martes, 30 de abril de 2013

Estereotipar el estereotipo

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Las abogadas siempre deben usar zapatos cerrados. Los escritores siempre deben estar despeinados y tener una pluma detrás de la oreja. (Prefiero los lápices, para ser sincera. Las plumas traen un sentido de irrevocabilidad que me causa comezón). Las perlas son el colmo de la elegancia. Todo escritor debe cargar siempre encima dos o tres libros. 
 
Seas lo que seas, de seguro el mundo espera que lo seas de una manera.

Comienza de pequeños, el condicionamiento. En kínder nos ponían a recortar fotos de profesiones, de las revistas. Una mujer con el cabello recogido y una regla en la mano, maestra, obvio. Un tipo con un casco y una escuadra, arquitecto. Con uniforme, policía. (Bueno, pero esto es como una excepción…no se puede hacer nada con el uniforme) 

El punto es que, desde pequeños, nos enseñan que debemos ser de una manera. Las niñas se comportan de esta manera, los niños de esta otra. Hay que ser una dama, nos dicen a nosotras. Hay que ser un macho, les dicen a ellos (que sé yo que les dicen a ellos, pero eso creo). Luego crecemos y ya lo tenemos procesado. Y el condicionamiento se vuelve más fuerte cuando escogemos una carrera. (Yo tenía un profesor en la universidad con el cual para cada examen teníamos que ir vestidos de saco y corbata los hombres y saco y falda las mujeres. Ah, y CON pantyhose.) 

Sirvió de algo la tortura. Me acostumbró a vestirme con ropa “de trabajo” (Del pantyhose ni hablemos). Obviamente tuve un shock cultural cuando decidí que lo que yo de verdad, verdad, verdad quería, era ser escritora. Porque los escritores son medio hippies, todo el mundo lo sabe. Toman mucho café y recitan poemas a pedido. Son excéntricos. Extraños. Diferentes.
No los abogados. Esos siguen un molde.

Ah, las expectativas. Uno tiene que ser seria en la mañana y no tan seria en la noche. Las dos cosas, pero sin mezclarlas. No es lo que se espera de uno.

El verdadero problema, para mí, son las expectativas. Y no, tampoco se puede pelear con el sistema (Seria como pelear contra los molinos de viento). Pero si se puede ser uno mismo, aunque ese ser uno mismo este colmado de pequeñas rebeldías. Zapatos rojos en vez de negros. Uñas grises en vez de francesas. Un reloj grande, de los que está de moda.  Y, en la noche, cuando me esperan despeinada, sin maquillaje y con una libreta en la mano, pues, quizás este despeinada (a veces mi cabello hace lo que le da la gana conmigo), pero ya no salgo de mi casa sin maquillaje, y prefiero cargar mi Tablet que varios libros. Así soy. 

Y, pues…por ahí vamos. Ya como que va siendo tiempo de que uno pueda ser lo que quiera ser, como quiera serlo.

jueves, 25 de abril de 2013

Feliz día del Escritor Panameño!

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Amigos escritores (y los que no son amigos, los que no conozco, los que no he leído):

¡Feliz día! Y feliz cumpleaños, Sinan, allá donde estés.  Qué bonito que hoy, 19 años después de tu muerte, todavía te estemos recordando.  Ojalá nunca te olvidemos. Ojalá nunca olvidemos. 

“Yo siempre quise ser escritora”. Esa es la historia oficial. Yo supongo que, en el fondo, no es cierta. Nadie nace queriendo ser escritor.  Pero, quizás, uno nace con el gusanito de la lectura.

Tal vez uno tiene que darle las gracias a sus padres (GRACIAS!!!), por pegárselo. A lo mejor uno disfruta tanto de esos otros mundos que va descubriendo a través de los libros que empieza a inventarse los propios.

Y, quizás, uno tiene la suerte, como yo, de encontrarse en el camino con personas maravillosas. De entrevistar a Neco Endara por tres horas, allá, cuando todavía no estaba segura de que carajo era escribir ni cómo hacerlo. De contagiarse de esa magia (porque no hay otra palabra para describir a Neco). De tomar un Diplomado en Creación Literaria que, años después, significa no solo grandes amigos y grandes ideas, sino también poder decir que sí, yo también di clases con Raúl Leis. 

De que alguien te de una lista de libros por leer. De que alguien te regale uno cada vez que te vea. De que alguien esté ahí, a cada paso, cuando estas tratando de publicar tu primer libro, editando, aconsejando, y, aunque, para ser honesta, no estás de acuerdo con todo (o, a veces, con nada), de lo que esa persona diga, al final del camino, el interés es más que suficiente.

De que alguien, alguna vez, te pusiera una tarea tan pero tan pero tan difícil (Escribe un cuento sin adjetivos ni adverbios, me dijo), que pasaste una semana maldiciendo, pero luego la hiciste, y aprendiste, y ahora, eres mejor (Te estoy mirando, Carlos). 

Y es que, para mí, eso es lo mejor del día del escritor. Otros días se celebra al libro. La palabra escrita tiene muchísimos momentos. Los escritores, nosotros, los panameños, la gente…eso es lo que importa hoy.

Así que, amigos…compañeros, casi diría hermanos…hoy les tengo que dar las gracias.  Por cada palabra que han escrito. Por cada sentimiento que esas palabras han despertado en mí. Por darle vida a lo que yo he, finalmente, decidido no que quiero ser, sino que ya soy. Gracias por mostrarme el camino, por acompañarme en él, por seguir descubriéndolo. 

Y, Feliz día del Escritor Panameño. A celebrar!

viernes, 19 de abril de 2013

On Boston, running and what we’re made of

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On Wednesday, I went running. I’d seen the signs all around Facebook, “Run for Boston”, they said, and I thought it was appropriate, fitting, in a way. It felt like I was paying tribute. And yet, while I was running, the thought of how little it actually meant struck me. It was a symbol, yes, but what would a symbol from one person in Panama mean in the grand scheme of things?

I wasn’t sure, but I kept running. I went alone, so I did not take any pictures. I did not dress any particular color. I told no one I was doing it. But I ran, in a way, for those people who did not cross the finish line. For those that never will.

During the day I saw that a few people I knew had done the same. They’d gone running, they’d posted pictures. It was heart-warming, and it made me feel a little silly. I should have taken a picture. What’s the point of the action if you don’t send a message, I asked myself? Is there even one? Does it truly count?

Today, when I woke up with the news of a shut-down Boston, a suspect dead and another one in pursuit, it struck me how this whole story had been filled with so many good things, and so many bad things. We’re used to senseless acts of violence now. We’re immune, in a way. We can look at the gruesome images on the TV on a way we couldn’t have done fifteen years ago. We mourn, yes, we always do, but we expect things like this to happen. 

We are not surprised when they do.

And, maybe because of that, we act in ways that a decade ago would have seen heroic and now are merely commonplace. We run towards danger to help others. We offer food, shelter, and anything else we can to those people touched by tragedy. From the other side of the world we put on shoes and go on a run to support people we have never met, people we will probably never meet.

Yes, we’ve become jaded, but I like to think that we’ve also become better. More empathetic. We’re still different, but we’re better suited to put those differences behind and work towards a common goal. Tragedy used to divide us, and in a way, it still can, but it can also unite us. And it so clearly does. 

We also understand better a concept that was so beautifully stated by the wonderful comedian Patton Oswalt, and that went viral a few days after the bombings in Boston.

“So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, "The good outnumber you, and we always will.”

Amen.

lunes, 15 de abril de 2013

Top 10 most read books in the world

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I saw a graphic today, about the Top 10 most read books in the world. It’s actually a funny list, which truly expresses that people read for a lot of different reasons. Yes, the Holy Bible is in first place, and that was to be expected. School will do that to you. I had religion lessons every single year I was in school. This is probably true of a lot of people. We read the Bible. Buy it, keep it in our house. A lot of hotels buy The Bible to have and place it in their rooms. People are born, they grow up, and they read it, and so on. (Mind you, most of us don’t read the WHOLE Bible, of course, but still, since we buy it, it will remain number 1).

Number Two, Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung is actually kind of surprising (For me, western education and all). But, all in all, it shouldn’t be. There are a lot of people in China. 

Harry Potter comes in at number 3. Can’t say that surprises me either, especially since there are seven of them, and I was one of those people that stood in line for hours at midnight to get the sixth and seven books. (There were a LOT of people there. A LOT). It’s actually pretty amazing how many people have read it. But I’m happy with its place. It’s a wonderful book. Many other wonderful books are not in this list, but at least one of my favorites is.

LOTR comes in at number 4, and to be completely honest, that one blew me away. It’s a really long, complicated book, and it’s kind of awesome that so many people have read it (or, at the very least, bought it). It sets a high standard for fiction, and for writers, and for creating your own world, and all that. And, yes, it was published a long time ago, but still …all of you people who bought LOTR, did you really finish it? (I did, though I will admit I skipped most of the long winded descriptions of trees. And the songs. I skipped all of those too.) 

Number 5 is where it gets semi-depressing, because number 5 is Paulo Cohelo. Now, let me preface this by saying I’m not a Cohelo fan. I’ve read about 5 or 6 of his books and I’ve found each more contrived, filled with clichés and, frankly, absurd than the last.  The Alchemist (which I read), follows that pattern. It’s filled with “pretty words”, and so called deep advice, but as a work of fiction, it fails miserably. It’s the most boring trek through the dessert in the history of mankind.

Then we come to Number 6, The Da Vinci Code, (Read it. Also not a fan), a book that sold as many copies as I did because of the controversy surrounding it. Or at least I assume that’s the reason, because Dan Brown cannot do research to save his life and his writing isn’t that coherent. That is to say, he has a good idea, he builds a good plot, but he is not a master of suspense and his endings leave a LOT to be desired. 

But even that is way better than Number 6, which, it pains me to say, is Twilight. Yes, that one. The one with very unhealthy relationship ideas, sparkling perfect vampires and the worst excuse for a Mary-Sue heroine that has appeared in literature in many, many years. Escapism at its best, I guess. 

Eight is Gone with the Wind, a long, long, long, beautiful, brilliant, amazing book that everyone should read if only because “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,” is much more painful when you read the book, and because Scarlett O’Hara is the heroine everyone who has ever thought about writing should want to put into paper: Perfectly flawed, and completely unaware of it, till the very end. 

Our first motivational/self-help book (unless you want to count Cohelo in that category, and I often do, since it makes it easier to stomach), is Think and Grow Rich, by Napoleon Hill, which is number 9. It’s been around since 1937, and a lot of people have read it (I haven’t), a lot of people still swear by it (some of my professors, for example), and some people will go on reading it. (But I don’t think that if we look at this list in 10 or 20 years we’ll still find it here…it’s got stiff competition from new, similar books).

To round of our list we have, at number 10, The Diary of Anne Frank. (Have you noticed that most of the fiction books in this list are dramas? Apparently comedy is not as popular). I, like most of you, read this book when I was too young to understand what the ending was going to be like, and it broke my little heart into a gazillion pieces. It’s still a book that should be read, and will probably be read, not only because of literary methods, but also because it’s a heartbreakingly accurate description of a time and place that we might never get to know otherwise, for  most of its protagonists are not around to tell their own story. 

So, there we have it, my opinions on this wonderfully brilliant and absurd list. What do YOU think?

jueves, 11 de abril de 2013

These shoes don’t hurt and other lies I tell myself

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I’m a compulsive liar, I’ve discovered. Or, maybe, like most writers, I just deal better with fiction than I do with reality. This would be a terrible character flaw, if it were not for the fact that, most times, I’m not lying to someone else to try to convince them of some excuse I just came up with, or some harebrained scheme I concocted. No, the lies are pretty minor, mostly related to shallow stuff and most times, I only lie to myself. 

Most of the times I like to think that doesn’t even count. 

The whole thing starts very early in the morning. I get up; look at myself in the mirror and, even after thirty minutes of exercise, a good bath and what feels like two pounds of makeup (The concealer and I are best friends), I still see the same dark circles under my eyes. But I convince myself they’re not there. I’ve managed to erase them. My face looks perfect.

Then comes the clothes, and in this respect, I’ve lied to myself for so long it no longer feels like a lie. I’ve assimilated the idea. Work clothes can be pretty. One does not need to wear jeans and a t-shirt to be comfortable. One can be comfortable in a suit. One can look pretty in a suit. Heck, sometimes, one can even look sexy in one.

But the shoes, ah, the shoes. Those have to be the biggest lie ever. This is probably the one lie every woman tells. It goes something like this: They’re very comfortable, I swear. I mean, they might be so high that it’s almost like walking on stilts, but it’s not that bad. I’m sitting down most of the time anyway, so it’s not like it matters.

I can wear anything I want. 

Funny, how we tell ourselves what we want to hear. Because, if we didn’t manage to convince ourselves that the dark circles are gone, the clothes look good and the shoes don’t hurt at all, why would we even get out of the house? There would be no point.

And, well, honestly, most of the times, we’re just being too harsh on ourselves. We look at other people, and, in truth, never notice the dark circles, and yes, in them, the work clothes looks pretty damn good. 

But the shoes? I’m pretty damn sure they always hurt.

Not that I’m ready to give them up.
 
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