On Endings

Wow. What a ride.

It's funny how, throughout this semester, we have been consistently discussing internal journeys. All along, I didn't notice how this English course in itself sparked a change in me... In how I write, and in how I look at the world.

I've said it many times before, and I'll say it once more: I love the idea of traveling, despite the fact (or perhaps, because of the fact) that I haven't traveled much. Last semester, when looking for English classes, this one caught my eye because of its name: Viaje en la literatura. Journey into Literature.

These last couple of months, I watched movies movies that I would've never thought to watch, and I've read novels that I would've never chosen to read out of my own accord. After years of wanting to keep a diary or journal, I started writing one and didn't give up on it. There were days when I didn't want to write anything, and those moments were stressful. Forcing myself to write was horrible... But when inspiration actually hit? It was the most rewarding feeling ever.

Getting lost inside my writing and following the "flow" of my consciousness gave me incredible insight on myself -on who I was, on who I am, and who I want to be. It's very hard for me to have a clear picture of myself. I'm always wondering how others perceive me. What do my friends really think of me? What image do my family members have of me? What do I think of myself, and how reliable is that perception? Journaling helped me realize that I can't invest so much time and energy trying to out into exact words or boxes every single aspect of who I am. It is hard to paint a picture of the beach, because the waves are constantly moving. I can't expect myself to have everything figured out about my identity, because I changed, and I'm changing, and I'll change.

Before this blog assignment, my only experience with online posting was with Tumblr (microblogging), which was more about sharing good content than actually creating it. With this blog, I forced myself to put my writing out there, no matter how scary it seemed. I had never taken a class with this sort of assignment. Writing a blog and writing a journal were amazing, refreshing activities that helped with my growth as a student and as a person. This English class was unlike anything I had ever done before, and I say that in a good way.

My blog URL is "A ship in the harbour." It comes from one of my favorite quotes: "A ship in the harbour is safe, but that's not what ships are for." I want to travel, among other reasons, in order to leave my harbour, and have new experiences. I haven't left the harbour this year, and I don't know if I will. But this semester was not useless. It helped me prepare my ship, stock up on supplies, and get the sails ready. It may not have pushed me off the shore, but it certainly prepared me for what's in store.

I recently found another quote that I like a lot: "Home is not where you are born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease." Now, I finally realize that I'm not looking to escape- not really. I'm looking to explore.

So here's to all the explorations we've done, and all those we'll do in the future.

A Small Place To Call Our Own

Simón Bolívar, an famous Latin American revolutionary, had a dream of unifying all South American countries and creating a sort of huge mega-nation such as the United States. He did not achieve his dream, but I believe that it could've been possible. Nowadays, all South American countries seem distinct and separate. However, they have many unifying qualities in terms of history and culture. There is no doubt in my mind that, if things had gone right, they could've joined together.

This is what first came into my mind when reading Jamaica Kincaid's A Small Place.  Kincaid is from a small Caribbean island called Antigua, also known as Waladli or Wadadli by its locals. Reading excerpts from her novel, I almost got goosebumps. Her opinions and her descriptions of her small island nation resonated with me, since so many of her issues she talked about can be applied almost identically to Puerto Rico.

Both Antigua and Puerto Rico are relatively small Caribbean islands that had indigenous populations and were eventually colonized by Europeans (in both cases, first by the Spanish and eventually the English, although in our case the latter didn't last long).

In her novel, Jamaica is angry and bitter, but I do not blame her for it. I don't think anyone could. You don't have to be a revolutionary in order to acknowledge the damage that was done by colonizers who decided to settle in America. They were imposing, violent, and cruel. This is not an opinion, this is a fact. It is said that time heals all wounds, and some people may be OK with forgiving and forgetting... But Kincaid is not one of those people:

[...] they should never have left their home, their precious England, a place they loved so much, a place they had to leave but could never forget. And so everywhere they went they turned it into England; and everybody they met they turned English. But no place could ever really be England, and nobody who did not look exactly like them would ever be English, so you can imagine the destruction of people and land that came from that

Are you saying to yourself, "Can't she get beyond all that, everything happened so long ago, and how does she know that if things had been the other way around her ancestors wouldn't have behaved just as badly, because, after all, doesn't everybody behave badly given the opportunity?" 

 [...] you loved knowledge, and wherever you went you made sure to build a school, a library (yes, and in both of these places you distorted or erased my history and glorified your own) 

She is angry, and rightfully so. Her writing feels refreshing to me, because I've grown up with this neutrality mentality that I apply to everything. I try to listen to all sides of any given story. I do my research. I try not to get involved in aggressive discussions unless it's absolutely necessary. Most of all, I was always told that there are right and wrong ways to express anger and discontent. 

Kincaid's frustrations are not politically correct. They are not presented in elaborate, carefully worded speeches.  They are the rants of the oppressed. When injustice is long-lasting and insidious, how can reactions to it be anything but furious? "Even if I really came from people who were living like monkeys in trees, it was better to be that than what happened to me, what I became after I met you".

A Small Place also made me consider tourism in a whole different light. Here in Puerto Rico, tourists are talked about in a humorous matter. We laugh about their big hats, expensive cameras, and American clothes. We imitate their accents when they try to pronounce El Morro o San Cristóbal. Kincaid's approach is much more sarcastic, and forces us to question the effects tourism can have on a cultural level:

What a beautiful island Antigua is-- more beautiful than any of the other islands you have seen, and they were very beautiful, in their way, but they were much too green, much too lush with vegetation, which indicated to you, the tourist, that they got quite a bit of rainfall, and rain is the very thing that you, just now, do not want, for you are thinking of the hard and cold and dark and long days you spent working in North America (or, worse, Europe), earning some money so that you could stay in this place (Antigua) where the sun always shines and where the climate is deliciously hot and dry for the four to ten days you are going to be staying there; 

This tone reminded me of a documentary I watched a couple of months ago for another English class,  titled Life and Debt. The film discussed the island of Jamaica's economic history, and contrasted colorful, fun scenes featuring tourists with locals telling stories about the country's politics. Curiously enough, upon further investigation, I noticed that Life and Debt's writer was - you guessed it - Jamaica Kincaid. 

Neither travel nor tourism are inherently bad. I would never make such an accusation. However, we must acknowledge that the essence of tourism comes from a place of superiority and privilege. In a capitalist society, tourism is the act of saying, "I can afford to temporarily leave my country and experience a quick, convenient piece of someone else's culture." Again, this isn't necessarily bad. But it is sad to think that strangers get to visit Antigua and enjoy without seeing the complex issues the island is going through. Tourists get a picture-perfect experience, while locals struggle:

[...] if you go to Antigua as a tourist, this is what you will see. If you come by aeroplane, you will land at the V. C. Bird International Airport. Vere Cornwall (V. C.) Bird is the Prime Minister of Antigua. You may be the sort of tourist who would wonder why a Prime Minister would want an airport named after him--why not a school, why not a hospital, why not some great public monument? You are a tourist and you have not yet seen a school in Antigua, you have not yet seen the hospital in Antigua, you have not yet seen a public monument in Antigua.

[...] That water--have you ever seen anything like it? Far out, to the horizon, the colour of the water is navy-blue; nearer, the water is the colour of the North American sky. From there to the shore, the water is pale, silvery, clear, so clear that you can see its pinkish-white sand bottom. Oh, what beauty! Oh, what beauty! You have never seen any thing like this. You are so excited. You breathe shallow. You breathe deep.

I love traveling. I would never want to stop myself from traveling, and I would never try to dissuade someone from enjoying a wonderful trip to another country. But we must think critically when we visit other countries. Some people might argue that the point of a vacation is to get away and relax. Personally, I don't think being aware of our surroundings and the history behind them would diminish anyone's tourist experience. If anything, it would give more depth to our understanding on the place that we're visiting, and why it is the way that it is.   

Down The "Rabbit Hole" We Call The Internet

I'll be the first to admit that I spend an unhealthy amount of time on the Internet. I'm addicted to it. Sometimes I'm productive: I look for scholarships and internships and I do homework online. But sometimes (well, most of the times), I simply watch movies and use Facebook. 

So when our English professor said we had to do online research regarding Puerto Rico, I was excited but also curious at how this was going to work. As it turns out, we had to work in groups in order to dive into the World Wide Web and find out what people were saying about Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans. 

This sparked a sort of internal journey for me. Here in Puerto Rico, we love to poke fun at ourselves, and sometimes we even go as far as to heavily criticize our nation.  Throughout my life, I'd been told a million different things about how other people viewed our island. "Other Latin Americans laugh at the way we speak!". "Americans are always so ignorant and racist!". "Spanish people hate our usage of Spanglish!" A couple of weeks ago I found myself thinking: how much of this is actually true? And how does it affect me and the view I have of myself as a Puerto Rican?

I did tons of online research with my group and ended up with an overwhelming amount of information. We analyzed and condensed it all into one presentation:

We presented our findings in a English conference, specifically during a panel titled "Perspectives of Puerto Rico: A Journey Through Cyberspace." One would think that I would've been less nervous than normal, considering that before this panel I had already spoken publicly and alone. This time, I would be working in a group. Easy, right?

However, this panel seemed to spark more controversy than the previous one. The identity essays lead to friendly discussions and various people sharing their opinions on themes like home and globalization. While we were presenting our online research, in contrast, one professor argued that we Puerto Ricans are hypocrites: that we live in denial about our situations and then "whine" or "complain" when someone else points out our flaws.

The presentation rant late, and we were unable to hold a Q&A portion after all of the presentations. It was a real shame, since I would have enjoyed talking about that particular subject with that professor, as well as my fellow classmates.

I guess I want to use this post as a way to express what I never got a chance to say. 

I disagree with what the professor was trying to say, although I do understand where she was coming from. Puerto Rico is not perfect. We call our land the Island of Enchantment. We take our pride wherever we go. We love talking about Puerto Rico to other people and trying to convince them to visit us. 

But I wouldn't go as far as to call ourselves hypocrites because of this. Yes, a lot of times we can manage to be surprisingly optimistic about our surroundings. But make no mistake: we Puerto Ricans know how and when to criticize, too. Nowadays, not a single week goes by when I don't hear my friends or my family members discuss politics and the economy. Think about it. We are constantly complaining about all the small and big things that are wrong, and what we do to fix them.

A open letter to that professor: In the end, as we had already mentioned in our presentation, it doesn't come down to what is said regarding Puerto Rico, as much as how it is said.

Americans talk about Puerto Rico and, in a lot of cases, have no idea what the historical, social, cultural, and political context of what they are saying. There remarks have xenophobic, racist, and classist undertones, as we saw in "Taki Mag".

Boricuas complain about the island in the same way we complain about a sibling, a family member or a friend: We know they're not perfect, but we wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. 

Home, Language and Difference

I've always been told that I talk too much. I can't deny it. I talk too loud, I don't always think before I speak, and I'm frequently a victim to spoonerisms. I'm embarrassed to say that every day, I find a new way to put my foot in my mouth.

I guess that's why I love public speaking so much, and one of the reasons I'm studying communications (Public Relations). It feels great to know that I can take my predisposition for speaking and actually hone it into something professional and effective. Years ago, when I was in high school, I participated in a oratory competition. It was the first time I had ever done anything like that, and I was representing my Honor Society Chapter. Needless to say, I was extremely nervous. How else would a first timer feel? I wanted to make everyone proud, but first timers don't win first place. 

They can, however, tie for second place. 

Last week's English conference reminded me of this experience. After years of not participating in any sort of public speaking activity, doing the "Interrogating Identity: Home, Language and Difference” felt like a breath of fresh air. 

Three of my friends were able to come and see me, as well as my father. I was the last one to speak. I had practiced the speech in my mind, but I still messed up some words every now and then. While I was speaking, I feel like my five senses augmented: I noticed small details in my paper and in the crowd, I was more conscious of my breathing, I could hear my heart beating, and I was acutely aware of how I was using my mouth to pronounce each word. 

I also became very self-conscious of that essay I had written weeks ago. Even though I knew it had been peer-reviewed, it didn't feel as great as all those other essays that had been presented. But then again, maybe I'm being too hard on myself. It definitely sparked discussion, which for me is the most important thing. 

After we were all done, it was time for the Q&A portion of the panel. Two professors, as well as one of my friends, made great questions. We talked about culture, about the Internet, about Jamaica Kincaid, and about Puerto Rico, among other things. 

In my two years of college, I have been to many conferences and panels. Sometimes they were extremely interesting. Sometimes they nearly bored me to sleep. Now that I've had the experience of being behind that podium, I realize the importance of always paying attention to the speakers, no matter what. Talking in front of people can be fun and dynamic, but it is never easy. When we get bored, it's normal to give into the temptation of drifting off in thought or of playing with our phones. But when people talk, it's important to listen. 

Whoever walks up to a podium and starts speaking -whether it's to a huge crowd or a handful of college students- deserves to be respected. There are many tips online about how to prepare a public speech. The suggestions are always the same: public speaking requires skill, practice, and professionalism. If I learned one thing from this experience it's that it also requires something else: guts.

Journey Through A Journal

Before this class, I had been wanting to begin journalizing* for quite a long time. I have at least half a dozen unused notebooks of various sizes spread out around my room. Keeping a journal was just the sort of thing that seemed to work better in theory than in practice. It was easy to buy pretty journals when I saw them in stores, and then promise myself that I would start using them. But when push came to shove, life got in the way– I had school and chores and a social life.

Like most college students, I find myself constantly complaining about tests, group projects, and complicated assignments. College is not easy. In fact, it's extremely stressful. Yet, something must be said about deadlines. I might curse deadlines on occasion, but there's no denying that at the end of the day, they are the simple best motivating tool I've ever encountered.

I never got around to writing journal entries on my own because no one gave me a deadline. In other words, no one was forcing me to. There just wasn't any sort of pressure to do anything, so I kept pushing it back, swearing that I would get around to it "eventually."

I guess that's one of the reasons I enjoyed writing journal entries for this course: because I finally got motivated to do something I'd wanted to do for a long time. I ended up doing around 40+ entries [I'll verify the number and edit this post later]. The rules were pretty simple: the entries had to "flow" out of our heads. Back in January, the professor said something along the lines of a stream of consciousness or a stream of thoughts. Do you know that feeling when you're talking to someone, and all of a sudden you get distracted and lose your train of thought? That's how I personally interpreted this activity: you had to get on a train of thought, start writing, and not get off the train until at least ten minutes passed.

It's definitely easier said than done. The rules were pretty simple: we couldn't cross anything out; we didn't have to worry about grammar in general; we couldn't overthink or get too logical; we had to "go for the jugular"; and no matter what happened, we couldn't stop moving our hand.

When I first started writing the entries, I felt stiff. There's no other way to describe it. It was supposed to be a writing exercise that freed us from the limitations of academic writing, but strangely enough, the writing felt forced. It didn't come as naturally as I'd originally thought. As the weeks passed, however, something began to change. By my 12th or 13th entry, I realized that little by little I was making more and more mistakes– but I was caring less and less about making them.

The first rule was definitely the hardest. As I was writing, I tried my best to let my thoughts flow... But whenever the timer ended I found myself re-reading what I'd just written, and my hand always itched to fix any mistakes. Even if no one was going to read the entry, it felt weird to see simple grammar mistakes and not cross them out.

I decided to do one of my journal entries immediately after watching one particular movie. Usually, ten minutes to write a journal felt like an unnecessarily long amount of time. But in this case, I felt like it just wasn't enough. I had so much I wanted to write down, so many ideas going through my mind simultaneously, that I felt like I could write for hours. I definitely loved that feeling.

The process of writing a journal was one of the best experiences I've had in any college class. I've spent so much of my time focused on my external journeys, that I never took time to appreciate all the interestingly complex internal journeys that I go through every single day.

[To be further edited]

What does it mean to "help"?

In my first Down On The Island post, I reflected on the teaching profession and on Jim Cooper's general experiences as an educator. Now, I want to emphasize on the eighth chapter of his memoir: "Helping."

Cooper mentions helping in the context of dealing with students that were consistently cheating on their assignments. He talks about how cheating is something that happens in all schools in all parts of the country. However, he appears startled at just how common this practice was in the island. He claims that he had "never seen it done as openly and outrageously as it was in Puerto Rico." Other American teachers, his coworkers, were more than started; they were downright furious

As one of them exploded after visiting a few classrooms, "No wonder the students don't understand us or know what we're talking about. Their teachers not only let them cheat, they teach them how, they encourage them."

Fortunately, Cooper did not get exasperated. Instead, he acknowledged that cheating in Puerto Rico comes from a very different place in comparison with cheating in the States. Here in the island, he explains, cheating is usually about teamwork and about students helping their classmates. It demonstrates cooperation instead of competitiveness.  

This was in great contrast to the attitudes taught in a great many if not most American families and schools [...] You are in competition not only with your classmates but with the students in other classes and the students in other schools. The way to win, to get ahead is to beat out helping the others, your competition, so you get the prize, the gold star, your name on the honors list. It's the attitude summed up by the old army expression, "I've got mine."

In other words, an American student might cheat by using their own notes, in order to get the best grade. In contrast, a Puerto Rican student might give their classmates the right answer without thinking how that will affect his ranking in the class. People like to think of academic cheating in terms of black and white, right and wrong. But in one instance, is a sign of selfishness, while in another, is a sign of helpfulness. 

One of the younger Puerto Rican faculty members [...] finally summed up what, in a sense, was the attitude of many of the Puerto Rican teachers [...]: "I'm really sick of you continentals saying that we don't care if the students cheat, that we urge them to cheat. You miss the point completely. I'm interested in my students learning the right answers to questions. If they can learn more easily by copying from a neighbor's paper than they can from me, what difference does it make?"

Cooper eventually does find alternate and supplemental ways of teaching English to his students. These methods had varying degrees of success. This has got me thinking on the different "wrong" and "right" ways in which educators can help their students. In our educational system, does helping truly mean? How much help is too much, and how much is not enough?

The more I read texts like these regarding education, the more I think about all the ways in which American/Puerto Rican education should be reformed. There is an ever-growing emphasis on standardized testing, and every year more and more students suffer from stress and anxiety due to these types of evaluations.

I remember when I was a child, asking my parents about what "Montessori schools" were like. Most adults brush them off as "hippie schools," since this kind of educational approach relies more on an independent, organic learning process rather than strictly structured classes. Similarly, many parents reject the idea of homeschooling or "unschooling" because they are afraid these methods won't prepare their children for "the real world."

But what do they mean by this? Are they saying that "the real world" is full of rigid learning environments and standardized testing? Our educational system didn't appear out of nowhere. In its essence, it was created hundreds of years ago and has been barely adapted for modern times. It was made up by us, and it can be changed by us, too. As a society, we make structured learning a requirement in grade school, as well as high school and college. 

At an early age, students learn to memorize huge amounts of information with the sole purpose of writing it all down on one test, and then moving on to the next topic. We've chosen to make these skills an indispensable part of our society. Yet we recognize that the system isn't perfect. This is the education of the real world, we tell ourselves. But is it the education we deserve?

"Those who can, do..."

When I first came across Jim Cooper's Down on the Island, I was... hesitant about reading it. In this memoir, Cooper reflects upon his time in Puerto Rico. More specifically, as a professor in Mayagüez back in the 1960s. I was wary because I kept wondering what his perspective on Puerto Rico was going to be. 

It would be an understatement to say that Puerto Rico has a somewhat complicated relationship with the United States. This is definitely relevant when discussing the history of public education in our island. At one point, American teachers were brought over and were forced to teach classes in English to citizens who were, back then, barely literate in Spanish. 

So as you can imagine, when I first heard that this book featured and American professor in our island, I was curious. I wanted to understand the context behind it. I was pleasantly surprised when I noticed that Cooper is an impartial observer of his surroundings. Of course, in a memoir of this type, it is impossible to transform oneself into a completely neutral narrator. But Cooper writes with honesty and respect about his environment, and about all those small particularities that make Mayagüez, Mayagüez and that make Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico. 

For example, he does not write about his living conditions with a resentful tone. He, quite simply, presents what is around him:

[...] my friend Gene Hall and I were sharing one of the casetas on campus. In contrast to quite substantial cement houses lived in by Beck with and other senior members of the faculty, the casetas consisted of a row of five small, temporary wooden houses a short way uphill from the cow barns, which were rented, on very reasonable terms, to junior faculty members. 

Educating others is never an easy thing to do, and Cooper seemed to struggle a lot with his curriculum. He does, however, mention one very important thing: "Despite the failings of the syllabus, we did have one very important thing working in our favor in the classroom. The students wanted to learn English and wanted to communicate in it."

His most poignant and beautiful quote, in my opinion, is the following: "Somehow, without my realizing it, living and teaching at the Colegio had become the real world, no longer in quotes. Not much like the one I had left behind, perhaps, but most certainly real." He captures the essence of immigration, of not just traveling but actually settling in one place. The Colegio was "other", it was distanced from him... Until one day, it was not. Somewhere along the line, it stopped being a separate thing, and became his reality.

That being said, by far what I liked most about the seventh chapter, "Teaching English", is that he is also brutally frank about the struggles he had as a teacher. It seems to me that with each passing day, people find it easier to dismiss teaching as a serious profession. My mother is a teacher, and so I am a fervent defender of educators. While reading Cooper's experiences, I was reminded of the classic idiom, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach." What a strange, and frankly demeaning, expression.

Interestingly enough, I believe the opposite to be true. When we're young, one of the first things that we try to do is to teach others. Children teach their friends to play games, they teach their siblings to tie their shoes, they teach their dogs tricks. It's human nature. Yet, most kids (as well as adults) get easily frustrated when they try and fail to educate someone on a particular topic. It seems to me like those who have a natural talent for teaching discover it a young age. The rest of us are the ones who have to find something else to do.

As food for thought, I leave you with Taylor Mali's fantastic slam poem, "What Teachers Make". Here is a link for one of his many performances, and here is a link to the written version of the poem. Additionally, here is a "graphic" (comic book) version of it.

One Room, Many Views

So far, our Journey Into Literature course has been filled with great discussions regarding all sorts of aspects about travel. We've discussed the importance of both internal and external journeys, as well as how different -isms (classism, racism, sexism, etc.) can influence us into "othering" people. The film A Room With A View (1985), which is set in the Edwardian era, seemed like the perfect opportunity to discuss all these social issues. 

 In my small way I am a woman of the world. And I know where things can lead to. - Charlotte Bartlett

Remember the facts about this church of Santa Croce; how it was built by faith in the full fervour of medievalism.  [The Reverend Mr. Eager]

Built by faith indeed! That simply means the workers weren't paid properly. [Mr. Emerson] 

Yet surprisingly, what struck me most about the movie was that it got me thinking about how people used to travel in the early 1900s. How did tourism work back then? In what ways has it changed? How has it stayed the same?

Lucy Honeychurch, our main character, goes on a trip with her older cousin Charlotte Bartlett as her chaperone. They're from the United Kingdom and they're visiting Italy. One of the most curious details I noticed is how some locals in the movie disliked the idea of using a Baedeker, a popular travel guide. I haven't traveled a lot, but I've done a lot of research about traveling. There seem to be two perspectives through which you can explore a different country: either as a tourist, or as a traveler. Nowadays, 

It is obvious that in the beginning of the film, both Lucy and Charlotte are tourists. The opening scene features them complaining about how they were given a hotel room without a beautiful view. This sparks the question: how much time were they planning to stay inside the hotel, that they give  such priority to a nice view? 

The whole point of traveling, in my opinion, is to spend little time indoors and stay all day outside, exploring the city. It can be argued that, throughout A Room With A View, Lucy transforms from a tourist to a traveler, while Charlotte stays a tourist. 

Smell! A true Florentine smell. Inhale, my dear. Deeper! Every city, let me tell you, has its own smell. - Eleanor Lavish

In Lucy's particular case, her external journey and internal journey are tied. She grows, matures, and falls in love all while being away from her home country. Her physical journey is going to Italy, but her personal journey is becoming an independent woman in a time when societal norms limited women's ability to do anything completely on their own.

Nowadays, it's technically easier for women to travel alone. I say "technically" because there is still a lot of stigma. Everyone has seen the movie Taken. Other countries are dangerous and filthy. Criminals are lurking in every corner. Women are always unsafe by default, right?

I refuse to believe that. As a young woman who fervently wants to travel, I do not believe the world is nearly as terrifying as people have made it out to be. Is the world a dangerous place? Yes, but arguably so is my hometown. So is my college. So is my country. I take precautions when I walk alone, when I go out to drink, when I'm out at night. I take these precautions here, where I live. What's stopping me from traveling and enjoying another country while taking these same precautions?

A couple of months ago I read a fantastic comic/blog post titled "Don't let fear stop you from traveling!" It's a bit long, but it's worth the read. In it, a woman named Natalie recounts her experiences as a traveler and hitchhiker. I won't spoil anything else, you'll have to read it to understand why I loved her post so much!

By the end of the movie, Lucy gets her happy ending. She elopes and ends up in Italy, in a room with a view. This won't happen to most of us who travel. We won't necessarily find our soulmate, and even if we did, not all of us would be willing to leave everything behind and move to a new country. But that's not what's important. The important thing is to recognize they way in which trips change us. Most of the time, we come back home from traveling feeling as if what happened there, has to stay there. But we must never underestimate the way journeys can affect and change us. 

Identities

     Since a quick Internet search on "Caribbean islands" indicates that this archipelago is made up of thousands of isles, it is strange to try and fathom a single, unifying Caribbean identity. Yet, within this variety of landscapes, cultures, languages, and traditions, there is common ground. In "The Roots of Caribbean Identity: Language, Race and Ecology," Peter Roberts tackles the many facets of the Caribbean identity and all concepts that it entails. His introduction is clear and concise, and does a good job of putting forward his general ideas. Three of them are particularly interesting: first of all, his comments on the idea of home; second of all, the idea of one group being made to look superior than another; and last, the action of labeling and naming a specific group.

     On the idea of home, Roberts mentions that there's a certain instinct of territoriality within human beings. However, he also adds:

Because the human being does not necessarily remain in one place through a lifetime, home is variable and may be place of birth, place of residence or may be defined by the popular notion 'where the heart is'

While I do agree wholeheartedly with his proposal of home being variable, I would like to take it a step further. I altogether reject the idea of home as one single place. Home, I believe, should be thought about more as a network, as a series of places that hold emotional value for a specific person. Home is not just a shifting, changing thing but rather a collection, in our hearts and minds, of the different times when we have felt belonging and have achieved some sort of personal growth. As we grow up, travel, and move, what happens is that we "accumulate" homes.

     This topic is always relevant when discussing Caribbean identities. Especially considering these islands' histories. When colonizers arrived in the 15th century, Caribbean countries were not empty; they were already homes to the indigenous population. With colonization, our current nations were constructed on the idea of a different kind of home. As more and more colonizers arrived and fewer left, as more generations were born and grew up in the Caribbean, the idea of home changed not just for Europeans, but for Africans and indigenous people, too. Currently, it is important to always keep these issues in mind, since nations such as Puerto Rico are living through times of simultaneous immigration and emigration.

     While Roberts does not elaborate about it in the introduction, is essential to mention colonization and European domination when talking about the Caribbean identity. Apart from relating it to the idea of home, it is of the utmost importance to consider the way this relationship influence society and culture. In our day-to-day lives, sometimes we do not realize how much our perceptions are shaped by European mindsets:

which one group is seen to be or made to look clearly superior in some respect, the instinct for preservation causes the inferior group to concede superiority. This is typical in situations where one group dominates another

When one group reaches a certain level of superiority over another, its opinions and lifestyles are also seen as superior. One example that comes to mind is the perception of beauty. Despite the fact that most Caribbean people look distinctively mixed-raced, facial features such as fair skin and thin, straight hair are still valued. In the case of Puerto Rico, in theory we seem very proud of our heritage: all kids grow up listening to history teachers explain that the Puertorrican identity is made up of Spanish, African, and Taíno heritage In practice, however, there is not doubt that European features are prized and even considered the norm in our society. It is imperative to acknowledge that apart from all the elements that Roberts lists that contribute to the development of an identity, we can not ignore the powerful (and occasionally violent) influences that dominant countries can have on the countries they control. We cannot picture identity as solely as something that is an internal reflection. Outside influences, must be taken into account.

     Finally, Peter Roberts notes the process of naming identities. In our culture, adults are constantly reminding children that labels are inherently bad. How can we reduce a person, or a group of people, to a word? We are taught that it is bad, that it is offensive. Yet this mentality fails to capture the whole picture. In reality, it is vital to stress the significance of personal labeling:

Naming of a group, however, can be done by the group itself or by others, which means that a name may be reelection of a shared experience of sameness across individuals, or on the other hand, it may be projection of beliefs, values and desires on to people without them having any prior consciousness of identity. Whether the one name prevails over the other is a matter who controls the dissemination of information.

There is a significant difference between choosing a label, and having a label imposed on oneself. In the first case, it is about strangers forcing someone into a "box," into a set of predetermined (read: stereotypical) ideas. These strangers will never understand all of the small peculiarities that make up an identity. People who choose to name a difference group usually do it out of a place of ignorance and of willful "othering." In the second case, it is about creating a space, and naming it, and making it one's own. 

     The Caribbean identity is many things. It is mixed, complex, and in constant change. It has a beautiful history, as well as a violent one. It is hard to define, not just from the point of view of scholars, but also from the point of view of actual Caribbean people. Yet we have accepted this; over the years, we have come to terms with the fact that our identity is not easily put inside a neat box. At the end of the day, the most important thing is not which words we choose to describe ourselves, but rather the knowledge that we are the ones choosing these words for ourselves. Historically, many ideals have been imposed upon us, but we have the power to take back our identity and little by little, truly make it our own. 

In the Eye of the Tourist

     They say "beauty is in the eye of the beholder." Lo and behold, the beauty of San Juan, Puerto Rico.

     Today, I put on a pair of different eyes. For a few hours, I stopped observing my surroundings as a Puertorrican, and started seeing things from the point of view of a tourist. It was a strange experience, but it lead to some interesting conclusions. At first, I was hesitant to do this activity. I do not look like a white American or a white European, which are usually the types of tourists that one encounter in the Old San Juan. As a reaction to this, I tried my best to "look" the part with my outfit: I wore loose shorts, a tank top, sneakers, and a cap. I did the tour with a big backpack and with my camera in hand. Since I didn't physically look like a tourist, my instinct was to at least dress up as the stereotype of a tourist. 

     Looking back, perhaps it was a bit ridiculous. I quickly discovered that being a tourist is much more than just having one specific look. In fact, it can be argued that being a tourist has less to do with how you look, and more to do with how you act. 

     Perhaps I didn't have a tourist "look," but I certainly had tourist eyes, and that made a world of a difference. I was born and raised here in Puerto Rico, so I've always felt like I already know all there is to know regarding the Old San Juan. I knew about El Morro, and I knew about San Cristóbal. I knew about the legend of La garita del diablo and about the history of the Spanish army in Puerto Rico. 

        But from the perspective of someone who is here visiting, it's not just about knowing; it's about observing. There are many, many historical facts that I learned in school. This is information that I know, because it was taught to me with a book (or, occasionally, a field trip). Tourism is about independent observation. If I had to put it in terms of analogies, I would say this: if growing up in Puerto Rico was like going to school, then seeing Puerto Rico from the point of view of a tourist was more like homeschooling. Yes, it's true that there was the option to watch an educational movie or take a professional, guided tour. But there's a certain beauty and satisfaction in personal discoveries; in walking alone, at one's own pace, and learning in one's own time. 

    I did this tourism activity by myself. It was strange at first, because I was used to doing these sorts of expeditions in big groups. But the more time I spent alone, the better the experience got. El Castillo San Cristóbal has many floors and rooms, and everywhere I looked I found plaques that explained the history of the fort. I noticed that these plaques were not organized in any particular order. You could walk around and observe the building in any way that you chose. 

    I noticed the fort's architecture. I noticed the three flags, one of which I previously had no idea what it meant. I noticed tourist, real tourists, walking around and taking pictures. This was another important realization for me: taking pictures. Nowadays, photography has become and informal, casual, fun hobby, because everyone can take pictures with their phone. But once you are a tourist, you being to truly appreciate the environment that surrounds you. On one hand, you can't help but want to take photos of everything. But on the other hand, you also understand that quality is more important than quantity. You develop this urge to take truly good pictures that capture the essence of your trip.

     I do not think "Tourist Sabrina" was treated any differently than "Regular Sabrina". When I asked for a brochure, I did my best to pronounce "Brochure?" and lose my accent. The man in the counter said "Yeah," instead of "Sí, claro" and handed me one... Which I assume means that he believed I was speaking in English. When I was in line to buy a ticket, however, something else happened. I noticed that the guy at the desk was speaking in English to the Americans in front of me. As soon as I walked over, however, he greeted me kindly in Spanish. I hadn't said anything to him yet; I had simply walked over in silence. He also mentioned that an educational video was going to start playing in a few minutes, and that right now the Spanish version would be playing. 

     I did not mind the assumption that Spanish was my first language, but it did confirm my suspicions that, no matter how hard I try, I will never really look like a tourist. But that's OK. If there's one thing that I learned from this experience is that it's not about having a tourist outfit, but rather having a tourist's outlook. It's about being willing to walk by oneself and explore things one by one. It's about learning new things, and taking good pictures. It's about noticing the little details that we usually ignore because of our hectic lives. Most importantly, it's extremely important not to assume that, just because we were born here, that we've already seen all there is to see. Yes, we all took educational field trips when we were in middle school. Yes, we all learned about Puerto Rico's history in high school. But we have this mentality that, just because we were born and raised here, that we don't need to act like "ridiculous" tourists. But being a tourist isn't ridiculous (OK, maybe sometimes it is). But it's also more than that. Being a tourist in entertaining; it's fun. But most of all, being a tourist means being an "observator" of the world around us. 

In Defense of our What We See, and What We Miss

     As an introduction to the topic of perception, I would like to share the following videos: Selective Attention Test, and Test Your Awareness: Whodunnit?

Selective Attention Test [link]

Test Your Awareness: Whodunnit? [link]

   While these videos might appear to be simply humorous at first glance, there's no denying that they're also thought-provoking. As the busy, distracted human beings that we sometimes tend to be, I think sometimes we'd like to believe that we're the ones to blame for our inattentiveness. What most people don't know, however, is that there are scientific explanations as to why we focus on certain details, while we ignore others. Science can explain why we seem to focus subconsciously or automatically. 

     Nowadays it's very easy, cliché even, to blame technology. It's easy to blame our modern, hectic, day-to-day lives. I don't want to deny that those factors have an influence... But I can't help but feel that when we adopt this mentality, we're doing a disservice to ourselves. 

     As it turns out, it would be physically impossible for our brains to pay attention to everything, all the time, even if we wanted to. Our bodies are constantly being bombarded with all different kinds of stimuli. If our brain tried to process all of those at the same time, our senses would get overwhelmed. Not just that; the process of taking in all that stimuli would be downright draining. Our brains know how to prioritize: they recognize what matters now and what can be ignored or dealt with later. From the moment we wake up it is not really up to us, but rather up to our brains, to decide what to pay attention to and what to ignore. 

     That being said, it is always possible to re-train our brain to focus on different things. I am reminded of a quote from the book Perspective: Amateur Eyes by Alexandra Horowitz:

Though paying attention seems simple, there are numerous forms of payment. I reckon that every child has been admonished by teacher or parent to "pay attention." But no one tells you how to do that.

It's true: growing up, the concept of attention is one of those things that we learn by context. We understand the connotation of the word, even if we don't exactly know it's denotation. We are never shown just how to pay attention. Similarly, we are never shown how concentration works, either. That's not to say that we grow up noticing the wrong things. Yet it must be established that when talking about perception, apart from the scientific angle, there's also a social one. We grown up and learn to concentrate on certain serious things. We are taught to value schoolwork, chores, and responsibilities, while leaving more "trivial" things (sightseeing, daydreaming) aside. Somewhere along the line, we forget just how multifarious the idea of attention is, and of all the potential that it holds. 

     In the ever-constant process of prioritizing and forgetting, of paying attention and ignoring, it's important to maintain an optimistic attitude. After all, we should respect our brains for what they do, not resent them for what they forget. Will your life change because you stopped on your way to work in order to smell flowers? Will your fate be transformed if you make the decision to stare at the clouds for ten minutes everyday? Perhaps not, but then again, maybe we shouldn't ask for that much. Perhaps the greatest thing about perspective is the fact that it's never set in stone. Once you start thinking about perception and realize just how much you've been missing, it's easy to feel disheartened. But once you reclaim your attention, once you begin to observe the world around you actively instead of passively, you realize that there's so much more to explore. 

"¿Te gusta el inglés?" / Do you like English?

   Last week, my university held a conference titled The lexicon in varieties of English around the world: PR, USA, Malta. The event, hosted by Dr. Manfred Krug, exposed the findings from an investigation whose purpose was to determine the similarities and differences between the English spoken in Puerto Rico, and the English spoken in the island of Malta. Additionally, the presentation included information contrasting the English used in the United States with the English from the UK. 

   While the lecture's focus was simply to expose its findings, and not so much to analyze the contents, it's important for us to look back on the history of these four countries. We can't discuss the English language without establishing the historical context. What today we call the United States of America began as a few colonies made up of immigrants from all over Europe, but especially the United Kingdom. Eventually, in 1898, it was the US that took over Puerto Rico, who was previously colonized by Spain. Similarly, Malta was originally controlled by the French until the UK took power for about 150 years. 

   I do not know about the culture in Malta, but in Puerto Rico there's a small sector of our population that is extremely hostile to the English language, as a direct result of our relationship with the US. Some people don't see it as an advantage, and don't take into account that it's the language spoken in many of our "sister islands" (such as Jamaica). It is seen as something purely political, a constant reminder of the US involvement and domination in Puerto Rico. 

   Despite these hostile feelings, Puerto Rico still recognizes English as one of the island's official languages. It would be interesting to investigate and learn more about Malta's history with imperialism and the general social attitude towards English.

   Speaking now on a personal level, as a Puerto Rican, I think perhaps we are being too hard on ourselves. We assume the worst of our country: we feel like we're leaving Spanish behind, conveniently ignoring the fact that Spanish, too, was an imposed language. We fear that we're losing our culture, that our Spanish is so full of anglicisms that it's shameful, and that we're the Latin American country who speak Spanish the worst.

   My father travels every month as part of his job, and I've had this conversation with him before. He always ends up saying the same thing: it doesn't matter if you're in Argentina, Mexico, Brazil, Suriname or Panama. English, as one of the most spoken languages in the world, has had a tremendous influence on hundreds of countries. The words "póster" (poster) is accepted by the Royal Spanish Academy of Language. Many Spaniards even use the world "puzle" for puzzle, despite the fact that there's already a Spanish word for that. 

   There's no denying that from a political perspective, Puerto Rico's relationship with the US sometimes makes us uncomfortable. There's nothing wrong with having discussions about imperialism and colonialism. Yet, it definitely puts a strain on how we talk about and discuss the topic of language. A nation's language isn't just a reflection of its past, it's an indicator of its future. As a country, Puerto Rico's historical journey has been filled with ups and downs, but for better or worse, our languages –both Spanish and English– are an intrinsic part of that journey. 

"Running Brave" - A journey of independence

There may not be an "I" in "team," but there's certainly an "I" in "running."

   In many ways, the movie Running Brave contains a lot of the traditional tropes found in sports movies: it's based on a true story and features an underdog, who we all root for, who goes to extreme lengths to become a champion. He faces challenges, and gets pushed around until he finally rises up to the challenge.

   One trope that it doesn't use, however, is the typical "teamwork" cliché. In these kinds of films, there's almost always an emphasis on coming together in order to win the big game. In many occasions, two foil characters must put their differences aside and come together in order to win. Even if they don't win, this loss is never portrayed as a bad thing. The moral of the story, after all, is that working together is the most important thing.

   Running Brave is many things. It's a journey movie. It's a film about sports. It tackles issues like prejudice and racism. It's about overcoming personal, social, and cultural barriers in order to win. But make no mistake: this movie is not, in any shape, way or form, about teamwork. This trope is so prevalent in Hollywood, that as I watched the movie I patiently waiting for Bill to bond with his fellow teammates. I kept waiting for those friendships to flourish, yet they never did.

   When Bill first starts running, he's going on this journey for himself. His Native American heritage is an important part of his identity, and so it becomes an extension of him. His family isn't forcing him to run. He's running for himself and for his people, as one. However, when he arrives at his university, we see other forces influencing his journey. He's forced to run for a coach who doesn't respect him and to represent a college that won't even let him participate in a fraternity. He wants to wait for the other athletes, to develop a sense of friendship with them, and yet his coach is constantly cutting him off.

   His journey as an athlete can be divided into two parts: his internal journey, and his external journey. His internal struggle has to do with transitioning into a "white" world and finding where he belongs. His external journey is a reflection of that: he leaves the reservation, goes to the "real world", goes back to the reservation to do some thinking, and then leaves again. At one point, he forgets his purpose for running. On one hand, he wasn't allowed to run for and with his team; but on the other hand, he was scolded when he interacted with Native Americans from other teams

   He wanted to run for his tribe, for his home, while being physically away from home. He was able to maintain that connection alive for some time, but eventually he had to go back to remind himself why his running career mattered. He had to make a physically journey to his hometown in order to pick himself up again and remind himself his real reasons for running.

   Billy Mill's journeys –both internal and external– did not revolve around teamwork in the traditional sense. He was running alone yes, but the most important thing was for him was to avoid feeling isolated. In his case, teamwork isn't about physical, athletic cooperation. Here, teamwork is about Billy running by himself, but being supported by his people back home.

What does it take to spark an internal journey?

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move.  

   Ever since I was 13 or 14 years old, I have felt that my life is too stationary for my taste, although I am aware that in reality that's not entirely true. I was born and raised here in Puerto Rico, but lived for two and a half years in Brazil. Additionally, my mother is Venezuelan, so as a child I also spent many summers visiting my relatives. Growing up, my family was always planning some sort of trip, even if it was simply to visit my great-grandmother in Mayagüez.  

   However, as I grew up, family trips became less and less frequent. With every passing year, I was filled with more wanderlust. I began to feel mentally stuck. Looking back, I sort of convinced myself that any potential internal journeys were tied to whether or not I took an actual, physical trip. I had spent years watching movies about characters who travel and have amazing adventures. How could I grow as a person if I always stayed in one place? As I was about to learn, I would eventually go on a vacation that would, indeed, spark an internal reflection. Yet it wasn't going to be the kind of reflection I originally had in mind.   

   Last December, I went on a vacation with my family to Ohio. We rented a cabin and had a family reunion with almost twenty of our relatives. While the experience itself was wonderful, it wasn't long until I felt as if something was missing. We got settled in, exchanged gifts, caught up with each other's lives, and went shopping. Then, after a few days, the atmosphere was... calm. I was expecting this trip to be action-packed, and I was sure that we would have something new to do every day. Yet looking back, we spent most of our free time inside the cabin, playing board games. 

   

 

   In other words, after a while the vacation felt exactly like being at home. I'd been so sure that the simple fact that we were on vacation was going to change us. The trips I am able to take are so few and so far in between, that I hopped on a plane with the certainty that this experience was going to make me a more philosophical, complex human being. My internal journey hinged on the trip and on the experiences I would have while traveling.  

   For the longest time, I truly believed that personal growth always had to be tied with travel. Not because I thought that internal journeys couldn't occur without some sort of trip, but rather because I thought that exploring the world always affected people. It is now that I realize that some people travel the world without ever appreciating it, while others stay in one place their whole lives and still feel fulfilled.

    

   On the plane ride home, I came to terms with the fact that internal and external journeys are two completely different things. If I want to experience emotional and mental growth, it is up to me to read, write, and think my way through the journey.