Month: October 2013

The Inspiration I Needed

What was that they taught us when we were little? Never, ever, ever give up? Something like that. Except back then, life seemed pretty easy. I sometimes wonder if it still is, and it’s just us that make it complicated, with our crazy notions about what should and shouldn’t be. Here’s another little tidbit of childhood wisdom: rules are made to be broken; it’s more fun that way. And if you don’t take the risk –that one risk that could change everything for the better-, you will never know if it actually could have. For me, not knowing is worse than failing and having to get back up again. It’s been a while since I’ve felt inspired to fight for something I desperately wanted, but I’m pretty fired up right now. People unknowingly keep adding fuel to the flame. Every time I stop to think about how difficult it might be, or I start slipping into that loathsome self-pity, I do my best to slap myself out of it. There’s simply too much real suffering …

“Action is eloquence”

An Argentine woman scolded me for mentioning that I am not a fan of the Argentine president. Mind you, I lived in Buenos Aires long enough to understand the delicate and insanely complicated social, political, and economic intricacies of the third-world country –which I absolutely adore-, so my comment wasn’t out of place. Truth be told, it was a bit more in line than hers, since she’s been out of the country for 23 years; however, it was something else she said that struck a nerve: “Yes, the President is corrupt. So? What’s new? That’s how it’s always been and how it always will be.” (Note: I’m paraphrasing the latter part, but that basically summarizes the rest of the conversation we had.) This type of mentality severely irritates me. It is very common for Latin Americans to think this way; after all, most of them have grown up with corruption for generations. Even my family considers it the norm, but for myself personally, having lived both in Argentina and the US, where the federal government …

A Rude Awakening

I was 14 when the towers came down. I remember not knowing what the World Trade Center was, since I had always associated them with the name Twin Towers. I remember my Latin teacher being extremely upset during our last period, and other kids desperately trying to get ahold of loved ones on the phone, but the lines were down. Our very unpopular principal had to request several times over the loud speaker for classes to continue, and to shut all TVs off. I remember running through my front door when I got home that afternoon, desperate to see the coverage and finally understand what was going on. The first image to meet my eyes was that of a man jumping and falling…falling…falling down hundreds of stories, because he was caught in the floors above the fires and there was no possibility of him getting out. And then they repeated it, over and over again. It has since been forever imprinted in my mind. We were living in the suburbs of Philadelphia at the time …