Day 35 o el Dia treintacinco

Feliz Navidad a todo! For Navidad being tomorrow. I wanted to share one more villancico contigo. This song everyone knows, and a great tune! Feliz Navidad. This singer/songwriter is Puerto Rican and grew up in Spanish Harlem, redifining his talents without sight, from the 70's became famous, sharing his music in every household. Dios bendice sus familias y mucha falicidad! Enjoy this song and this miraculous season!

Feliz Navidad

Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Prospero Ano y Felicidad.

Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Prospero Ano y Felicidad.

I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
From the bottom- of my heart.

Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Prospero Ano y Felicidad.

Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Prospero Ano y Felicidad.

by Jose Feliciano

Day 28 o el Dia veinteocho

Hola y saludos! Wow! How time flies as the end of another year approaches! I am packing my things and getting ready for my flight in the morning from LAX to Boston. I think of this year as a one that has given me renewed faith, new beginnings and peace, oh such glorious peace! One can be lost out in the wilderness, be misplaced in a storm, even confused as a mysterious plot. We can all appreciate when we are found again, when things come to order, when we feel in our path, indented in our bones, that we are back again. I am happy to say, that my writing and reading have been such comfort and joy in my life recently that I am enthusiastic everytime it is that time to write or read. I was put out for so long and needed just a simple spark to ignite me again. I am happy to share, with whom ever is out there, my blog and Seeking La Otra Mitad. I would like to continue honoring this Christmas holiday and since I am flying home tomorrow, then I think this next villancicos is appropriate! Familia es todo! Feliz Navidad!

Estare' en mi casa esta Navidad

Estaré en mi casa
Esta Navidad

Tú serás la nieve y yo
El fuego de tu hogar

Con la Noche Buena
Llegará el amor

Quiero estar contigo
Al menos con el corazón
Tú serás la nieve y yo
El fuego de tu hogar

Con la Noche Buena
Llegará el amor

Quiero estar contigo
Al menos con el corazón
Estaré en mi casa
Al menos con el corazón.

Day 23 o el Dia veintetres

Just as the days of Deciembre go by quickly and each year goes by and comes faster, we have less and less time and need to occupy it efficiently. I have dedicated este mes to el espiritu de la Navidad in my soul searching. I watched a classic cartoon last night that sung Holy Night in english and knew there was one in espanol. It got my mind starving. I had a craving and the light bulb went off in the closet! Aha! I will choose spanish songs de la Navidad and learn them and start to translate some of the words. This is another great way to add to my project. I was embarassed to find out I had never heard of Noche de Paz before in spanish, and of course coming from an english speaking dominated world, I would have to discover and enjoy on my own. I am like a snow globe of Puerto Rico, all room temperature inside, and shooken up when I hear these villancicos! I get warm like a roasted chestnut and toasty as if I was cuddled up next to a warm fireplace. Ok so tonight I shall leave you with Noche de Paz..enjoy y buenas noches!

Noche de Paz

Noche de paz, noche de amor,
Todo duerme en derredor.
Entre los astros que esparcen su luz
Bella anunciando al niñito Jesús
Brilla la estrella de paz
Brilla la estrella de paz.

Noche de paz, noche de amor,
Todo duerme en derredor
Sólo velan en la oscuridad
Los pastores que en el campo están;
Y la estrella de Belén
Y la estrella de Belén.

Noche de paz, noche de amor,
Todo duerme en derredor;
sobre el santo niño Jesús
Una estrella esparce su luz,
Brilla sobre el Rey
Brilla sobre el Rey.

Noche de paz, noche de amor,
Todo duerme en derredor
Fieles velando allí en Belén
Los pastores, la madre también.
Y la estrella de paz
Y la estrella de paz.

Day 20 o el Dia veinte

It is day 20 that I am keeping record of Seeking La Otra Mitad. I have to say that I am excited more and more everyday as a spring monkey swinging branch to branch in El Yunque Rainforest. This blog is helping me apply myself in getting intouch with my roots, wanting it, learning it more. Finding facts, learning words, discovering things I hadn't known before and sharing bits and pieces of my rememberance growing up. I am a bit behind though, busy schedule and having a life too..but I am on the examen of the 5 chapters I have studied in the Living Language book. And I find myself applying what I have learned when I am out in the world, around my latino freinds, stores or hearing conversations in espanol in the streets. Iv'e learned two songs in spanish and can sing them effectively. I have not the complete pieces yet to put sentences together or started to speak with mis amigos yet, since they know me speaking only a handful of words with them. I plan to take a notebook and role play with mis amigos still. Finding time is as careful as selecting a ripe platano. It has to be just right. I did speak with mi tia tonight and I shared my newfound excitement about not losing touch with my roots. She described a painting of a beautiful woman. Her body was curvaceous and her bottom were roots. One root showed a woman of African decent, the other a European, Spaniard with blue eyes and then the Taino woman. All these women made a beautiful woman all in one. And when you think about it, alot of races are mixed. It is what we identify with. What we feel. How we are. Our tones and manneririsms. Our way of thinking, our interests. It's a beautiful thing, embracing what we are made of.
It was raining cats and dogs today here in L.A. I thought of Puerto Rico. Back to the time when I had visited the island with a boyfreind at the time, How moist and how sweet the air was. How the earth and palm leaves threw an island aroma in the air. Of that time I had once visited the island in one summery September when a tropical storm hit and we lost power and water. How exciting it was to wash myself with a bucket of water and to see through the dark by candlelight. It was like truly being back in the day on a farm. We ate by candle light out side with the roosters pecking and heckling by our feet and watching trees move by invisible creatures and settling softly in peace. Enjoying the melodies and tunes played by the nocturnal musicians of the island. Listening, smiling, allowing time to drift and float...

Day 16 o el Dia dieciseis

The cardboard picture book lay held by strong aged hands. Mi abuela was teaching mi gamela y yo el alfabeto en espanol. We were about 5. It's funny how little you can be with a mind to store certain times in your young life, certain events. Like storage, it is never ruined or gone unless the building that holds the stuff is knocked down or destroyed, or someone steals it. That moment, I remember hearing the insistent voice of abuela reading aloud as if she were commanding a small army.
"Say it with me now...ah..bey..cey..che.."
Mi gamela and I were so shy, we could not speak nor follow. She pried us till we spoke up. She was a school teacher by profession and knew how to get children to listen and follow.
"ah..mira, este es una manzana. Say it man-zan-a. ah.."
She continued through the picture book till it was time she believed we had learned enough for the day. She was always insistent and felt her on duty to be with us was top priority. So much so, she wanted to raise us herself.
"Oh no, those are mi hijo's kids. I can do much better raising them." she onced mentioned.
My mom, at first thought it fair to have our abuela in our life, along with our papi and his side of the family, but as time went on, with things unfolding for the worse, she thought it best to leave them all behind.
"Let me see their stomachs."
"Ay Dios Mio, they are eating too much."
"Open. Let me see your mouths."
She became an overprotective counterpart in which my mom wanted no part of.
"Those are my kids. Not yours."
They would have talk after talk of this continuing control.
"I'm bringing them to church. They'll need their coats. I don't want them to catch a cold because the church can be a little cold."
It was summer! My mom, at that time, leaned and gave in. Abuela took us to her home and made breakfast. I remember it being a strange combination of lemon and oatmeal and something else, I can't recall, but mi gamela and I were nautious after.
"Is not true ninas. Esta bien. Ok hurry, put your coats on. we don't want to be late."
Recollecting the dimly lit church with maroon walls and cherry oak seats where we sat and stood as the choir sang hymns, we were given little strawberry hard candies and sat quiet. We were almost too timid, and felt like little crabs retreating in our shells. It was warm in the church. She insisted we keep our coats on. Winter coats mind you! By the time we got out, our faces were starting to look pastel, changing with various shades. She paid no mind to it and drove us home safely to my mom's. My mom opened the car door, relieved that her kids were home. A small fountain of whitish mix came out of me like I had been punched in the stomach. We had fevers and we were sweating like trapped pigs. Furious wasn't the word as she swung each of her kids up, she marched away with one under each arm and hip. Abuela was trying, she demanded it was not her fault. My mom and her had different opinions on raising kids and never got along. After she decided to end it completely with my pa, so did she the family. Mi gamela and I would not reep ties with our Boricua family again till our late teenage years, where it was time for us, as young adults to decide for ourselves. I don't blame my mom. She was our mother and wanted the best life for us and could not reconcile a truce with our abuela or any of my Boricua family because of her knowledge of truth. She saw it, and when it was no good and felt it was a hazard for her kids, she didn't want no part of it. Her mind was made up and was stubborn and stuck to it. Now I have learned that both sides were stubborn and if really coming to a halfway point, there could have been a truce, but My mom saw the bad and stuck to her decision. I love the way I was raised and the complete enjoyment of my mom, but I knew for our sake, she had to protect her kids. Over time there was something missing. And we later found our way back to our Boricua roots again. We got to know each other again and saw the past was the past and old things good and bad could be polished and made new again. It was meant to be this way. All about responsibilities and who could handle them, clearly my mom was right. Now mi papi and I have a good communicative relationship because we our adults. We email and we send cards and we talk once in a while, since he lives in another state. My mom has softend the bend to the cast iron hold she once had. My papi was trying to be apart of our lives, he had before but it was within our own time that we could see for ourselves what this man was about. Not talking to my Boricua family, my mom remains as a cowboy in the range, sticking to her guns, staying in her territory. My abuela and my Boricua family never understood why such a grudge. Oh well, some things never change..
Now back to learning espanol..

Day 15 o El Dia Quince

She is Born

She is a Kapok tree uprooted.
fruits and nuts lie homeless, accessible
wrapped in palm leaves and elm,
she is sewn together.
coconut milk resides within,
slowly sinking it's way into the orange sands
of Maunabo
A sun setting off the Atlantic
but wakens with the roosters' call.
Seeds whisked from the winds of Rio Piedras
land on American shores.
Her heart hues with brillance of a Maga flower,
opening happily to the sounds of coquis.
Nights of salsa and mirangue move her body
As a meal,
she is of pan and white bread
of arroz and pasta
a basket mixed of Golden Sweet Apples and Rhubarb
Of Canepas and Guayabas
a beverage of coquito and egg nog.
In luminous air,
a colorful Taino rainbow mist by the rain
American Pie
Puerto Rican Pride
Dry soil
Born
Her branches want to reach free
to further see
replant her roots
in moist soil
and refine her glee
She is
Born again..


by
Amber L.
copywritten 2009

Day 13 o el Dia trece

The phone rang. It was Margarita.
"Hey nena, what's up?"
She told me she was going to a dance gig for a cumbia band and they needed another dancer. I was down. When we arrived it was a Salvodorean restaurant. We made our way to the stage with eyes glancing and gazing. It was not what we particularly had in mind. Our black mini skirts swayed as we walked by tables. A hint of shyness was there and a provocative sway was missing. It was a 21 year old's party with family and young kids around. We were being watched with awareness and jealous eyes. We didn't want to seem like divas, so we became sweet and careful. The aroma in the air was familiar. The people were familiar and I was remembering pockets of my past where I hung out with my boricua freinds at the mom and pop shops. At the barber shops, at the dances, at the Spanish clubs. It was all familiar. Four years of living in Los Angeles from the east coast, I felt out of place, I felt lost. My freind Margarita was from Guatemala with a hard knocks attitude that was familiar. She was the closest thing to my freinds from the east coast and she made me feel comfotable and fit in. I missed the east coast, I missed the Puerto Rican culture and I felt myself ask, where are all the boricuas at. I wished I had met a few, I wished there were more out here, but there are, I just haven't looked in the right places.
So Margarita and I started are performance and the singer sang covers as we sasheyd our hips and legs and motioned our arms fluidly. My confidence shined and I felt Puerto Rican again.
"Suavemente, besame.."
by this time my face was covered in sweat like an icy vail and my heart was beating faster than the conga drums in the songs. I used my cintura and muevete'd my hips and shook my body as if I were a maraca. My curly hair tossed as I turned and cumbia'd my way to and from in my tight circle. He sang to me, he sang to her, he invited family members to join on stage to dance. Latinos have this joy when la musica latina of cumbia, salsa, mirengue or tropicala is performed. They always smile as if someone just told a joke and the joy inside of them shows like a happy lantern on a summer night. I was home. At least inside.
Different family members came and went off the stage and when it was intermission, they sang happy birthday.
"Cumpleanos feliz! Cumpleanos feliz!..."
I had learned how easy it was to listen to the song and how easy the words sounded. I could now sing happy birthday. I was listening. I was grasping the words. I thought about it. And before, in the past I would just let the spanish get in my head like a muffled ear piece, ignoring the inclination, pronunciation of each word. It was just clutter when I heard it. And if I had only payed attention to the spanish, I probably would have had a better time with it. Now, since writing my blog, everyday shares a new experience. This blog helps me pay attention. It makes me curious enough to learn, to find out what this meant or what that meant in espanol. To discover something new everyday of being Puerto Rican, finding excitement in a latin culture.
"Buenas noches, gracias por todo, cuidate."
That's about all I could say in espanol as we left the restaurant. I thanked Margarita for the gig and that we should go to more latin places. That she new me as mixed, as half, as white but I shared with her my passion for being Puerto Rican too and that I wanted to role play with her and start gaining the confidence to speak spanish. She is the closest of my homegirls who is latina and has a comfortableness that I could be myself around her and feel accepted as Puerto Rican. Yet inside I know she knows me as half and I understand. It is hard for latinos to accept someone as a whole when they don't even speak spanish or speak some. I was trying and am. I shared my story of my blog of Seeking La Otra Mitad and she smiled and went on talking, going on as if we were on a walk, stepping past something that was left there. But I was serious and we went on talking, I drove and the night was behind us as the conversation was about Seeking La Otra Mitad.