Back to real life

I'm back from vacation. I arrived Sunday morning at JFK airport and was stuffed into an SUV with 6 other people and all our luggage wedged in between us for an hour ride home.

I wish I could be more enthusiastic about telling stories about my trip. But I'm too tired. My body aches, my stomach hurts and I just want to sleep. Funny that these symptoms didn't show up until I was home.

I did have a good time, don't get me wrong. Hanging out in an apartment with my brother, my cousins and one of their boyfriends gave me a closeness with actual humans that I've been longing for for a while. Even our annoyances with each other became funny. We were the '5 Assholes' who were quick to pull away from the rest of the group to do our own thing.

I'm annoyed with myself that I didn't even write in my journal while I was there. I had no desire to remove myself from 'being in the moment' to stop what I was doing to write down the stories of the day. Now I might forget the drama that went on the whole week.

Being home, I have to concern myself with my homework again. I'm not motivated. I have to get back into work mode. I can't decide if I like my job today. I have to think about working on those home improvement projects that I've been letting slide. I don't feel like figuring out where the money is going to come from. I would rather just float on a raft in the warm waters of the Caribbean ocean letting the waves rock me to sleep.

Vacation: Day Five

I've been totally lame and not posting, but whatever. I'm on vacation. I am mad at myself for not even journaling because I am going to forget the ridiculous things that has happened so far.

Most of it has been stupid 'in the moment' things that us cousins will probably only find funny. There's been a lot of laughing, and drinking and swimming and more laughing. But there's also been plenty of drama. I attribute that to the merging of families and the stress that goes along with that.

But my Blackberry isn't working here and it's pissing me off. No phone service, no text message, no nothing.

Off to get some dinner.

More later.

Vacation: Day One

I’ve been up since 5am. It’s now 7:42 am. I didn’t go to bed until 1am last night. Do you see where this is going?

I’m at JFK airport waiting to board my plane to Puerto Rico. There’s a family wedding there tonight. I was at a family wedding in NJ last night. I’m already all wedding’ed out.

I love to travel, but I hate… let me repeat. I HATE the whole check in process.

I arrive to the airport curbside, loaded up with luggage, backpack, dive bag, two parents, aunt & uncle and a million other clueless passengers. Already, there’s a line out on the curb for curbside checkin. Inside is another line weaved in and out among chaos.

Being in an airport changes you. It turns normally sensible, logical people into babbling idiots. It turns me, a normally sweet, thoughtful and caring person (Mike, stop laughing) into a raging, homicidal maniac. I want to kill every stupid person next to me, in front of me, behind me, who breathes the wrong way or asks a stupid question like, “What do you mean I have to show my boarding pass?”

The security check in line is the worst. Security is a stupid name to call it, because the yahoos who work there look like they just got off their night shift at McDonald’s.

There was one woman who had to keep going through the metal detector because she kept setting it off. I wanted to smack her. First off with the shoes, then the belt, then the change in the pocket. “Your earrings!!” I yelled to her as she went through the third time, holding up everyone waiting behind her – like me. Finally she made it through without setting it off and I clapped.

I can see my stuff already through the x-ray machine, laptop sitting on the conveyor belt vulnerable. I just want to get through so I can claim it before someone else does.

Now that I’m through and on the other side of the gate I can breathe a little easier. I’m starving and dehydrated, but the first thing I spot is a free internet hot-spot and the addicted cyber-geek in me practically drools and my first instinct is to blog rather than find some sustenance. Sad, I know.

I’ll be on my plane in about an hour. I’m still waiting for my cousin Christine and her family to arrive. Her parents are already here and waiting for her at check in. Me, I just have to keep my cool, read some cheesy magazines and listen to my iPod. It will be a long week. I’ll keep you posted.

On race

Classes have started up again and even though it's only been one week, I am surprised how interesting I think this class will be.

The Historical and Societal Foundations of Education course "explores the ways in which educational institutions, policies, and practices have emerged and developed, particularly in relation to changing social conditions and expectations". I'm sure I'll have more posts about the course and ideas that come out of it, but today I want to share an article that was mentioned in one of the class discussions.

White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack by Peggy McIntosh is a thought provoking piece that asks the question "what is it like to have white privilege"?

I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was "meant" to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools , and blank checks.

What I found most provoking are McIntosh's list of 50 Daily Effects of White Privilege. It made me question my own identity.

I look, act and live white. But I am Latina, a 100% Puerto Rican. I may not be as dark skinned as my relatives and I might not speak Spanish, but I have Taino blood running though my veins. I have Boriqua pride: you better not mistake me for Dominican or Mexican! And I'm not an immigrant, dammit. We're Americans.

I've taken advantage of my ancestry when necessary, such as the full-tuition minority scholarship that got me through college. I also mark myself off as Hispanic on demographic questionnaires that also ask about my gender, income and education level -- more as a big Screw You to anyone who might want to otherwise think down at me solely because I'm a "minority".

But when it comes to everyday living, I can identify with each of those 50 conditions. And it made me feel sad and a little guilty, although guilty for what I don't really know.

Growing up, I don't think I was brought up to think any certain way about race. I don't remember specific beliefs or attitudes that I inherited from my family. I knew I was Puerto Rican because we would go there to see my grandparents and cousins often enough and I loved the rice and beans that my mom made, but I made no attempt to have that identifier tagged to me as a kid. I wanted to fit in as much as anyone else so I identified more with Madonna than Jennifer Lopez.

Today I try to judge others by their character, not by their skin. I try to look beyond stereotypes and see the person for who they are. I try not to tolerate injustices to anyone based on race, gender, religion, etc. But I realize that I have had advantages that other members of my extended family might not have simply because I'm not as tan and don't speak with an accent.

So now with this realization, what do I do with it? What can I do with it? I don't have a clue yet.