Swings
04.02.02 // 7:56 p.m.

Back and forth I went. Up and down. I used to play on the very same set 15 years ago. I was happy then. The only thing I worried about was the girl I didn�t get along with standing at the edge, where the sand met the blacktop, counting to 100.

1� 2� 3� up and down I went. 4� 5� 6� 7� she continued counting. I still had 90 seconds of bliss remaining.

In 1st grade, Yo was only 3 years old. She was happy then too, except when she got her awful earaches or 18 month old Adrian � with arms and legs that uncannily resembled chorizo links � got more attention than she did.

80 more seconds on the swings�

My two tightly woven braids flailed in the wind as I coasted down 10 feet from the zenith of the wave to the nadir.

Up� down� 72 more seconds.

I gripped the chain links tightly, my knuckles nearly white. I pumped my legs to continue going higher. I wanted to be level with the top bar. I folded my legs and then kicked out pointing my toes toward the fluffy cumulus clouds in the sky in order to go higher. I wanted to hit the snow-capped mountains to the north.

64 more seconds�

Swings are not always a symbol of bliss and utter happiness. Last summer I felt a knot in my stomach as Sunny told me how her younger brother took his own life. He shot himself while he was on the swings at a local park. Sunny still can�t bring herself to visit the park where she once played soccer with her brothers and father.

57 more seconds�

Yo and I have a lot in common. Whenever we�re upset and can�t stand being in the house we take a walk half a block down to our former elementary school and play on the swings in the main playground. Late in the day there are no snot-nosed little girls counting and waiting for their turn. The swings take us back to our little lives when the only worry we had from boys was them chasing us on the playground and pulling our hair in the classroom.

49 more seconds�

Dom and I sat on the swings at the school while I explained to him the situation with Yo the day after her attempted suicide. I sat on the swings as he told me, just like Bob Marley sang, that everything was going to be all right. We left the main playground and walked toward Mom�s classroom. From there we entered the kindergarten playground.

35 more seconds�

I sat down on the smaller swing set and said, �Dom, push me.� He stood behind me and pushed me gently. I leaned back so my body would be parallel with the ground. My long hair swept the sand. Up and down I went. Back and forth. As I came back, Dom stood in the perfect position for our lips to meet for a brief peck.

26 seconds to go�

Last Friday Yo and I visited the school again for some quality time on the swings and to unwind from the stressful week. Eventually we started acting like kids and bumping in to each other. She faced the field while I faced the black top. If your legs weren�t so short we could have kicked each other. On those swings I longed for the times when our lives were less stressful and we had fun just being.

13 seconds left�

I didn�t want to leave on Sunday night, so I waited until early Monday morning to drive back to LA. I woke Yo up a little before 7 hugged her and then went out into the foggy morning. Now I�m once again 45 miles away from her and I can�t take care of her or comfort her when she�s feeling down again, but maybe she�ll be find some solace on the swings.

3� 2� 1�

I�m off to the jungle gym!

(Nancy and I on the swings during the summer. The photo was taken by Yo.)


Happy belated C�sar E. Ch�vez Day! In the fall of 1999 I remember gathering petitions and attending rallies to garner support for a state holiday for the Chicano labor leader and activists. He passed away in 1993 and since then many schools, streets, buildings and even Chicana/o Studies Centers (UCLA�s for example) have been named after him. He continues to inspire people of all backgrounds to work in a non-violent struggle for social justice.

My favorite Ch�vez quote: �The end of all education should surely be service to others.�


I had my Teach for America interview yesterday. I don�t feel too confident about my chances to get into the program. I was feeling okay through the morning part when I did my sample lesson plan on the brass section of an orchestra, had a group discussion, and addressed a problem in writing. I was too nervous during the 35-minute personal interview to think the questions straight and come up with good answers. I felt I was just telling the interviewer what she wanted to hear. I�ll know in a couple of weeks whether TFA wants me or not. If I do get in, I doubt I�ll accept if I�m placed anywhere outside of California.


Back to school� don�t think I�m ready for a hectic spring quarter, but I got classes I really like. Each of the professors I have I have already taken a course with at least once too.

I did okay last quarter. So far I got a B in Sociology of Gender (I have never been so happy with a B) and an A- in Chilean Film and Literature. I think my GPA is still in tact for me to graduate cum laude.

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Searches - 09.16.05
the big move - 07.29.05
mother and daughter: a comparative analysis - 07.28.05
jardineros y dom�sticas - 07.27.05
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