The energy I felt today, I have not felt in over a year. Overwhelming, uncontrollable, taking over your entire body type of energy. Energy that just will not quit. Jumping around, bouncing off the walls, unable to control yourself energy. Wouldn't it be great if you could get that kind of energy from going to work?
Well I do.
And I realize how incredibly lucky I am to be able to say that at 22, I am doing exactly what I want to be. With an economy that has some of my more applied, better educated and better spoken friends still trying to find work. In a time where positivity and hope are endangered, I am doing exactly what I want to be doing and I leave work knowing that I gave my students my all. Honestly, in a nation forcing individuals to navigate so many unjust and broken systems, what is better than that?
I can truthfully say I went to work today, and gave it my all. I pray that I was able to reach my students, but if not, tomorrow is a new day, with a whole new bucket of said "all" that I will be giving to those young people. I am 22 and doing exactly what I know I should be doing.
And it's a great feeling.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Today I went to the first meeting of the new year for NYU's Chapter of the Gates Millennium Scholars. I shook the hands of important people on campus, plugged the college advisement program I am now employed by, and got some networking done!! "Fake it til you make it" is my professional motto- No matter what is going on mentally, you put on your face, go into the room, and own it. People are counting on me, and knowing that has always pushed me through.
But what is really on my mind today is the reason why I graduated college. For three weeks I have been training, talking, discussing, etc issues of college access and achievement. Learning how I am going to cope with students from hectic backgrounds, where parents are absent, money is tight (if existent), and hope dies young. Students from places just like me.
I have never been good and discussing my academic or personal struggles. Coming to NYU made me want to hide them even more, as a means to fit in amongst the IMMENSE wealth that surrounded me. But something I was never shy to discuss was the help and determination of my own mother. I will never quite understand how she juggled all that she did, but she made it work and I know that she was my edge- she was the reason why made it to the places I am now. So many young people don't have their own Suzanne, but I was lucky enough to. When students ask me how I got to college, I say "My Mom."
Yesterday was the one year anniversary of her passing. I went to work, ran errands, moved into my new apartment with my roommate, and tried to put that smile on my face, because no matter how hard this past year has been, I was lucky enough to have 21 years of the best support a girl could hope for, and it humbles me to realize that as problematic as growing up can be, I was given so much more than so many others.
So as I continue to "fake it til I make it" and push myself through knowing that people are relying on my ability to be confident, productive, and concentrate, I felt it of great importance to at least acknowledge the gift I was given for so many years of my life and remember how important the work I will soon be doing is to her, myself, and the community.
If I can pass along even an ounce of the love and support I received to my new students, I know amazing things will happen. My siblings and I are all proof of that.
But what is really on my mind today is the reason why I graduated college. For three weeks I have been training, talking, discussing, etc issues of college access and achievement. Learning how I am going to cope with students from hectic backgrounds, where parents are absent, money is tight (if existent), and hope dies young. Students from places just like me.
I have never been good and discussing my academic or personal struggles. Coming to NYU made me want to hide them even more, as a means to fit in amongst the IMMENSE wealth that surrounded me. But something I was never shy to discuss was the help and determination of my own mother. I will never quite understand how she juggled all that she did, but she made it work and I know that she was my edge- she was the reason why made it to the places I am now. So many young people don't have their own Suzanne, but I was lucky enough to. When students ask me how I got to college, I say "My Mom."
Yesterday was the one year anniversary of her passing. I went to work, ran errands, moved into my new apartment with my roommate, and tried to put that smile on my face, because no matter how hard this past year has been, I was lucky enough to have 21 years of the best support a girl could hope for, and it humbles me to realize that as problematic as growing up can be, I was given so much more than so many others.
So as I continue to "fake it til I make it" and push myself through knowing that people are relying on my ability to be confident, productive, and concentrate, I felt it of great importance to at least acknowledge the gift I was given for so many years of my life and remember how important the work I will soon be doing is to her, myself, and the community.
If I can pass along even an ounce of the love and support I received to my new students, I know amazing things will happen. My siblings and I are all proof of that.
Monday, July 11, 2011
*A note to New York City men.
I love to dance. It has to be one of my favorite things to do. Absolutely nothing releases stress the way letting your body feel the rhythm does. It is simply amazing. And thus, I dance just about every weekend. 16 hours of dancing in one week to be exact. My friend and I go, grab some H2O on the rocks, and shake it out.
Now I enjoy dancing in groups of people. With people. But men... we need to have a conversation.
Since when is coming up behind a girl, grabbing her hips, and pushing them onto your crotch a proper introduction? Whatever happened to greeting someone face to face, exchanging names and regions of origin, before proceeding to hump my butt? Honestly, it's really... awkward.
I love to dance. I can find a rhythm and keep it. But damn! I do not always want to be accosted. As my friend puts it, we do our thing, in a coordinated, un-hot-mess way, and just want to have a good time. And though dancing "on" you might be enjoyable for you, it's really not all that great for me. You move awkwardly, I try to counter. You put your hands where they do NOT belong, I mouth "Help. Me." to my friends. All without even seeing your face. And then, you think that me not shoving you away means I want to dance in the same, lovely fashion the rest of the night... Does that really sound like a good plan?
Lesson: Just because I dance does not mean I want to dance with YOU, be mauled from behind, or go somewhere else with your creepy arse.
Get me some water on the rocks first, please. Geez Or go get yourself a blow-up doll. I'm just sayin...
Now I enjoy dancing in groups of people. With people. But men... we need to have a conversation.
Since when is coming up behind a girl, grabbing her hips, and pushing them onto your crotch a proper introduction? Whatever happened to greeting someone face to face, exchanging names and regions of origin, before proceeding to hump my butt? Honestly, it's really... awkward.
I love to dance. I can find a rhythm and keep it. But damn! I do not always want to be accosted. As my friend puts it, we do our thing, in a coordinated, un-hot-mess way, and just want to have a good time. And though dancing "on" you might be enjoyable for you, it's really not all that great for me. You move awkwardly, I try to counter. You put your hands where they do NOT belong, I mouth "Help. Me." to my friends. All without even seeing your face. And then, you think that me not shoving you away means I want to dance in the same, lovely fashion the rest of the night... Does that really sound like a good plan?
Lesson: Just because I dance does not mean I want to dance with YOU, be mauled from behind, or go somewhere else with your creepy arse.
Get me some water on the rocks first, please. Geez Or go get yourself a blow-up doll. I'm just sayin...
Monday, June 27, 2011
"So... what are you?"
I figured I should give a little explanation of my blog title.
One of the most difficult things I have dealt with during college was my race. In my family, it never really mattered. So my older brother is white... okay. So my little sisters are black.. okay. So my white brother calls my black father "Pops." This is all far too normal for me. Why are we reacting like this is odd? Oh... because I guess to the rest of America it is. Hmm...
Every week, multiple times a week, someone tries to slyly figure out my race. Now that I am privy to this, I actively try to deflect. In New York, they do it in a very amusing way I will call The East Coast Method. This method is executed by people of all ages, sexes, and racial backgrounds, without fault. The method is deployed as a means to confirm peoples beliefs that I am Latina, generally Dominican.
Example:
Guy: So... Where are you from?
Bri: Michigan...
Guy: Oh, I mean, where were you born?
Bri: Michigan.
Guy: I mean, where were your parents from?
Bri: Michigan and Texas...
Guy: Oh, I didn't know there were Dominicans in Michigan...
And Fail...
Now you would think with Obama being President... But I digress
In Argentina, people generally assumed I was Colombian, since I was lighter, and spoke pretty clear, un-oddly-accented Spanish. I distinctly remember a conversation with a cabbie who was arguing with me about how it was impossible that neither of my parents were Colombian. Trust me sir, they are as far from Colombian as you can be...
When I first came to New York, I did not understand why people assumed I was Latina. In Michigan, I never had this issue. For the most part, people knew I was half, or just assumed I was. But here, it's the opposite. I feel like a rare breed, almost an endangered species- Speaks proper English but "dances like a real black girl," college graduate but might be spotted in a fitted on any given day, not Latina but speaks Spanish... I understand why people would be confused.
My point with all of this is that my views, experiences, and education have been very much influenced by my racial background and peoples perceptions of/reactions to it, which has made negotiating my place in any space complex. Especially as a person who identifies as both of her races, things are a little trickery. Would things be easier if I negated my whiteness? Perhaps. Would life be more enjoyable if I ignored my blackness or allowed myself to consistently pass as Latina? Who knows.
But being raised by a dedicated, single-parent of 36 years, who obtained a Bachelors degree with two young children and no family help or father to be seen, who happened to be a beautiful, fair skinned woman, I have never been able to reject that part of me, which so many others find so easy to do.
To use the words of John Sexton, my life is a "complex cacophony." And though I cannot promise my ramblings will end definitively or make sense, they will come from the heart, as everything should.
One of the most difficult things I have dealt with during college was my race. In my family, it never really mattered. So my older brother is white... okay. So my little sisters are black.. okay. So my white brother calls my black father "Pops." This is all far too normal for me. Why are we reacting like this is odd? Oh... because I guess to the rest of America it is. Hmm...
Every week, multiple times a week, someone tries to slyly figure out my race. Now that I am privy to this, I actively try to deflect. In New York, they do it in a very amusing way I will call The East Coast Method. This method is executed by people of all ages, sexes, and racial backgrounds, without fault. The method is deployed as a means to confirm peoples beliefs that I am Latina, generally Dominican.
Example:
Guy: So... Where are you from?
Bri: Michigan...
Guy: Oh, I mean, where were you born?
Bri: Michigan.
Guy: I mean, where were your parents from?
Bri: Michigan and Texas...
Guy: Oh, I didn't know there were Dominicans in Michigan...
And Fail...
Now you would think with Obama being President... But I digress
In Argentina, people generally assumed I was Colombian, since I was lighter, and spoke pretty clear, un-oddly-accented Spanish. I distinctly remember a conversation with a cabbie who was arguing with me about how it was impossible that neither of my parents were Colombian. Trust me sir, they are as far from Colombian as you can be...
When I first came to New York, I did not understand why people assumed I was Latina. In Michigan, I never had this issue. For the most part, people knew I was half, or just assumed I was. But here, it's the opposite. I feel like a rare breed, almost an endangered species- Speaks proper English but "dances like a real black girl," college graduate but might be spotted in a fitted on any given day, not Latina but speaks Spanish... I understand why people would be confused.
My point with all of this is that my views, experiences, and education have been very much influenced by my racial background and peoples perceptions of/reactions to it, which has made negotiating my place in any space complex. Especially as a person who identifies as both of her races, things are a little trickery. Would things be easier if I negated my whiteness? Perhaps. Would life be more enjoyable if I ignored my blackness or allowed myself to consistently pass as Latina? Who knows.
But being raised by a dedicated, single-parent of 36 years, who obtained a Bachelors degree with two young children and no family help or father to be seen, who happened to be a beautiful, fair skinned woman, I have never been able to reject that part of me, which so many others find so easy to do.
To use the words of John Sexton, my life is a "complex cacophony." And though I cannot promise my ramblings will end definitively or make sense, they will come from the heart, as everything should.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Let it Begin
My "Livejournal" would probably count as my first blog. Everyone had them... well at least all us cool kids. We used them to whine about our parents, gossip/create/swash drama, SHOUT OUT to our friends, and basically be silly adolescents. Needless to say, when I reread it now, all I see is ANGST ANGST ANGST
My first real blog was when I went to Buenos Aires, Argentina, and lived for four months (El bistec y Mi if you're interested). It was a great account of the struggles and successes I had dealing with language and culture, making friends, and ultimately changing the way I work and perceive the world. That'll be pretty hard to follow up... But let us try!
Now, as an unemployment college grad (with a faint promise of employment within the near future), I am going to try this again.
My vision for this blog is for it to be a collection of my experiences living here, dealing with people, life, work, culture, race, and anything else that might pop up. Filled with opinions and the occasional dyslexic error, lacking pose and big "educated" words. I am a normal person, trying to live a normal life under circumstances that make normal the hardest thing to achieve. : )
Let it begin.
My first real blog was when I went to Buenos Aires, Argentina, and lived for four months (El bistec y Mi if you're interested). It was a great account of the struggles and successes I had dealing with language and culture, making friends, and ultimately changing the way I work and perceive the world. That'll be pretty hard to follow up... But let us try!
Now, as an unemployment college grad (with a faint promise of employment within the near future), I am going to try this again.
My vision for this blog is for it to be a collection of my experiences living here, dealing with people, life, work, culture, race, and anything else that might pop up. Filled with opinions and the occasional dyslexic error, lacking pose and big "educated" words. I am a normal person, trying to live a normal life under circumstances that make normal the hardest thing to achieve. : )
Let it begin.
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