NYPD Memorial in Manhattan
I know words in this post defeat the purpose of the title, but I just want to say that working in this city, I can’t begin to imagine what people must have gone through that horrible September 11th. Regardless of political status and ideology preferences, my heart goes to the families that lost their loved ones on this day, 12 years ago.
Summer days down the beach in Manasquan, NJ
So this summer, I joined a frat. Not really, but yeah.
I remember my family’s reaction when I told them I had decided to join a summer beach house down the Jersey Shore (Manasquan, to be precise).
“Isn’t that a crazy TV show?”
Well, yes.
It’s hard to grasp the whole Jersey Shore culture when you are not from the area. Having grown up in Puerto Rico, you have access to beautiful beaches all year round and it’s hard to understand why you would need to take a 2 hour train ride every Friday to go share a house with about 16 other people.
I was dragged into this craziness thanks to my boyfriend who had done the summer house the previous summer and I am so thankful that he insisted that I joined because this summer goes down as one of the best summers in my books (it would be a tie with that summer I went to a camp in Switzerland and then studied in Boston).
Sure, it was an exhausting summer, full of traveling and activities, but man was it nice to wake up and walk less than a minute to the beach and lay there under the sun. Living in the city, you tend to forget the simple pleasures of nature, like the ability to see the stars at night (I saw about three shooting stars this summer!).
As I sit now pondering about the summer while I look out the window and see fall almost at my doorstep, it strikes me again how fast time flies. It’s time for pumpkins, boots and scarves. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but it’s ok, because I can handle bittersweet.
Here’s to summer nights and clear skies
to kiddie pools and inflatable buddies
to summer tans and summer burns
to summer cocktails and fried food
to laying on the sand and dancing on the roof
to burger grilling and breakfast rolls
to wizard sticks and mario kart
Here’s to sunshine and laughs
Summer 2013, thanks for the memories.
My little art creation in the sand
These short lines came to me today when my dear coworker received a bouquet of flowers in the office from a guy who is trying to win her back. It made me think of all the men out there that think flowers fix everything and I wanted to share some knowledge with them.
Flowers should not say “I’m sorry”.
Flowers should say “I appreciate you, you make me smile and I want to therefore make you smile today”.
Flowers shouldn’t be band-aids.
Flowers should make you smile, not cause your heart to twist and sink.
Dear men, don’t let flowers be the last resort.
At least they’re pretty, right?
You don’t remember a lot when you are little, but for some reason your mind captures random bits of pieces to preserve almost intact. It’s not usually remarkable images, but simple daily smiles.
Nineteen years ago, I remember being taken to my “Titi Gladys” house for some unexpected play time. I don’t remember the worried look in my parents’ eyes or the tears hidden in everyone’s faces, because when you are four years old you don’t notice the bad things that much.
My mother’s brother, my dearest uncle, passed away 19 years ago in a car accident. Hard to say how much a four-year-old girl can remember, it makes me even a little angry that memories rely so much on age. I wish I had more memories with him, but I’m left with bits and pieces of an unfinished puzzle, a little girl too young to mourn.
Then just like that, I see myself quietly opening his bedroom door and jumping playfully to wake him up.
Rest in peace tío, I love you.
It’s midnight on a Friday night and I have been up since 6:00 a.m. for work. I just landed in New Orleans after two flights from New York City. My taxi driver just pulled over on Bourbon street and has thrown me into the blissful chaos that is New Orleans. There I am, a sober 23-year old girl standing on the streets with her bags, mesmerized by everything happening around her and thinking “What did I get myself into?”
Fast-forward to the next day, my first real encounter with the French Quarter. The streets are a different world and I can appreciate the beautiful architecture and the relaxing feeling of slow-paced freedom. My first impression of New Orleans was that it looked like if Old San Juan and France had a baby with a wild side (a.k.a. Bourbon street).
It was a lot to take in, especially because I was only there for less than 48 hours, but I loved it (48 hours is what happens when your sister decides to turn 30 in New Orleans and you’ve basically already used all of your vacation days, much love sis). One of my favorite parts was Frenchmen street, where I encountered artists from all walks of life sharing their passion, whether it was music, jewelry designing, poetry or fire breathing (No, I’m not kidding. The fire breather said he was drinking magic fluid to make it happen.)
It seemed to me that New Orleans was full of people that know how to appreciate life and value passions as a whole. There seems to be a general understanding that you should admire what inspires you and practice what moves you. Needless to say I was tempted to sit by the poet who was writing verses on the spot. We could have been good friends, just saying.
Speaking of friends, I obviously became best friends with my cab drivers both from and to the airport. That’s not really common for me in New York City, where striking a conversation with a stranger is not always that easy or even desirable. The man that took me to the airport was proud to have been born and raised in New Orleans. Listening to his stories, I couldn’t help but smile as I heard reflected on his voice the voice of many other fighters here that have been through so much since Hurricane Katrina destroyed the area in 2005. New Orleans definitely is an admirable city that has stood back up firmly (Don’t mind the stumbling drunks on Bourbon street).
Below, some pictures of my *lengthy* stay.
St. Louis Cathedral
Me posing at a beautiful mural down in Frenchmen street
Art market down in Frenchmen St.
“Just do it.” – Yeah, sounds easy, considering all the complications in life and all the curve balls that it throws at you. Think about it though, sometimes it really is about “just doing”. You don’t stand in front of the cold ocean water calculating your strategy for diving in, you stop thinking about it and you “just do it” (well, sometimes I do stand there considering my options, but at the end it’s the “just do it” mentality that pushes me into the water).
Sometimes I feel like my life is a never-ending “to do” list. A new year starts and I write a bunch of resolutions that end up getting trampled on by other goals like say, paying my rent. There are so many things I want to do, but so many limitations. Whether it is money, time or energy: are these true limitations or merely excuses?
Exhibit A: this blog. I started my first blog when I was abroad in France, it had no real structure or theme, just the goal of sharing my experiences at the moment. I wrote whenever I had a chance and shared with my family and friends. Then when I came back home, I abandoned it thinking there was nothing else exciting in my life (tragic, I know). Ever since I abandoned that blog, I’ve been meaning to bring my thoughts and experiences back to life but it’s been, let’s say, a road full of annoying pebbles.
As I brainstormed for ideas and themes for my new blog I kept thinking:
· What’s my goal?
· Who do I want to talk to?
· How often will I post?
· What am I going to write about? NYC experiences? Life challenges? Latinos? PR?
· Will I follow a certain posting structure? Will I share personal details?
“JUST DO IT”.
I’m a 23-year old public relations professional still gaining traction on the field. I should not let strategy and branding keep me from doing something I love: writing. What’s my goal? To express my thoughts, ideas and experiences. Who do I want to talk to? Whoever wants to listen in. I will write about what moves me, what strikes me, what motivates me and what simply delights me.
Sure, maybe one day I’ll launch a full blast branded blog with a specific audience that PR pros will fight to talk to, but for now I like this flow and I’m going with it.
-jumps into the cold water-
Beaches & Brie 