Reflections: Love for the World Cup

I love the World Cup. There is nothing more beautiful than seeing national pride from different fans from all around the world. What I love more is the passion that I see on television of those brightly painted screaming faces, or the colorful banners raised high over peoples' heads with much pride. You can also see the disappointment and anger when things don't go as one would like. This comes from a place deep within, a place that I'm just beginning to understand, although I'm not there quite yet.

Reflections: (Milestones)

The last couple of weeks have included two milestones for me -- the first (and the least important) is my 40th anniversary of life and the second, my son's high school graduation. I knew that the month of May (especially the latter part of it) would be challenging for me and for the ones that love me. I anticipated being somewhat impossible and I asked for patience and compassion in advance to those who surrounded me. "You weren't that bad", said a friend of mine. "Yes, I was," was my response. Thanks again for the love and for not giving up on me.

Reflections (Attracting positivity)

Something that I read this past week really lit a little fire within me. The article that I read suggested that when other people around us are negative or sad, it's a reflection of ourselves, the energy that we give out. I'm not sure if that's true or not but I do believe that we can attract positivity with positivity.

Reflections (Ceremony and rite of passage )

Ceremony. Rite of passage. These are the series of words that popped in my mind as I saw my son standing there in a suit he was trying on, as he prepares for prom and graduation. He looked stunning to me. I had never seen my son look so handsome. I could have died at that moment. I could hardly contain my joy that I wanted so badly to cry or dance a dance of joy -- or both. Instead, I stood there and smiled and said, "You look wonderful son." He smiled back and said, "Thank you, mom." At that moment I saw only a hint of the boy before me, who every day is becoming more and more a man.

Blog: El intento

Tenía 9, apenas 9 años, cuando me empecé a dar cuenta que la vida era algo mucho más inmenso que solo despertar, ponerme el uniforme horrible de cuadros, las calcetas blanquísimas que mi nana me lavaba con mucho cloralex y me apretaban y marcaban los chamorros de niña gordita.

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