This World Broke Me

When I was younger, I found myself using my confidence in an attempt to hide my vulnerabilities when I tried to impress someone. For example, a couple years ago I was with a good friend of mine at a college event. I remember saying a very bigheaded comment about my work at event we both were working at and she told me, “You are so cocky. Soon your big head won’t fit in that hoodie you are wearing!” I responded, “Well I guess that means I have to get a bigger sweater”. I was trying to hide the fact that I had no idea what I was doing at the event while at the same time trying to impress my friend (who I had a crush on at the time). It’s embarrassing how much I relied on my confidence to “break the ice”.

In recent years I have used confidence more as a survival tactic than an ice breaker. It’s been my go-to attitude when dealing with challenging situations like job interviews, break-ups, relocating and event planning. Being confident is a great thing, but it usually meant I was giving myself a false sense of security. Rarely would my confidence actually help me through tough times. For example, it was hard to be confident when I tried to juggle a new job and a long distance relationship while realizing I was failing at both. It was even harder to be confident when my grandmother passed away and I was not able to help my dad during one of the most traumatic moments in his life. In all these situations, I found myself feeling hopeless, rundown, and vulnerable.

Sometimes it feels like this world wants to fuck me over real hard. Almost as if this world was listening to cocky young Danny and now testing his overly confident attitude. I would be lying if I told you I never cried myself to sleep, hated myself for a decision I made, or regretted not being somewhere else. This world has broken me more times than I can count and my confidence was nowhere to be found.

I have seen this world break many of the most confident people closest to me. Whether it is the friend who got their heart broken, unable to come to terms with the end of a relationship, or the friend who is on the brink of losing her father, this world is breaking them. There is no right answer on how to deal with it. Most of the time you just learn to live with it and wait until the next time the world comes to break you again. As morbid as this may sound, it’s the only way we become stronger.

The more this world breaks me, the more I depend on that valuable experience rather than a false sense of confidence to get me through difficult times.

I wrote this as a reminder to learn from the times this world broke us. It may not make the next hardship easier, but it will remind us how much we have grown to get to this point.

The World Was Our Punching Bag

Instead of spending time writing about how I have perfectly aligned teeth, a calming demeanor, promising career path, impeccable work ethic, or great listening skills, I’ll spend time writing about the exact opposite…

I publicly make fun of people for self enjoyment.

I shy away from emotional attachment whenever possible.

I hide my insecurities with arrogance.

I make bets I know I can win and make people do embarrassing things when they lose.

I actively manipulate situations to benefit me.

I only argue when I know I can publicly make someone else look dumb.

….Let’s face it, I’m an asshole.

Whether it’s me being a horrible person or it’s an introvert’s way of trying to be accepted as an extrovert, I’m pretty much an all-around asshole. There are people in my life who, knowing how much of an asshole I can be, still consider me their friends.

Very few people, however, have actually experienced what it is to live with an asshole like me. Some roommates became my partners in crime (David, Greg, Paul), some became my usual target (Vikram, Sung, Ricardo, Earl), and others stepped to the side and let the Montes train wreck happen (Robert, Liz, Nancy, Evelia).

I was once asked who my best roommate was. While I won’t spend time listing off my top 5 on this post, I can let you know that there is one person that I had difficulty ranking: Clarissa.

It was difficult to rank her because I didn’t live with her the longest, never took road trips with her, never spent hours talking about Star Wars with her, and I never actually ate anything she cooked (all things I did with the top 5 people on my list). I mean, she freaking loves those ugly devil creatures (cats).

After spending a good amount of time coming up with things her and I never did, I realized our roommate experience was not based on glorious events or memorable ventures, but rather, on everyday moments not mentioned on twitter or tagged on facebook.

It was days when we would spend hours watching horrible TV programming and make fun of everything that came on. It was nights where we would ditch the drunken parties and get soaked in by our couch. Weekends where the sun was shining beautifully as well stayed entrenched inside our basement apartment watching reality shows about teenage mothers and druggies. Come to think of it, we weren’t just mean to people on television, we were assholes to everyone. She and I were not about making friends. We were not the most popular. In fact, I’m sure there are many people who just don’t like us. It used to be hard for me to imagine someone to be on my same level of asshole-ness. Not anymore.

The world was our punching bag and we were the lazy assholes beating the crap out of it.

While these moments seem boring and insignificant, it wasn’t until I saw my first award show on tv without her that I realized I lost my buddy. She wasn’t there to hear me make fun of Billy Crystal and I wasn’t there to hear her complain about the shitty performance someone had in a movie. It was there where I realized just how important someone has been in my life in such a short amount of time. She was a great roommate and still is an amazing friend.

I decided to take time to write this post because I’m sure there have been times in all of our lives where we don’t realize just how much we miss someone until they are no longer there. It doesn’t take a cross-country road trip or near death experience to value friendship. If there is anything we learn from true friendship it’s to take advantage of the friends and loved ones around you even when there is nothing exciting going on and remember to capture moments even when the camera is off. You will miss out on so much if you don’t.

To Clarissa, I hope you realize that this post was not to purposely put you on blast or to highlight your many flaws. This post was the best way this asshole could admit that he misses you.

Adjusting,

DM

Maria Guadalupe Cortez

Obviously there is a lot more things to add to this timeline but this will suffice for now…..

- January 27, 1987 The first time she saw a picture of me wearing the pants and shirt she bought me for my first birthday

- January 27, 1990 The first time I remember listening to her voice to wish me a happy birthday

- July 24, 1992 The day I traveled to Mexico to see my grandparents for the first time

- July 30, 1992 The Day I spent the whole day with my grandmother showing me pictures of my dad as a kid

- January 27, 1998 The day my grandmother put together a party for my birthday and invited our whole town in Mexico.

- February 20, 2003 The day she spent the whole day telling me stories about my grandfather.

- February 24, 2003 The last time I hugged her

- August 17, 2008 The last time she blessed me over the phone

- December 17, 2010 The last time my dad saw my grandmother

- December 29, 2010 The last time she wished me good luck on my travel back to DC

- January 31, 2011 The last time she told me she loved me.

- February 19, 2011 The day my dad called me and told me, “Se nos fue tu abuelita”

RIP Maria Guadalupe Cortez
April 27, 1931 – February 19, 2011

Tunas

Recently I have been reflecting on my interactions with people, especially my family. I remembered something I wrote two years ago I wrote this two years ago. It is still a little rough but it gets the point across:

Tunas

I remember trying to look out the window of the 1979 standard Ford pick up truck

On the bumpy dirt road me and my parents were on

All I was able to see was the never ending sea of cactus’s

I was five years old the first time I went Valparaiso Zacatecas

A place I knew about in old white and brown pictures of

Old passport sized stoic individuals and

wedding pictures

pictures of dad with his

boot cut hippies jeans and his fluorescent green and blue slim silk shirt that was too cool to be buttoned all the way

“Porque tienen luces los nopales” I asked my mom

don’t get me wrong

I had seen Cactus’ before in my

dad’s favorite clint eastwood movies or

when my mom would put them in my frijoles

but these were different

these had what looked like

bright red lightbulbs that

blanket the gorgeous green cactus field

as if it was christmas eve during the a daytime in mid-august

“Mijo, esas se llaman tunas” my mother told me as she noticed

my confused American look trying to figure out what were these zacatecan delicasees

TUNAS?

Those bright red lightbulbs looked nothing like what my mom would pour out of those small cans

to mix with tomatoes, celery, onion, mayo and mustard

My parents were half amused

at my confused logic and

half surprised that their five year old son

had never tried the fruit that gave them memories of growing up

When we got to my grandparents house

my mom told them about how I thought tunas where lightbulbs!

And with a calm smile

my grandmother took my five year old hand and

We took a seat on their porch

overlooking the ceros, nopales, and empty dirt roads

She started telling me stories of

how when her mother was pregnant with her

she would eat a tunas every evening after she had dinner

to end a good meal with a treat.

And a story of how my grandfather

would come and visit with a

batch of freshly cut tunas for her mother

in order to let them to talk near the house door

And how her great grandfather

would treat her and her siblings with

ice shavings and tunas every time she would visit him.

She handed me a piece of tuna

and placed it on

my five year old hand

As I looked down at the tuna

the sight of all the seed grossed me out

Looking at my disgusted

my grandmother told me that the seeds

were good for me and

that the more seeds each tuna had

the stronger I was going to be when I grew up.

Told me that she used to play a game with my mother

Every evening they would sit outside on the porch and

each would peel and eat a tuna

They would each count the number of seeds each tuna had

as it passed their tongue

They would tally them each day and at the end of the week

the winner would get to pick their favorite song

so her grandfather can sing it to them.

I ran into the living room where my mother was and

I told her I learned a new game and wanted to play with her

The last time my mother played this

was 27 years ago before she left with my father to el norte

I saw her and my grandmother exchange smiles

as tears started flowing out of their eyes.

There we sat

me, my mom, and grandmother

three very different generations

letting our counting do all the talking between us

just like they did years ago

Today when I go home

my parents, myself, and my 9 year old brother

sit on our front porch overlooking

pavement, cars and onlookers

Counting tunas

At the end of each count

it doesn’t matter wins

as long as we get to do this again tomorrow

craving tunas,

-DM

Holding Elected Officials Accountable: Gavin Newsom

The purpose of an elected official is to represent the people who voted them into office. In theory, democratic representation makes a lot of sense. Sadly, the reality is that there are many elected officials who are either out of touch with the people they represent or simply strive for elected office for personal gain. The issues that a community is dealing with are sometimes compromised due to political parties, political capital, bribes, special interest, and self-interest. This leads to voter disfranchisement and unjust policies that only halt the services and freedom of the community they claim to represent. I have decided to periodically highlight some of these out of touch politicians who need to be held accountable. I start with one person who I actually supported a few years back, the Mayor of San Francisco.

Name: Gavin Newsom
Position: Mayor of San Francisco, CA
In office since: January 8, 2004
Re-election: Termed out on January 8, 2012

San Francisco can be considered a very liberal city. In 2003, Gavin Newsom ran as a moderate Democrat and won. He promised to work on San Francisco’s homelessness problem and addressing other issues such as funding public schools,  affordable housing, and protect the rights of the citizens on San Francisco. Newsom was a big supporter for the queer community and made it a point to make sure that his appointments was as racially diverse as the city was. He was a huge supporter of same-sex marriages and got national attention when he allowed same-sex couples to get a marriage license. He also worked on improving the environmental injustices that occurred in low-income communities such as Hunter’s Point.

So far so good right? Wrong!

Putting aside his divorce in 2005 when he committed adultery by cheating on his wife with his campaign manager’s wife, he began to become self indulged as Mayor of a high-profile city. The media attention he got during the same-sex marriage change made many people view him as a potential candidate for Governor in the 2010 election. Mayor Newsom, seeing a possibility further his political career, began to think more about setting himself up to run for the executive office of California instead of continuing to focus on the people of San Francisco.

In April, 2007, Mayor Newsom stood in front of over 300 Latina/o community members and promised to maintain San Francisco as a sanctuary for immigrants and do everything he can to make sure federal authorities ( ICE) do not conduct immigration raids in the city of San Francisco.

When he started to focus on his run for governor however, he didn’t want to be seen as this liberal candidate running a very liberal city to the rest of the California because he thought that voter’s will be less inclined to vote for someone like that. In order to change his image and in 2008, he issued an executive order that any undocumented juvenile felon suspect (not just those convicted), be reported be reported to immigration agents. In October of 2009 however, the San Francisco Board of Supervisors vetoed Mayor Newsom’s order by passing legislation that made San Francisco a Sanctuary City again. Newsom said that the bill was unenforceable because it conflicted with federal law.

The result?

Fast forward to March 2010: A 13-year-old boy’s family is torn apart because he stole 42 cents from a classmate. The family ended up getting a 6 month extension on their deportation because the family was already going through legal proceeding to get citizenship status. The only reason why they got this extension was because 1) It got so much media coverage across the country and 2) It made the city of San Francisco and the Mayor look bad. The last thing the democrats need is for Newsom to be tainted by this when he plans to run for future office. This is not an isolated incident. Because of his executive order, many people in San Francisco now live in fear that not only will they be reported to ICE agents, but also being caught in a raid.

Newsom lied to the people of San Francisco and was forced by outside influences to restrict services and endanger the undocumented people in the city. The majority of voters disagreed with his decision and encouraged him and the rest of the Board of Supervisors to retract the 2008 executive order. Newsom, however, did not change his mind. If he was quick to turn his back on the people of San Francisco, what will that mean if he ends up being elected into a Statewide office? Will he elude the same type of leadership to his constituents like he did in San Francisco?

We need to hold him accountable in making sure that he represents his constituents for the rest of his term instead of enacting laws that will just position him for a potential run at another elected office.

Sitting on the dock by the bay,

-DM

“Why should Chican@s Have to Die to Earn the Approval of This Society”

When I was in 11th grade, my English teacher, a balding Latino man who always emphasized the need to remember our ancestry, announced to the class:

“Attention everyone, in the Los Angeles Times today, there is an article about five 19-year-old Latino men who came back from Iraq. The United States Government has decided to grant them citizenship because they fighting valiantly for this country. They all came back in caskets. Dead. They died in the line of duty. Because they endured one of the toughest test of dedication for this country, death, they were granted full citizenship rights. Their citizenship ceremony will coincide with their funeral. That is all. Continue reading up to page 54 in your books”

In a very subtle way, our teacher made a strong political statement. He planted the seed in the who class to realize the injustice of military recruitment in or community and in our high schools. I started to pay attention to all the military recruiters. They were everywhere: high school, basketball courts, lunch benches, baseball field, crowded streets around the high school, and even parties. Their messaging was very convincing. They made it seem that unless you were a straight “A” United States Citizen, the best option is to join the military.

People should not put their lives on the line to gain acceptance and earn the same rights as everyone else. The military should not be a prerequisite for acceptance.

I have had a couple of family members and high school friends who ended up joining the military. Luckily, all of them did not lose their life.

Paul Flores, an amazing spoken word poet and former Director of Youth Speaks, performed a piece that talks about the “Brown Dream”. Check it out:

wanting Comprehensive Immigration Reform,

-DM

Baby Fever

Last week I found myself having many conversations about babies. These conversation manifested themselves in comedic gchat conversations, fun-turn-awkward conversation with the boo, advising a friend over a baby that could have been, a friend venting about the lack of people of color in a reproductive rights organization,colleague’s announcement over a work related conference call, or my mother reminding me about how I was as a young babyoso.

I started to remember a lot of the conversations and experiences I have in the past. Many of these experiences have been full of joy and happiness. Other, however, are very difficult to rekindle. Many of these were of amazing elementary friends who, just 2 years out of elementary, already were expecting their first child. Memories of my high school ride-or-die homies getting news right before summer of senior year that they will be a father to a new baby girl, or of a college friend whose partner decided not to have the baby because of what her parents would say of having a baby whose father is Mexican. More recently, of a friend who’s partner’s decision to abort without his knowledge will continue to haunt him.

Rafeal Casal, a well-known spoken word artist has a piece called “Abortion” where it arises many of the feelings and emotions that run through a person when they find out they will be a father/mother:

In these examples, the toughest thing to live with was not decide whether to have the child, it was dealing with the aftermath of the decision:

I saw one of my middle school friends doing her christmas shopping when I went back home. She was shopping for her three children ages 11, 7, and 3. She was the smartest kids in my class. I remember I could always count on her to give me answers the morning when our homework was due. Now, we are the same age and I am living my life out here in DC while she faces the hardship of a failed marriage and three children.

This is just one example of the harsh reality of growing up in my city. And my city is just one example of the need of resources in low-income and people of color communities. Other than a whack ass video of a woman going through child labor and an obvious explanation of my body changing, I got nothing real from my sexual education class. Not once was the need of contraceptives enforced. Not once were we provided with hotlines and safe spaces for people who are abused or not ready for a child. More than 75% of the parents spoke Spanish yet not once was I sent home with spanish pamphlets or booklets for my parents. At an age where curiosity of the human body is at hits highest, it is pointless to graph and show pictures of the anatomic differences between a man and a woman. How is “don’t have sex” any form of a valid education? All this created was to feel like an outcast when something happens to you.

If you, or anyone you know, needs resources and information, please visit this site to get more information. We are not alone. You are not alone.

covering up lil oso,

-DM