A Catalytic Trip

#52Weeks2017 - Week 22

Traveling has become something I think about day and night. It very well may be second place on the list, right below photography. And just like almost everything I do, traveling for me has become more than sightseeing the most popular landmarks, as that barely touches the surface of what traveling is. For me. I realized this during my second trip to Puerto Rico.

The weeks prior to the trip, I planned our stay in Puerto Rico. I wanted to explore hidden gems that were less populated but just as beautiful. I also booked our stay in a humble fisherman's town walking distance from Playa Fortuna in Luquillo. The first time around we stayed at the Wyndham in Rio Grande. I knew the commodities and amenities would be nothing close to the resort this time around but I didn't care. That is what I was actually looking for. As long as we had a bed, a bathroom, and air conditioning I knew we would be fine.

I also had planned to shoot some portraits. I wanted to capture the faces of locals in the beautiful island, as well as observe how they lived and their culture. All of this was to be captured through my lens. Never in a million years did I think that the trip would be a catalyst for my photography journey, as well as for me.

Upon my arrival to the Air BnB we noticed the sweeping difference from our previous stay at the Wyndham. This time as we drove looking for where we were staying we came across stray dogs playing and chasing each other, chickens clucking around, and children running barefoot. It was everything I wanted to see and experience. But not only was our setting beautiful, our Air BnB hosts were the sweetest people ever. My trip had started off on the right foot and I was thrilled to be back at the island that had stolen my heart the first time I came.

Our first morning we decided to wake up early to catch the sunrise in Playa Fortuna. Little did I know this would be the inception of what would change my purpose in photography and me as a person. After watching the spectacular sunrise as sunrises promise to be, we walked down to "La Boca", a corner where the river, Rio Grande, and the ocean meet. We laid down our belongings, including my camera and tripod at sight and then walked and swam early in the morning in cold river water and the warm, salty ocean. We were alone. The river and the beach was all to ourselves. Or so we thought. Far in the ocean, to our left, we saw a fisherman. He was there all the while we were. But he was so far from us we would forget about him from time to time. Around 10 am he was done fishing and as he was leaving he warned us to stay close to our belongings. He said that even though it was safe there, it's better to stay close and keep an eye on it. This was the beginning of our trip.

His name is Evaristo. Tato, to family, friends and everyone in town. That morning when we met him as he was leaving we got caught up in a conversation. So much that he forgot he had to go home, and we forgot about the beach and the river. Suddenly his words and his fishing pole were much more interesting. He crossed the river to a mangrove to make sure it was shallow enough for us to cross. So we did. After crossing the river and talking to him I asked him if I could take his portrait. He loved the idea and posed for my camera with his fishing pole dug into the sand and a coconut next to him. After the first few portraits we continued to talk and I got carried away taking more portraits. These were candid shots. I loved them even more.

At the end of our conversation he pointed to his 'yolita' (little boat) and offered to take us deep into the river whenever we wanted. As we walked out of the beach he showed us around. He pointed to 3 story buildings and houses destroyed by the ocean on the right side of the beach which had no entrance. He taught us about the power of the ocean and how the ocean, sooner or later gets back what belongs to her. The buildings and houses were built without the 'ocean's permission' taking away its space. Giant walls were put up to avoid destruction. What took months to build and a few years to enjoy, the ocean took back what belonged to her in a matter of two nights. Once again this brought about another long conversation about all that we do to our Earth. We then walked Tato home, a block away from where we were staying. He told us to knock on his door whenever we wanted to go into the river and explore Rio Grande. His Rio Grande.

Two days later we went looking for him and off we went to explore the depths of Rio Grande in his 'yolita'. As he rowed his boat he pointed to all the lizards, turtles, birds, and crabs we found along the way. He gifted us with facts about the the trees and plants and his beautiful island. The island he loves. As we went further in, he asked us if we wanted to swim. I was a little skeptical at first but Tato looked down and studied the water, he dove in and reassured us it was safe. I trusted him, and in we went. We swam in some remote location of Rio Grande. No pristine beach has ever compared to this water, to this moment, and to the company we had.

As we swam, Tato remembered we had never had coconut water before, and so he found a large stick and began to hit a coconut palm tree. He brought down four coconuts and with his bare hands and a rock he made a hole at the top of two coconuts for us to drink the water, and pealed the other two so we can eat the flesh.

While in the water, three of us only. Tato told us his story. He was born in the same house he lives in now. He moved to Philadelphia at the age of 35 and spent 15 long years in Philly. Every single day while in Philly he dreamt of the life he now has. He dreamt of fishing, sitting on his hammock, living in his home, in his island, and eating the reaps of his crop and the fish of the day.  I will forever remember when he said "I rather $500 a month here, than $5,000 over there." The organic simplicity of his life and the island that watched him grow is the definition of happiness for him.

Tato not only gave us an exquisite tour of Rio Grande, he also went out of his way to find maracuya (passion fruit) for me as I was literally dying to have some. He gave us 'tostones de pana' to try and we now like them even more than regular tostones. Sadly, I highly doubt we can find them in the states. Yet another reason to go back.

Tato was by far the realest and best tour guide we could have ever looked for. He has no reviews on Yelp, no tour company, no tour guide title or income from it. But he introduced to us the real Puerto Rico, and showed us the rawness of the island through his wise words, actions, and humble and beautiful tour that came from the bottom of his heart.

Tato gave my photos a story to tell. Yes, the story includes all that he showed us and his wise words, but for me the story is more about passion. I, myself found passion in photographing stories about raw passion and happiness. In whatever shape of form it looks like for my subjects. He taught me that just as I am looking for mine, and he went back to his, others are looking for theirs, don't have a clue yet, or have found it and are fighting for it or living it.

Thank you Puerto Rico; but most importantly, thank YOU Tato.

Creativity Without Practice

#52Essays2017 - Week 21


Creativity without practice is nothing. It does not exist.

I'm learning that as artistic as I've always claimed to be, it is only ego talking. Yes, I used to lay flat on my belly on the floor and sketched for hours. I used to create stories in my head and act them out, maybe even believed them. But the creativity was fed by practice and consistency. Which in turn resulted in more creativity. I wasn't born with more artistic neurons, or a larger right side of my brain. I had discipline with my art. I was clueless about where the daily drive came from, but the discipline was there, and the results were visible. 

The older I get the more trouble I have with discipline in my practice. I want to do it all. My mind wanders and jumps from one idea to another. But ideas are just that, ideas, if not put into action.

I find that I am not alone in this. The more I read on the subject the more I realize we tend to wait around for inspiration, a strike of luck, or for some super natural force to push us to start doing whatever it is we want to do. And when and if we do start, it seems difficult to be consistent with our plans. Whether we want to go back or maintain a routine at the gym, school, leave a dreaded job, or learn a new language. We just wait and push ideas and plans back to an unknown future instead of acting on our desires now.

I believe the first step to bringing discipline and action back into our lives is acknowledging that we are not the exception to the rule. We have to stomp on our egos, pick it back up and throw it as far away from us as possible. Because saying or thinking we are talented or creative, or boasting on all the things we want takes us no where if we do nothing to obtain them. We become stagnant, and the idea only gets farther and farther from our reach.

If I want my creative juices to flow I have to be consistent with my art. I have to show up everyday to a blank page and write. I have to pick up my camera and shoot even if it's from inside my home and the landscape before the lens comes from outside my window.

We have to show up. We have to not only start, but also treat each day as the first and do whatever it is we want to do Every. Single. Day. I guess we can call it karma, whatever we put out we get back. If you create, more creativity will find its way to you. Make it a ritual of just showing up and asking yourself "hey, I'm here again, what's new today?"

A Short One On My Dad

#52Essays2017
Week 20

"In life you have to earn things" is what my dad said to me at Walgreens when I asked for a red teddy bear I had fallen in love with. I was 5 years old. I had no idea what he meant, but I knew I wasn't getting it. My mother who was behind me, put her hand on my shoulder. I felt the tears in the back of my eyes closing in on the corners. I felt my heart beat hard and fast, my face turning hot and red and my head weighed as much as my lanky body did. These physical sensations were caused by three reasons: I wasn't getting the bear, I couldn't cry in front of my father or else he would give me a "real" reason to cry, and most importantly, this was going to cause a major argument between my parents. I hated myself for even wanting the bear.


That is the earliest memory I have of my father. A memory with words that have haunted me for as long as I can remember. What can a five year old possibly do to not earn something in life? But due to those words I have worked hard to the point of exhaustion for absolutely everything, even things I have not desired. I thought I wouldn't be deserving of anything otherwise.

My dad was a man of his word. He took pride in his harshness and strict parenting style and beliefs. He was stubborn and closed minded. There was no other way in his book, as he wanted to emulate the dad his father was to him and his seven siblings. But as a child, I also experienced another type of dad. It was like I had two dads battling each other on who was better and who would parent on what day. The 'other' dad I'm referring to was sweet, playful, overly sensitive and empathetic, and sometimes, he was even willing to listen. Traits I carry by nature and nurture.

Growing up, I started changing him, the softness in him allowed me to mold and modify him. I started to teach him how to consistently be the 'nice dad' that he let out once in a while. I knew deep down he was more open minded than his father and all his siblings. So I taught him everything I learned in college, especially in my psychology and sociology classes. Most of the information I relayed to him was backed up by research. I made sure I was giving him valid and credible information and not mere opinions. Although, I slowly started voicing my views, most of which differed from his, but he listened, respected, and some, he ended up agreeing with. I opened his mind to world issues, science, religion, cultures, beliefs and customs, and most importantly, parenting. I took advantage of dinner time to share the day's lectures. I gained his respect as a scholar and as an adult and I knew my father now looked up to me. He listened and looked at me in a way that I knew he was not only absorbing new information but it was also rewiring his brain and in turn his behavior.

Teaching my dad how to be a better person and father was and is a lot of pressure. It has been both a blessing and a curse, as I have reinforced his reliance on me. I have always been and continue to be the one he seeks for help and support. I quickly became my parent's parent. But I continue to teach him and expose him to new things every chance I get, and he continues to listen and kiss me on the forehead every time he learns something new from his daughter.

A few years ago I rehashed the red teddy bear story to him. He didn't remember. My mother did, because she recalled their argument and going back to Walgreens that week to buy it for me. As I retold the story with details of my every thought and feeling at that moment, he shed a few tears. I did too. He apologized for being a 'bad dad'. But he wasn't a bad dad. He was just being the father he knew how to be. He was parenting as best as he could. However, his ways affected me. They scarred me, but him changing and bettering himself is mending both our wounds.

A few weeks after I told my dad the story, I found a big teddy bear on my bed for Valentine's Day with a card that read "El osito que nunca te di" (the bear I never gave you). I hugged it and cried. The little red teddy bear when I was five, was him back then, and the bear he gave me twenty years later, is my dad now.

What I Learned From My Solitude

#52Essays2017
Week 19

A couple years ago when I thought I needed company the most to stay distracted and keep my mind from taking control, I read somewhere that solitude is the best company. I fortunately, or unfortunately for me back then, don't work over the summer, so alone time is all I would have. It took some time to put it into practice as it terrified me to feel lonely.  But loneliness is forced solitude, instead, I made the decision to be with myself, and see what came from it. The first few moments of solitude were difficult, but I didn't give in and gave it a chance.

I learned 5 things from my solitude:

1. I learned how fun my own company is
The more time I spent alone, the more I started to enjoy my own company and dates with myself. I watched movies I wanted to watch without having to compromise with others and their choices. I bought the junk food of my preference and had those replace main meals. I did whatever I wanted to do at the time I wanted to do it. I had so much fun being alone that I found myself canceling on friends and making excuses, only to continue to have fun with ME.

2. I learned a few things about me I did not know
Growth is never ending. Becoming better at we do is so necessary. But during my time of constant solitude, I discovered new things about me. I discovered new passions. I wrote in my journal more than usual. I wrote everyday. Entries were not only about me and my feelings, but I wrote poems and stories, and long essays. I paired my photos with writing. I also traveled more and loved every ounce of fresh beach and river water, grandiose waterfalls, majestic mountains, trails, and foreign cities. I discovered yoga, meditation, and Buddhism, a love for their meaning and what they stand for. I was unraveling in front of own eyes.

3. I learned to take the reins of my own thoughts
First thing every morning I meditated. I lit up candles and jasmine incense, gathered crystals in front of me, and sat on my cushion in front of my altar. Meditation taught me to clear my head. To focus on my breathing or on a mantra throughout. It taught me to focus on the now. I practiced gratitude, mindfulness, and positive thinking. I wasn't stressing over pushing my thoughts away anymore. I was letting them flow freely for a few minutes, and then replacing those thoughts with positive ones. My thoughts became brighter and lighter. Instead of focusing on the negative, I focused on gratitude. I was suddenly thankful for the hardships, because I would not have been in the path I was in had they not existed. And I would not have been so aware of my thoughts and changing them had I not embraced my time alone to do so.

4. I learned to focus on ME
My time alone led me to not only appreciate it, but also prioritize it. Me and my time became number 1. Suddenly my family and their issues weren't more important than me and mine.

5. I had time to create
Art has always been a big part of me; however, my life became all about the 'important' things, and wrongfully art did not fall in that category, thus it was placed last. Once I started spending time alone, I started sketching, clay sculpting, writing, and photographing incessantly. The more I did all of this, the more creative I was becoming. I thought day and night about all the clay sculptures I wanted to do, all the cartoons I wanted to draw, all the words that had to be written, and all the dogs and places I wanted to photograph. My creative juices were flowing 24/7 without effort.

Time and Me, was all I had for two entire months two years ago, and every summer ever since. There were moments I didn't know what to do with myself, but I learned that boredom is good. Boredom led to the best dates with myself, the most intricate drawings, most amazing photographs, heartfelt essays, and mindful walks. There were moments I cried, but they were revealing tears. I learned so much about myself and loved every inch of me throughout the process.

Every summer I have all the time in the world for me. I am lucky and grateful to have those two months every year. And because I appreciate and love my solitude so much, outside of those two months, I make sure to make time for me to have fun, to discover, to learn the depths of my thoughts, to focus on me, and create.

My Constellation of Stars

#52Essays2017
Week18

Lately I have been working harder on the things I am passionate about. I have been photographing Bernard much more, as well as dogs in foster homes, from Pupstarz Rescue. I have also been photographing everything I find beautiful- nature, buildings, landscapes, places; and whenever I'm not shooting, I sit on my desk and edit new and old photos. Photos that have never been edited, or ones that have already been through photoshop with several layer masks upon them. I get to create and bring new life to photos that were long gone and forgotten. I love writing about the process. Writing about how it makes me feel. These pieces are mostly for myself. They are handwritten. Just like photography, I write about what makes my heart turn, in good and bad ways. If there is an event in my day that was significant and had an impact on me, I write. If I see something that makes me dream, I write. If something happens to someone else, but it hurts me as if I carried the person's heart in me for a while, I write.

I photograph and write because I let out what I fail to execute in any other way. Verbally, words don't flow as well as they do when I write. Verbally, sceneries and soulful eyes can't be described as they are in my photos. I express myself best through art, and that is what I want to do. Forever.

However, because I've been doing this so much more, I'm becoming familiar with the feelings I get when I'm fully immersed in what I love. I'm becoming accustomed to relentlessly create. Therefore, not only have I been feeling amazing about it, I've also been hearing the little voice of depression make it's way back into my life. During the hours that I am immersed in photographing, editing, and writing, in other words, creating, I am on a high like no other. I'm in my zone. A zone I do not want to get out of. A high I do not want to come down from. But I have to, not because I have to eat, shower, and sleep, but because that is simply not part of my everyday life. It doesn't pay the bills, it doesn't feed me. So when I come down of the high, I don't gracefully hit the ground. I hit it hard. So hard it hurts.

The first few days I kept it to myself. I tried to ignore the feelings and push them aside. As if this would work. I should know better. Then I decided to honor my feelings and be fully aware of these emotions. I am entitled to let myself feel whatever I want to feel because there is nothing more real than my raw emotions. I told John about it. And although he was very understanding and kind to give me suggestions and advice, I just needed him to listen. Because the advice he was giving me were things I knew well I had to do. They were the things that got me out of hell, so I knew I had to to put them into practice. I just needed listening ears. I just needed to vent. So I let out all of my emotions. It hurt, but I also freed myself from them, because I was then able to see clearer.


I am lucky to have a job I enjoy, with children that make me laugh and families that trust my knowledge and capabilities to help and teach their children. I am also lucky to have all the time that I have to do what I love. I do count my lucky stars, even though sometimes I forget to do so. But I also count the stars that are farther away, not yet at my reach, because those are the ones that I will relentlessly work for. Stars that I am not sure if they even align. Perhaps my dream job hasn't been invented yet. But somehow I will find a way to integrate photography of dogs and beauty, with writing that comes from the heart and do them both for a living. I'll not only align those far away stars, but they'll become a constellation I'll form on my own, and I'll count each and every one of them every chance I get.

Empathizing With a Rap Song

#52Essays2017
Week 17

"There are certain emotions in your body that not even your best friend can sympathize with, but you will find the right film or the right book, and it will understand you" - Bjork  

** or the right song **

On Sunday morning I jumped into a friend's car to head to a rooftop sunrise shoot. As I stepped in I asked for the music to be changed as he was listening to rap.
My liking in music is very dependent on the lyrics. Music with words that tell a story I can identify with travel deep. Even if the song has no real connection to my life or any experience, my empathetic self feels what the singer is relaying as if he/she is living it, and I hurt or rejoice for them. I am not a fan of rap and hip-hop, because for me, there is nothing significant about 'I got a glock in my rary' or 'I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna f*** with me' --- I can't. I try to be open to things as much as possible. But those words just don't do it for me. It does for others, but not for me.

On our way back from the shoot, he tried educating me about the specific rapper he was listening to when I got into his car. He tried convincing me that not all rap and hip hop is meaningless. That there is actual art created in it, and life messages being transmitted. He provided examples of what this singer/songwriter raps about, and how his style is so unique. I listened, liked what I was being told, and decided to give it a try. And so he played it, and I tried listening to rap as I do other genres. Listen closely, feel, relate.

I listened to Logic, a 27 year-old rapper, singer, songwriter, and record producer. The first song I listened to jumped from different perspectives in such a genius way. It integrated the fatality of an accident, talking to 'God', and the explanation of a theory of life; more specifically how little we know about it. Genius I tell you.

But then I listened to a song that prevented me from swallowing the bread I was eating. I had a knot in my throat throughout as I listened to its every word. Never in a thousand years did I think a rap song would make me feel the way that song made me feel. The song is titled "Anziety"

"Ima make it someday somehow"
what you telling yourself
But you ain't focused on what's important: mentality, health

Speech within the song-

It was December in sunny Los Angeles California
in the heart of Hollywood
I stood next to my wife in a line surrounded by hundreds of other people
on our way to watch Star Wars
When suddenly I was engulfed with fear and panic
as my body began to fade
In this moment my mind was full of clarity
But my body insisted it was in danger
........
And soon enough I found myself in a hospital bed being told
what I went through was anxiety
.......
The doctor said it was anxiety
But how could it be anxiety?
How could anxiety make me physically feel off balance?
How could anxiety make me feel as though I was fading
from this world and on the brink of death?
.......
Derealization
The sense of being out of one's body
I'm not here
I'm not me
I'm not real
Nothing is
Nothing but this feeling of panic

Every word was familiar. His description of anxiety as feeling physically off balance, fading away, panic, and on the brink of death punctured through my heart.
An anxiety I dealt with alone for as long as I can remember. Anxiety and depression I kept as a secret to not add to my parents' list of worries. I was 'strong' in their eyes, I was the family's anchor, how could I possibly weaken? If I fell, my family would too, I thought.

Anxiety and depression is real. And even more real is the silence that surrounds it. It's a silent killer the creeps in and suffocates, slowly. Oh so slowly.

It's like having a constant voice poking fun at you for feeling helpless, which makes you feel even more helpless, because you know the voice is right. The voice is heavy as it pushes you down making it impossible to get out of bed upon waking up. It plays and replays nerve racking and sorrowful events making sadness the most known and familiar feeling. The voice thumps in rhythm to your racing heart, making it louder and deafening. This voice never leaves. It becomes quieter sometimes, so quiet that you may think it's gone for good, but it comes back. Without announcing its return, it comes back well fed, bigger, louder, and more aggressive.

The voice becomes so deafening that there comes a point when its sound waves knock you into a hole. A deep dark hole, so deep that light isn't visible when looking up. I was in there. I tried climbing out, by ignoring the feelings and pushing them aside as I always did, but this time it didn't work. And the fact that I couldn't get out made matters worse.

Until I embraced my emotions, I learned to listen and talk to my heart. To free myself from my own mind because it was distorting and intensifying what my heart was feeling. I had to learn to accept that my heart was a little different. It felt too much. It felt my feelings and others' as well. Once I accepted that about myself, I was no longer at the mercy of my emotions. Because I let myself feel, and then took control of my thoughts, which in turn took control of those feelings before they controlled me.

There is nothing wrong with sadness, and feeling nervous. But when they forcefully want to become your best friends, your mind tends to listen and welcome them in. Controlling my thoughts through self help books, yoga, meditation, mindfulness, positivity, and putting ME first, helped me climb out of the hole, as if they slid in a long ladder and helped me out.

11:11 and Eyelashes

#52Essays2017
Week 16

Last week, as I was with one of my students during a session, I noticed a long eyelash on his rosy cheek.
I stopped teaching, told him to stay still and took the eyelash. I placed it on my index finger and said to him, "Look sweetie, this is your eyelash. Close your eyes, make a wish, and blow at it"

He didn't question me. He closed his eyes for what seemed like an entire minute, opened his eyes and blew. He was excited. His little smirk told me so.

The next day I saw him while I picked up and waited for another student in his classroom. He walked up to me, and with sad little eyes said "My wish didn't come true."

My heart sunk. He had wished for a toy and innocently believed my every word. For a second I didn't know how to amend what I had done. But as I looked into his eyes, the words started flowing. I told him to keep wishing, but to work hard for what he wants as well. If he wants that toy, I told him to do all of his homework on time, pay attention in class, do his chores, help mommy and daddy out, and ask for the toy as a reward and be patient for when his parents can get it for him. To always wish and work hard for the wish. Those are the wishes that are most likely to come true. He seemed to understand what I said, and walked back to his seat with the same sweet smirk as the day before.

At first I thought I should have never introduced him to wish-making for every eyelash. He'll either pull out all of his eyelashes, or get his little heart broken time and time again, as this first time. But after seeing his reaction to my explanation, and knowing it will most likely stay with him more than what is taught to him during a lesson, I thought I did right.

Ever since I learned about wish-making, to stars, eyelashes, blowing birthday candles, 11:11, in no particular order, I got my heart broken several times. I'm a big wish believer. I believe in wanting something hard enough to wish it into reality. But I recently learned that as much as I wished for something, if it wasn't under my control, chances are those wishes would not come true. But for those wishes where I did have control over the outcome, I had to wish hard, and work hard to have them granted. There's no way around it. Not that I know of at least.

When I was young, I wished for my brother to get it together. I wished for him to come home early from parties. To stay home on weekends. For my parents not to argue. For my dad to be happy. For them to understand me. Those wishes weren't granted, even though I wished hard for them.
But other wishes, like getting the jobs I interviewed for, getting accepted to the college and gradschool of my choice, winning contests, etc. they did. Most, at least. Because I worked for them. I wished them every chance I got, every 11:11 am/pm I came across, every eyelash I found, the first star I saw every night. But I also did everything I could to obtain them.

I still make wishes now. The same wish over and over again. The one I now know I want more than anything. I wish to be a photographer and a writer. Full time. Do them both for a living. And just like I told my student, I'll not only wish for it, but I'll work hard for it, because one day the wish will be granted even if I blow at the eyelash when it's already gone, or I look at the time and make the wish a minute after 11:11.