genesisorea

[genesisorea]

Mana

I have been wanting to go see Mana in concert for years. They were an essential part of childhood since my parents loved them, so did I. Mana is a Mexican rock band from the 90′s that, in my opinion helped shape the way Mexican rock music is portrayed and how its shaped the way rock music is Mexico is now more socially acceptable.

Rock music isn’t per se the most popular genre of music in Mexican culture and in Latinx culture in general. For there is this association that rock music carries of being devilish or against god and religion. In most Latinx cultures rock music isn’t necessarily the “right” music to listen to or that would be acceptable to the church. So, in my opinion Mana was actually quite brave to step into the light and play their music in a majority catholic country.

Mana came to the Barclay’s center here in downtown Brooklyn which excited me cause they were literally coming to my hometown. My family has been talking about going to this concert for months and we in typical habitual Mexican way bought the tickets last minute. We bought the tickets the night before and therefore we got nosebleed seats. I didn’t mind of course, because I just wanted to experience their music live. I also wanted to see them before I die or they die, which as morbid as that sounds was a genuine worry of mine.

That night getting ready I felt a pride within me to be fortunate enough to go see Mana. I’m proud of being Mexican and I like to wear it on my sleeve, but this particular night where I was going to a Mexican concert with my Mexican family in Brooklyn, New York seemed like a dream come true. To have a group of beautifully talented Mexican people have the opportunity and privilege to play in New York City, in a country that has not been the most welcoming to Mexicans seemed like a big “fuck you” to conformity. The conformity in which I have felt pressured to hide a part of myself that my parents risked their entire livelihoods for.  Maná coming to Brooklyn meant much more than just a foreign band playing in an urban city. It meant progress, progress in a nation that has made it clear for centuries where people of Latin America stand, and it isn’t at the top of the pyramid in the heirachy in which we are all placed. This concert was more than just a celebration of their talent and our appreciation of it, but rather a stance. A stance against governmental and social expectations of the ideal assimilated American who is expected to always remain grateful and subordinate. Eternally in debt to the land of the free. Nope, here we were loud and proud screaming in unison with 4 Mexican men who refused to stay quiet.  Because Mana came to play their hearts out but they didn’t come to play games. Here I was, the daughter of two Mexican immigrants, with her Mexican flag, and a colorful Mexican fajero made from the indigenous people of Mexico around her waist, with her Mexican family, surrounded by hundreds of other Mexicans in unity. Isn't New York City great?

The stadium was jam packed. every seat from what my eyes could see was full. Thousands of people. Thousands of Mexicans. Thousands of people from Latin America. Thousands of people from New York. Here we were, representing our city and our cultures. I was kind of surprised of the turn out, I didn’t really expect for it to be a full house, I underestimated the power of good music and dedicated fans.

When Fher Olvera, the lead singer of Mana was thanking everybody for coming and showing up, he made sure to thank more than just the Mexican people of New York City. He thanked all of Latin America. He thanked the Dominican Republic, El Salvador, Honduras, Peru, Argentina etc. He also thanked Zimbabwe and Canada and thanked people for bringing their culture to New York City. He explained that there in no place as culturally diverse as New York City, people from all corners of the world come here and share a part of themselves in a city that accepts and shares because there are people who exist here who accept. The loud crowd roared with screams and hoots of appreciation, in appreciation towards whom recognized the beauty that is beyond the lights of New York City. There were so many people. So many people from all over the world. I felt proud, proud of New York, of Brooklyn, of my family, of my heritage, of my culture and of my people. Stretching beyond borders, stretching beyond stereotypes. Here we were loud and proud. “A qui no hay lugar para el racismo” Here is no place for racism, Fher exclaimed with  passion and my parents stood from seats in solidarity and I clapped. “Y a los polticos que no serven manda los pa la chingada” - “to the politicians that are of no use, they can go to hell. Which was direct shade towards the current administration in office. This all happened in the last ten minutes of the show, Olvera shouted out phrases of resistance whilst holding a large white flag next to a flag with the peace sign on it. This concert was sign of the times. In my eyes, this concert was political. Not because of what was said and who it was directed to but what it meant. What this mass gathering of people meant under one roof in Liberty’s city: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” Here we were in a huddled mass, tired of oppression and institutionalization of personal vendettas, in a city where more than 30% of people are living in poverty, breathing the same air where we will continuously fight for true freedom.  

[genesisorea]

September 29

From what I can gather and frankly understand of Luiselli’s novel sidewalks, is recounts of experiences from different people. I kind of life that its sporadic and all over the place, because it doesnt adhere to any genre like what Nooteboom notes in the introduction: “ You need to be good at looking in order to know where you are not, because only then do you know where you actually are.” The way this novel is written and formed reminds me of the human brain, well my brain at least. In that the thoughts are scattered and not being interconnected, because our thoughts dont always have to be connected, our thought process is not one long thought. “A person only has two real residences: the childhood home and the grave. All the other spaces we inhabit are a mere gray spectrum of that first dwelling, a blurred succession of walls that finally resolve themselves into the crypt or the urn—the tiniest of the infinite divisions of space into which a human body can fit.” I thought this quote was quite interesting and it made me really think. I was thinking of high school and all the other academic institutions I have inhabited that were temporary yet at the age of 10 or 15 I thought they were my forever home. My childhood home is a place like no other. Where good and bad memories collide, where I find solace and familiarity in the darkness of night because I know Ive aways been afraid of it, and I know where to lay my head at night.

Admittedly, there were points in the text where I was confused and didn't understand the rhythm, or lack thereof, in the reading but I kept reminding myself that writing is a from of art. And art doesn't need bounds or chapters that bleed onto or into each other. Although, since I am so used to having a plot to familiarize myself with or charters to follow; there is no following Luiselli which is something unknown and unfamiliar to me. 

There was one particular piece that spoke out to me and mostly because I related to it and that was: “Bridge under repair”. The line that mostly resounded with me was: “ The Spanish I spoke belonged to slow, dispassionate conversations around the family breakfast table”. I like to pride myself as being “fluent” in Spanish when in reality I dont even know the correct translation for translation. My Spanish is not that good and there are many times where I feel ashamed of it because I could do better. My family knows my Spanish is not the best and it can definitely be better but they get what I am trying to say for the most part, which is what counts but I feel like I should know better.

[genesisorea]

September 22

Dulce Pinzon’s photography collection is very creative. It highlights and puts domestic workers and regular workers at the forefront of her photos. They are the stars and its hard not to miss them considering that they are wearing super hero costumes. People are dressed up as heroes in their regular day to day lives, because that is their reality. Pinzon portrays them as heroes which is quite admirable in my opinion because these people, the people that are overlooked and underpaid are heroes. They're heroes to their families, to the children they take care of, to the people they get to their destination on time, to the construction sites they are accessible to and are used by, to the people who needs clothes, to the people who need their food on time. They’re heroes to the people who need them, yet its strange that they're treated as less then. As not even close to a hero. I like that pinzon captions the photos with where the people come from and how much money they send. Because they're not the only ones who have to eat at the end of the day, so do they're families. My mother is a domestic worker, she cleans homes, and I personally see her as a hero. Not just because she's my mother and the woman how raised me but because she has been described as a godsend by the people who she cleans for. Yet  i think they're some darkness in the photos, that being that in order to be seen, these people need to be wearing capes and costumes in order to be seen and even with them on they’re not noticed. That they need to be seen as more than just people in order for their work to count as valid and necessary. These immigrant workers are human, with needs that are often exploited and taken advantage of.

Latin Moon in Manhattan by Jaime Manrique, is really interesting to say the least. I think many Hispanic kids can resonate with Sammy and having an overbearing mother that wants you to be married by a certain age and make all the right people happy.

[genesisorea]

October 6

My favorite poem from the collection of poems: Manteca- Afrolatina poetry anthology is a poem called When They Call My Name by Natalie N. Caro.This poem covers many topics in what seems to be in remembrance of some sort of father figure as she dedicates it to: Pedro Robles Miranda. This entire poems speaks to something that is greater than the person who she dedicates the poem to. It speaks to the dark history of immigration and the covering up of history that makes it difficult (purposely) for people to research their ancestry and feel a sense of belonging. 

The white washing of history is often the version of history we are told and is often propagated as the “right” version of history. It erases the pain and truth for history in order to make history seemed one sided and bipartisan.

[genesisorea]

Sept 15

Lulo’s photography named “Si Dios Quiere” is quite beautiful and heartbreakingly honest. The reason that I quite like it is because there is no one message she is trying to show or demonstrate. Rather just her and her camera walking around the Dominican Republic and capturing the realities of her home country. The photograph that caught my attention was the elderly woman lying in bed dying from old age and undiagnosed breast cancer. It is a raw and some may say disgusting photo. But what I though was disgusting want her diseased breast that was a charcoal color but rather that she never had access to healthcare. That to me was disgusting. Its hard to look at the photo and not feel sympathy of empathy. 

“Si Dios Quiere” is a very common saying in Latin America. Its something that my parents have said countless times when planning something like when they were planning my Quincenera. It leaves all you worries in God’s hands, because only he know hat will happen and what will not happen.

Rape New York by Jane Leo shares a way at looking at rape that I haven’t heard of. She speaks about what what her rapist did but not in a resentful way but rather factual and saddened that he raped her and what that did to her. What that rape meant for her life. How is more than just a violent act, because rape isn't sex, its a form of violence. She speaks about how her rapist is just another black man in prison. Another statistic. I thought of how she thought so strategically about pressing charges and in her testimony in court.

“when she was raped, the thought “here it is” came to her, as if rape is something every woman fears and expects to happen. The probability is that a woman has to assume that if she hasn’t already been raped, she very possibly will be in the future. And if she has, she may be raped again. The ghost of rape is attached to being a woman“ (91). This quote resonated with me a lot. To be honest I think about what would happen if I was raped everyday. I think I have to think about it because it happens everyday. In every borough and whose to say I wont? I hate it. I hate that I think this, I hate that I have to think this and hate this ghost I carry. I obviously dont want it to ever happen but I would be naive to think it would never happen to me. This is just the reality of being a female and it sucks. 

“The fact that the gender of rape victims is predominately female and that, traditionally, the place for women is in the home may relate to the identification of the home with the woman’s body” (88). This quote was so interesting to me. I never thought about the analogy of a woman’s body being a home and the sexism as to why we associate the two. 

[genesisorea]

Sept 8

I have never heard of the term Nuyorican before the New York Times article:The Early Days of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe by Concepción de León. To be completely honest, I quite like the term. It gives a new identity to thousands of people that perhaps feel they belong to both Puerto Rico and New York equally. 

Whenever I read something about historically creative spaces in New York City it makes me giddy. It makes me giddy because there is truly no city like New York City. The Nuyorican Poets Cafe on Manhattan’s Lower East Side is proof of the power of creativity and the spoken word. I’ve always admired poets because there is so much meaning in just a few stanzas and the fact that it brings out so many emotions proves that art is feeling. Although, I understand why people have the view that poetry and poets are elitist and are by people with the privilege who have the time to sit and write creatively about their feelings. Yet I think this quote captures the essence of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe perfectly, as stated in the New York Times article: “much less academic, much less literary, much less elitist than many of the incarnations of poetry that existed in the ’60s and ’70s,”(Daniel Gallant). I believe creativity shouldn't have to have rules and be mandated by societal expectation of acceptable writing. Boundaries and rules create space of frustration and copies rather than originals. The fact that this Latinx owned cafe encourages writers and artists to be vulnerable in a safe space is wonderful and uplifting. I think its very existence and popularity speaks to its importance and necessity in our society then in the 60′s and 70′s and even now in 2019. 

Not surprisingly, but the poem that caught my eye in Selected poems from the nuyorican poets café anthology was The Book of Genesis According to St. Miguelito, since it has my name. Like most poems, this definitely had me feeling some type fo way and admittedly at time left me confused, but i guess that comes along with the art of poetry. What I got and could interpret from the poem was that the poet was speaking about the irony of believing in god. The poet list diseases, and destructive topics like imperialism, essentially saying this all happened under God. What I also got from the poem was that this was meant to be more cynical and aiming towards everything wrong on earth and the fact that people still have hope and belief in God. 

Another poem i enjoyed and can definitely be brought up today: Black Woman With The Blond Wig On. It seems the poet obviously has an aim and that is the contradiction of black women wearing blonde wigs. He writes about where the women buy the wigs and what he thinks they mean. I don’t necessarily believe that he is mocking black women for their vanity choices but he sees a contradiction and it being obvious. Almost as if saying that black women are trying to be something they're not, which is white. He writes the word repression and slaves which in my opinion is alluding to obviously slavery and what the oppressor is usually portrayed as: white blond people. Blonde wigs that black women fancy enough wearing.