni siquiera que he dejado de ser Cristiano o Católico, pues esa formación es la que me ha forjado como el ser humano que soy. Sin embargo, no atiendo a ninguna comunidad y no he pisado el interior de una iglesia si no es con una cámara y cómo turista en mucho mucho tiempo. El fervor de Semana Santa que magistralmente es pintado en LAGDP permea mi ser. Acá en mi tierra madrina se celebra bajo el nombre de "Easter" con colores pastel, una comida familiar, chocolate, conejos, y un fin de semana largo. Más allá, pero sin ser necesariamente opuesto o excluido, del rito y connotación cristiana la celebración de Easter es la celebración de la renovación. Tema que se siente en el ambiente cuando se habla de la primavera. Se pueden ver o rebuscar las raíces cristianas en este festival del sinergismo, en este experimento de multiculturalidad que es Toronto y Canadá en general. En las iglesias se verá y se hablará acerca de la resurrección de Cristo por la cual la salvación de las naciones fue consumada.

En mi reflexión personal he podido conjugar todas estas ideas en un saludo y un deseo de primavera: Qué la renovación toque a tu puerta y que la invites a pasar dentro de tu casa

Fotos: Passiflora caerulea (Pasionaria), arriba tomada en la casa de mis abuelos en la zona 6 de la ciudad de Guatemala, la de abajo tomada en Montreal en las afueras del Oratoire St-Joseph

Bienagradecido

Vivo en un país libre/ cual solamente puede ser libre
en esta tierra, en este instante,/y soy feliz, porque soy gigante
De "Pequeña Serenata Diurna", Silvio Rodríguez

Soy feliz, soy un hombre feliz... entre tanto frío, penas, tristezas, desencantos, puedo darme cuenta de lo afortunado que soy. Se me olvida, es cierto, caigo en estados melancólicos, a veces hasta lloro sin por qué. Pero la vida, mi mejor querida, se empeña en recordarme lo maravillosa que es. No, no ha pasado nada "especial" para que haga tal declaración de felicidad. Es cierto que recientemente me recordaron esta canción tan bella de la cual tomo los primeros versos para mi epígrafo. Tal vez, esto ha sucitado que venga a reflexionar sobre esta vida que no me pide nada, o casi nada... que no es lo mismo, pero es igual.

Y hay tantas cosas por las cuales estar agradecido. Mi familia, que me ama que me recuerda con cariño, que me dió alas y me dió raices. Mis amistades a lo largo de este trayecto. Mi educación, tanto formal/institucional como la que se aprende caminando y cayéndose y levantándose. Mi salud, física y a la medida de lo posible mental. Tener un techo, un trabajo, abrigo en días tan fríos y comida suficiente. Tengo acceso a recursos y a información a través del Internet y siempre he vivido "conectado" a bibliotecas. Tengo momentos de ocio y recreación. Tengo, vamos a ver, la oportunidad de vivir en una cultura relativamente justa y egalitaria. No perfecta, pero perfectible. En donde llamo a mis "superiores" por su primer nombre y en donde la gente es gentil y a veces hasta amable.

Muchas cosas pueden decirse de este país libre en donde vivo, muchas críticas constructivas y destructivas. Lo mismo se puede decir de mi país de origen. Estoy agradecido de haber nacido en Guatemala, mi matria. En haberme llenado los ojos de volcanes, de montañas, de ríos, de lagos. De haber crecido con el siseo del acento chapín y el cantadito que mezcla los orígenes diversos de la gente que puebla mi matria mesoamericana. De ser heredero del trono de amor y de la revolución primaveral. Agradezco ser parte de una población tan especial y también de ser parte de la diáspora guatemalteca. Creo no merecerlo, a veces.

Otro mes termina mañana con un día extra este año. En esta oportunidad que me da el año bisiesto quiero proponerme ser más agradecido. Gracias a mis lectores, a mis progenitores, a mis amores y a mis detractores. Gracias por mis manos y mis ojos, por mi risa y por mi llanto. Y, como dicen aquellos suecos, por las canciones que transmiten emociones.

Muchas gracias y feliz 29 de febrero.

Familiaridad

Gracias a una promesa electoral bien intencionada mañana la provincia de Ontario celebrará el primer Día de la Familia. Algunos verán con escepticismo esta iniciativa populista y otros agradecerán el tener un fin de semana largo luego de la cantidad de nieve que ha caído por estos lares en lo que va del mes. Febrero es realmente el peor mes en cuanto a clima y estado de ánimo del pueblo canadiense. Tengo que confesar que aunque por años he negado el efecto que el invierno tirano tiene en mí este año he decidido ser honesto y confesar que estoy cansado de ver todo cubierto de nieve. Es bello... es cierto... pero creo que cierta familiaridad con las estaciones me da el derecho de sentirme de bajón de cuando en vez durante los meses (que parecen ser eternos) de invierno.
Inicié esta entrada con la intención de reflexionar sobre el concepto de familia. Acabo de colgar luego de hablar con mis padres y de intercambiar unas cuantas (siempre insuficientes) palabras con mi hermana. Hay un decir que uno no escoge a sus familiares, pero creo que yo, si pudiera, escogería a los que tengo. Esta es la primera idea de familia, la familia de origen de donde vengo... a donde voy cuando la cosa se pone difícil, a quien acudo para contar mis babosadas y quienes a veces me cuentan las de ellos. Por casi un cuarto de siglo me vieron crecer entre ellos y en lo que va del presente siglo me han extrañado y han sido extrañados mientras sigo creciendo en esta nueva tierra. Es algo delicado mencionar o tratar de nombrar (en el sentido numérico) quienes son mi familia de origen. Cuando la familia se ha dividido y multiplicado, cuando han habido adiciones y sustracciones, a pesar de la unidad el cariño no siempre es igualmente distribuido. Alrededor de mi familia de origen esta mi familia extendida, los tíos, abuelos, primos, sobrinos y demás familiares... el compartir un apellido o un ancestro común es, en mi experiencia, una garantía de afecto recíproco. Han habido veces en las que las muestras de amor que he recibido de mi familia extendida me han sorprendido. La sangre es mas espesa que el agua.

En dos ocasiones en mi vida he creado, junto a mis respectivas parejas, otro tipo de familia. A pesar de no tener hijos, puedo decir con seguridad y con todo mi corazón que he experimentado el gozo de ser la mitad de una familia. En ambas ocasiones mi vida cambió radicalmente (es decir desde sus raíces) gracias a estas experiencias. Por motivos que no vienen al caso ambas familias llegaron a su fin. En la más reciente de mis relaciones aun mantengo el contacto y la comunicación, lo que a veces puede parecer extraño y a veces parece no recomendable. Sin embargo, honestamente veo a esta relación como una relación familiar. Creo que ella es una de las personas que más me conoce (aunque no me entienda) y a la cual me gustaría ver crecer. No puedo caracterizar la relación de otra manera. Por el momento, en este sentido, soy una familia de uno y hay veces que es más que suficiente.

Otra "familia" a la que pertenezco es la de mi laboratorio en YorkU. Mi supervisora y su esposo son co-directores del grupo de investigación al cual pertenezco. Su complementaria relación han creado un ambiente orgánico el cual fomenta una relación personal que va más allá de lo académico y profesional. Desconozco si esto es común en otros laboratorios, especialmente cuando son dirigidos por una pareja. Definitivamente tiene sus ventajas y desventajas. Quisiera celebrar, en el día de la familia, las ventajas. Una de las cuales, en mi caso, es el tener una experiencia de "hijo adulto" la cual trunqué de alguna manera al decidir emigrar. Dentro de el papel de mentores, los co-directores de mi laboratorio me han visto crecer como persona mientras hago mis tanes en este mundo académico que a veces puede ser salvaje o frustrante. Me han aconsejado y escuchado, no sólo en cuanto a mi trabajo y profesión, sino en mi vida personal. No sé si por esta imagen parental, pero a mis colegas de laboratorio los he llegado a ver como una especie de hermanas y hermanos. Algunos con más experiencia y edad que yo (no necesariamente van juntas), pero todos con un mismo objetivo, terminar la U lo más pronto posible. Venimos de muchos orígenes y de diversas familias, y sin embargo hablamos un lenguaje común y nos echamos la mano cuando podemos. Como en cualquier familia pueden haber desacuerdos pero siempre estamos allí compartiendo penas y alegrías.

Para finalizar, aunque no por ello menos importante, tengo otro tipo de familiares, amistades a las cuales respeto y aprecio y en las que confío y comparto mi vida. Amigos y conocidos tengo muchos... pero estas otras amistades han venido creciendo con el tiempo o surgieron instantáneamente para luego solidificarse. Son mis hermanas y hermanos "anexados" a mi círculo familiar. Este fin de semana largo me ha dado la oportunidad de darme cuenta y de reconocer en mi vida a estas personas que amo de una manera que solo puede compararse con ese vínculo que me une con mi familia de sangre. Espero poder crear la misma impresión en sus vidas y mantenerlos cerca por el resto de la mía.

¿Qué es familia? ¿Quiénes forman parte de sus familias? ¿Es compartir material genético necesario? ¿o suficiente?

Tale of two brews

Ok Rudy, I'll bite, or should I say drink? The man behind LAGDP has been mentioning over and over again the Canadian Classic Film "Strange Brew": The adventures of Bob and Doug McKenzie. Fellow blogger CancunCanuck posted in December the brothers McKenzie version of the 12 Days of Christmas, which is really really funny. But I won't talk about these Canadian icons, but of their (our) beloved beer. Or should I say beers? Well, I will focus on one beer in particular, the one I call "the pride of Toronto": Steam Whistle. Last June I had the pleasure of hosting my father in his first trip to Canada. He came for my convocation ("acto de graducación" pues) from my MA. My father worked for some years as an accountant at Cervecería Centroamericana, the producers of Gallo Nuestra Cerveza. So I thought it would be nice to take him to a micro-brewery here in Toronto. It happens that Steam Whistle Brewery is located at the foot of the most emblematic construction of Toronto, the CN tower. These are some photos taken from and at the brewery.

In the tour, which included a taste of their beer, we were told that this brewery only "craft" one product, the pilsner Steam Whistle, which is made only with four ingredients: Spring water, malted barley, hops and yeast. Their motto is "make one thing and make it good". This "micro-brewery" is located on an old train station, thus the name Steam Whistle. It is actually quite "hoppy" and it might be an acquired taste, but maybe less so than other types of beers produced in Toronto, like Mill Street Brewery Coffee Porter. But is not my intention to either describe every single beer and ale brewed in Toronto, not it is to create a beer blog. I am just replying to Rudy's insisting question of "what kind of strange brew" are we drinking up here, usually aimed to LD and to my person. LD, as far as I know, is not even a beer drinker. Me, on the other hand, have discovered that the suds I used to drink as a young child actually come from a very tasty beverage. I was not particularly fond of Gallo, and when I visit my family I try to drink Moza whenever I can(a bock type of beer, also produced by Cervecería Centroamericana S.A.). Beer is a serious business both in my motherland and in my newland. But it was in these latitudes that I discover that there is no such thing as one beer or one type of beer, and I finally understood what the hell is an ale (and I am not talking about Canada Dry Ginger Ale).

There are many more micro-breweries in Canada and some of the best that I know (well maybe because are the ones that have products more easily accessible) are in Ontario. You can check the website of the Ontario Craft Brewers for an extensive list of these local entrepreneurs and their beloved products. When I first came to Canada, I lived in Kitchener-Waterloo (K-W), two intertwined cities located about 2 hours South-West of Toronto, for three years and a half. I even worked conveniently across from The Brick Brewery in uptown Waterloo. In those times I developed a taste for Honey Brown beer, regardless of the brand. Here in Toronto when I am in the mood I usually have a Sleeman's Honey Brown, brewed in Guelph, a city between Toronto and K-W. Lately, though, I have preferred the best selling import in Canada: Stella Artois, brewed in Leuven, Belgium since 1366 (no it is not a typo, since the mid 14th century and by the same family!). Even though I was not able to visit the brewery, I did spent a couple of days in the city of Leuven this past Summer.

Belgium, among other things, is well known for its beer. Now that I think about it, it is an officially bilingual country, with a parliamentary democracy and a monarchy, with an interesting mixed of immigrants, somewhat crappy weather, that is proud of its beer. Hmmm... sounds familiar, doesn't it? In any case, I took some pictures around town and particularly of the area where InBev, the brewery that produces Stella Artois is. Here they are:

The Katholieke Universiteit Leuven (KUL)is the alma mater of a Chilean friend who recently defended his doctoral dissertation and it is the current casa de estudios of my old friend Ale, another fellow blogger behind Desde Kinshasa and Congo Days. KUL buildings are all over town, but one of the most iconic ones is the Library and the monument located in the plaza in front of it:

In the Wikipedia entry for KUL it mentions how KUL, the flemish university split from L'Université de Louvain in the last quarter of the 20th century. It states that the library was divided alphabetically "in a typical Belgian fashion" between KUL and Louvain, whose campus was relocated to a town created on the Wallon (French speaking) side of the country called Louvain-la-Neuf (literally the new Leuven). Here are more pictures of the streets of Leuven (the original one):

The last one is a picture of the psychologists' pub called Pavlov, which unfortunately I didn't visit. Maybe when I am doing my nest next trip across the pond I'll have time to hang out and taste more of the great beers produced in Belgium. There is actually an interesting blog I stumble upon which tries to count the different types of beers produced in Belgium. They are almost reaching the 200th beer and I don't think they are counting the more commercial ones like Morte Subite, Leffe, Hoegaarden, or even Stella Artois. Here is me enjoying a glass of Morte Subite at El Metekko in Brussels:

Thus it ends my tale of two brews or of many many brews and the countries that proudly brew them. It seems that not only have I betrayed my motherland by not being a fanatic of Gallo, but I already moved on from the local "strange brews" to prefer the taste of a refreshing import. So, whenever I write a post or a comment that seems more skewed than normally you can blame it on Stella... STELLA!!

Manolo v. 4.1 to be released Jan. 3

TORONTO, ON (elToronteco). The launching of version 4.1 of the operative system (OS) Manolo is expected to take place in Corso Italia this next Thursday, 3 January 2008, was announced on a recent press release by Manolo & Co. A summary of the previous versions and releases will give an idea of the impact that the new features of v. 4.1 introduces and/or refines from previous incarnations of this reliable but fairly unknown OS. One of this main new features is the capability of full deployment as a stand alone OS, while being more efficient for networking. Here is a "condensed" history of Manolo:

Manolo v.1 Originally created in 1975, Manolo came with factory defaults shared with other OS of the time, such as RomeroGT. These defaults made Manolo quite successful in the deployment of work (and study) routines. Due to its ability to manage data from different sources simultaneously and to efficiently handle complex software applications version 1 didn't need many changes for more than a decade and a half. At that point, though, the appearance of loops and other bugs made it start to get hung up when trying to run programs related to both past and future. One of the original main developers of Manolo started using the term "growing pains" to describe the difficulties version 1 started having. She still uses appropriately this term for the motivations behind the release of 4.1.
V.1.2 was launched on January of 1993 in what came to be some of the most formative years and the successful use of Manolo in networks beyond academic environments. An expanded self-reflection sub-routine produced a paradigm change in the belief system that had already been questioned by v.1.1. Version 1.2 specialized in one field of study, Psychology, but had consistently add-ons from other disciplines, in particular Anthropology, Mathematics and to a certain extent Education.
V.1.2 SP1 For the first two or three years of the marketing of Manolo 1.2 there was flirting with the idea of introducing a Service Package (SP) to solve some of the bugs and loops encountered by upgrading from v.1.0 to v.1.1 in the late 80s and early 90s. In 1995, after a couple of attempts in producing such SP, Manolo started to run using SP1. SP1 transformed some of the networking features of Manolo and created a branding issue by producing a dependency on services packages for subsequent versions of this OS.

Manolo 2.0 Shortly after the introduction of SP2, the first program in Psychology was discontinued due to succesful completion. However, the developing team wasn't prepared for the mayor changes that V 2.0 was going through. SP2 was upgraded to fiancée and eventually to spouse. There were more working packages installed. There was a reframing of the belief system, clearly influenced by SP2. And finally was the relocation of the headquarters of the software company that produces Manolo from Guatemala to Canada. There were fatal errors in the different upgrades of SP2. And in June of 2001 a Beta version of Manolo 3.0 had to be introduced as a stand-alone OS.

Manolo 3.0 Since the release of V.2.2 the Psychology software packages were discontinued, although some of the background processes were still running at the startup of the OS. Manolo 3.0 (Beta) had, therefore, a new Insurance and Financial suite and there was even talks of introducing an MBA upgrade, potentially for versions 3.1 or 3.2. Remember that the Beta version of Manolo 3.0 was a stand alone version. The final release of V. 3.0 included the SP3, which indirectly created a resurgence of academic and research programming in Manolo.
Version 3.1 was the first release to be done in Toronto and came with an MA suite that needed some time to run properly. It also continued the in-house installation of SP3 that came standard in the last version produced in Waterloo (v.3.05). The integration of Manolo to SP3 was so organic that sometimes Manolo 3.0 is simply called Manolo SP3, which may have confused some of the users of the OS. Historically, even though there have been three service packages and, up to this point in the story, three versions of Manolo, there is no one to one match between them. Actually both SP1 and SP2 were added to solve bugs on the last few releases of V 1.0.
Due to decisions in the direction of the company, Manolo 3.1 tried to discontinue or had limited use of some of the software developed in the original headquarters in Guatemala. There were issues with international trade agreements that also made it difficult for the transportation of Manolo to its casa matriz. However, Manolo 3.2 re-introduced some new versions of the software packages that version 1 had made popular, including the Guatemalan identity, the Cultural Studies and Anthropology and the Mathematics module, this last one now targeted to Statistics.
It is important to mention that the different Service Packages were not developed by the same company that produces Manolo. The SPs have always been outsourced and there is always the issue of full compatibility. There were upgrades in SP3 that started discussions on the drawing board of Manolo 3.3 about making it a semi stand-alone OS, but keeping SP3 as part of Manolo. Because of the implications of the marketing mix- up of Manolo 3 and Manolo SP3 and a new turn in terms of software innovation, Manolo 3.3 was never released.
Manolo 4.0 The fourth version of Manolo was launched in September of the recently defunct 2007. It no longer included a Service Package, but was still dependent on other idle processes to run. A very unsuccessful release of 4.05 in October was highly publicized along with a move of the company from North York to Corso Italia (the St. Clair West and Dufferin area). For many reasons, the launch of Manolo 4.1 was pulled back from the Spring of 2008 to 3 January. These are some of the new features of this new version of Manolo:

• No more Service Packages. The concept of the SP was introduced as a "patch" for the OS. Subsequent releases and versions of Manolo would look forward for compatibility and integration, more than "solutions" to endless loops and chronic bugs. This integration with other systems will presuppose a merging of the software companies and not only agreements to produce SPs for Manolo.
  


• Full Stand-Alone version. The moving forward, not only of the headquarters but also of the philosophy of the company that develops Manolo, will have Manolo 4.1 running completely by itself of the first time ever. "These are exciting times for this organization" the re-freshed CEO of Manolo & Co. stated on a press release last month in Toronto. However, Manolo 4.1 will still be an efficient OS for networking and will rely on the strategic partnerships it has created during the more than three decades on the market


• Work and Play upgrades. It is expected that this release and subsequent releases of version 4 will be able to complete the PhD program introduced on Manolo 3.2. A more efficient usage of virtual memory will hopefully provide with a better use of resources not only in research but also for entertainment possibilities.

Due to the relocation of the developing facilities of Manolo & Co. and the preparations for the launching of Manolo 4.1 the company announced a closing of operations for 2 January. Any pending replies and communications should resume no later than next Friday. The press release finishes with this statement: "Manolo & Co. would like to thank all the end-users and retailers for their continuing support and hopes that Manolo 4.1 would be soon embraced (and will embrace back) by old and new loyal costumers".

Listo para voltear la página

Este ha sido un año increíble para mi (y para do, y re y fa, y sol y la y si... plop). Un año de logros, de cambios, de finales y de inicios. Durante la siguiente semana estaré cambiandome de casa por segunda vez en menos de tres meses. Hoy estuve en mi futuro apartamento llevando cajas y haciendo limpieza. No hay nada que haga tan real el mudarse como tratar de deshacerse de las manchas de grasa en la estufa que alguien más ha estado usando. Estoy sumamente emocionado (y estresado) por este cambio de residencia. Es la primera vez en mi vida que estaré viviendo realmente sólo. Alquilar un cuarto en donde uno comparte una casa o un apartamento con otras personas no es vivir solo. Esta vez tendré mi propio espacio, mi cocina, mi baño, sólo para mí.

Esta es una de las cosas que me ha dejado el año viejo. Y por eso mismo creo conveniente hacer la excepción y poner uno de los videos que he encontrado en YouTube recientmente. YouTube es uno de mis pecadillos, o como dicen en inglés "guilty pleasures"... Lo cual me ha hecho pensar en crear mi primer meme sobre este tipo de cosas que hacemos y que secretamente nos da vergüenza que las demás personas sepan. Como que nos gusta esta canción tanto que la buscamos en el Internet, por ejemplo:

"El Año Viejo"

Pero ya que estoy en lo de YouTube, porque no buscar otro de los grandes clásicos de fin de año. Por alguna razón, el "Brindis del Bohemio" me recuerda a varias personas que conozco, y no sólo a mi madre que amo con todo mi corazón. Una de estas personas falleció este año, dejando un vacío en mi familia y en mi vida. En julio publiqué en mi bitácora de viaje un in memoriam a mi tío Mario. Este "brindis" es para usted tío Mario:

El Brindis del Bohemio

Bueno, estoy listo para voltear la página. El 2008 esta a la vuelta de la esquina, esperándome con más aventuras, con nuevas obligaciones y retos. Con la continuación de una vida bendecida (adjetivo que evito usar ligeramente). Rodeado de gente que me ama y que amo, tanto cerca como en la lejanía. Estoy listo, listo para empezar esa tierra prometida llamada enero... el mes de Jano, dios mitológico de dos caras, una al pasado y una al futuro. Sí, es cierto, el "Año Nuevo" como una fecha, como el 31 de diciembre, no resulta ser ese evento espectacular que el consumismo y el mercadeo nos quieren vender. Sin embargo es una excusa... para reflexionar, para agradecer, para celebrar lo que nos ha dejado el año viejo... porque nos ha deja'o cosas muy buenas.

A todos los lectores de este "bloguito" ("blogocito"?):
¡Próspero Año Nuevo!

En familia

Eyer Sábado tuve la oportunidad de cenar con parientes que viven en Canadá. No hay nada como estar con la familia... como dicen en inglés, la sangre es más espesa que el agua. Y a pesar de seis meses de no estar vernos y de mi falta de contacto constante durante estos siete años que hemos compartido Canadá, Delia y Jorge me recibieron con los brazos abiertos... y con esta deliciosa cena:

Son puros tamales chapines, "made in Kitchener" por Jorge y Delia, ambos han estado trabajando por varios días, desde la conseguida de los ingredientes, el sazón del recado y la "hecha" de 107 tamales. Anoche hice mi parte al comerme mi primer tamal en casi cinco años. Este año había comido (y ayudado a preparar al menos una vez) paches, que son tamales de papa (no pude encontrar el "permalink" pero la historia de los paches apareció en HFH en febrero de este año). Pero no he podido recordar cual fue la última vez que me comí un tamal de estos. Y creo que pocas veces han estado tan buenos. El toque Canadiense es sustituir el "gordo" (grasa realmente) que los tamales de cerdo (aka "marrano") llevan a veces por una tirita de tocino! El sabor es auténtico guatemalteco, hecho por manos guatemaltecas, en casa, con amor.

Acá les pongo una foto de Delia con dos de sus retoños, Delia y Juan, en la mesa lista para la suculenta cena. Y a la derecha esta Jorge en plena acción, sacando los tamales que además de estar envueltos en hoja de plátano tienen una segunda envoltura en "hoja de chiribisco".

Pues primero Dios estaré continuando con mi contribución a la causa de los tamales el 24 por la noche o el 25 por la mañana... o tal vez en ambas ocasiones. Jorge y Delia me han invitado a pasar la Nochebuena en su casa y he aceptado su invitación. Ya hasta tengo los boletos de la "Galgos" para irlos a ver y acompañar en estas fiestas navideñas. Tengo que mencionar, aunque sea brevemente, lo orgulloso que me siento cada vez que he compartido con esta fabulosa familia. No es porque son mis parientes, pero el amor y la colaboración entre ambos esposos es siempre evidente, mis primos... si me dan espacio los avergonzaría de todos los elogios que tengo por tan buenos patojos... trabajadores, estudiosos, involucrados en distintas actividades, respetuosos, acomedidos... esta familia, familia mía, es lo mejor de la combinación de las familias y los valores guatemaltecos y canadienses. Algo que noté desde la primera vez que los vi por estas latitudes, en enero del 1999, cuando ellos vivían en Toronto (Etobicoke) y yo estaba de turista en Canadá, pero quedándome en Kitchener. Otra nota interesante es que el primer apartamento en el que vivieron en Canadá, me contaron anoche, fue en St. Clair West, unas pocas cuadras al este de donde vivo actualmente.

En esta buena nota quiero terminar la última nota antes de Navidad, y probablemente mi última nota de este año. A todos quienes leen elToronteco, amigas, amigos, familiares, compañeros y compañeras de la blogósfera, o simplemente quienes han seguido a la liebre blanca de los enlaces en otros sitios o que se han topado con este sitio y con esta entrada por pura casualidad, a todos todos, les deseo: Feliz Navidad y un Feliz Año Nuevo.

Añoranza

cariño:
(Etim. disc.; cf. lat. carere, carecer, arag. cariño, nostalgia).
3. m. Añoranza, nostalgia.
DRAE

Pues tanto leer, ver, enterarme, recordar sobre las fiestas navideñas me ha abierto un agujero en el corazón. No pretendo llenarlo con nada, pues de nada puede ser llenado, pero puede ser ahondado con un poco de nostalgia. Para empezar, LAGDP inició una exitosa campaña sensorial para atraer lectores hacia el susodicho blog. Pino, tamales, marimba, pinabete, pólvora, torrejas, y muchas otras más armas ha usado el autor de LAGDP para recrear en sus fieles lectores y en nuevos adeptos virtuales sensaciones que nos conducen a añorar esa tierra de volcanes en la cual hemos dejado un pedazo de nuestro corazón o que anhelamos (re)conquistar.

Luego tuve el ataque que RomeroGT hizo con crear un vínculo a través del tiempo entre mi niñez (la cual compartí con RomeroGT) y una pareja de hermanos a los cuales adoro con toda mi alma y que al parecer son hijos del bloguero este. El resultado, otra tanda de recuerdos, estos respecto al estreno de nochebuena y las compras entre las tiendas de cuetes y visitas a la sexta o a centros comerciales en la Calzadas San Juan o Roosevelt (pre-Tikal Futura y Miraflores, por supuesto). La vuelta que iniciaba a las cinco de la tarde del 24 para ir a visitar familiares en las distintas zonas de la capital y que concluia en la casa de la zona 18 a las 11:45 pm... listos para la cuetería, el rezo, el abrazo, los regalos ("de nosotros dos para ustedes dos" eran mis preferidos) y si nos quedaba espacio en el estómago luego de tantos chuchitos y tamales, tal vez una taza de ponche de frutas. (Her)mano... que recuerdos. Honestamente creo que una buena parte de Navidad murió con esa última Nochebuena en la zona 18...

Las entradas en el blog de Carmencita y en A Canuck in Cancún me han hecho reflexionar sobre el esencialismo de las tradiciones y el constructivismo de mi identidad mixta. Más que ser de aquí o de allá, soy de ambos lados y tal vez de muchos más que se han agrupado en el sincretismo de estas celebraciones de fin de año. Solsticio de Invierno... creo que es lo que empezaré a celebrar... O las Pascuas, pero las flores en sí... o la nieve... o las tantas Nochebuenas... o la primera Navidad. Lo más seguro es que pase tanto el 24 como el 25 de diciembre conmigo mismo y nadie más. No estaré solo (no te preocupes...) no quiero pasarla con alguna familia de alguna amistad y sentirme arrimado... no quiero pasarla con amigos "huérfanos" como yo cuyas familias están también a 3,000 Km de distancia o aún más. Año Nuevo será otra cosa... pero como me recuerda mi madre: "A cada día su afán".

Escribo esta entrada en español con mucho cariño... en el idioma de mis padres... en el idioma de mi nostalgia... en el idioma que he retomado como mi primer idioma... en el idioma de mi matria, la Guatemala... y declaro en español una nueva celebración para mi vida: El nacimiento en un pesebre de esa pequeña esperanza que nació en Belén... Navidad.

Feliz Navidad amigos, amigas, familiares todos.

For when I am ready...

Je fais souvent ce rêve étrange et pénétrant
D'une femme inconnue, et que j'aime, et qui m'aime,
Et qui n'est, chaque fois, ni tout à fait la même
Ni tout à fait une autre, et m'aime et me comprend.
From "Mon rêve familier" (Paul Verlaine)

Yes, I am thinking about you while I am looking for myself out here. I don't know who you are or if we have already met. However, I needed to write these lines to you. Right now I am not ready, I know it, I know that for sure. And I keep repeating this to myself (my self) so that I understand it well. I've been bouncing from here to there, using my heart as a squash ball, always coming back to me. I never give it up and I never give it in. I have kept the key to my heart all the time. For that I apologize to the wonderful women that have had to endure me as a partner.

I hope you don't get put off by this past, this baggage I am carrying. I hope that you will understand and I hope that I will understand your own past as well. And this hope is what makes me write this letter to the wind on this snowy Sunday of December. Maybe it is solitude (the one that throws you towards the arms of lust); maybe it is listening to stories on the radio about older couples dancing around and catching each other like safety nets and then listening to a beautiful song called (as the radio essay was titled as well) Dance if you want to by Rose Cousins. Maybe it is watching re-runs of that favourite show of mine, Mad about you, and realizing I am now the age of the characters and how on my twenties I used to dream of that life, of that loving partnership of being able to laugh at each other and at oneself with each other. Of that wonderful bond.

My friend JBug says we men don't have a biological clock, but a psychological one and that it does tick in the early thirties. He must know because he is a 40-year old bachelor with a similar history than mine, I have always thought. Although he is a dear friend I really don't want to be like him in ten years. In ten years I want to be with you...

I don't know where, and I don't know doing what, I just know I want to be with you. If there are children, just our life will tell. I want to share parenthood with you and I hope you want it too. I am certain that the love I have to give (and that I have kept to myself all this time) is enough to be my share of the loving bond that spouses have and that is the basis for a family. And still I cannot give it to you right now. That much I know.

I have a promising future, and usually I use this term sarcastically to refer to the career I will have after grad school, that land of milk and honey that has been promised to those of us who have taken the long way home. But this time I am not being sarcastic about my future. I am being honest. I should rephrase that... WE have a promising future. You and me. For when I am ready the possibility of US will be opened.

For now this is what I have to say to you. You may be reading this right now or in the future. Or you will never read it. I might already be talking to you or you might be in other continent or across the street. I don't know and right now I don't want to know. With these lines I am attempting to create a dam for the torrent I feel uncontrollably every day, the drive of going after you and finding you and telling you all this. Because now is out there, in the open. And is my wish that this cold weather freezes that torrent and turns it into a frozen avenue where we can one day skate hand in hand... and then run inside for some nice hot chocolate.

The hell with it!

Today 7 December, there are three celebrations in my motherland: The day of the sportsperson, the day of the journalist (Happy Day LD!), and "La Quema del Diablo", that is the celebration of when Guatemalans "burn the devil". This last one is a ritual that precedes the day of the Immaculate Conception, which is tomorrow, 8 December. I have decided to translate a column written by my dearest friend, with whom I have carried a conversation across milennia, Ronald Flores entitled originally "Al diablo con eso" and that he reproduced on his blog a year ago. Re-reading it and translating it made me realize how it fits me like a glove and therefore gives me a "green" way of burning the devil in Toronto. Thus, with permission from the author, and knowing that this is a clumsy attempt on translating a brilliant piece of reflexion here I present you: "The hell with it!".

The hell with it!
Original in Spanish at: http://www.ronaldflores.com/2006/12/06/quema-del-diablo/

I am aware that, with very good reason, several environmentalist groups are requesting today, 7 of December, day of “La Quema del Diablo”, the cessation of the traditional bonfires that we Guatemalans light at sundown. However, there are things I would like to say before this public opinion fight translates into a law that ban this tradition, which, for me as a child, kick-started the Christmas season.

I don't know who came up with the parochial idea of taking the old mattresses out to the street, the piles of papers that were gathering dust and mold, and burn them as night falls. I've been told that it has been said that the devil hides in the corners of the houses, among old things, within the garbage that we accumulate throughout the year without knowing why we do.

I've been told that burning that pile of trinkets and useless printed material made the devil burn on his very own inferno, and that this custom was necessary to begin the Christmas season with a clean home. Within that context, I confess that I have practiced more than once this interesting purification ritual. I have thrown to the flames notebooks from subjects I detested during the year, letters from unsuccessful loves and reproaches that I have received or that I have written without sending, pictures where I didn't come up as I wanted, manuscripts of novels that I will never touch again.

I have enjoyed, on the cold of December, putting my hands and face close to the flames, and tear apart the pages from notebooks, observe how paper was consumed and the writing that popped out from the white paper vanished under the growing black ink of the ashes. Today I plan to do something similar, though different. I am going out onto the streets at the end of the day. I am going to take all the resentments, those that I have accumulated throughout the past year, all the envies, all the pains and I am going to make them burn in the bonfire of vanities that I keep carrying around uselessly.

Pain, envy, bile, resentment, sadness, bitterness that I have kept in the corners of my heart, in the trace of the tears that I have cried for the people that have hurt me (even though it was not their intention or because it was precisely their intention), in the silences that were caused by confused moments, in face of the thefts that I was victim of, of the deaths of loved ones that I experienced throughout this year, in face of the inevitable farewells from people I love and with whom I simply cannot be with anymore.

Indeed, like everyone else, I am not lacking times when someone has told me or done something to cause me pain, when someone has made me decide keeping this pain until it evolves into resentment, sometimes even into hostile and persistent hatred, or into a deep sadness, a subtle bitterness or a die-hard pain. I am amazed of realizing how much I stick to this garbage, how much energy I have to waste to keep it going, as if it was important.

In the personal moments I have kept, because I believe these moments are what constitute my own history, I confirm that I prefer to remember sad things, conflictive situations, small and large dramas. It seems as if they are all that had happened to me, and that is not the case. There are as many or more happy moments, but I don't know why I don't pay as much attention to these moments as to the tragic ones. Sometimes, when someone asks me about my life and I start telling it, I realize how much it is like the history of my country: A sequence of sterile confrontations that made no sense at all.

It is not because it was that way and that's it. It is, rather, what I chose to tell and how I tell it. There are memories to which I hold on to, regardless of how much they hurt at the moment, and how much they keep hurting even though I would like to kid myself saying that they don't matter anymore. Today I am going to throw them away with the devil, let them burn in the flames. It's over. The hell with it. The puck stops here.

I am lacking space in my small spiritual house to give them shelter. The elders are right: Among them hides the devil. I'll take advantage of the bonfires being lit today to purify me, to be ready and celebrate as it must be celebrated the humble hope that is born on a manger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poster Boy

Well, Halloween came and went with me being self-margined from the whole let's dress up. In the last few days I've been reflecting (few days, few weeks, few decades) about tons of things. I have become what you can call somewhat "nostalgic" of things past and things past past. I have found several friends from my university years in Guatemala through facebook, which has made me reminisce of old days of outings, "bio-fairs", rock concerts, exam preparation, etc. The funny thing is that as I have a glimpse at their lives and mine, I cannot but feel I am still the same guy... the geeky guy who is STILL in school.

I have also been doing that self-pity exercise called "where was I a year ago?". Thanks to some very clever costumes I remembered that I was invited to a costume party last year and that I had all the intention of going. I had my costume idea picked up and everything. I was going to be "Poster Boy"! (see picture besides from Summer 2006 for one of the motivations to pick such unlikely grad. hero). I was going to tape to me, wearing an oversized sports jacket I bought in the late 90s which I still have btw, a banner with a title, author and affiliation, a YorkU logo and some graphs, and probably some blurb and/or some conclusions. For one reason or the other I did what I always did and what I continue doing: I decided not to go. At the time I was able to put the responsibility of such decisions on someone else. I no longer have that luxury.
It makes me think what kind of "Poster Boy" I am becoming. And most importantly how decisions impact who I am with and what this tells about me. Because, you see, this is an opportunity I have to re-create or re-invent myself, or even just to re-assure myself.

A year ago I was doubting that the whole Statistics thing was for me. I felt (as the phenomenon social & personality psychologists study) as an impostor that one day would be discovered. Actually I felt that way in a number of areas of my life, like an impostor. And now, this is the time I have to take off the mask and look at the mirror. Don't know yet if I will show myself without the mask to others... but for now I'll start with myself.

One year ago, to the date, there was a posting in HFH that was being written, that a few days later I would discover by stumbling into the blog by pure coincidence. I really wasn't into blogs at the time... the only one I really had seen and checked once in a while was my brother's. At the time my inner struggle with my dual identity was surfacing after years of having been buried underneath by complaisance and tedium. Weeks and months after, having "stumbled upon" HFH made me find other blogs and re-connect with dearest friends (who alas! were blogging) and make new ones. I knew and had met other people with cross-border histories that had built their identities, but I was able now to read and write about such issues. I found through blogs the warmth of the public plaza, a virtual speaker's corner (something that I link so much to Canada, and not only because of CityTV). A year later I am writing a very personal post in my recently created blog. Who knows where I'll be a year from now... Happy All Saints Day!

Where were you a year ago? Where you at the same place if your life you are today? Are you celebrating anything in this"pagan" holiday season?