I've always been really envious of people who have great relationships with their cousins. In fact, I'm so removed from my extended family (both on my mom's and dad's side of the family) that I don't even really feel like I know any of my cousins all that well. The closest I can come to having a cousin-like relationship is with my oldest friend Patsy. We met in first grade, lived seven houses apart from each other growing up, and were best friends forever. Our moms still know each other, since they still live seven houses apart, while Patsy and I live 3 states apart.
Here's the run-down on some of my actual cousins:
Araceli, Linda, Carlos.
My mom's sister's kids. I used to really love Carlos. He's about 13 years older than me, and by the time I was old enough to get to know him, he moved to Puerto Rico. Araceli and Linda stayed behind with their mom, my Tia Maria, but they never took me seriously. I was too young to relate to them, and far too awkward to be interesting. Every question they asked me was just another way to make fun of me.
"Do you like any boys at school, Vero?"
"No."
"Why not, are you scared they'll hit your big glasses when you kiss?"
Even once I grew out of my awkwardness, they still found a way to make me feel boring. My sister, on the other hand, was worth befriending. She didn't care what they thought, which made them chase after her, and she was pretty to boot and had a boyfriend who worshiped her. That's all they ever wanted: a man who would treat them as though they were worthy of love. Ironically, every time a man showed interest in them, they treated him like shit.
Brenda, Sergio.
I always considered these cousins to be part of my dad's side of the family, but they were actually on both sides. See, they were the offspring of a marriage between my dad's sister and my mom's brother. It's funny, because Mexicans use both their parents' last names. Mine was Veronica Acosta Rojo (my dad's last name is Acosta, my mom's maiden name was Rojo). So these particular cousins' names were Brenda Rojo Acosta and Sergio Rojo Acosta. It is definitely an interesting connection that I have with them, since we shared the same grandparents. We all looked very much alike.
But when my parents split up 20 years ago, all interaction with my dad's side of the family ended for me and my siblings. That included Brenda and Sergio. We've probably seen them 4 or 5 times since my parents' separation, and two of those times included grandparent funerals. They are the ones I most feel like I've missed out on a great relationship with. They, unlike most of my extended family, seemed sincere and trustworthy.
Izkra, Christian, Alan.
Offspring of my dad's sisters, Velia and Estella. In the last few years, I've be-friended Izkra again, and have found her to be a beautiful young lady. She made a huge effort to see us in Sacramento when she visited family in Stockton a few years ago. She emails, MySpaces, and is uniquely interested in me and my siblings.
The truth is, I have a ton of other cousins on my mom's side, but I have no idea who they are. I vaguely remember names of children who were sprung from my mom's very distant siblings.
Sometimes, when talking to my dad, I hear him talk about my cousins - and it absolutely breaks my heart. Not just because I don't know them and probably never really will, but because he knows them far better than he knows me.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
A different way to Boo
I can't believe it's almost time for Halloween. It's one of my favorite times of the year, and not just because it's a great excuse for indulging in way too many sweets. (Note: other favorite times of the year include Thanksgiving, Super Bowl Sunday, Christmas-time, and my birthday. No one gives me any shit about stuffing my face.)
When I was younger, I was always into being scared. I couldn't find a haunted house scary enough, a zombie gory enough, or a movie disturbing enough to satisfy my appetite for horror. (I'm realizing now that I've always had an insatiable appetite; be it for food or some kind of feeling.)
Luckily, one year I found a haunted house that would change my life forever, and my brother's as well.
It was like 1993 and I was a junior in high school. It rarely snows in El Paso, but this year it snowed like crazy the night that I decided to head down to the haunted house everyone was talking about. My brother loved hanging out with me and my friends, and this night was no exception. We brought him along, and headed over to a warehouse off of Gateway East. My brother was about 11 or 12.
A couple of things you should know before I start: we're Mexican, we were raised Catholic, and we believed pretty much everything our parents told us, until like, yesterday.
We waited in line (in the snow) with my friends for about 3 hours that night and were finally let in to the haunted house at about midnight. They were letting people in in groups of about 10, and the only thing we knew about the thing was that it was being put on by a non-denominational Christian church.
Yeah, I said church. How scary could it actually be?
As we walked inside, my stomach dropped. I felt like I was actually on a roller coaster, and had just reached the top of the scary drop. There was a moment where I thought about turning around, which is weird, because nothing could actually scare me when I was 17. But something felt totally wrong in the place. Maybe it was the uniformed person leading us in--I mean, why wasn't he in a costume or something? Maybe it was the fact that I realized I was actually bringing my little brother into this creepy warehouse on midnight on Halloween. I mean, haunted house or not, that's kind of scary.
Our guide lead us to an area that was segmented off, and it looked like there was a little set and some actors standing still under a barely-there glowing light. Once the group was settled, the lights brightened just enough to see the actors' faces. There was a couple on the couch, and they looked about 16 years old. They started making out, slowly at first, and then they got a little heavier.
"Wait, I don't think we should," said the girl. "My mom said it's a sin to have sex before you're married."
"If you love me, you'll do this," said her boyfriend.
They kissed some more, and before you knew it they were having sex. At least, it was implied that they were. I was totally confused. This did not feel like a haunted house. What was happening?
Our uniformed guide led the group around the corner to another scene. The girl we just saw having premarital sex was laying on a table in a doctor's office, alone. She was crying as she said, "He said he loved me..."
A tall, lanky doctor walked in to the room. He was wearing a surgical mask and didn't speak. He performed an abortion as the girl yelled and cried.
We continued through the "haunted house" and were presented with a potpourri of "sins" for the next half hour: drinking, drug use, suicide, gang-joining, and finally, Satan worshipping. This was the grand finale. We were brought right into hell, flames and all, and were witnesses to the Devil himself.
I don't remember talking, or even screaming. I just held my brother's little hand and walked through the warehouse, too afraid of what would happen if I tried to break away from the group. My friends were like statues, neither looking away or at each other.
When the torture was finally over, we were seated in a small, well-lit room and handed brochures that gave us detailed information about the church who had put on the fun. They asked us to lower our heads and pray, and as my brother and I lowered our heads, I whispered to him,"Don't pray, Ruben. Don't listen to them." Forever obedient and trusting of his older sisters, he obeyed.
I felt so proud of myself for catching them before they could brainwash us completely. I felt like I had saved my brother.
To this day, he hasn't forgotten. We laugh hysterically when we think about how crazy that was, and how much I truly believed I had stopped something horrible from happening. Like somehow, praying would have sealed the deal, and we would be destined for hell. Only Catholic prayers were real prayers, after all.
It wasn't until years later that I realized the impact my actions and words had on my brother. I didn't walk away from that experience thinking that churches were fucked up or brainwashing institutions, or that I was wrong about what a "real" prayer was, or even that I shouldn't have premarital sex. (Ahem.)
I walked away realizing that I couldn't ever take back all those things I said or did in front of my brother. They would always be something that affected the way he thought or behaved, and that I had no idea what the hell I was talking about. I mean, I still probably don't! But I had helped shape him, and that was both wonderful and horrifying.
When I was younger, I was always into being scared. I couldn't find a haunted house scary enough, a zombie gory enough, or a movie disturbing enough to satisfy my appetite for horror. (I'm realizing now that I've always had an insatiable appetite; be it for food or some kind of feeling.)
Luckily, one year I found a haunted house that would change my life forever, and my brother's as well.
It was like 1993 and I was a junior in high school. It rarely snows in El Paso, but this year it snowed like crazy the night that I decided to head down to the haunted house everyone was talking about. My brother loved hanging out with me and my friends, and this night was no exception. We brought him along, and headed over to a warehouse off of Gateway East. My brother was about 11 or 12.
A couple of things you should know before I start: we're Mexican, we were raised Catholic, and we believed pretty much everything our parents told us, until like, yesterday.
We waited in line (in the snow) with my friends for about 3 hours that night and were finally let in to the haunted house at about midnight. They were letting people in in groups of about 10, and the only thing we knew about the thing was that it was being put on by a non-denominational Christian church.
Yeah, I said church. How scary could it actually be?
As we walked inside, my stomach dropped. I felt like I was actually on a roller coaster, and had just reached the top of the scary drop. There was a moment where I thought about turning around, which is weird, because nothing could actually scare me when I was 17. But something felt totally wrong in the place. Maybe it was the uniformed person leading us in--I mean, why wasn't he in a costume or something? Maybe it was the fact that I realized I was actually bringing my little brother into this creepy warehouse on midnight on Halloween. I mean, haunted house or not, that's kind of scary.
Our guide lead us to an area that was segmented off, and it looked like there was a little set and some actors standing still under a barely-there glowing light. Once the group was settled, the lights brightened just enough to see the actors' faces. There was a couple on the couch, and they looked about 16 years old. They started making out, slowly at first, and then they got a little heavier.
"Wait, I don't think we should," said the girl. "My mom said it's a sin to have sex before you're married."
"If you love me, you'll do this," said her boyfriend.
They kissed some more, and before you knew it they were having sex. At least, it was implied that they were. I was totally confused. This did not feel like a haunted house. What was happening?
Our uniformed guide led the group around the corner to another scene. The girl we just saw having premarital sex was laying on a table in a doctor's office, alone. She was crying as she said, "He said he loved me..."
A tall, lanky doctor walked in to the room. He was wearing a surgical mask and didn't speak. He performed an abortion as the girl yelled and cried.
We continued through the "haunted house" and were presented with a potpourri of "sins" for the next half hour: drinking, drug use, suicide, gang-joining, and finally, Satan worshipping. This was the grand finale. We were brought right into hell, flames and all, and were witnesses to the Devil himself.
I don't remember talking, or even screaming. I just held my brother's little hand and walked through the warehouse, too afraid of what would happen if I tried to break away from the group. My friends were like statues, neither looking away or at each other.
When the torture was finally over, we were seated in a small, well-lit room and handed brochures that gave us detailed information about the church who had put on the fun. They asked us to lower our heads and pray, and as my brother and I lowered our heads, I whispered to him,"Don't pray, Ruben. Don't listen to them." Forever obedient and trusting of his older sisters, he obeyed.
I felt so proud of myself for catching them before they could brainwash us completely. I felt like I had saved my brother.
To this day, he hasn't forgotten. We laugh hysterically when we think about how crazy that was, and how much I truly believed I had stopped something horrible from happening. Like somehow, praying would have sealed the deal, and we would be destined for hell. Only Catholic prayers were real prayers, after all.
It wasn't until years later that I realized the impact my actions and words had on my brother. I didn't walk away from that experience thinking that churches were fucked up or brainwashing institutions, or that I was wrong about what a "real" prayer was, or even that I shouldn't have premarital sex. (Ahem.)
I walked away realizing that I couldn't ever take back all those things I said or did in front of my brother. They would always be something that affected the way he thought or behaved, and that I had no idea what the hell I was talking about. I mean, I still probably don't! But I had helped shape him, and that was both wonderful and horrifying.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Friday is for dreaming
Things to be excited about today:
1. It is Friday! That means I have 2.5 days ahead of me full of knitting, sleeping, movies and husband-ing.
2. I have the new Radiohead album. I feel like Homer Simpson with a donut. I think it's going to change my life.
3. Al Gore won the Nobel Peace Prize today. A brilliant man gets what he deserves.
4. My siblings and I are starting a small family tradition this year with a Day of the Dead party. I'm going to try and make these pins:
I'm ripping the idea off of the Blythe website, which by the way, I totally love.
1. It is Friday! That means I have 2.5 days ahead of me full of knitting, sleeping, movies and husband-ing.
2. I have the new Radiohead album. I feel like Homer Simpson with a donut. I think it's going to change my life.
3. Al Gore won the Nobel Peace Prize today. A brilliant man gets what he deserves.
4. My siblings and I are starting a small family tradition this year with a Day of the Dead party. I'm going to try and make these pins:
I'm ripping the idea off of the Blythe website, which by the way, I totally love. I'm so excited though, because we can make a beautiful altar and honor my grandparents. I have so much guilt surrounding my relationships with them, it will be nice to think about them and honor them for a night.
Plus, we'll have tamales and hot chocolate. Wut, wut!!
...
On a side note, Optimus Prime sent me a voicemail yesterday via my friend Kelly. Apparently, he fears my brother Ruben may have joined forces with Megatron. Confused? I was, too. This should clear it up, though.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Primer Dia
Welcome to my blog. Today, of course, is my first day as a blogger. Kind of intimidating, but I think it's time for me to confront my fear and embrace my narcissism.
Stay tuned.
Stay tuned.
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