Perdida en San Juan

A theme that has continually surfaced in literature classes of mine is that of placelessness. It’s easy to feel in the obvious places: Denny’s (in LA?), in bus stations, airports, the cupones office. Where the marginalized are: hospitals, prisons, nursing homes. Sterility. It’s to be expected and it’s (generally) easy to escape from such places, at least physically.

But what happens when the placelessness is an entire island, that’s never been independent, and can’t easily be classified as either the US or Latin America? The placelessness is palpable: we float in the Caribbean. It’s both a mental and physical state. No man is an island, but an island is an island. The US grants “free state” status to the island which is such a crazy unique relationship that it has no real equal that I can think of. Nor is Puerto Rico part of Latin America, though because of its Spanish-speaking nature, the work of PR authors is found in LA lit classes. There is something distinctly American about the way people consume material goods here but unmistakably Latin American in its strong traditional values. Puerto Ricans don’t vote in United States elections, yet are found in large numbers in the Armed Forces. They hold US passports and can’t travel to Cuba, but don’t pay many US taxes and have their own flag. I send letters from a United States Post Office and can be reached at a US area code (787), but we celebrate the discovery of Puerto Rico as “national” holiday (Oct 12, its a Thursday and I have off from work).

I’ve been spending the past few weeks searching for grants. Countless programs are open only to “the 50 states and the District of Columbia,” thus excluding this island. On the other hand, I have not yet seen one program include Puerto Rico that purports to be open to the Caribbean. Latin American grants don’t even pretend to include Central America or the Caribbean and instead skip right to the fashionable Brasil, Argentina, Chile and sometimes, when feeling generous, Peru. There is exactly one foundation whose express purpose is fund Puerto Rican initiatives, and already it is spread so thin that its barely worth applying for. One grant that would be perfect for my organization and for which we are, I am convinced, more qualified for than any other program in the world, is open just to the States. This might seem fair until you consider my organization is registered as a 501(c)(3) nonprofit with the IRS.

It would be unfair to say that nobody seems to mind this. But the vast majority of the population here, it seems to me, doesn’t think a whole lot about it. Sure, there’s the fiercely independentista party (PIP) the awesome weekly nationalist paper (Claridad), and there seems to be a strong progressive, independentist presence at the UPR but I have actively sought out these groups. I work at a small, costly private university where nobody gives a fuck about anything at all. There are no student groups and it took the initiative of an American girl (my roommate) to start a recycling program on campus.

As the secretary in my office said, she believes that in their heart, every Puerto Rican wants independence. So why doesn’t anyone do anything about it? The placelessness is such a part of the place that without it, something would be lost. In gaining a concrete identity, real autonomy, the island might actually be further isolated. The PIP argues that PR doesn’t have a strong enough presence in international affairs and aren’t represented in the international arena. They’re right of course, and who cares if PR sends their own candidate for Miss Universe? That kind of thing, that brings national pride and support here, boils down to basically nothing.

Real independence is something that is so distant that it doesn’t seem possible or even desirable to the vast majority of Puerto Ricans. It might be an issue of confidence. Whereas the United States has this crazy ego problem, I might argue that this island has a inferiority complex. The arguments are familiar: PR couldn’t do it without the US’s help, the economy would collapse, we don’t export enough, there is no money. And this all seems logical and reasonable, and true that it would take years of careful planning to successfully declare independence. But it’s certainly possible. Think about all the tiny countries in the world that handle their own affairs quietly and without crisis. Especially since local and island-wide government function well enough (albeit with a high degree of corruption), PR is well-versed in handling internal affairs such as reasonably-priced public insurance programs (on a sliding scale) and extremely low costs for higher education, wide access to social programs and infrastructure development (one of the nicest train systems I’ve ever seen, but I should look into this, it may be US-funded).

As it was put to me at my orientation in my first week here, the PIP (independentistas) are “more of a movement than a party.” But why? A few years ago there was an island-wide vote on the issue of becoming a US state. It was defeated (as it would have been swiftly if it ever managed to reach Congress). Some say its because PR enjoys the loose, very beneficial association with the US and in some ways you can’t blame them. So the majority of Puerto Ricans choose not to be actively, unequivocally part of the US, but are content to be a possession. What?? Comments, please.

Yes, the name of a Le Tigre album (and the title track happens to be my favorite LT song) but I’m not talking about NYC.  This island, my island, is that of the very crowded land mass about three times the size of Rhode Island.  It’s tiny.  And it holds about four million people, all of whom seem to own a car to contribute to daily tapon.  They also all go to the grocery store at the exact same time, making lines unbelievably slow-moving, and they all seem to want to eat at the tiny ass cafeteria at Sagrado Corazon at exactly the same time that I do on a daily basis.

But I don’t mind.  I like Puerto Rico.  It’s such a unique place that the overcrowing can’t bother me.  Everyone knows everyone in this city.  I know maybe ten people here and I saw one of them at a bar on Saturday night.  My living situation (for now) is wonderful and I won’t complain, not even about the cockroaches that share my kitchen.

Tonight was Andrea’s birthday.   Tara made her a raw cake that was pretty tasty.  I drank a bottle of wine and stared off the balcony.  Watched Chazulle’s movies.  I do have the coolest boss, if only she wasn’t my boss.  She’s 4′11″ and weighs 96 lbs.  And I’m terrified of her.
No fotos today.  My camera is held together by a piece of tape at the moment and the smallest disruption might send it over the edge into fully-broken mode.  Tomorrow: Tuesday.  After that, Wednesday.  Thursday, Friday, weekend!! Then it starts again.  So this is the daily grind, huh?  It’s good and bad.

Sorry for the incoherence and lack of anything even remotely worthwhile in this post.  Just an update cause I’ve been absent.  I’ll write more soon and it might be interesting.  I wanna know about YOU.

Labor Day.  A day off already.  I’ll take it.  Even though it was a day off, the secretary from work insisted on taking me around the city and showing me various things.  I wasn’t really looking forward to it, as I mostly wanted to lay around and take a walk around Old San Juan.  But we met up and it turned out to be a really fun adventure.

First we went around to her meditation and yoga centers which was cool.  I’m into yoga for sure but meditation is not really my thing. Too impatient. Then we went down to Rio Piedras where the UPR is and that was very very cool.  Lots of used book stores and vegetarian restaurants and all.  Well, lots may be an exaggeration.  Compared to the San Juan I’ve seen so far it’s pretty magnificent, and it made me happy.  I will definitely be back to the bookstores and to the UPR. There is a big indoor market there that sells a lot of vegetables and miscellanous, which is good to know about.  We were eating lunch and talking and she started asking about my friends, parents and general life at home.  “Don’t you miss them?  Aren’t you lonely?” and I burst into tears.  This is not one of my finer moments.  I got it under control quickly but I am very embarrassed. She was really nice about it, saying she’ll be my friend and etc etc.

After we got over my little episode we decided to stop by the party for Zuleyka, also known as this year’s Miss Universe.  The party turned out to be a huge free concert, complete with J Lo, Chayanne and countless Reggaeton guys.  I didn’t know any of them, but many young female fans seemed to be pretty interested. It was fun.  Everyone waving Puerto Rican flags and doing a chant akin to our “We are Penn State” bit:  “Yo soy boricua!” answered by “pa’ que tu lo sepas!” (“I’m Puerto Rican,” answered by “just so you know it!” or something along those lines).

I was standing there, watching a couple of thousand Puerto Ricans party (which really is what they do best; Puerto Rico has the most national holidays/days off of any place in the world), thinking again how lucky I am. The concert was really fun and cool and maybe nothing terribly special for people in the audience.  But for me, to be part of another culture and its icons was amazing.  I drank a pina colada.  It poured like hell but I didn’t care. Here’s a picture, which does the scene no justice whatsoever.

So I had a pretty solid day.  Leaving awful Starbucks now to wander around Viejo San Juan.  Nos vemos.  Before I go, some pics off of my balcony last night as the sun was nearly gone.

They’re everywhere. Mosquitos are inescapable and I thought that with my move to Old San Juan I might at least be able to sleep without them, but I was wrong. It’s okay. I’m getting used to them and I talked with Andrea, who has been here a year, and she assured me that at all times she has at least 20 bites, which is where my average is hovering right about now. They’re only really unbearable if they’re on a finger or toe.

Hipsters swarm in a manner similar to the mosquitoes. I had almost allowed myself to believe that San Juan was devoid of hipsters. Then I went out last night in my new neighborhood and discovered how wrong I was. I went to a drum circle in a plaza last night that Stephanie was playing in. Drums, dancing and wine. Some guy nobody knew came by and gave us a free pizza and hung out for hours. Latin Americans living in PR for whatever reason. After the circle broke up and the last of the maria was smoked, we went to a pretty cool bar. Live reggae and cheapish drinks. It was very fun and there were very interesting people but I was kind of annoyed by it too. Can’t say why. Maybe because although it was fun and interesting and in a way something new for me, it is not really new at all. Hipster bars are lit with blue lights everywhere and after awhile the people seem empty and put together. Also although I was there and laughing and drinking and talking to boricuas al igual que mis gringas, I didn’t really feel part of the scene. Maybe I just need some time to get back into it, or maybe I’m over it or maybe it was never me at all. A few blocks away is La Perla, the poorest community in the metro area. And I was sipping vodka tonics discussing the Burning Man Festival with some boricua guy.

I am trying hard to be happy here and be social and meet people and do things. And so far so good, I can’t complain that after only being here two weeks I am going to bars and drum circles and the organic market. But at the same time I have a feel of discontent, like something (someone?) is missing. I really am alone here, though I know people they don’t really know me. I know I know, give it time, and I will. And I really am sure that I will be comfortable and settled here and might stay an extra year. This total starting over is just tougher than I thought. I was talking to an expat (can we say that in PR?) and she was saying that all she ever does is start over. She does sustainble coffee work and in the past 5 years has lived in Nicaragua, El Salvador, Ecuador and Puerto Rico. Off to Venezuela for a few weeks then to Portland. So it must get easier. I miss college. I miss my native language. I miss Indian food. I miss Webster’s. I miss miss miss.

I can’t complain about my living conditions for this month. Swanky. Here are some photos.

My roof. A restaurant might be opening up here. It’s got the best view in the city, I’m convinced.

Castillo de San Cristobal, a few meters from my apartment.

View from my front porch, looking over Old San Juan and the ocean.

The building I’m living in. Top floor.

I am considering not living with Stephanie in the ghetto of Miramar where its either be inside at 7 p.m. or take taxis everywhere. I can’t afford taxis and she’s been robbed at gunpoint and there are drive bys in my neighborhood. I am going to spend the next few weeks trying to find a place in Old San Juan because I could go out whenever with very little concern for my safety. Also in Miramar there is nothing at all within walking distance, except a 7-11 where someone was stabbed recently. In Old San Juan there a million bars and restaurants and people in the street.

That said I really wanted to live outside of my comfort level and experience something new. Not take the easy way out of bars and restaurants and whatever. I could live in the nice neighborhood of any city and eat international food every night and drink cubalibres and hang out in a nice bookstore. In Miramar, its real life and a new experience. It is tempting to want to live in the nicest part of the city, but I might not be able to afford it. Rent is $245 in Miramar and the cheapest thing I’ve found here is $450 or so, and that’s definitely the lower end of realty. I looked at a place today for that price which I would have to share with an ancient old man who chain smoked. In Miramar I’m living with a gringa and a boricua in a nice apartment, just situated sort of poorly. Hate making decisions. Indecision.

Help me figure out my life.

Organizaciones sin fines de lucro. Also known as nonprofit organizations. This is all I think about all day every day. How to improve them. Their needs. Their utility. The master’s program at SH designed around them. Their future. Their lack of resources. Fundraising, self-sustainability and volunteer recruitment.

Work is work. I get up early and wait, sweating, for the bus for a long time. I either get there too early or too late. While there, I attend countless meetings. I got to work at 8:15 this morning and didn’t leave until 6:00 because we sat in on a class this afternoon that’s doing a linkage project. The website for my office is : www.sagrado.edu/vinculacion. Someday my picture will be on there, but as of now they’re still pretending last year’s guy is still around, who they looooooved sooooo much. All I ever hear is how wonderful he was and they often quote him in his perfect Spanish. They told me one quote of his that he tried to pawn off as an original. They bought it but I recognized it! The one about teaching someone to fish instead of just handing them a fish.

I want to make it clear that I still think I don’t much like my job but am beginning to see its relevance. I will never enjoy making charts to track quarterly progress, nor do I think I’ll ever be able to stay awake during one of the budget meetings, but I do like going to classes and talking about the actual community work. I think that’s my big problem with this job: I am providing indirect, rather than direct, service. The class we went to today is a pre-med class and the topic is designing health programs. Their community project deals with a contaminated body of water in a poor neighborhood (the one I work in, actually). We showed them a video of kids running around in 6 inches of contaminated water barefoot. The class was all men and they were very receptive, and someone even made a comment saying he was excited to get started. And so when we visit classes (which is only for the next week), it is very satisfying to see people get interested in relating their linkage projects to their studies. And in cases like pre-med, it is very relevant and real results can happen.

My office (Centro de Vinculacion Comunitaria) has designed three levels of service. The first level, intended mostly for first-year students, is simply identifying a community problem related to their field of study. For example, a psychology student might recognize the homeless population’s propensity for mental health problems and lack of resources to treat them. The second level goes only one step further and the student conducts research into the problem and presents it to the class. An example of this could be a journalism student who notices that the big daily papers in San Juan are all fairly fluffy and hardly ever cover important hard news and could present his/her findings over a few months of monitoring the city’s three big papers. The third level (and in my opinion, the only really useful one) is direct service. So this pre-med class deals with the health side of the contaminated water, but a Bio class might spend the semester designing a plan to clean it up.

I know that all levels are important, but letting first-year students get away with just identifying a problem seems ridculous. I think everyone should be thrown into the community, which is poor and dirty and dangerous and let these kids, who attend an expensive private institution, see what its like if they don’t know. And it’s possible that some don’t, as Chazulle tells me students at my university are fairly classist.

I am frustrated that for now I am stuck doing office and administrative work. I have to imagine this will change. Like I mentioned, I have big projects such as designing programs basically by myself. Volunteer program, financial self-sustainability plan and “student impact activities.” I am scared of it. I know that if I try hard and give it my all, it will be fine. Part of me just feels so stifled sitting in a freezing cold office all day staring at a computer screen. I can’t focus. Long days. Around 3:00 I get very, very ready to leave and still have 2.5 more hours. I can’t complain though, because my boss comes in at 7:00 every morning and is there long after I leave.

Yesterday my favorite pair of shoes broke (for those of you familiar with my modest footwear collection: the blue Birkenstock sandals, I know I am a lame wannabe hippie, but they were comfortable). Everyone at the office treated this as an enormous disaster and the troops were quickly mobilized. I was immediately driven, along with everyone who works in my office, to the place I’m staying to change my shoes. It was storming like hell and we got lost and at one point were facing the wrong way on the highway. Then I was promised Mexican food, words like “guacamole” and “enchiladas” were being thrown around and I allowed myself to get hungry and excited. Then we pulled into the Taco Bell drivethru and you can imagine my disappointment.

Point is, I may not love the daily grind but I work with very kind and well-intentioned people. They do important work and for better or worse, they make work their lives. Enid is my favorite. A very kind Puerto Rican woman, she is our secretary and recently converted to Hinduism. She has a very … strong belief in spirituality and does a lot of meditating. I like her. She burns incense in our office, which makes the others cough and shoot her dirty looks but I smile and ask what scent it is. On Monday (feriado!!! Labor Day) she is going to take me around the city to places of interest.
But the others are wonderful, too. Belinda, the girl my age, is funny and very kind. I am lucky that she is patient with my lousy Spanish and unfamiliarity with absolutely everything. I ask her ridiculous questions and she is exceedingly accomodating. I think I am lucky that she is a missionary because she probably is obligated by Christianity to help her neighbor, who in this case is the gringa at the computer next to her. She is also very funny and I wish I could fully understand what she’s saying to get her sense of humor. She was eating a donut or something yesterday and indicated to her appendix. I was confused. She said that since appendices (!!) don’t have any known use, hers is used to absorb extra sweets. I laughed a lot. She’ll be partner on some projects throughout the year too so I am glad we are getting along. She is very patient as I struggle through telling stories and today when I circled the date when Ben gets here in November, she hung it up over my desk. That’s cool.

And then there’s Chazulle. I love love love that she goes by her last name and today it got better when she signed an email “Chazz.” She’s hardcore. She puts any kind of “activism” I ever thought I took part in to shame. She’s gets on city buses and yells profanities about Israel. She wears a stone washed jean jacket with high heels. She got into a fight with a guy in one the classes we visited (the guy identified his idea of a social problem: “It’s single women’s faults that their kids don’t get enough attention.”) Google her and its all stuff she’s written for indymedia. She is the assistant producer of this film. She’s a tough boss and is very much a perfectionist. She has high standards. I am afraid of her, but admire her immensely.

On Saturday I move into my swanky pad in Viejo San Juan that overlooks the ocean. I can’t wait to post pictures of this place. No other word than swanky. Only one month there then back to Miramar. I’ll be there indefinitely, unless I hate it.

A few pictures (I finally figured out how to make them linked, so click to enlarge):

My desk, which couldn’t have any less character.

Zorrita and I. Quit tryin to look up my skirt.

Organizaciones sin fines de lucro. This is all I think about all day every day. How to improve them. Their needs. Their utility. The master’s program at SH designed around them. Their future. Their lack of resources. Fundraising, self-sustainability and volunteer recruitment.

Work is work. I get up early and wait, sweating, for the bus for a long time. I either get there too early or too late. While there, I attend countless meetings. I got to work at 8:15 this morning and didn’t leave until 6:00 because we sat in on a class this afternoon that’s doing a linkage project. The website for my office is : www.sagrado.edu/vinculacion. Someday my picture will be on there, but as of now they’re still pretending last year’s guy is still around, who they looooooved sooooo much. All I ever hear is how wonderful he was and they often quote him in his perfect Spanish. They told me one quote of his that he tried to pawn off as an original. They bought it but I recognized it! The one about teaching someone to fish instead of just handing them a fish.

I want to make it clear that I still think I hate my job but am beginning to see its relevance. I will never enjoy making charts to track quarterly progress, nor do I think I’ll ever be able to stay awake during one of the budget meetings, but I do like going to classes and talking about the actual community work. I think that’s my big problem with this job: I am providing indirect, rather than direct, service. The class we went to today is a pre-med class and the topic is designing health programs. Their community project deals with a contaminated body of water in a poor neighborhood (the one I work in, actually). We showed them a video of kids running around in 6 inches of contaminated water barefoot. The class was all men and they were very receptive, and someone even made a comment saying he was excited to get started. And so when we visit classes (which is only for the next week), it is very satisfying to see people get interested in relating their linkage projects to their studies. And in cases like pre-med, it is very relevant and real results can happen.

My office (Centro de Vinculacion Comunitaria) has designed three levels of service. The first level, intended mostly for first-year students, is simply identifying a community problem related to their field of study. For example, a psychology student might recognize the homeless population’s propensity for mental health problems and lack of resources to treat them. The second level goes only one step further and the student conducts research into the problem and presents it to the class. An example of this could be a journalism student who notices that the big daily papers in San Juan are all fairly fluffy and hardly ever cover important hard news and could present his/her findings over a few months of monitoring the city’s three big papers. The third level (and in my opinion, the only really useful one) is direct service. So this pre-med class deals with the health side of the contaminated water, but a Bio class might spend the semester designing a plan to clean it up.

I know that all levels are important, but letting first-year students get away with just identifying a problem seems ridculous. I think everyone should be thrown into the community, which is poor and dirty and dangerous and let these kids, who attend an expensive private institution, see what its like if they don’t know. And it’s possible that some don’t, as Chazulle tells me students at my university are fairly classist.

I am frustrated that for now I am stuck doing office and administrative work. I have to imagine this will change. Like I mentioned, I have big projects such as designing programs basically by myself. Volunteer program, financial self-sustainability plan and “student impact activities.” I am scared of it. I know that if I try hard and give it my all, it will be fine. Part of me just feels so stifled sitting in a freezing cold office all day staring at a computer screen. I can’t focus. Long days. Around 3:00 I get very, very ready to leave and still have 2.5 more hours. I can’t complain though, because my boss comes in at 7:00 every morning and is there long after I leave.

Yesterday my favorite pair of shoes broke (for those of you familiar with my modest footwear collection: the blue Birkenstock sandals, I know I am a lame wannabe hippie, but they were comfortable). Everyone at the office treated this as an enormous disaster and the troops were quickly mobilized. I was immediately driven, along with everyone who works in my office, to the place I’m staying to change my shoes. It was storming like hell and we got lost and at one point were facing the wrong way on the highway. Then I was promised Mexican food, words like “guacamole” and “enchiladas” were being thrown around and I allowed myself to get hungry and excited. Then we pulled into the Taco Bell drivethru and you can imagine my disappointment.

Point is, I may not love the daily grind but I work with very kind and well-intentioned people. They do important work and for better or worse, they make work their lives. Enid is my favorite. A very kind Puerto Rican woman, she is our secretary and recently converted to Hinduism. She has a very … strong belief in spirituality and does a lot of meditating. I like her. She burns incense in our office, which makes the others cough and shoot her dirty looks but I smile and ask what scent it is. On Monday (feriado!!! Labor Day) she is going to take me around the city to her meditation centers and other places of interest.

But the others are wonderful, too. Belinda, the girl my age, is funny and very kind. I am lucky that she is patient with my lousy Spanish and unfamiliarity with absolutely everything. I ask her ridiculous questions and she is exceedingly accomodating. I think I am lucky that she is a missionary because she probably is obligated by Christianity to help her neighbor, who in this case is the gringa at the computer next to her. She is also very funny and I wish I could fully understand what she’s saying to get her sense of humor. She was eating a donut or something yesterday and indicated to her appendix. I was confused. She said that since appendices (!!) don’t have any known use, hers is used to absorb extra sweets. I laughed a lot. She’ll be partner on some projects throughout the year too so I am glad we are getting along. She is very patient as I struggle through telling stories and today when I circled the date when Ben gets here in November, she hung it up over my desk. That’s cool.

And then there’s Chazulle. I love love love that she goes by her last name and today it got better when she signed an email “Chazz.” She’s hardcore. She puts any kind of “activism” I ever thought I took part in to shame. She’s gets on city buses and yells profanities about Israel. She wears a stone washed jean jacket with high heels. She got into a fight with a guy in one the classes we visited (the guy identified his idea of a social problem: “It’s single women’s faults that their kids don’t get enough attention.”) Google her and its all stuff she’s written for indymedia. She is the assistant producer of this film. She’s a tough boss and is very much a perfectionist. She has high standards. I am afraid of her, but admire her immensely.

On Saturday I move into my swanky pad in Viejo San Juan that overlooks the ocean. I can’t wait to post pictures of this place. No other word than swanky. Only one month there then back to Miramar. I’ll be there indefinitely, unless I hate it.

A few pictures (I finally figured out how to make them linked, so click to enlarge):

My desk, which couldn’t have any less character.

Zorrita and I. Quit tryin to look up my skirt.