fresita.org

Megan, one of my BFFs from high school, recently posted this picture as her Facebook profile picture:

Megan is on the left, with Snooki from Jersey Shore on the right. She met her when she line managed for her meet and greet at NACA. I thought this was so awful and awesome and amazing all at the same time, that I had to share the image with George, a friend, and my sister-in-law, Caroline. The following ensued…

Caroline: I’m so confused.

Caroline: Who is that?

Caroline: Besides looking like you.

Lorenia: I think I am going to go cry in a dark corner now.

My sister-in-law is awesome. hahaha Lesson learned, folks. Mock not the d-list celebrities… especially if, in some creepy way, they may resemble you. Especially if you’re a dark-skinned short-stack.

George and I are in Cancun for a mini vacation (and by mini, I mean ten days). I have a series of conferences this week, so we just decided to make the trip into a vacay, too. Not too shabby when your flights are covered!

Yesterday, my mom “hired” Samantha, my very much 14 and a half year old sister, to work with us and hand out the receivers and basically just help out. During one of the breaks, she and I were talking about boys…

“You know, mom’s going to freak out when I introduce her to the boy I want to date.”

“Why? Is he covered in tattoos? Body piercings?”

“No… but I mean… he’s not very pretty…”

“Oh, Sam,” I teased. “Not very pretty? Ew.”

“I KNOW!!! But he’s so, so, so nice…”

“Why don’t you hold out for one you find pretty AND nice?”

“Pffft. Those don’t exist.”

I raise a brow, turn to look at George, editing photos on his laptop. “Oh?”

“OK, sure, but LOOK HOW LONG THAT TOOK YOU!!!“

Touché, little sister. Touché.

Tonight, driving home through the dark suburban streets, brightened with the colorful Christmas lights and decorations. Windows down, cool, damp Florida night wind weaving through my hair. George holding my hand. My chest feeling so very full of contentment, a feeling akin to a deep breath after a long workout. Satisfaction. Peace. Silent companionship.

These are the moments I want to commit to memory. Not the monumental events, necessarily. Not those few days that you tire everyone with by recounting them over and over in your old age. Just these every-day days that life is peppered with.

“He drove us home, and we held hands. It smelled clean and fresh and slightly swampy.You could hear crickets and alligators on the sides of the road, even over the music.”

Those are the things that make my heart burst.

Technology, the bane of my existence. Gathering up all your courage to make a phone call and attempt closure on a subject in your life is a little complicated when voicemail is the party who picks up on the other line. It is quite hard to sound peaceful and calm and chipper when your voice is wobbling at the unexpected horror of having to leave a short, upbeat, “I know you’re never going to call me back, but hey, here’s my number!” blurb.

Maturity fail. Resolution fail.

A couple of days ago, my grandpa died, my abuelo Sergio. I have been thinking what I could possibly say or write about him. Abuelo Sergio was the most stable male presence in my life. Seeing him and his wife always made me think that marriage can work, that you can be sickeningly in love with someone after 20-odd and 30-odd years. He represented everything that was good, manly, and loving in my eyes. He always smelled of shaving cream and tobacco, he always had a poem to make you laugh, a word to heal a wound. He is and always will be one of my favorite people in this world, closer to my heart than I could possibly express.

I wasn’t able to attend his funeral or be there with my family. I wish I could have been there – but I was through their many texts and emails and calls. And since I wasn’t able to be there, my mom shared something with me that brought tears to my eyes, to the eyes of those who were there and of those who have since read it as well. They are the words of someone who was a friend and became family. This is my translation.

It would be inappropriate to say “good afternoon” on this occasion, so I will simply say hello to you all on this, the afternoon on which we accompany Sergio and his family. I have the pleasure of already knowing most of you; however, out of respect for those of you I have not met, my name is Jemil. I am a friend, co-worker and adopted nephew of Silvina and Sergio. I would like to share with you my personal experience with this great man, as I’m sure that many of us have had feelings and impressions similar to those I am about to describe to you.

I met Sergio almost ten years ago, and I must admit that we both began with a left foot. Somehow, we both clashed during our first impression and our initial relationship was more diplomatic than sincere. It wasn’t until a little over three years ago when we had the chance to spend time together and get to know each other better. This time, the relationship was so positive that he adopted me as a nephew and I adopted him as my uncle. Today I have the good fortune and the sorrow of saying goodbye to him. Sorrow is what my selfish side feels- I wish he could be with us much longer; however, my human side feels lucky, as it understands that this great person was prisoner in a body that was sick and weary and needed to be free.

A man of more than a thousand words, wise counselor and friend, passionate about his tastes and pleasures, he was an encyclopedia of poetry and an atlas of our Mexico. It was a pleasure to sit next to him and hear his describe the destinations and roads he traveled for so many years. He painted an image with such vivid details that I could swear I visited some of those places. There was never a conversation that didn’t make its way, however briefly, to the subject of gastronomy; I have never eaten a panucho, but [thanks to him] I know what one tastes like! And, as always, after food, a good conversation about politics was never too far away. He had a special humorous view and precision on the subject; many times I thought he should have been a political analyst. But his heart… his heart was in bullfighting, an authentic connoisseur of the world of tauromachy. We he spoke of bulls and bullfighters, plazas and Spanish-style bullfighting, of those he once witnessed, he would express a passion that I have not often seen.

The most admirable thing about my uncle Sergio was how he lived his life, because there is no one who shows more love for life than he who uses it and takes full advantage of it to love, learn and share. With this exemplary will he fought against his cancer for over eight years. Beyond the pain and discomfort, he would ferociously go to work and it was impossible to dissuade him.

On this day, after so much time, his body gave up, tired after such a long voyage, and decided that it was time to turn the light off and go to sleep in order to be able to retake that path that we all will one day follow. But it is only his body that we will no longer see among us, because a person like him leaves a mark on everyone of us lucky enough to cross his path. His memory and the many things we learned from him will live forever in our minds and hearts.

Sergio, rest in peace. Here you lived a great life, and where you are going, an even better one is waiting.”

Te quiero, pinche puto pendejo. A huevooooooooooooooooooooo!!!