A random act of kindness

In typical bumper-to-bumper Miami traffic, I sat in my car on the morning of Christmas Eve and stared at the never-changing red light.

To my right, road-ragers frantically honked at each other. A lady angrily waved her hands to the driver in front of her. I inserted captions to her moving lips. "Move it!" I imagined her saying. "These gifts aren’t gonna wrap themselves!"
To my left, a middle-aged man approached cars with a box of candy. He held it up to drivers, hoping someone –anyone– had a sweet tooth and spare change. His presence was obvious, but not one person paid mind.
I searched my wallet for a couple dollar bills; all I found were maxed out credit cards, old receipts and lint.
The disheveled man saw me searching and stopped at my shut window.
"I have no cash," I told him in slow motion so he could read my lips.
"Open," he said. After a moment of hesitation, I rolled open my window.
"Pull out your hand," he requested, smirking.

Placing a bag of M&M’s on my palm, he wished me a merry Christmas and thanked me for trying, then walked away.
Through my side view mirror, I watched him continue his unsuccessful attempts to sell candy.
A day in his shoes would make me bitter, sad and angry at the world - of that I’m sure. Yet this man appeared to be none of those things. Though he was in need, he chose to give. I smiled.
And then, in the midst of my happy realization – Honk!
A driver in my lane felt the need to remind me the light had turned green a mere second ago. I sighed.
Christmas has passed, but the holidays aren’t over. Let’s remember to be a little light of heart, a little giving, and a lot more kind this season, even if we may often feel like we can’t.
Actually, let’s remember to be those things year-round. Add them to your New Year’s resolution list if necessary.
Kindness doesn’t have to mean dedicating a week to community service. Sometimes, it can mean wishing a person a good day, or perhaps holding back on honking your horn.
And giving doesn’t always mean a big wrapped box with a bow. Most of the time, a simple act of goodness -or a small bag of candy- can do the job as well.

Abortion is a right, and should always be

It was around this same time of year back in 2004. I sat at my desk, nervously waiting for my teacher to call my name.
This wasn't like my other boring high school classes; this was debate.
And I was an arrogant 16-year-old sophomore who thought she was the smartest kid around. But in this class, I was surrounded by older upperclassmen, and truth be told, I was scared.
The topic assigned to me  was abortion. Before then, I knew very little of the subject. That day I considered myself a genius on it.
Ms. Keefe told me I'd be pro-life. She didn't let her students pick their subject or what side of the issue they would debate; she thought it'd be funner that way. Perhaps it was funner to her, but certainly not to me - especially this time.
She called my name. My shaking hands grabbed the papers on my desk and I walked to the front of the class. My opponent was waiting for me.
I was nervous, but ready. I'd spent days and nights researching why I should be pro-life. Why wouldn't I be? Thinking abortion is okay is thinking murder is okay. Not much else to it. "I'll win this debate in no time," I thought.
I thought wrong.
I was first to say my thoughts, and they were as vague as can be.
Abortion is the taking of a person's life, and that is murder, I said. Murder is a crime, which makes abortion a crime as well. And I was done.
My opponent shot back. I stared at her with a deer-in-headlights stare. I was completely speechless.
Needless to say, I lost my fight. I had failed to say why abortion should be illegal. Mostly, it was because I failed to understand why it should be. I'd been shut up in my argument, so I went home and conducted a true research on abortion. Here's what I learned (and I'll try to put these facts in layman's terms):

Abortion is not murder. By definition, murder is the killing of a person.
A fetus is not a person. It is a fetus. And the word "fetus," as said in Roe v. Wade, "does not include the unborn." Whether it has a heart beat, a brain or all ten fingers, it is not, by law, a person until alive and out of the womb. This definition is the one that matters.
Theologically, philosophically and religiously, you may define a person differently.
Fact is, we cannot impose those views and beliefs on a nation that has diverse views and beliefs. It's unconstitutional. Period.

There is no such thing as pro-abortion. There are two stands on the abortion issue. One is pro-life and the other is pro-choice. Those that are pro-life think abortion is wrong. Those that are pro-choice may also think abortion is wrong, however they respect that not everyone shares their believes.
Pro-choice doesn't suggest women should abort. Pro-choice, as the name hints, suggests that women should have the right to choose. Women can choose to abort, women can choose not to abort, women can choose to not care about the subject at all. More importantly, women can choose to follow whatever beliefs they have, whether they are to think abortion is okay or not. That is what pro-choice is about - a choice.

A woman should never have to be forced to be pregnant. She has rights over her body, and those are called human rights. Human rights protect persons, not fetuses. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

If you're against abortion, don't have one. Done deal. :)

A sneak peak into my inbox

There's no doubt talking about homosexuality, alone, will cause a stir. Add religion to the picture and you're in for a whirl of opinions and nonsense and anger. The opinion page at the newspaper I work for is a venue for, well, just that - opinions. I posted mine (the text from my last post) and here it is: http://www.tcpalm.com/news/2010/oct/18/zaimarie-de-guzman-given-the-way-we-treat-why-is/

Like a wise man once said, "Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one and everyone thinks everyone elses' stinks."

Well, apparently many people think my opinion stinks.

I can't blame 'em. I'm a young, Hispanic, liberal woman writing for a paper whose audience is predominantly old, white, Catholic, republican and male.

Here's a peak into some of the bad and the ugly mail I found in my inbox the days after my commentary was posted. Just some, because really, some of them are just long scriptures from the Bible. (Before you get tired of reading them, scroll down to see the best response I had)

• "I addressed it to the columnist who could not be bothered to gather facts before writing her column.  I would welcome  her reply.  I realize that the standard of writing at the Tribune grieves the hearts of English teachers everywhere.  But I had hoped that at least the basic principle of researching a subject before commenting on it still applied. Perhaps not."
• "What a terrible example of staff writing about the subject of gays by Zaimarie de Guzman (Oct. 19 column on gay suicide). The column had no purpose. It was more like an ice pick to an open wound that continues to bleed. It started as a whine about personal inconvenience, then rambled about the Catholic priest’s confirmation discussion and concluded with no conclusion. This column should have been categorized as a personal rant. The composition and sentence structure degraded the subject matter, which is very important to many interested readers. It was definitely below Press Journal standards of publishing. It can do better and usually does."
• "I respectfully disagree with your implication that gay suicides are the church's blame. People have free will. The church invites people to come to Jesus. God gives us the "rules" for coming to Jesus. The "true" churches, those that adhere to ALL God's commandments, precepts, instructions, etc, have no "wiggle room" for accepting any sinner who does not WILLINGLY turn from his sinful lifestyle into the "Body of Christ." Nothing unholy can come into the presence of God and Jesus is part of the trinity of God. Hence, nothing unholy can be part of a holy God, which ours is."
• "Your article in today's paper blaming the Catholic Church for Gay Suicides was unbelievably stupid.
  Obviously you don't believe in God and have never read the bible. Catholics find no problem with homosexuals as part of our society. The priest was absolutely right in his statements. If one is a Catholic one follows the church rules whether they are Gay or straight. Fornication or other sexual activity while unmarried, in our belief, is a sin. If one can't follow the rules, then don't join the church!
  I'm surprised that Scripps let this trash be published."
• "Regarding the Catholic Conference where people will get the "churche's" view on taboo subjects, that view is obviously biased and self serving. I am Catholic and heterosexual however the Catholic church
  has for hundreds of years sought after and maintained control over millions of people. While much of it is to the benefit of society, the controversial "gay" issue is just a denial of what nature has done to some people. Granted some of it is learned behavior, there is no doubt through generations the human nature of who we are is no different as to what can happen to us with genetic makeup. The church pretends and brainwashes it's followers much like all religions. It makes law according to the thinking of those empowered to interpret and set the rules of conduct and behaviour. The rules set for all to follow is fundamentaly rules to keep the people in the fold and maintain the support of those teaching the ideas of good vs evil. It does not matter what religion, the root of it all is power. Since we are brought up from day one with certain views, we are unlikely to change or give in to what may be deemed distorted behaviour. Today more than ever we see how it works from the opposite view
  where children in radically thinking countries are methodically going through the process of brainwashing by the empowered for the sole purpose of terrorist activity. The children believe and carry out their task. It is really no different than the teaching of people that anything other than heterosexual is wrong. The church and all other religions are not about to give up on something that
  keeps the "idea" alive. Herein is why we are all in denial."
• And, possibly the best/smartest criticism I got was:

• "Hmm. Telling gays not to act gay is like telling your dog to purr like a cat. Asking a church to accept and condone something that is against their foundational belief system would be different? What if the gathering was a room full of atheists and someone raised their hand and asked if it was ok to be a Christian in an attempt to demonize atheists? Give me a break. I completely support allowing gay couples the same social rights as heterosexual couples. Including having your life completely destroyed by lawyers and judges in divorce court over a state marriage license. What I don't support is the idea that every element of our society MUST accept or believe that homosexuality is normal or be ridiculed and demonized for it. I am disappointed that this priest (or any Christian minister) tried to be politically correct when being attacked for his beliefs."

 In my column, I referred to the teachings of the priest and mentioned my thoughts on it. Had I wanted to share my opinion on facts, I would have. Because of this, I made sure to cite the priest when referring to the Church. Either way, I actually did research the subject and found several scriptures and quotes from Catholic members. Each and everyone said something similar to what this priest said - homosexual desires are not in themselves sinful, but homosexual behavior is and should not be tolerated. The sole purpose of my words was to share my views on why society rejects gays. When our nation is based on a religion that says that homosexuals are immoral and wrong, how can we expect our people to think differently. Unfortunately, too many people don't take the time to form their own thoughts and opinions. I invite all to take a couple minutes of your time and ... think. Forget what you've been fed your whole life, forget the words that come from a book that some stranger wrote, forget what that person told you last Sunday. Do you really, honestly, in your heart, think it's perfectly fine to treat a human being with disrespect and hate because he or she has a sex life that is somewhat different than yours?

Anyway...


Of course I had to share the few good comments I got:

• You are a powerful writer, my friend. Very poignant op-ed that draws the reader in slowly and then Wham! So you have now had your first experience in public commentary. Big difference to reporting. When you express an opinion—as especially as one such as this— you have to be prepared for the reaction. But don’t let that stop you. It might sting a little, but doing and saying nothing to a thoughtful writer is even more painful.
• Great piece in the PJ Guest Column! I think people who have been out in the world and know that we need to be accepting of everyone appreciated your piece. There are some people in this community who’ve lived a very insulated life, haven’t had a diverse upbringing and feel threatened. So take their criticisms with a grain of salt.
• I am so proud to work for a paper that printed your anecdotal, incisive call for human rights. Telling your cat to bark like a dog perfectly illustrates ignorance about the origin of homosexuality. I know you opened up a lot of eyes, Zaimarie. Let's just hope they don't again close.

"Is it okay to be gay?"

Four months ago, I sat in a classroom of about 30 students. My hair was in a messy bun, my tired feet were in heels, and I was still in my work clothes at 8 p.m. Though I wished I could have gone straight home after work, I couldn't.
I had been asked by my brother and sister-in-law to become a Godmother to their beautiful twin boy, my nephew, Nicholas.
Of course, I said yes.
As a result, I had to sacrifice a day out of each week, for 14 weeks, to attend confirmation classes at a Catholic school.
The class was full of newly engaged, newly faithful and newly "I'm-only-here-'cause-I-gotta" people.
Some stared at the priest with open eyes and open hearts. They had just found their faith. Others glanced at their watches every minute, daydreaming of the second they'd step foot through the front door of their home.
I sat in my squeaky, rusted chair, and paid attention. I tried so hard not to nod my head in disapproval.
"Do you have any questions for me?" asked the priest in his thick "Miami accent."
This was probably the better part of the class. Mostly because it meant we were coming to an end, but also because curiosity was rushing through the minds of students, and only the brave would raise their hands to ask questions that seemed taboo in the strict, Catholic church room.
The students glanced around to see who dared to ask a question. One hesitant student raised her hand.
"Is it okay to be gay?" she asked.
Awkward silence filled the room. Every set of eyes rested on the girl. It was an "elephant in the room" kinda scene.
"Well," started the priest. I could tell he was thinking of the right words to say.
"The Church has acknowledged that homosexuals are a part of society. They have the right to be gay, but under Christian law, they cannot practice their sexuality."
What this priest was saying was that gays, lesbians and bisexuals are "permitted" to be those things. They just can't act like it. They can't perform in gay, lesbian or bisexual acts, despite being, in fact, gays, lesbians or bisexuals. It's just not - normal.
The Church, according to this priest, says that human sexuality exists purely for procreation. Humans are put on this earth to make babies, and therefore all of those who have the ability to conceive, must.
And that, as we know it, is why homosexuals must engage in heterosexual activities.
It's like telling your dog to purr like a cat.
Interesting concept, huh?
Not quite.
It's the good ol' American concept. The societal norm that allows the government to exclude homosexuals from rights all other "normal" people are given.
The concept that has hindered gays, lesbians and bisexuals. Bullied them, if you will.
America judges people because of whom they've decided to love and have sex with.
America has decided that what goes on in our bedrooms is its business.
And then, from time to time, another kid shows up on the news for being picked on about his sexuality and driven to depression or even suicide.
Society gets all rattled up, shocked and saddened.
Why are we so surprised? And why do we fail to realize who is to blame?

The following is text from the Human Rights Campaign:

It's 2010 and almost 90% of LGBT youth experience harassment in school, and too many lives have been lost.



It's 2010 and you can still be fired from your job in 29 states for being lesbian, gay or bisexual and in 38 states for being transgender.



It's 2010 and only five states plus DC recognize that love, not gender, is what matters in a marriage.



It's 2010 and more than 14,000 service members have been discharged from the military under the failed "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" law.



It's 2010 and the government's failure to recognize LGBT families for immigration purposes tears bi-national couples and families apart.

The perfect body? I'm far from it. And I'm perfectly fine with that.

As I stood in front of my mirror, nude, this morning, I found myself examining every inch of my body. I wasn’t looking for atypical moles or unusual bumps. No. I was looking at my hips, and how wide they’ve gotten over the last year. I stared at my legs, and wished they were thicker and toned. My arms could use a workout. And my waist? I’d say 100 reps of ab workouts for 6 months, every day, would perhaps get my waist and abs to the shape I’d like them to be in. As for my butt, I can only dream of having something that resembled a Kim or Jennifer butt (Kardashian and Lopez, duh).

I turned sideways, still looking at myself, and sucked in my belly. Still holding my breath, I stuck out my butt and chest and stood on my tippy toes as to flex my calves. Much better. I could live with looking like this, I thought to myself. If only I could breathe and this position were comfortable.

When I finally exhaled, everything went back to its place. And there I was, all 5 foot 1 3/4 inches of me, weighing 110 pounds, with not-so-large breasts, what I like to call a “kangaroo pouch” (You know, girls, that little pouch in the lower abdomen), thin legs, a small butt that could be perkier and arms that were begging for dumbbells.

I sucked my teeth and sighed. Then ... I smirked.

Twenty years ago, women in this country wished for the perfect body. Back then, it was a tiny frame, thin legs, big boobs and a small butt. Today, women in this country still wish for the perfect body. This time, it’s thick legs, a big butt, big boobs and a six-pack. People think they’ve done a terrific job by saying real women have curves. But, wait. I don’t have much curves. And heck yes, I’m a real woman.

I have NONE of the qualities of today’s “perfect body.” And though sometimes the societal norms may cross my mind, I’m proud to say I’m content with my body. More than content, I’m HAPPY with it. I’m no Beyonce, Kim, Jennifer, Giselle or Scarlett. I’m a “Zai,” and that’s A-okay with me.

7 things I learned AFTER college

7. Facebook WILL get you in trouble. Whether it's that inappropriate picture of yourself doing a keg stand in a bikini or that crude status you wrote a week ago, all the content you put on Facebook will forever be saved in the wonderful world of Internet. If your plans upon graduation are to start a career (and I hope they are), go ahead and delete all those pictures of you passed out in a tub at a college party. It's not cool anymore. You know what's cool? A career. A salary. A place of your own. Be smart about what you put out there, and even so, make sure to re-check your privacy settings every once in a while. Also make sure you have a decent profile picture. I guarantee that part of the hiring process includes the boss looking you up on Facebook. I speak from experience!

6. A degree doesn't guarantee a job. So you've done it. You've attended class day in and day out, and now you've graduated. Great. Pat yourself in the back and realize you're now part of a society full of college graduates that are desperately searching for jobs. That little piece of paper you'll get in the mail means close to nothing to employers. As long as you know that, you'll know to try hard enough to get the job you deserve.

5. Personality goes a long way. Not only do employers want to hire someone that will be good at his/her job, they also want someone who will bring extra assets to a company/firm/whatever. If an interview is your first face-to-face with your potential future boss, make sure your personality shines. No one wants a boring snoring person as a cubicle neighbor. So, smile. :)

4. So, you were never an intern? Hm. No worries. Neither was I. Swallow your pride and intern AFTER graduation. Yeah, it sucks to know you're doing what college freshmen are doing, but experience is key. Plus, as an intern with a degree, you should look at it as an opportunity, a foot in the door. That's what I did. I started my internship with a positive attitude. I'll quote myself in telling all my friends, "Watch, I'll get myself a job there." Three months later, here I am, an official employee at the Stuart News. Yay.

3. Relocation, relocation, relocation. You may love where you live. It's home to you. But beggars can't be choosers, so if a job is what you want, make yourself available to move wherever that dream career may be. My only exception to that rule: wherever I move must have a beach. Now I'm a resident of Jensen Beach and yup, it's the perfect place. So glad I gave myself options.

2. You will drown in bills. Yes, yes you will. Light, cable, water, car payment, car insurance, student loans, health insurance, rent. How do you keep track? Set up an alarm on your phone, a calendar, post-its. Whatever works for you. But indeed, you will spend A LOT of money, and you will need to remember to pay up, otherwise you're in biiiiiggg trouble.

1.This one is for my fellow FIU journalism students: You know that grammar exam you have to take only about a million times? Stop complaining about it. Make sure you know all the content on there, because it WILL pay off. Fifty percent of the information on my entrance exam to my job was information similar to that of the grammar exam. So, become an expert in all things AP style and sentence structure and all that good stuff.

'Tis all. :)

Doggie Custody

Max was only a couple of weeks old and probably 8 inches in length when he was found roaming the streets.

I gladly welcomed him into my, well my parents', home, despite mom and dad's various attempts to convince me otherwise. According to them, I'd never be responsible enough to take care of him.

He slept on my bed the first night, and I was ever so careful to not roll over and, er, kill him.

In the middle of a dream, I was awaken by tiny paws scratching my head. Max was informing me that it was time for a midnight walk

For the weeks that followed, I trained Max to pee on pee-pee pads (and then later outside) and, of course, the whole "sit, lie, paw, up" trick.

My parents, whom at first gave me the silent treatment for days because I chose to ignore their request, slowly became fond of Max.

My dad, a man who often shows little signs of affection to human beings, actually grew to love my dog. He'd play with him, talk to him and, though he won't ever admit it, I swear I saw him hug and kiss Max one day.

And with that said, the issue at hand is the following:

I am no longer living with my parents. After having Max at my folks' house for three years, I've moved and taken him with me, against my parents will.

I know my move is tough on my parents; I was the last child to "leave the nest."

My siblings suggested I leave Max so that ma and pa have some sort of company, and I know their reasoning for this is legitimate, but, um, what about ME? At least my parents have each other. I have no one here in Jensen Beach, the city I'm a new resident of.

A solution to the dilemma, I think, would be shared custody of Maxy: two weeks in Miami, two in Jensen Beach.

Though it sounds like a terrific idea to me, I wonder ...

Will this have a negative effect on my dog, like it does on children with divorced parents that share custody? Aww, my poor Max. :(

8 things on my bucket list

8. Free falling. I'm dying to sky dive or bungee jump (I'd SO bungee jump naked!). I think it'd become an addiction after doing it. Any volunteers wanna come with?


7. Get hitched. I know I'm always saying marriage may not be for me, but I guess those were my bitter days. Someone recently told me humans are not meant to be alone, and I think he may be right. Marriage should definitely be in my distant (very distant!) future.

6. Get my own book published. I wrote the first couple chapters to a novel during my sophomore year of college. I started it as a school project for my creative writing class but continued it as a hobby. My professor said it was great and when my friends read it, some cried and others got goose bumps. They told me I should definitely finish it, and I think I will.

5. Run a marathon. There's nothing like runner's high. I've already ran the distance of a half marathon and it feels like such an accomplishment. Time to step it up. After all, if Buster Martin did it at age 101, anyone can.

4. Ride a camel...In Egypt. Honestly, how amazing would that be!?


3. "We're going streaking!" C'mon, you know you wanna do it, too. "Through the quad and to the gymnasium."

2. Make a difference. I just got the privilege of writing a story about 102 teenagers who are spending a week out of their summer providing free labor to people in need. I wanna do that. For a year. Peace Corps, maybe?

1. See my grandkids. :)

9 things I've learned (so far) while living alone for the first time

9. Things can get really lonely sometimes. Especially when you're in a city far from home and you don't know too many people. It's important to pick a hobby and be social. I've taken this time alone to paint, run, watch new TV shows and occasionally bar hop by myself and make new friends.

8. Never EVER leave dirty dishes in the sink over night. I left one dirty cup in the sink over the weekend while I was in Miami, and when I got home, I had little critter pets all over the place. It was gross, in deed.

7. Sand is extremely hard to clean up. There's still sand in my tub, carpet and couch, even though I've vacuumed and scrubbed way too many times :(.

6. Ya don't always have to flush. Concerve water.

5. Walking around naked is freakin' fun. Nuff said.

4. However, make sure the blinds are closed. That lawn mower man can get awfulllyyyy close to the window sometimes and I must say I think he's gotten a free show of me dancing nude in my room.

3. Groceries are expensive. I spent over $50 the other day on fruits, cereal, plugins, salad and noodles. Seriously? That's pretty ridiculous considering some of the fruit went bad and I barely eat cereal. Go with the generic brand and don't shop while hungry! Also, make a list and stick to it!!!
 
2. Do take out the trash often, even if it's not full. The smell of crap really sucks.
 

1. Be free. Living alone is so liberating. There's no one to nag about your messy room, no one to intrude on your privacy and no one to judge you for singing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun while painting naked in the living room. Everyone should live alone at one point simply beacause it's liberating and allows for personal growth.

10 things I learned after dating a #$%@#^#^

This is me being my own therapist. :)


10. I learned that it's okay to have my own, separate goals and live them out separately, but together. My priorities have always been the important things: school, family, my career and doing whatever makes me happy. It's fine to do your own thing, just make sure to share your experiences with that person, even if it's just talking about it and not actually experiencing it together.

9. If no one will say it, I will: when he/she is not finding the spot, ya better draw out a map and help a brotha/sista out. No one knows what makes you get the tingles better than yourself. Speak up if your significant other is completely clueless down there --- just don't be mean about it! The relationship is sooo much better when the intimacy is great. No one should ever have to overlook bad sex!!!

8. No, hanging out with your ex is NOT okay. I never had a problem with this up until, well, it became a problem. I'd never want to tell someone I love to stop talking to someone else, and if the right person comes around, I shouldn't have to. Anyone in their right mind should know it's okay to stay on good terms with an ex, but a complete disrespect to bring em around.

7. Your friends are your friends, and my friends are mine. It's fine to have mutual friends, but it's necessary to have your own friends.

6. On that note, friend days are a MUST. It makes you miss your booboo and appreciate your time together. It also allows you to experience "you time" and not so much "us time." Gossip and wine with the girls keep a woman sane!

5. Call me naïve, but it's okay to not snoop. I never did and it made me feel confident and secure about myself. I just thought I had no reason to. CLEARLY I was wrong (!!!) but I wouldn't have it any other way. Jealousy and insecurity are wasted emotions.

3. Never go to sleep angry at each other. Resolve all your issues before bedtime, kiss and makeup!

2. Breakups are not the end of the world. They allow for change and growth. People break up all the time. Seriously, get over it and make the best of it. I did!

1. Forgive and forget. I promise it will set you free. I'm still working on the forgetting part, but the forgiving stage is done and over with and it's a great feeling. :)

I admit it: I still want Jennifer Aniston hair

At the start of the year, I got a much too expensive hair makeover. Though my hair looked awesome for a whole month, the triple digit money I paid for it should have stayed in my piggy bank. Truth is, no one should ever pay that much money for hair. It gets oily in two days, picks up bad smells and grows faster than a Chia Pet. Since then, I've been maintaining my locks on my own, doing my own streaks and yup, even cutting my own hair. -Tough times.-

This morning, I realized how much I suck at doing all of those things. My streaks look, well, like shit, and my hair is uneven. Why, WHY?, can't I just have Jennifer Aniston hair???

Stuart Little

It's kinda bittersweet... you know, this whole "temporary move" thing. In case you DON'T know, I've moved to Stuart, Florida for three months to intern at the Stuart News. I was beyond excited to finally leave the nest, even if it was for just a little while. I was even more excited to work with new people at a newsroom and to get to work with other interns my age. Though my experience at the Palm Beach Post was great, I was the only intern around and at times I kind of just felt, well, lost.

Things are different here.

Wayyy different.

For one, people here are nice. That's not something I'm used to coming from Miami. I mean really, the people here actually slow down and make way for you when you want to switch lanes on the road. They say good morning and good night, even if they don't know you. They smile when you make eye contact. Am I still on the same planet where people sized you up and down if you looked at them? Where people sped up if you wanted to switch into their lane? Where you have to lock your door as soon as you hit a specific part of town because you're scared shitless? Yup, same planet. In fact, only two hours away. It's astonishing.

Anyway, my condo is cute. Two bedrooms/two bathrooms (The other bedroom and bathroom remain untouched. That room freaks me out. I swear, I think it's haunted). I have two, uhh, nice-to-look-at neighbors, if you know what I mean. But the greatest thing of all is that I'm so close to the beach. I go twice a day sometimes. It's awesome. I wish I could surf or fish. Sigh.

What sucks is that I know a handful of people. As the Miami girl that is used to going out every night, I want to pull every single strand of hair out when I see myself sitting on the couch at 8 PM doing absolutely nothing.

Stuart is beautiful. There's beach and there's country. There's nice people, and, well, okay also some not-too-nice people, but I just brush those off.  There's no traffic. There are plenty of things to do, I just have no one to do it with and that, eh, that just SUCKS.

May Madness

Okay, so I haven't come by in a while. I have a pretty legit reason, in my defense.

MAY WAS AN INSANELY BUSY MONTH!!!

On May 7, I celebrated by 22 birthday (my real day is on the 11) and I wanted to make it a big one. It was definitely a success... I had a greaaattttt time. My friends and I all had been anticipating Sex & the City 2, so I decided to make it a girl's night, Sex & the City style. We all had dinner and drinks at Dolores But You Can Call Me Lolita and then danced the night away at Blue Martini.

On May 8, my amazing editor, Chris Delboni, had a party at her house. It was a nice way of ending the semester and my time with the South Florida News Service. She insisted on putting me on the spot by having everyone sing happy birthday to me and thennnnnn making me give a speech. 

That same day, the wonderful and veryyy cute Tim McGraw came to West Palm Beach and put on a helllll of a show. The opening act was Lady Antebellum and, okay fine they weren't as fantastic as I thought they would be, but overall it was a goooood night.

Theeeeennnn, come May 11, I celebrated my real day with the girls at reggae night at Bougenvillias. I love love love the band that plays there every other tuesday. I'm determined to have them play at my wedding (assuming I will get married one day in the distant future) .

The weekend after, I moved into my first place. Though it's only a temporary, 3 month move, I was sooo excited to finally get a taste of what it's like to be alone. I moved to Stuart, Florida to start my internship at the Stuart News, a Scripps Treasure Coast Newspaper.

Expect to see more updates on my experience. ;)

Gum

“Tomatoes,” said Professor Richards when I asked him what I should make a video about for the final project.


It was an out-of-the-box suggestion. He wanted me to record tomatoes and give them a voice, telling the story about how tomatoes had it rough this winter but are slowly recovering.
I wasn’t really sure how to execute this, though. I’m creative and I’ve picked up a video camera once or twice, but tomatoes, really? I don’t even like tomatoes. I always ask for my burgers without them, and once, when I accidently bit into one, I spit it right back out into my salad.


So I went home and slept on it. Once the idea had marinated into my brain, I realized tomatoes just weren’t my thing. I figured I’d just do what everyone else was doing. I’d find someone with an interesting story and interview them.

Weeks went by. I had nothing.

Then one day, just days before my video was due, it hit me. I was sitting at the bus stop, waiting for the FIU shuttle, when I noticed my foot was stuck to the floor. I had stepped on gum. I looked around and noticed there was gum everywhere: on the sidewalk, on the benches and on the payphone. I became inspired.

And so came about the idea for my video. Enjoy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxoJ752Z3fk

P.S.
Professor Richards,
If that video is unacceptable for its pointlessness, you can always see the Rolls-Royce video I worked on.

Nothing.

Nothingness. It’s hard to grasp that concept. What exactly is nothingness? If you’re thinking of nothing, aren’t you thinking of something (nothing)? Whatever.


Professor Richards has assigned us to go home and do nothing for 15 minutes, then write about it. In my attempt to do so and experience this idea of nothingness, I began to realize just how much I was in need of a chance to stop, breathe and reflect on my week. And a hell of a week it had been.
After looking back on it all, I realized that I had just wasted 5 of my 15 minutes recollecting my thoughts. I reminded myself that the task was to think of nothing, not of everything, and so I started my 15 minutes all over again.

I continued to lie on my comfy queen-sized bed with my dog Max and his slobbery chew toy, intending to take only 15 minutes trying really, really hard to commit to this activity. You’d think that an assignment that requires a student to do nothing would probably be the easiest in his or her college career. Wrong. Definitely wrong. I took a deep breath.
Which reminded me of my first year of college, when I took a psychology class with a nutty professor that surely had a great time in the 60s, if you know what I mean. Every morning, he’d bring out his meditation bells from his backpack and as soon as he’d ring them, we were to close our eyes for five minutes and focus on breathing. I never really got it at first. I’d just close my eyes and occasionally peek to see if everyone else was doing it. One time I accidentally wandered off into a dream and woke up when my classmate moved his chair. Embarrassing. By the end of the semester, I had it down-packed. I began practicing the art of mediation at home, usually before going to sleep. Still do it today.

Anyway, I rested motionlessy, staring at my old-school popcorn ceiling that needed a good dusting ASAP. But what occurred in my mind was far from “nothing” and I felt uneasy doing, well, nothing about it.

The easel to the right of my bed was just sitting there, staring at me, perhaps even screaming at me. I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in weeks. I had forgotten what the scent of acrylic paint smelled like. And as I stared back, I mentally told myself that I’d not only write the thoughts my mind produced during this assignment, but I’d paint them as well.

I stood, searched my cabinets for paint and brushes, and began mixing colors to make new ones that reflected my mood. I set my iPod to play songs from my "as a kite" playlist (it's the one I put on when I feel artsy.) This was my therapy.

I felt mentally exhausted and overwhelmed. On top of everything, I had kept all my emotions hidden, like I often do as a result of my uncontrollable stubbornness and pride. This was why I had picked up the hobby of painting in the first place. I needed a way to express my feelings without saying them to the world. Today was one of those days. Really, all I wanted to do was let it all out – my frustrations, my anger, my worries, my sadness, and my hope for a better week that starts tomorrow.

I had no plan of what to paint, and most times I don’t. I just play with colors and once I make my first stroke on canvas, I just continue until something comes about. And I never sketch, either, ’cause like it say’s on my wall, ”Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius” – Marilyn Monroe.

My “15 minutes of nothingness” became 45 minutes of pondering, analyzing, and putting it all onto a canvas. And this was what it all came to:

Billy Bowers

In September 2009, I enrolled in a class called Multi-Ethnic Reporting. For the time of the class, our only assignment was to pick a "listening post," a place completely out of our element that we'd go to once every two weeks, and report about. Here is what I wrote about my unforgettable experience:

Let me begin by explaining that I have no sense of direction.
I've lived in Miami for almost my entire life, and I've yet to learn how to get to the beach without MapQuest. I much less know how to get to Overtown without precise directions. I had been in the area once, but only because I got lost one Saturday night as I left a bar.
I was driving home alone once during the wee hours of the morning and found myself surrounded by black men in bikes who stared at me, a 5'1 petite Hispanic girl who drives a car with a big pink peace sign hanging from the rear view mirror.
I'd heard about the things that happened in neighborhoods like this.Though I had no clue where I was driving to, I fastened my seat belt, pressed the "lock" button on my door at least 15 times, and sped through the neighborhood.
So, when we were assigned by Prof. Reisner to go to a place completely out of our comfort zone for our listening post project, the first place that came to mind was Overtown, the poor, urban community I was terrified of. I chose to visit the Culmer Overtown Library. Libraries aren't known to be dangerous places, so it would be a good start.

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Journal Entry 1

Friday afternoon, after leaving work, I drive north heading toward Overtown, MapQuest directions in hand. As I steer, I look at myself in the mirror, wondering if I should remove some makeup or if the bright shirt that I'm wearing makes me stand out more than I want to. I reach for the pink peace sign hanging from my rear view mirror and take it down. I remove my earrings and rings. No one would want to mug me if I had nothing to take, right? I continue to drive.
Inevitably, I get lost. I land somewhere in a bad area of downtown, I think. Around me, a lot of homeless people are walking around. They are not just black, but of all ethnicities, and they look nothing like me. In their oversized clothes, they look ... dangerous.
I count the seconds through a red light. Through my mirror, I see a homeless man approaching my car to beg for money. I lock my doors, put up my window, blast the radio, and pretend I never saw him. Why should I give him money? He'll probably use it for drugs anyway, I think. Besides, there are plenty of fast food restaurants that offer jobs; plenty of stores or gas stations that hire people like that. So I let this homeless man walk by, just like I do all of them. I feel no sorrow.
Before the light turns green, I am already thinking about my actions. I think about the generalization that I've just made. This is the first time I've thought about this. Prof. Reisner once said that he gave money to homeless people whenever he had a chance. I remember thinking how stupid he was for doing so. Regardless, this is my opportunity to go far beyond my comfort zone.
I make a right into a small, deserted road and honk. I open my window ever so slightly just to fit my small hand through to wave at the homeless man. He runs toward my car and comes to my door. My heartbeat begins to accelerate.
"Are you hungy? Is there anything I can get you for lunch?" I ask nervously, not knowing what answer to expect.

All he asks for is a meal from McDonald's: a double quarter pounder with cheese, no onions or pickles please (beggars can be choosers). He tells me that there is a McDonald's two blocks down the street, to my left. I ask him to meet me there, but he says that the managers don't allow him inside th store. I look around.
All I want is to have lunch with this man where there are plenty of people, in a busy area, where he couldn't, er, kill me. So I tell him to meet me in the parking lot of McDonald's, in front of an intersection where anyone in their cars would be able to see the possible murder of Zaimarie De Guzman.
I order his meal and an ice cream for myself. As I sit on the sidewalk and wait, I wonder if I should have 911 already dialed on my phone. I think about any possible weapons I have in my car, like an umbrella or something sharp, maybe a wrench my dad might have left in my trunk.There are people walking by. Some stare, others mind their own business. I take a deep breath so to calm my nerves and hope all goes well.
When the man comes up to me, the first thing I notice is the smell. He is wearing a polo shirt that was once red but has faded into a dark pink. His jeans are torn and dirty. He has long, white hair that matched his beard. He smiles at me with teeth that seem to be deteriorating.
"God bless you," is the first thing he says.
I explain to him that I am a journalism student and I want to write about someone different and interesting.
"Do you have a tape recorder?" He asks me with a smile. "You're going to need one because I have a hell of a story to tell you."
His name is Billy Bowers, or so he says. I'm not sure if I should believe him. I wonder if he has any mental disorders. I figure that if someone has been living on the street for a long time (and Billy looks like he's lived this lifestyle for quite a while) it must take a toll on ones mind.
He tells me that he is 55 years old, born on July 6 ,1954. He has been married and divorced three times.
"Do you have any kids?" I ask

"Three that I know of. If I don't know 'em, they're not mine," he jokes.

We laugh together. His laugh is a sincere one. Mine is a nervous one.

"How long have you been homeless for?" I ask and instantly realize that I've called him homeless. I wonder if he'll take offense to it. He is homeless, but is there another way to put it? At least I didn't call him a bum.

"I've been homeless here in Miami for 15 years, but homeless for about 18," he says.
He explains that he used to live in Leominster, Massachusetts until he fled when he was charged with extortion.
"I think I've been arrested about 100 times," he said. "I'm no angel. I'll admit I've done a lot of bad stuff, but when they charged me with extortion they were wrong and I wasn't gonna go to jail for something I didn't do," he said and paused for a while.
He tells me he once owned a business, and though I try to interrupt him to ask him what kind of business, he speaks over me and continues with his story.

He suddenly changes the subject.
"Do you believe in God?" he asks me. I hesitate, and then tell him that yes, I do.
He asks me what religion I follow. In a second, a million thoughts come to mind. I wonder if I might offend his faith. I hope that he believes in God just enough to like me no matter what religion I say I follow.

"I was born into a Catholic family," I tell him, choosing my words carefully.
He then tells me that God has made him go through many unfortunate times, but he's lucky to be alive today.
"I wrote a short biography once, you know. I never finished it, though."
And then, with that, he asks me to visit him again on Monday or Tuesday, same spot. He says that I should bring a tape recorder next time instead of recording him with my phone. He tells me he wants to start his story from the beginning.
"Do you promise you'll be here?" I ask him.
He laughs. "I got no other place to be at. I'm always here."
I shake his hand and tell him it was a pleasure to meet him. I tell him I will buy him lunch again on Wednesday.
"Nice to meet you Billy," I say
"Nice to meet you, Zai," he replies.