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.