I moved in to the dorms on August 3, 1998, well before the start of fall quarter. I’d been admitted to a summer bridge program for “disadvantaged” students. The experience was great and really helped me have a strong transition to college, but it wasn’t easy at first.
The Monday morning I moved in, Danny drove me to campus. He brought along Lori and Adrian to help. I don’t remember why my parents didn’t go, but it was probably related to work and the fact that few days later they’d be on campus for the 1-day parent orientation. Still, they weren’t missed at the moment. The siblings were more than enough help.
Once I’d checked in and received my key, we took my stuff up to my room on the third floor of the north wing. The floor was already busy with other students and their parents moving in.
I don’t remember if Lily had already arrived at the room. The details aren’t scribbled in my old journal. I do know she was in the room before we finished moving and the siblings left. Lily was one of several students from Garfield HS in the program. She left to lunch with some other students from her high school.
The siblings stuck around a little while, but soon they had to leave. I walked them out. They hugged me and wished me luck.
When I returned to my room, all that waited for me were a few boxes ready to unpack. I sat on the bet, a bit overwhelmed and feeling lonelier than ever. And I cried.
***
Every summer for the past 4 years I’ve gone back to dorms about once a week to meet incoming freshmen for work. I was up there this morning, admiring how “the hill” — the residence hall area — has changed. After my meeting, I walked over to the shiny, new Bruin Café and had a drink. I pulled out the Adrian Tomine book Sean lent me and got to reading.
Except for the newness of sitting in the Bruin Café, sitting by myself at table didn’t feel strange. I wasn’t embarrassed or terrified of it as I was on my first day at UCLA. I didn’t know anyone and didn’t want to eat at a table alone. Rather than go hungry, I bought a sandwich from the convenience store on the hill and ate in my room.
I still feel alone sometimes, far from my family, but I’m more comfortable with it. I’ve become quite independent and there are times when I relish in those quiet moments.
But there are still times when I want nothing more than to be back in Hacienda Heights with the parents and siblings. Invariably, those are the times when I get bad/sad news and just need a hug.
“I could have swore you wrote this,” Sean said in an IM (even though he’s in Westwood Village and I’m on campus).
“I didn’t,” but I’ve written something very similar (the advantages of blogging for nearly 10 years). I fished around the archives of my current and old blog and found the post. It’s still relevant.
Oh yes. Sean passes the test. Of course he does.
yeah, yeah, i love the sandlot [04.18.05]
Last fall I accompanied my best guy friend, Eligio, to the movies. I can’t remember what we watched, but for some reason I think it was related to sports. Anyway, I mentioned that I loved baseball movies and The Sandlot was my favorite. And then Eligio dropped a bomb on me. He confessed that he had never seen the film.
I said something along the lines of, “You’re killing me, Eligio! What?! We’ve been friends how long? How come I never knew this about you?!”
From that point on, our friendship has been different and even a little strained.
It might have not surprised me if Eligio was not as much of a baseball fan as me. We have a lot in common and I just assumed that he always caught on to the frequent references I make to The Sandlot in everyday dialogue. But he hadn’t.
When the film was released in 1993, I immediately loved it. Rather, I loved Benny “the Jet” Rodriguez (Mike Vitar). Yeah-yeah, I was swooning every single time Benny’s beautiful face and intense green eyes filled the screen.
It didn’t hurt that the film was focused on one of my favorite subjects, baseball, that there was plenty of witty dialogue, and that Benny was the star of the film.
If you ask me what my all-time favorite film is, I will always respond with The Sandlot. There are other films I enjoy that are more profound, artistic, and (let’s face it) mature. However, these are films I’ve liked for a much shorter time.
I’ve watched The Sandlot dozens of times in the last twelve years and still have not outgrown the humor and silly gags. If you watch it with me, you might even get annoyed because I have the habit of quoting nearly every line.
I currently do a Sandlot test of most people I meet. I quote a few lines and see if he/she catch the reference. If he/she doesn’t, I know we’re not soulmates nor is he/she a potential best friend. Yeah yeah, it is that serious.
Benny: Anyone who wants to be a can’t-hack-it pantywaist who wears their mama’s bra, raise your hand.
Benny: Man, this is baseball. You gotta stop thinking.
Benny: I bet you get straight A’s and shit.
Smalls: No, I got a B once, but it should have been an A…
Squints: If you’da been thinkin you wouldn’t ‘a thought that.
Squints: It’s about time Benny, my clothes are goin’ outta style.
The Babe: Heroes get remembered, but legends never die. Follow your heart, kid, and you’ll never go wrong.
Ham: Hey, Smalls, you wanna s’more?
Smalls: I haven’t had anything.
Ham: No, do you wanna s’more?
Smalls: How can I have some more of nothing?
Ham: You’re killing me Smalls!
Ham: This pop isn’t workin’, Benny! I’m bakin’ like a toasted cheeser! It’s so hot here!
Smalls (adult): Even my own mom, a grown-up girl, knew who Babe Ruth was.
Ham: You play ball like a girl!
Squints: Come on, Benny. Man. The kid is a L, 7, WEENIE!
Yeah Yeah: Yeah-yeah, a real square
Squints: Oscar Meyer even, foot-long, a Dodger Dog!
Mr. Mertle: Baseball was life! And I was good at it… real good.
Squints: forever!
Mom: You’ll always be just an egghead with an attitude like that.
It’s still weird to admit that. Last year, I felt like a fraud when I admitted it for the first time to a doctor. I had no set training schedule. I ran a few times a week, enough to get my exercise in. I had expensive running shoes and a few usual routes in my neighborhood. Last summer, running was still largely something I was doing to help me lose weight.
It’s different now.
I don’t want to lose more weight. I just want to run.
Sometimes, I can’t. That happened about six weeks ago when I mysteriously hurt my back. I didn’t run for about 10 days and was miserable. Running makes me happy. I smile a lot as I run, even on the bad days when I struggle. On those days, I still smile and give thanks for my health. I grin like a fool on the good days when I know that I’ll improve my time so much that I’ll wonder if my watch stopped working for a minute.
When I get ready for work trips or to visit Sean, I pack my running shoes first. I check the weather and look up popular running routes. On my last few trips I got in a run along the Huron River in Ann Arbor, the Chicago River and Lake Michigan (with rain, strong winds and lightning too), the Hudson River in NY and Central Park. I finally got in a run with G.D. of PostBourgie. He had to slow down a bit for me, but it was still good to have some by my side pushing me up the Great Hill on mile 5.
Sometimes when I’m out on a run, I wonder how I got here.
How’d I get to be the girl whose list of happy places now includes an LA running trail at sunset with the perfect music playing on her iPod Shuffle (iTunes Genius really helps with this)? How’d I get to be the girl who runs rather than walks — if shoes allow — simply because it means getting from from point A (work) to point B (the bus stop) quicker? How’d I become a runner?
It’s not an easy question to answer, partially because the answer is dynamic. I’ve begun writing and abandoned various drafts of this post since early April. In those 2.5 months I went through some ups and downs with running. I’m finally feeling back to where I was early in the spring. I ran 7.2 miles on Monday night to a Mexican-centric playlist in anticipation of the Mexico/Algeria game. I felt great at the end of the run. I always do.
I dug up this draft again tonight and the first part came to me easily. It was only a matter of time.
My cousin, Valerie, celebrates her 15th birthday today. She’s the youngest of the cousins on my mom’s side, but towers over most of us.
On Saturday, family and friends will gather at her home to celebrate. She bought a special dress for the occasion, a white cocktail dress. She won’t have a Mass nor court of chambelanes y damas. There’s no waltz, but she will dance with her father and padrino. Of course, there will still be food, drink and dancing.
I like the bending and adaptation of tradition. In fact, I think every quinceañera I’ve been to is different from previous ones. I’ve seen to co-quinceañeras, quinceañeras celebrated during the 16th birthday, full courts (14 couples), courts of just girls, courts of just guys (Lori and I did this), seen girls wear white gowns as well as colored gowns, seen a waltz, seen a choreographed modern dance, seen slide shows, and more.
But there’s constants. The girls are always surrounded by proud parents, friends and extended family.
And the party is fun.
Question of the week: Did you have a special celebration for your fifteenth birthday? What was it like? For guys, were you ever a chambelán? What was that like?
I love Julieta Venegas, but my codo kept me from buying tickets to her show at Club Nokia. I hope that one of the music blogs would have a ticket give away. I entered a couple through La Banda Elástica and The Scenestar, but didn’t win. But my friend, Jake, did (and only because I posted a link about the Scenestar contest on Facebook). Unfortunately, his wife had a conflict with a graduation. That meant he needed to find another fan. That’s where I gladly step in.
I was excited for the show all day. Not only was I going to see Julieta, but Ximena Sariñana would be opening for her. I’d been following Ximena for a few years and really enjoyed her debut, Mediocre as well as her guest vocals with Volovan (“La Luna”) and Plastilina Mosh (“Pervert Pop Song”).
Ximena seemed genuinely excited to open up for Julieta and called herself a fan. She sang some of her new songs in English as well as “Monitor” over a loop. She closed off with the haunting “Mediocre”.
Half an hour later, Julieta came on stage accompanied by an 8-piece band. She wore a black tunic with some weird gathering that hid her baby bump and navy blue leggings. She looked a little eccentric but cute. She played guitar and keyboard — not accordion — for some of the songs. Most of the time she was singing and dancing, which the adoring crowd loved. She spoke in between the songs about some of the meaning behind them. She dedicated “Un Lugar” to all the migrants and those fighting against SB 1070. She told Mexicans to keep their heads up, “los Mexicanos tenemos mucho de ser orgulloso… Frida Kahlo, Pedro Infante, José Alfredo Jiménez. Vamos a salir adelante.” She dedicated “Revolución” to Soda Stereo frontman Gustavo Cerati, who underwent brain surgery on Wednesday to remove a blood clot. I was happy to see another Tijuanense, Ceci Bastida, reprise her role as part of Julieta’s band, albeit as a guest on a couple of songs.
“In their honor we will pass the DREAM Act soon and very soon.” - Kent Wong
When I saw Matias at dinner on Sunday, he looked tired and weighed down with grief over the loss of two of his best friends. Despite this, he offered some advice and shared what he’d learned as a former chair of IDEAS (an advocacy group for undocumented students) and as an organizer for the DREAM Act. Before leaving, he reminded the new crop of student leaders of the memorial service for Tam Tran and Cinthya Felix.
“It’s in the Grand Salon right now, but we’re trying to get a larger venue.”
That didn’t surprise me. The Grand Salon fits 160 people and the event page on Facebook already showed a couple hundred who planned to attend. By morning, he venue was changed to Moore 100, a lecture hall which seats 419 people.
I showed up at 3:20. The room was already filling up. I found a seat next to my friend, Jessie, and waited for the memorial to begin. Soon, all seats were filled and latecomers crowded around the doors or sat in the aisles.
Kent Wong, the director of the UCLA Labor Center emceed. First he introduced Tam and Cinthya’s best friends, Dana and Susan. The two spoke together about the foursome’s bond. “We came as a four-pack,” Dana said about the group that could have been the poster children for diversity at UCLA. Susan and Dana reminisced about their Monday night fried chicken dinners and retold silly anecdotes about the two women many knew as filmmakers and advocates for undocumented youth. Susan told us that Cinthya outreached to high school students even though she really didn’t like kids. Everyone laughed. The full lecture hall broke out in laughter again when Heather admitted that many thought that she and Tam were a couple because they both had short hair and were inseparable. Dana and Tam worked on their papers together. “When we got stuck with writer’s block, we’d just switch papers,” she admitted sheepishly to the crowd which included administrators and faculty. “But it was okay, because we were the same person.”
It is with great sadness that I regret to inform everyone of the passing of Tam Tran and Cinthya Felix. These women were nationally active in the undocumented students Civil Rights Movement through their fight for the DREAM Act. Both were UCLA undergraduates and as graduate students Tam was a Doctoral Student in American Civilization at Brown University, while Cinthya was studying Public Health at Columbia University. These women were amazing activists and put themselves at great risk to fight for this just cause. Cinthya was a working class student from East Los Angeles, California and attended Garfield High School and Tam’s family had been displaced as a result of the Vietnam War and was from Garden Grove, CA. There is much more information in the links below about their lives.
Like many who havewrittenabout Tam and Cinthya’s passing, I didn’t know them personally. I knew of these two young leaders by simply being a fellow UCLA student leader and a supporter of the DREAM Act (both the federal and California versions).
Still, I was inspired by their courage to speak out and tell their stories.
Even though Tam and Cinthya passed on way too soon, I have no doubt they will continue to inspire more DREAMers.
A memorial service will be held on Monday May 17 from 3-5 pm in the Kerckhoff Grand Salon at UCLA.
“Wow, you couldn’t have picked anyone further away,” Juan said.
“Yeah,” I replied.
My cousin is right. Sean is far away — 2,400 or 2,800 miles (depending on your mode of transportation).
We let seven weeks pass without seeing each other. That was tough, but unavoidable with a busy April schedule which included travel to Michigan and working a couple of weekends. Now that we can plan better, our visits will be much more frequent.
The trip was great, even when I mysteriously hurt my back in the middle of a play. I spent most of the next few days in bed with Sean at the ready to get me whatever I needed. He did a great job taking care of me. I’m lucky.
A few trip photos after the jump to prove I wasn’t bedridden the whole time.
There’s a post somewhere in my drafts folder titled “xs.” That’s about buying a size small red sundress only to find that it was too big. Somewhere in the same file, I started writing another post about meeting my goal weight, maintaining that for 6 weeks (actually 7), and at the end of that achieving Lifetime membership through Weight Watchers. There’s a third about playing “pretty, pretty princess” with Lori.
Needless to say, I’ve been having some issues writing about this and working out my thoughts. Here’s my attempt.
***
On Saturday, Lori and I attended a friend’s birthday party. I left my apartment in a simple brown dress and sandals, but once at home realized I had to change. I forgot about the black and white theme. Fortunately, my sister didn’t mind opening up her closet to me. She offered up a few black and white outfits.
I tried them on, but not without first looking at the tags and thinking, this won’t fit. Last year, there was a 1 before the 4 and the letter after the X was not S. But everything I tried on fit just fine, just as it had when I tried on her pants right after Christmas. I settled on the outfit above out of convenience, laziness and because the other outfits made me feel a bit naked.
Lori then offered up some shoes choices. After settling on leopard print stilettos, I went with these peep-toe sandals. She did my makeup, or what we call playing “pretty, pretty princess.” Sometimes she does my hair too, but we were already running late.
We snapped a few photos, standard practice for when I actually get all dolled up with makeup. Plus, I wanted an “after” picture, even if I think they’re deceptive.
And then we left to the party.
***
I keep looking at the photo. Some of it is vanity. I love the way I look. I’ve never claimed to be modest. (See: a photo I made Sean take while in NY last week.)
Some of it is disbelief that the woman in the photo is me and not Lori, my little sister. In the past 15 years, I’d become accustomed to seeing myself as the brainy, overweight sister. Lori was the smart, slender, athletic sister. She still is.
I’m the one who changed, and I’m still getting used to it.
