A day to remember

May 26, 2009 was an exhausting day. I'm not sure how to feel about what is happening in the world. President Obama nominated judge Sonia Sotomayor for the Supreme Court, she would be the third woman and the first Latina to ever be appointed. I want to be proud and happy, but I'm tired of having to explain my pride. I'm tired of people that expect me to like, understand, and defend her because she's Latina or because she's a woman. The day she makes a mistake, everyone will question my pride again. I don't wish my pride could go unquestioned, it wont be strong and just then. So there's the dilemma that makes my day so exhausting. I am tired of being questioned at all times, but if it wasn't for this struggle, I wouldn't know half the things I know now. So I have to say, as much as I've tried to avoid it, that I am passionately proud of judge Sonia Sotomayor because she represents a part of my identity that shapes me in unimaginable ways. Her nomination is empowering for a group of people that have been traditionally disempowered and placed at the bottom of our power hierarchies; this we must all be proud of. And with that, I must say that my claim is ready for scrutiny and I am ready to reflect on this issue.

Because that wasn't enough to think about for one day, California decided to uphold Proposition 8 this morning. I was eating lunch at Subway when I heard the news; I also heard disturbing, homophobic comments that pushed my patience to the limit. I wish I could do more to make people aware of this injustice; I wish change could come faster. Prop. 8 reminds me that I have to be patient and not get frustrated; it was difficult to do that today.

Today was important because things are changing. We continue to step forward in some ways and step backward in others; at least we are moving. Now, we just need to agree to move in the same direction. Hard work.

Besides the exciting events on the news, a 4 year old called me his girlfriend in the library. I took a picture of the beautiful Pee Dee River this weekend, it actually looks like a shot from the Amazon River. We went to the State Park, and I fell in the lake by accident. Memorial weekend was not as exhausting as I thought it would be. Yet, everything that I had to think about today left me emotionally and mentally drained.

There is no place like home...

I guess I must do something productive this summer, so welcome to my blog. I am currently in Cheraw, SC with some of the BN Scholars.
Yesterday I went for a walk around the area where we stay, and I was surprised to meet someone that helped me close the gap that existed in my mind between Bogota and the States. Bogota for me was always like Gonzalo Arango described Medellin:

"¡Oh, mi amada Medellín, ciudad que amo, en la que he sufrido, en la que tanto muero! Mi pensamiento se hizo trágico entre tus altas montañas, en la penumbra casta de tus parques, en tu loco afán de dinero. Pero amo tus cielos claros y azules, como ojos de gringa."

(Beloved Medellin, the city that I love, where I have suffered, where I have died so much! My thoughts became tragic in your high mountains, in the darkness of your parks, in your crazy rush for money. But I love your clear, blue skies, like white girl's eyes. (Sorry I can't make it sound as good as it sounds in Spanish)).

I'm not as crazy as Gonzalo; he loved Medellin the way he'd love another person. But Bogota for me has been a precious place that I wouldn't share with anyone. The memories that I have from it always made me think that there was no place like home, that even Bogota today could not compare to the city it was 7 years ago. After Bogota, any city or town where I have lived came second no matter how grateful I was of being there. This was the case with Cheraw until yesterday:

I met a woman that was sitting on her porch while I was taking a picture of her garden. She was sitting on a joggling board (if you don't know what that is look it up on wikipedia) and waved at me to come over. I introduced myself and she began talking. Now, it was the two of us sitting on the joggling board. I think she said she was eighty-five years old. She has short, curly, white hair and a very sharp face. She uses a walker because she has difficulties walking, but she looks very strong. She reminded me of my grandmother on my dad's side because I remember her being tough but very open to talking.

She told me about her family and the town of Cheraw, the way it used to be when she was young. She told me the stories that her parents and grandparents told her. She showed me pictures of her grandparents and even let me see her house on the inside; she said it was built in 1802. The whole time I felt like I was hearing one of the stories I make my parents tell me about Colombia and our family. The things that she shared with me and the way she talked about them was the same way we talk about our family history at home. Everyone wants to know where they came from and why their ancestors moved from one place to the other; what they did, who they married, what they owned, everything matters. I was happy that she shared so much with me because I really wanted her to tell me about her family. More than curious, I was fascinated by how human we all are above everything else. I was surprised we could relate in such a profound level.She recited a poem for me that almost made me cry and then sang a song.

She wanted to show me around town so that I could connect the stories she told me to actual places in Cheraw. We went to the St. David's cemetery and the Church, I even got to see the inside of the Church. Then we went to see the Pee Dee River and the bridge that used to connect Cheraw to the other side of the river. Coming back, we looked at other old houses in the town, which brought her memories of people she must have loved and cared for. It really made my day to be able to hear her talk about those memories; she was sharing the town that she loves with me!

Now, Cheraw is a town that I can love like I love Bogota. I am truly grateful.