Sana, Sana, page 7
Baby, cómo te cura/Mientras me tortura
Cosculluela’s “Madura,” which features Benito, feels like it was recorded with me and this day in mind. Here I am, another year older and feeling badder than ever in my low-cut, skintight, thunder thighs-baring little black dress, and one year out of the longest and most pivotal romantic relationships of my life, maturing and healing in ways that were unimaginable 365 days prior.
That has been Latin trap and reggaeton’s greatest gift to me throughout my heartbreak: reminding me of who the fuck I am. When I hear Melii rap, “Tú me tienes tema / Cuida’o, si me tocas, te quemas” in her bilingual bop “Icey,” my insecurities trickle away and are replaced with self-assuredness. When Natti Natasha sings, “Cuidao, las mujeres tienen poder” in Daddy Yankee’s “Dura” remix, featuring la baby de urbano, Bad Bunny and Becky G, I’m reminded of my own enduring power. When Anitta croons, “En las noches soy yo la que define/ todo a lo que vá a pasar. / A mí no me tienes que mandar” in her tantalizing Spanish-language hit “Downtown” featuring J Balvin, I, too, feel sexy and comfortable making demands in the bedroom. With this renewed confidence, I’m now able to recognize, for the first time, the treasures that come with a single life.
Ahora me llama/diciendo que le hago falta en su cama
My phone rings. It’s yet another FaceTime call from my ex, the third this week.
Sabiendo que eso conmigo no va, ya no va/Ahora solo quiero salir con mi propia squad
I pick up. It’s all love, always and forever, but that doesn’t mean either of us want to rekindle this flame.
Es porque la noche es mía/La voy a disfrutar sin tu compañía
Life is the best it’s been in months, probably years. I’m not as stressed these days, so my skin is clear and my hair can easily land a spot in a shampoo commercial. I do what I want to do when I want to do it, whether that’s cozy solo nights in watching Netflix or catching a last-minute arena game with a homegirl. My money is mine, and I spend it traveling the globe and investing in my future. As Karol G sings in her chart-topper “Ahora Me Llama,” “Yo soy dueña de mi vida. A mi nadie me manda.”
After spending eight years with someone who I once considered the love of my life, many of them beautiful yet others painfully tumultuous, I’m at a place, post-anger and post-despair, where I’m learning what it’s like to be alone, particularly as an adult. It’s an opportunity I never had before, and I’m surprisingly enjoying it. But I’m aware that this solitude won’t last forever. My “Amorfoda” “fuck love” stage is behind me. My heart isn’t cold. Instead, I’m excited to love and care again. After all, that’s when my Cancer spirit feels its best. But before that day comes, I’m savoring, and being intentional about, these moments—my time with and for me.
Today, at the start of a new year and almost two years single, I’m feeling a bit like the trapero who has been with me throughout my heartbreak, Bad Bunny, in his debut album X100PRE: “Ni Bien Ni Mal.”
Her·me·neu·tics
Edyka Chilomé
noun
I. the branch of knowledge that deals with interpretation, especially of the Bible or literary texts.
I begin by admitting that this language is proof of my drifting.
A testimony of my involuntary deviation and instinctual navigation.
They have called me poet,
a charge not a choice,
a designation of spirit independent of any word written or spoken because what is this language if not proof of my poverty? Proof of separation? Proof of displacement? What is this language if not proof of my courage? Proof of resilience, mala yerba, territorio salvaje, chilomé.
What am I but proof of a grueling encounter grown in the captivity of chaos,
the magnificent and miraculous alchemy of survival.
I have chosen liberation by way of its cartography,
awakened by its intoxicating translations of life.
These words weave what so many of our grandmothers weaved with their hands and their mourning hearts: Story. Map. Prayer. Song. Poem. The way home.
It is all we have and at this point it is all we have come to know.
Because what is life but a whole ass love poem.
Pa’lante Moments
Claude M. Bonazzo-Romaguera
I believe the first time I started using pa’lante moments was when my mom completed her last round of chemo for breast cancer. It was a big day because she would no longer have to do chemo and we thought it would start a new phase in her life. Our family put personal messages on pink hearts that were taped onto the garage door so that the first thing she saw when she got home were words of celebration from family members. On Facebook, I posted ‘Mom’s Pa’lante Moment’ with pictures of the hearts and of family members who shared that day with her. About a month later, I completed four hours of testing on my eyes to determine what kind of vision therapy I needed to do in the years ahead. This was shortly after my fifth muscle eye surgery to correct my double vision. In a way, pa’lante moments emerged from the struggles of my mom with breast cancer and my struggle to correct my double vision. Life takes time and we should always celebrate the small wins along the way. I call these pa’lante moments.
Pa’lante is a common phrase we use in Puerto Rico, it is shorthand for “para adelante” meaning “forward.” It is commonly used among my family when we encounter a difficult life event or obstacle, pa’lante would motivate us to continue to move forward. Furthermore, the Young Lords, a Puerto Rican civil rights activist group, used the phrase as the title of their movement newspaper starting in the 1960s. In many ways, it was a rallying cry for the once street gang turned political movement. These are the social and cultural seeds which pa’lante moments stem from and are the building blocks from which I have developed this practice.
Trying to handle the stress of my mom’s cancer, my double vision, my cognitive disability, and raising a newborn child all while pursuing my PhD was incredibly overwhelming. At the time, I began to have panic attacks on a regular basis. I decided one day to go to the counseling and mental health center at the university and make an appointment with a therapist. It was during my first appointment my therapist introduced me to mindfulness. Throughout the session, I explained all of the stressors and difficulties in my life to my therapist. I began to get emotional and even started to cry. The therapist paused the session, and we did a short mindful breathing exercise. I began to feel a little better. She talked about a mindfulness meditation group that met weekly for sessions to help support this practice.
The more I learned about mindfulness and meditation, the more I became fascinated in learning about the brain and the mind. I found hope in the idea that I can be part of the antidote to my own suffering. I felt empowered to learn the source and essence of my anxiety. I began to realize my anxiety stemmed from my fixation on all the possible negative outcomes for myself and my mom. The possibility of never being able to see single again and not completing my doctoral program made me feel hopeless. The possibility that I might lose mi mamá was crushing.
Most of the research on mindfulness demonstrates real changes in the brain and the body. When I told my good friend Marian about what I was doing to overcome anxiety and stress, she suggested I read the book Train Your Mind, Change Your Brain: How a New Science Reveals Our Extraordinary Potential to Transform Ourselves by Sharon Begley. This book introduced me to the current research on meditation and its real potential to transform our minds. The Dalai Lama and a group of leading Western scientists addressed the question “Is it really possible to change the structure and function of the brain, and in so doing alter how we think and feel?” The research was indicating “that we all have the power to literally change our brains by changing our minds.”1 I came to my own profound realization that I can be the antidote to my own mind!
One day, when I was in the copy room making copies of an exam, I had a chance encounter with a wonderful and kind professor in the department. I just had my second brain surgery to replace my shunt and there were a bunch of staples on my head. The professor asked me what happened. I told her that I had two brain surgeries to replace my shunt, that I had experienced some pretty serious complications as a result of the first surgery which necessitated the second one. This kind professor, showing a great deal of compassion and kindness, said “I am so sorry you went through this difficult moment.” I quickly responded “It is okay. I have had many surgeries in my life. I am used to it. I am glad it was me and not someone else. I wouldn’t want anybody to go through that.” She responded “Wow, you have the bodhisattva attitude. You are describing your experience as someone who practices tonglen.” Tong means “sending,” and len means “taking.” It is essentially the exchanging of oneself with others by taking in the pain and suffering of others and sending out whatever will benefit others. It is a Buddhist technique to develop compassion and loving kindness for ourselves and others.
I wanted to learn more! I asked if we could meet and talk more, and she said yes. I went to her office and told her about how I was becoming really interested in Buddhism. She suggested a new book, at the time, that had recently come out called How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and Their Caregivers by Toni Bernhard. This was a crucial moment for me. For almost five years I had been struggling with double vision and the stress associated with it. I could not drive from home to campus which was about a thirty to forty-five-minute drive. I ended up having to commute by bus which increased the commute time. Time away from my family. Having double vision made seeing incredibly difficult. It was especially difficult trying to complete readings for my graduate coursework and dissertation.
I asked if there was a Buddhist community I could join to further study Buddhism and its practices. Out of her compassion to help she invited me to her Discovering Buddhism study group. This started my wonderful journey to learn about Buddhism and its many practices to help cultivate happiness and compassion for self and others.
The idea of pa’lante moments emerged as a combination of Buddhist philosophy and psychology with my Puerto Rican roots and culture. Buddhism was teaching me that happiness is a skill, it does not just happen to you. It is a slow and meticulous process of understanding your mind and identifying the sources of your suffering and finding your sources of happiness and joy. Each of us creates our own realities and how we respond to the social world around us. The person you find beautiful may be seen by someone else as ugly. The food you enjoy and look forward to eating may be viewed with disgust by someone else. Buddhism stresses that it is important to become familiar with your own mind. The Tibetan word for “to meditate” is gom which directly translates as “to familiarize.” It also emphasizes the importance of creating positive states of mind. Our brains are hardwired with a negativity bias that stems from our evolutionary tendency to see potential threats in order to survive.
As for Puerto Rican influences, pa’lante meant to keep moving forward in the face of adversity. This was a phrase I frequently heard among family, friends, and people in my community. Because I was going through my own adversity with my vision and my mom’s fight with breast cancer, I began to learn that I had a choice to either focus on the negative or positive moments. I chose to focus on the small moments or steps that led us both to the path of being well again.
Overcoming adversity is not solely when you have achieved the desired outcome or goal, it is all the little steps you took to get you there. The little wins are a part of your journey. Anybody who plays sports knows that they failed many times before they became successful in a particular move or skill. Once they accomplished a particular skill they would move on to the next and start the process again. If we don’t recognize these moments, we miss out on all the causes and conditions that led us to our goal. Our hard work. The support of our loved ones. The kindness of others. We are an interconnected and interdependent species. Many little things had to come together to make you who you are today.
The primary source of my pain during this time of learning about mindfulness and developing what I would come to call pa’lante moments were my experiences while pursuing a PhD. I attended one of the top public universities in the country. I had only applied to one PhD program because I did not want to move my wife and son to another state. The first year I applied I was rejected. I decided to figure out what exactly the department was looking for and why I did not get in. My GRE scores were not great largely since I was unable to get extra time on the exam because of my disability. I also had difficulty with the vocabulary section since I grew up learning both Spanish and English. I don’t know how many times I would get called out for not knowing difficult words or even sayings. When you focus on learning just one language it is easier to garner more depth in vocabulary and idioms. The GRE only measured my strength in the English language and not my strength of knowing two languages.
After visiting the department a number of times for events, I was able to make some connections that helped strengthen my application to get in the program. I developed a wonderful relationship with a man who was Puerto Rican and Mexican. I felt I could relate with him more because of our shared backgrounds. He was kind enough to mentor me through my application process the second time. I applied again and got in.
Once enrolled, the first thing I did was register with Services for Students with Disabilities, the office that provided accommodations for students with disabilities. In the past, I had gotten extra time on exams and assignments. But when I signed up for accommodations in graduate school there were really no accommodations for students in PhD programs. In PhD programs there is less structure compared to high school and my undergraduate experience. You were expected to focus on your own performance. Some of the possible accommodations that would have helped my experience in the graduate program would have been to add extra time to complete the program and additional funding. The general timeline to complete a PhD is five to six years. I completed my program in eight years. I was on the verge of getting kicked out.
Another possible accommodation would be a reduced course load that was available at the undergraduate level but not at the graduate level because of funding. I was supported by a very prestigious institution and one of the requirements was I had to take nine credit hours every semester. Graduate school is a very elite space that is centered on the best, brightest, and quick-witted. Many programs don’t believe students with disabilities can or should be in their programs, let alone a Puerto Rican with a disability.
For some professors, it felt strange to give me more time on papers and exams because the academic environment was a space that focused on students with some of the top qualifications in the country. I think this strangeness for professors originated from their experience in the academic world and being one of the top universities and by design only the best and brightest would enter the world of academia or from their own ableist perspectives. For them, the “best and the brightest” could by definition not include folx with a disability. They expect everyone’s brain/body to work exactly the same while knowing fully well that this is just not true.
This was an elite space. In other words, as Nirmal Puwar puts it, I was a space invader because of my disability and being Latinx. Luckily, there were other Latinx people in the department that I naturally gravitated toward, and this made me feel at home. Speaking Spanish with colleagues from Latin America and hanging out with others who were marginalized helped me feel like I was not alone. They helped me ground myself back to who I really was as a Boricua.
On top of these difficulties, my wife and I had just had our first child and we essentially lived off student loans. I would work as a graduate research assistant during the day and in the evening my wife would work overnight shifts at a children’s hospital as a Spanish interpreter. The financial stress, marital strain, graduate school, and the need to provide a stable home for our child was overwhelming and exhausting. Furthermore, I had several personal medical issues pop up during the program, two brain surgeries to replace my shunt. Three corrective eye muscle surgeries to correct my double vision along with five years of vision therapy. Between the surgeries and therapy, it felt like I never had time to just live a “normal” life and complete the graduate program.
The illnesses of my mom and my dad further intensified my stress and anxiety. My mom fought breast cancer for a year. I drove frequently from Austin to Houston to go to my mom’s major appointments and to some of her chemo treatments. After a year of treatments, we celebrated the first pa’lante moment at our house. I even have pictures from that day. It felt like we could finally move on with our lives. Shortly after it was discovered that she had lymphoma. Her body had been through so much physically and mentally that her immune system had been compromised and she developed a second form of cancer. Unfortunately, the outlook was not good.
In the following months, my mom went through a number of different treatments and surgeries to stop the lymphoma. Our family was told that she may not survive. I stopped the PhD program and went to help care for my mom. During these months I helped her to the shower and stood by the door to make sure she did not fall because of the neuropathy she developed from chemo.
I would help her go to the bathroom and sometimes that turned into a whole thing. I remember a particular day when I got into an argument with my brother and sister about who should help her to the bathroom. My brother and sister said that it was inappropriate and demeaning to help my mom wipe after peeing or pooping citing gender norms. My mom turned around and screamed “Callate la boca. Dejalo que lo haga. El sabe lo que esta haciendo!” which means “Shut your mouths. Let him do it. He knows what he is doing!”
