Saturday, October 30, 2010

The Homeless Alternative




It is impossible to overlook homeless people in New York City today. I have always been aware of their omnipresence in the city, I know the corners where they can be found, where some of them like to nap, and at what times of day they are most active. Sometimes I feel sorry for them and give them money, other times I stare, and sometimes I just flat out ignore them.

But recently, the visibility of the homeless in the city has sprouted outside their usual confines; they have rooted their lives around the quotidian dynamics of the city. Now, when I sit in the train platform most of the time I see a homeless person either to my right or left, I see them napping in the sidewalk during my morning walk to work, and know for sure I will have a midnight encounter with them if I take the subway home past midnight. I have noticed their presence grows large when I am not wrapped up in the city's motions, when I am not rushing to get somewhere; they become more visible when I am still, usually waiting for something or someone.

About a month ago, I had to get up really early for work, and while waiting at the corner of 34th street right in from of Macy's, the brisk morning breeze dragged a vinegary stench right to my face from the floor where a squatting homeless woman was peeing. A few days after that, while sipping coffee and waiting to connect to the R train, I look to my right and at the end of the platform there is man cleaning himself after going right there in the platform. When our eyes met, he looked distraught and embarrassed. I looked away, not knowing how to handle the situation.

These encounters I have been having with the homeless feel like a very close look at all that is wrong with this life; the disenfranchisement of certain groups, the economic contrasts, the burden of modern life in people's psyches, and most of all, the indifference of the privileged. For a very long time I have seen how people ignore the homeless(including myself) because of how they contrast the idyllic New York City people like to see: vibrant, rich, full of culture, but with no reminders of how exclusive this place can be, please.

It doesn't feel right or even feasible to ignore homeless people in the city anymore; yet we are encouraged not to help them out, not to give them any change, and to ignore them just in case they are crazy. I wonder then, what do we do with these very real encounters with homeless people? How can we digest their very apparent and real struggle? How can we help them out?... What is the homeless alternative?

Sunday, October 24, 2010

15 Pequeñas Razones para Amar a Puerto Rico






1. Los adoquines azules en las calles del Viejo San Juan
2. Oir el tambor y ver el piqueteo de faldas de la Bomba
3. Los árboles llorones en la Universidad de Puerto Rico
4. Las alcapurrias, piononos y bacalaitos del Kiosko El Boricua en Piñones
5. Oir música de La Lupe y Hector Lavoe en la bellonera de El Refugio
6. El Chichaíto con Medalla
7. El graffiti en la Calle Ponce de León
8. El quesito con café con leche por la mañana
9. Los Jueves de Rio Piedras
10. La Chiwinha
11. Escuchar los "Este" entre palabras
12. Lo lindo que les queda el "Ave Mariiiiia" a los boricuas
13. El canto del coqui por la noche
14. Los gatos que pululan de cada esquina
15. Cómo se vive la música en el Café Toñita de la placita de Santurce

+ 1: Ver cuan bellamente se están contrarrestando las cosas lamentables.

Fotos tomadas en el Viejo San Juan, Rio Piedras y Santurce

Friday, October 8, 2010

Recordar es Vivir



I have very few memories of my dad. Although I was five when he passed away, I have no recollections of my time with him, of what he was like, not even of how he looked physically. They say children block out things that they can't cope with.

While growing up I developed an image of him that was shaped by what others told me...that he was a good dad, he was funny, he loved children, that he waited for his little girl to arrive and three boys later he was ecstatic in the waiting room when I was born. They also told me that when I was a baby he used to take me for a walk everyday and nap with me after lunch. I have tried very hard to look within and remember that brief and wonderful time with my dad. People tell me I am so much like him, and I wish I could remember, but I can't.

As I navigate these feelings and vanishing memories, I am disheartened by the fact that I might never be able to remember him. Yet, somewhere in there, meshed with my buried memories, I do remember something; I recollect the sweet, subtle feeling of being loved. In my heart, this love feels like comfort, like an undying point of reference that grounds me when I feel lost and far from my roots, it makes me feel accepted for all that I am, its a sense of protection that has sheltered me long after my dad went away.

There are no guarantees in life; no guarantee that those you love will stay alive, that circumstances won't deprive you of your heart's desires, that memories won't vanish to dust. I know there are no guarantees awaiting me and that I may not remember much, but luckily, I will always vividly remember, feeling loved by my father, Rafael.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Algerian Haikus




orange dunes
nostalgic eyes
I hear the gumbri, I feel alive

Pictures by Amine Koudier