My Praxis Project: Family in Las Nubes

I will let the video speak for itself, but this is a project I did for my Praxis Seminar class in which I read some of my poetry to tell a story of some of the most important people in my life, here in El Salvador. Enjoy.

Nina Tancho

Gustavo

Hector

Daniel

Thanks for watching,

Antonio

Last Hours in Las Nubes: Showered in Flowers

I just spent my last praxis day in Las Nubes.

I was, and am,an emotional wreck right now. I am writing this last blog post somewhat frantically and trying to get my thoughts together.

I woke up this morning at 6:45AM at the request of Suly. The CC's were making breakfast. They made us French toast and coffee.

I thought to myself "okay, that's it! This is going to be a great day!"

And a great day it was, but not in the usual "happy-go-lucky" kind of way.

Today was bitter sweet. I arrived to El Pueblo de Dios en Camino and walked in the front door for my last time. We sat in a circle and Hector presented us all with cards he had made. The art contained actual pieces of flowers from Las Nubes and wrote on the back a personalized letter.

I broke down. I remembered all of our moments together. All the times we walked up the volcano and how much I was going to miss that. It killed me.

I composed myself and we began our walk up the Volcano. Mary Catherine, my praxis partner, bought flowers to give to all the women in Las Nubes for Dia de la Madre (Mother's Day). We had these beautiful yellow flowers that we distributed throughout the day.

The day was marred with tears. Victoria and Niña Tancho wept with us as we realized it would be our last time together. Victoria will not be able to make it to the Despedida (our final mass with everyone).We played mika (tag) with daughter Victoria and Marvin for the last time and shared mangoes off the tree. We ate lunch at Juana's house. She also won't be able to make it to the Despedida. We ate carne asada and rice and salad and drank coke.

She told us how much we meant to her. How every year, with every group, her love expands. We are the latest part of that love. Again I teared up.

The end of the day provided us with the opportunity to have one last hang out session with all the kids. We all met  up in the cancha (field) outside of The Santos Family's house. So many of the children were there.

Victoria
Marvin
Jennifer
Brenda
Ivonne
Rosa
Gladys
Elgar
Cesar
and Daniel

We shared pan dulce and drank more soda. We played Bachata music from Rosa's phone and danced and ate and played soccer together

for the last time.

Even with all this joy I couldn't shake the pain of knowing that this was our final day on the volcano, as a group, as a family, in the way that we know now.

I was smiling and laughing but on the inside I was bawling like the boy at the 5th grade dance who asks the girl of his dreams to dance... and gets rejected.

3:40 came around and we knew the time had come to walk back down the volcano. We were saying our goodbyes when Daniel came up to me with his fist out and said "Puedo?" (Can I?

I looked at him and realized he had the yellow petals in his right hand and wanted to throw them in my hair like all the other kids.

In all the commotion I had failed to realize that Daniel wasn't able to reach my head, even if he threw the petals as hard as he could. He is three years old and about 2 foot short.

I bent down on one knee and said "si, Daniel" (in a near whisper). He gently dropped the petals on my head and laughed as hard as I've ever seen. He grabbed another flower top and did it again. I started crying. Tears of joy. The closest thing to God I know.

Greg Boyle recounts an eerily similar, if not identical, story of a man who only wanted to lay flowers on his head and thank him foe being him. He calls these kinds of moments "don't move" moments.

We are constantly moving all the time. We sometimes move so fast that we miss these moments of pure love, until we're forced to simply be. I was called in that moment to slow down. To do more than slow down. I fully ceased moving.

And my eyes were opened to Daniel's beautiful smile and beautiful gesture.

Don't Move

Love
Toñito

Saying Goodbye: Siempre Estará En Mi Corazon

It is May 9^th. I have exactly one week left in El Salvador.

I knew this time would come, and to be honest I’ve been dreading it for quite some time.

When I posted my first blog post back in January I was anxiously awaiting my departure. Nervous, and excited and overwhelmed.

Now I am anxiously pacing. Wondering how to make the best of the little time I have left in El Salvador. A place I have called home for the last 4 months. Where a huge piece of my heart will remain after I depart. Where family, friends and mentors reside.

I could’ve said the same things about Secaucus, or Baltimore, and while this is undeniably true for both places I am struggling at the moment to feel good about leaving.

I’m amazingly excited to see my family, my mama, dad, my brothers, Uncle Joe and Aunt Mo, Patty and Steve, Gaga and Pop, and everyone I said goodbye to all those months ago.

I’m excited to get back to Maddy, and enjoy our summer, together.

I’m excited to see all my friends, from Secaucus, St. Peter’s and Loyola.

And I’m excited to sit in Gaga’s living room with a cup of coffee, in Pop’s recliner—National Geographic in one hand and the remote in the other.

There’s a lot to be happy for. Going home is going to feel great. But I can’t shake this looming feeling of sadness as I prepare myself for reintegration into the States.

Yesterday I broke down. We were sitting at the mesa in the dining room for lunch yesterday, all of Casa Ita. Franny, my Salvadoran mother, had made fish and beans and vegetables and rice.

Franny is one of my favorite people in the world. She travels every day from her home to the Casas around 3 hours just to cook for us and be part of our family. She’s got personality. I love it. There are some people who automatically show everyone love and affection. Franny is NOT one of those people. You have to work for that kind of relationship. Over time she breaks her tough exterior and reveals one of the sweetest caring and cariñoso woman I’ve ever known.

Norelby, my Salvadoran housemate asked us a question. “Have you liked living with us?”

I thought to myself “C’mon Nore, you know the answer to that! Por Supuesto!”

But as she asked it I looked around the table and watched as all of us looked for the appropriate words to respond. We all knew the answer. Nore knew as well. At that moment I realized we all just needed to hear it.

Randomly, and without any prodding, one by one we told Nore, Nady, and Franny what they meant to us. I started off “Estoy agradecido…” ( I am grateful…) and then the tears started flowing. I thought of everyone. Nady’s willingness to laugh at any one of my dumb jokes, even if she understand them. Norelby’s unbelievable wit and sense of humor. The stories we shared with each other. The joys and hardships we shared. They are my sister’s.

Then I looked at Franny. I thought of how far our relationship had come. How I was afraid to approach her at first. How she eventually let down her guard and let me into her life. How she smiles, ever so slightly, when Tom and I are being idiots. She is my Mother here. She takes care of me and hugs me and feeds me without ever asking for thanks.

These kinds of memories can be applied to all of my Salvadoran family here. Neto and Papa Julio, Clara and Gris, Samuel and Nelson, Issac and William, Hector and Anita, Daniel and Rosa. Family.

So when I say “Estoy agradecido…” and the following words don’t come to me, it is because they don’t suffice. They can’t do my experience justice. That is the limit of this blog. You all get to see what I can express. I love that I can share with you what I have seen and lived. But at the end of the day I can’t show you everything. Some things can’t be contained. They can’t be restricted to mere words. So when I return and I seem to lose the ability to speak when recounted a story, and tears begin to well up behind my eyes, forgive me and know that whatever I’m thinking about, even if you don’t understand what it is, has changed me, has shaped me, has made me.

I will always carry El Salvador with me. I’m not gone yet, but I will be soon. And when I’m back I will be happy to be reunited with all of you. My loved ones. I will take what I have learned here, what I have felt here, and as best I can share with you the gift that has been this country.

In closing I’d like to share a few words that came to mind as I left Praxis.

“And now my feet, my feet

are tired

and my arms, my arms

desire

to hold, to hold

this country

in my heart, my heart

Forever.”

Thank you for reading.

Antonio “Toñito” Medina

Clash of the Titans: Metapán vs Aguila

This past Sunday May 6, 2012 Casa Ita went to its first Soccer game at the Antigua Cuscatlan Stadium. 

To give you some context of the magnitude of this game let me inform you that it was the National Championship. The stakes were high, our excitement was palpable and the game was on!

Metapán vs Aguila... the clash of the Salvadoran Titans

We departed the Casas and arrived at the crowded stadium just in time to watch mayhem ensure.

Street vendors lined the entrance to the stadium and made it seem that their particular jersey was the most authentic. They accosted us to know end. 

There were middle aged men sitting on the street making cat calls at the women as they walked by in Jersey's and short shorts. Machismo at its finest.

Scalpers aggressively attempted to sell tickets before the big game was about to start.

Lace and I get our faces painted with the nations colors and we finally enter the stadium. Full of excitement and a healthy dose of hesitancy-- especially considering armed and armored police lined the doorways-- we walked purposely to find and open section to rest our bones a bit.

We were on the side of Metapán, in our blue Romero jerseys, hoping to god we don't get urine thrown on us for not wearing an actual team jersey.Luckily the colors got us by.

The stadium is filled with people. Thousands of screaming fans are already in the stands chanting and cursing profanities at the other sections. All this before the game even starts. Aguila seems to have a good 75% of the crowd and I can't help but worry that we picked the wrong team, and that when the post game fight breaks up we'll be up the proverbial creek with out a paddle.

Tom and I bought Aguila jerseys before the game, just to be on the safe side. We put them in Suly's bag for safe keeping. 

The game goes back and forth for a while. There's a lots of excitement in the hot humid air. The sun is beating down hard and focusing fully on the game is impossible. Chanting, harassing, and general debauchery runs rampant and every spilled beer, loud profanity shouted from behind my right ear, and deafening chant draws me away from the actual action of the game.

Then it happens. Aguila scores off a penalty. The crowd goes berserk. Aguila's side breaks out the giant flag, the newspaper confetti, and the smoke bombs. Its a real classy event as you can tell.

Half time comes. Gracias a Dios! I thought both sides were going to jump the fences and really start playing. I want to buy a burger. I saw a lady with a stand earlier and I try it out. I get in line and it's all downhill from there. No I'm in too deep. The masses have surrounded me. I'm right in front of the grill, trying in vein to not get burnt, and fighting tooth and nail to get just one burger. 

Being polite does not work. Manners have no place in this hoard of sweaty hungry men. I have to wait two full rounds of cooking to get this burger. I put my hand out for the 85th time and say "Por Fa' Señora" and she places the heavenly sandwich in my clammy palm.

I have to say, it was pretty damn good, but I don’t think the lady selling them would pass any health codes.

We return to the game and it happens... again! Aguila scores off a fast break. The score is 2-0 and the crowd is even crazier than before. Our side of the stands seem to be losing confidence in Metapán but there as loud as ever. This time it's with indignation for their own team. 

Just when all seemed lost, out of seemingly nowhere, Metapán scores! There first goal of the game. The crowd erupts with less than 5 minutes left in the game.But our rejoicing is short lived as Aguila runs out the clock to become the 2012 Salvadoran National Champions.

I can't say I cared if either team won. I had zero emotional connection to Metapán and the same amount of love for Aguila. But the game was more than the actual play time. It was the experience. It was cheering with the Salvadorans, eating their food, drinking their beer, and being with some of my best friends in this country.

For that reason it is one of my fondest memories i'll take back with me to the states.

Much Love,

Medina

I'm On TV Ma!: Reflecting on Abroad

About a month ago or so I conducted an interview (via Skype) with Loyola's own GreyComm studios. The interview is about my abroad experience thus far and answers questions perhaps some of you have been having. 

In case you haven't seen it yet here it is, in all its glory haha.

Thanks for tuning in. And while you're at it check out GreyComm's youtube page and their website. They're always doing good things.

Much Love,

Funky Cold

Liberated: Frightened As I've Ever Been, And Loving Every Second

Today I had to present my Liberation Theology project for Sister Peg, one of my favorite teachers I've ever had. I can't even call her my teacher, she's a wisdom source as she might say. She's this wonderfully lively Sister of Charity who has been living in El Salvador for the past 35 years or so. She has a snow white head of hair and the most pleasant smile I've ever seen.

She exudes warmth.

For our final project we had to present what has liberated us. What has made us free from the things that had trapped us previously?  What moments of re-birth have we been a part of? How have we responded to the immense love in this country? How have we responded to the pain?

For my project I decided to compile some poems I have written over the semester. The lines in these poems speak to me. Deeply. They each represent a liberating aspect of my time spent in this beautiful country. I would like to share them with you.

The first is entitled "Open the Wounds" and represents a realization I had about the healing qualities of sharing one's story. This stems from a conversation I had with my History professor, Gene Palumbo. We spoke about the attitude here from people on the political right. A sentiment felt country-wide is the idea that people should just get over the Civil War that happened here in the 1980's. They should just move past it. While I believe there may be some truth in this sentiment, what is painstakingly obvious is that people did not get a chance to get over the war. The people most seriously affected, the campesino farmers, had no outlets to share their story. They never got the catharsis they needed. A lot of this mourning is finally happening now. In recent years delegations and programs such as Casa de la Solidaridad have allowed this process to get underway. I realize the importance of sharing one's story and the liberating affect it can have on on'es life. Our liberation or intertwined and therefore I must also share my story, my words, inadequate as they may be.

Open the Wounds

Open the wounds,

Not the wounds of others

But your own

Wherever they may be

Take a long loving look

And tend to them

Open these wounds,

These wounds that have been

Neatly neglected, quietly ignored

Covered up with a beige colored band aid

That doesn’t quite blend seamlessly with your skin tone

And deal with the uncomfortable

The dried blood and the warm mud,

The blisters, the puss

The blood taken and the blood spilled

The rust

The old age and wrinkled face,

The missing teeth and hard calloused hands

And the shit

Open your wounds

And converse with the past

To enlighten your present and work toward a future

With properly healed appendages

And ever clear eyes

Cry. If you have to

Crack open your eyelids and tell your tearducts

You’re thirsty

Your wounds need a drink

Immerse your sores in the saline sea

Wherever they may be

End the drought

Open my wounds

And remove all the doubt

From my hard seasoned heart and my vice gripped lungs

Free me from infection,

Share your scars and breath new life into me.

And when the wounds have recovered

Both yours and mine

Which may take a long weekend or a short lifetime

Let us walk toward our dreams

Proud of our scars and aware of our past

Moved by the urgency of our present

And invigorated by the ineffable unknown that lies ahead

We’ll smile with the knowledge

That when our long gone lips and dried up tongue

Can no longer recount our memories from our shriveled brains

When the blood’s gone from our veins

The scars from our wounds will tell the stories that need to be heard

And perhaps heal the wounds that have yet to be healed. 

­­­

This poem is about the idea of allowing myself to be immersed in ambiguity and be liberated from the notion that the American society has about always needing to have the answer and be in control.

Finding Light in Darkness

Light from the darkness,

Watch as the stark and desolate

Landscape, by night, becomes illuminated.

Look above, we made it

To this lonely woodland field

Teeming with life

Far from the city light

Now a rare commodity

And to some an unexpected oddity,

Full of fears and anxiety,

Loss and regret

An LED lit society

With all of its insect drones,

Blinded by the artificial light

And more confused than ever.

But on this lonely plot of land

Connect-the-dot patterns

Act as natural lanterns

Just the right amount of mystery and security to facilitate

True growth.

Soak

In the vast unknown

Embrace the abyss

Share a starlit kiss and fall in love with the moon

We don’t have much time as it might all end soon

And all we’ll be left with

Is the pit in our guts and the LED lights

And the honking car horns

To lull us to sleep.

The benefits reaped are short lived at best

As the 9 to 5 grind

And the financial mess

Pick up exactly where they left off.

If only we had long term memories

And could stay star gazing

Amazed by the idea that

Darkness produces its own light,

and our eyes will always adjust.

This poem is about the feeling I've been having since arriving in this country. The feeling of overwhelming responsibility to the world and to myself. Liberated in the knowledge that sometimes trembling and owning your feelings, whatever they may be, leads to something greater than your self.  

Standing before God, Naked and Trembling

Is this what it means?

Is this what it looks like?

To stand before God?

Whatever the hell he, she, it is?

I’m trembling.

Trembling, because the corner I just turned

opened my eyes so suddenly

to such immense beauty and light,

fear and darkness,

pain and joy.

I’m looking out from some Salvadoran Mirador

Immersed in the cool January air.

I’m staring into these endless coffee colored eyes,

With charcoal in one pocket and hope in the other.

I’m smiling

and laughing.

I’m petrified.

My dry and dusty bones are awaken

by the first light of some eternal sun,

but I have yet to feel its warmth.

I’ve seen glimpses of its beauty,

Of his beauty of her beauty, of your beauty

Through these rays, these slivers of sunlight.

Powerful enough to violently pry open my eyes,

But not yet powerful enough to comfort me.

I’m uneasy, and nervous.

Drenched in ambiguity,

like a young man precariously positioned under the falling cascada.

I hope I get to see the fruits of this pain, this frustration, this ugliness,

This pure euphoria and utter despair.

I long to see, fully, this light

I think I want to just get there already.

Impatient as I’ve ever been.

I need to see the sun and be engulfed by its warmth.

Blanket me, I’m cold and shivering.

And I used to want to cease trembling.

I really did.

But now I’m not so sure.

Maybe I’ll never cease trembling.

And maybe I shouldn’t try to.

Maybe I need to tremble.

Maybe that’s the point.

Yeah that’s it.

To tremble forever, and ever and ever.

And never look away from god, or the world or yourself.

Let’s take those long loving looks, right now together.

As petrifying as that may seem.

Because you see the cold,

and the fear,

and that feeling you get when you realize how tiny you actually are on this speck of swirling blue and green mass,

It means you’re getting it right!

These are my growing pains.

So here’s to never getting fully comfortable

And always having growing pains.

A ‘notha round…

Peg ended class with some words of her own today.

She said, "If your dreams don't scare you, they are not big enough."

Gauging the amount of fear I have at the moment, I'd say I'm dreaming pretty damn big.

Thanks for reading guys,

Much love as always,

Antonio

Guatever Bro: Lazy Lago Days

On Saturday March 31^st, 2012 me and a group of close friends from Casa went on Spring break to Guatemala. Tom, Alexa, Lacey and I went to Antigua for the weekend and then Left on Monday To San Pedro de Laguna, located on Lake Atitlan. The trip had its ups and downs. Some incredible times in Antigua (that perhaps shouldn’t be mentioned here haha) and a slightly more laid back relaxing time at the Lago. Allow me now to share a bit about my experience in Guatemala.

As I embarked on my Guatemalan adventure I was sincerely hoping for time to relax and take a breather from the constant moving of Casa life. When we arrived in Antigua—we got in late due to Tica Bus problems—we automatically started exploring and looking for a place to eat. Because it was the start of Semana Santa the streets were busy and it seemed like too much was happening. The hoards of people crowding the streets and the prospect of having to travel another four and a half hours to San Pedro de la Laguna on Monday weren’t the ideal conditions to unwind.

On Monday we got in a shuttle bus outside of our hostel and began the almost five hour drive to Lago. I sighed a breath of relief thinking the Lago could and would provide moments of clarity and a space to just be with my self and my own thoughts.

I mean just look at this view… 

Unfortunately the late night party scene, and the exploring the group wanted to be a part of, didn’t allow for much quiet time and reflection. It was surely a good time just more social than personal. We went to a few bars in and around the lake and met a lot of foreigner.

Tyrone was from Canada but lives in Hawaii with his dad some of the year to make money and travels with the rest of his time. Rory and Rob were two Aussie’s with an affinity for dancing and telling life stories of love and loss. Rory damn near cried to me about Bianca, the love of his life—they’re no longer together. He showed me his tattoo on his chest with her name circumscribed. And Philip and Joshua were two Germans who loved trance music and talking about illegal narcotics… let’s just say I felt like I was watching a horrible recreation of Beerfest and Pineapple Express. They were a fun crowd to watch. Tom and I did social commentary the whole week and got back to the hotel every night with a new impression of one of these characters.

The morning of April 5^th we went Kayaking. It was my first time kayaking so we went in pairs. Lacey and Tom knew what they were doing so Lex and I rode with them. We took a 2 hour ride past the far dock and found a little shoreline to dock our kayaks and do a little swimming and relaxing. I didn’t realize what a workout Kayaking could be and when we got back to the docks my arms were fairly beat.

Near the end of the week I was exhausted. I was more exhausted than when I left and really needed to just breathe a moment. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, an opportunity to catch my breath presented itself.

Lacey had seen a sign that offered us a chance to paint a coffee mug by the lake. The money would go toward a scholarship for a child in one of the local language schools. It just seemed so perfect. Tom and Alexa didn’t want to go and stayed back at the hotel. Lace and I embarked on our mini-mission to paint mugs.

We found the café through taking small back roads and narrow alleys and when we arrived we were both so excited. It had started pouring rain and was kind of cold near the lake so we sat down and the barista came over and we chose our mugs. We ordered a cup of coffee and spent the next two hours or so slowly painting this coffee mug and sipping our coffee. No words were spoken between us and while I was painting I truly gave myself time to breathe.

There was something about painting and the sound of heavy rain on lamina that calmed my soul that day. We finished the mugs and I finally felt that I had gotten my time to step back a second.

I spent the remainder of my time at Lago simply enjoying the scenery and eating good food. Rejuvenated, I felt ready to get back to the Casas. So for the four hour bus ride from the Lago to Guatemala City and the subsequent bus ride from Guatemala City to San Salvador I did some reading, watched a horrible 50 cent flick, and dreamt of the tranquil lake, the pouring rain and a hot cup of coffee.

The simple pleasures.

Paz,

Medina