From The Heart

These past few weeks, eyes in general have been poised on the presidential candidate elections of the United States. This once, said process has proven to be incredibly intense, specially on the Democratic side (the side the whole world would prefer as victorious, given the horrid state of affairs thanks to Republican President George W. Bush). Up until now, both primary candidates for the Democratic Party (Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton) have been going at it neck-to-neck, one brushing by very closely to the other. Nothing definitive has been decided yet, not until the majority of delegates has voted in (last primaries will be held in June).


I'm not usually one to have my nose stuck in politics, but I suffer the consequences of a ridiculous, overlong war along with the rest of the world. And being an American citizen, I also suffer the consequences of a government led by an ass-head along with the rest of the American nation (like it or not, because I couldn't choose who to be born to). So, when it comes to an election which could have a strong impact on where we go from now on as a nation and as a people, I can't help but have some strong reactions, even if based on pure emotion rather than on an analytical process.

I don't know when it occurred to me first, but a while after the war was kick-started out of the rubble of the World Trade Center, I became convinced that what could start fixing this world (yeah, the world in general) is another revolution.

Yes, I know it can be seen as a moronically romantic notion, specially in this age of skepticism and irony. Nowadays, the definition of cool is "sarcastic" and not much more. The more heartless you are, the cooler you are, no matter where your lack of faith is coming from. I've participated on this practice of sizing people up by their quality of nonchalant. Being naive has become the worst sin of all, akin to having sucked off an entire police squad.

"Not caring" is the sport of the 21st century. Suddenly all important issues can be found in a copy of the Entertainment Weekly.

So, I am aware of my un-coolness when I say that, regardless of the fact that I know that 99.99% of politicians are corrupted by power or will soon be, seeing these commercials reinforce the notions I've had that what we need is to turn the world upside down.



Maybe what we need is a black president. Or who knows, maybe I'm wrong, maybe a woman would be the right choice. I'm just glad the opposition has candidates that, either way, do not conform to the established norm.

I just hope that the one that wins will show that he or she has the cojones to truly change things around...



... and not let American History keep on this nonsensical course of violence by inertia.

The Beautiful Fat Girl - A Fallacy

Even the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty chickens out before putting an obese woman at front and center

"Real women have curves", or so some say. Specially in this Caribbean piece of land, where we are told from a very early age that our heritage includes equal parts of Taínos (the indigenous people who occupied this island before the Spanish invasion), Spanish and African. Of course, that is pretty much a lie, since most taínos were finished off before the second or third generation after the invasion came to life, but I digress.

We are a mixed breed: we have African blood, as well as heritage from the Middle East and from Europe. Obviously, the mix of breeds results in the passage of dominant genes...

A huge, round ass is apparently the most widespread, lasting gift to us as a race.

Whether you're out at the supermarket, the mall, a disco, a church ... everywhere you will observe that most females are equipped with a considerable butt. The size of the rest of the body will depend mostly on age, and then metabolic heritage. But most women I've seen nearing their thirties have already lost their washboard abs and thighs of steel. A slim and lithe build seems to be reserved for girls 23 and under.

You would think then that given the increasing difficulty with which we face keeping a given weight and shape, we would be more empathic towards each other. Maybe I'm being too naive to expect women to be more enlightened as time passes, to start seeing beauty in things other than a perfectly formed butt and ribs that hint themselves out of a sinewy torso.

Some of us will never have the experience of fitting in with what the populace considers beautiful: an "ugly" face is rarely so as a general rule (someone will eventually find the most hideous of mugs strangely endearing), but a fat girl will never be considered pleasant to look at. If a girl is born fat and grows up fat, she will most likely live through the experience of being put through numberless diets by her own family, never being quite accepted for who she is, always being an "opportunity for improvement".

Eventually, those born fat will either start ignoring these forms of aggression (the "well-intended" advice to diet, the slanted looks, the whispers, the loud scorn by classmates - children can and WILL be cruel!) ... or in the worst of cases they will let the criticism eat away at their self worth. I have yet to meet a fat person who is completely happy with who she or he is. "There is always room for improvement".

There are other cases in which a girl is born slim, or grows up to be slim, and eventually age will do its job and fill her form out to a plump and round issue of itself. I don't mean to be an absolute judge of which pain is worse, but I can tell you it's incredibly mortifying to
a) not be recognized by old friends because you went way beyond recognizable with 50 additional pounds weighing on your belly and hips
b) being recognized by old friends, and said friends presuming off-the-bat that you are pregnant
c) look at pictures of barely 2 years ago and realizing you're not only growing old, you're growing fat.

In short: changing from "that hot mama" to "that fat mama" in 2 or 3 years' time is frustrating, and it gives a more somber perspective to aging.

However, one good thing I've noticed about my friends (most of which are fat) is that they usually will find loveliness in a person due mostly to what the person is like, rather than what the person looks like. We hate ourselves, we hate our bodies, but we can usually see beauty when it stands in front of us, even if it's living under 200 pounds of fat.


You type in "sexy girl" in google.com, and what do you get? A girl that is barely thicker than the snake she is holding.

Not so with thinner girls. I've surmised that somewhere along the line, something goes on in a thin girl's brain that clicks, and then suddenly they're on a class their own, they belong to a clique, and whatever stands outside this circle is not worth even looking at.

I've heard the most hurtful, insulting comments about fat people coming from a thin person's lips. I guess it's the same "fear of the different" that plays into action in racism and xenophobia.

And incredibly enough, we the "fatties" will give credit to what they say. We will let these comments corrode at our own confidence. I don't know why, I haven't yet figured it out, much less found out a solution to protect ourselves from it. But apparently, the bigger we are, the more vulnerable we become to comments coming from razor-thin assholes.

Saddest part is, these razor-thin assholes, given the way the corporate mechanism works, are the ones in charge, the ones making the decisions on marketing, advertising, purchasing, etc. These are the ones that will push for the airbrushed look on magazine covers, these are the ones that will create demand for thinner models and actresses, these are the ones creating a homogenized world of creatures more resembling the aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, rather than a homo sapiens.

The tragedy of all of this? That the new generations are eating it up. Girls will want to emulate the next Kate Moss, and will begin checking themselves out in the mirror, making sure that the hip bone sticks out enough to be sexy. Boys will be fed pictures of airbrushed females, creating expectations that no regular girl will be able to fulfill (and let's not even talk about how males have been put under scrutiny lately, as well. That is a whole other chapter!). All around, a more strict guideline for beauty is being set up. And wherever we look and read, it's being perpetrated by males and females alike.

Long gone is the perception that men would prefer a "healthier" female over the stick-thin models showing up in street signs and corners in the 90s. I've been reading and hearing men, regular men, ogling at these stick-thin figures, more frequently as time passes. Suddenly, sexual desire is sparked by showing bones and slender thighs, not by the abundance of skin or shapely hips.


No matter that she's gorgeous, she will never be considered beautiful again until she loses those extra pounds...

We've been assimilated into the society of thin. A fat girl with a beautiful face will NEVER be "a beautiful girl". She will be "a beautiful fat girl", 'cuz you have to make it clear: she's beautiful but she's fat. Hence, she's not as beautiful as she could be (don't believe me? Even gorgeous girls will be put down in public if they're not picture perfect!).

So ... a girl both beautiful AND fat? Impossible. Not true in the eyes of society.



Writer's Note: This has been a rant brought to you by Diana Campo. You are welcome to express your opinions on the comment section, but be warned: I do not intend to give off the impression that I am in possession of the absolute truth about how things work and how people feel. This is just MY take on things, and I am very aware that my take on things will differ from a lot of other people's. Variety in opinion is most welcome. I look forward to your reactions! ;-)

Dump one in favor of the other

I'm all over the web, that is no news to me. However, it surprises me when I remember a long-forgotten profile or blog (surprising because I have a rusty memory). It surprises me even more when I go back and there it is!

I had no such luck with my first blog ... I can't even remember the blog host anymore, I only know it has long been extinct, the domain or site was sold to another host and they didn't make it easy, they just erased the users and re-instated the spaces per-request ... only problem was, I didn't remember my username and password by the time I turned back to look for it :-(

Just a few moments ago I remembered Fotolog, a site that hosts just that: fotologs. Instead of blogging, you upload a picture and you blog, if you wish. Simple concept, and I started out fine with it. I uploaded frequently at the beginning and started forgetting it some time after that. At the end, my posts were far in between. All in favor of Flickr, I suppose.



Still, my Fotolog has done me the favor of conserving some pictures that, when looked back upon, remind me of things and moments somehow forgotten. It's easier to revisit the past on a website than to dig into a hard drive full of unfiltered pictures.

Some highlights:


My last bachelorette pad before moving back in with family and eventually moving in with Eze.


My in-your-face nose-ring. Very short lived for a piercing. My other piercings (navel, tongue) survived my office jobs for years! And then I got fed up with snagging my navel with pant buttons or biting on my tongue barbell and breaking my teeth...


That fateful weekend (in collage). :-) Yeah, that one was FUN!


Reminders of my "pink phase" ... it has a lot to do with the previous picture.


A time when we didn't have a washing machine.



... and so on and so forth ... I don't know if I would have the energy and/or the time to go back to fotologging. But it seems like it could be worth it.

I'll think about it.

One Month Down, A Few More to Go

January didn't creep by this once, like every year before. January came, stabbed us in the back and left before our bodies hit the floor.

How dramatic, right? But January has been backdrop to significant changes [in my life, which is what this blog is about anyways, so any glimmer of self-importance is totally justified].

I am a fast believer of the theory that talking about things too much puts a jinx on it. So it should be just enough to say that last Friday was a catalytic day. I gave up the opportunity to have what most people struggle to get on a daily basis, just in order to give myself the chance of completion, of emotional and intellectual fulfillment. Given the immediate choice (incredibly enough, both options were standing face to face in the same instant), I froze, and may Eze forgive me for calling on him to help me feel reassured on my decision, but I did need someone to tell me it was okay to show myself some love too.

I will put it out in the open, as soon as I get the desirable feedback, the one thing that could go wrong (and hopefully won't).

Other than that one thing that redefines 2008 for me, I'm also getting ready for my birthday. March 8th, 2008 I will be turning 30 years old, and I'm happy about it. What could otherwise be a trauma has turned into a celebration of what I didn't become, a personal statement of independence (of sorts, Eze yesterday rained on my parade a little, thank you >-( ... )

I'm just looking forward to turning to a-round-little-number-of-age again. It will be a Saturday, and I still have no clue how to celebrate it. Suggestions are welcome.

Since the start of the month, work rhythm has almost halted to a complete stop. From working through New Year's Day straight into the following weekend, days like to day are starting to crop up again, in which I have barely any duties for me. Ahhhh, the beauty of tranquil days, it makes up for the frenzy of others.


Our 4-months-old pup, Caprica, hasn't halted to a full stop, though. She's kept growing, although not as fast as before. We enrolled her in an obedience class, which is fine and dandy, but the past 2 lessons have been canceled due to rain. We keep trying to follow up, but she's only focused when she wants to be, which is barely ever. She's energetic and incredibly sweet, but also a total rascal. I've lost my good share of underwear and shoes to her already. I trust that time will do its work, and she will eventually turn into a tranquil and affectionate dog as age goes by.

Happy New Year!

Differently from recent past years, I've had to work a full day today (12/31) and I will have to work tomorrow as well. It hasn't been a pleasant thing to agree to, but as these days came closer (as late as at the end of last week), I've tried to give it a twist for the better, at least as far as my mood goes.

So as it is, the passing of one year into the other will not be much more special than the passing of one day to the next. But all is well, I have a few heartening plans for 2008, and that gives me something to look forward to.

In 2008 I will be turning 30 (March 8th), my relationship with Eze will be turning 4, my sister Chichi will be turning 21, my brother Kiwi will be 26 (over the 20s peak, huh!).

In 2008 I intend to turn a new leaf in my life (more on that as it develops), and I'd like to also start turning my home into truly mine (my nesting instinct manifests through color, just as Eze's manifests through space management).

In 2008 I hope to be able to travel (there is at least one concrete plan in the horizon), and most of all, I will keep working on my own psyche, so I can finally realize how free I really am. I need to know that, my sanity depends on it.

I hope 2008 brings more blue and sunny afternoons, more sunsets at home, more breezy feelings.

I have no resolutions for 2008 ... it's more like I have resolutions for the rest of my life.

So, as I'm writing this, my pup Caprica is sitting on my lap, being all restless, trying to input some of HER stuff through the track pad. I think I'll just log off now and bid you guys a happy new year celebration.
Thanks for reading! :D

El Perfume

No sé cómo es que uno se olvida de los olores con el tiempo y sin embargo eventualmente el elemento más aleatorio lo resucita como si estuviese pasando de nuevo. Hace muchos años, cuando todavía mi papá era completamente infeliz y tenía dinero, él usaba perfumes como si fueran calzoncillos: no sólo los cambiaba con frecuencia, sino que los usaba el día entero, y al final ya apestaba.

Aparentemente, la fricción continua del shampoo de miel de abeja (fricción absolutamente necesaria, porque bañar a una cachorrita de 3 meses de edad y 15 libras de peso no es tarea fácil si ella así se lo propone), al cabo de un rato termina oliendo a Drakkar Noir ... o alguna otra de esas pestilencias que usaba mi papá. También es increíble cómo uno le puede tomar cariño a un olor que en cualquier otro caso terminaría provocando una migraña.

Al oler eso, la memoria viajó a una parte que hacía tiempo no visitaba. Era una época problemática, de consternación y confusión. Todos esos años en los que mi papá no fue feliz y en los que no sintió la necesidad de ocultarlo sirvieron para conocer un lado de él que prefiero no repetir. Era algo gris, opaco, oculto, oscuro. Los regaños provocaban más terror del que pueda tenerle uno a mi papá en estos días, y los momentos felices frecuentemente tenían la sensación de un chocolate hueco.

Mis hermanos y yo creo que nos acostumbramos a ese tormento interno de nuestro papá, creo que por eso nos rebelamos tan asquerosamente cuando al fin conoció a alguien que lo hizo sonreír desde adentro nuevamente. En ese momento, mi papá dejó de usar perfumes. Creo que finalmente ya no le hacía falta la máscara.

Realization

Realization sometimes dawns in multiple steps and phases. Most of times the first phase is already 'too late'. For example, realizing two weeks before graduating with a BA in Commerce/Computer Systems is 'a bit too late' ... or so you think, until you start committing to a house, a car, a way of life that only a professional career will pay for. THEN it's too late, for real.

A few false starts later, feeble attempts to bleed my anxieties, looking for ways to feel less like part of the corporate flock ... it proves that yes, you were late in realizing, and the longer you wait, the more difficult it will be to effectively remove yourself from the huge March of the Android Sheep. All the what if's have piled up in your brain to form a burning scar that throbs each time you fail at excelling at something you don't even care about.

So, it's about time I did something. It might not be the easiest way "out", but it will be a relief not to stay put just because it feels like a societal mandate to keep the one career you chose when you were merely 18 and thinking with your twat.

Writing has been in my blood since birth, I suppose. Nothing else explains that as soon as I learned to put my ABCs on paper, I immediately proceeded to compose poetry and draw accompanying illustrations. Nothing else explains that I've been keeping journals since my hormones started creating havoc on my psyche. Nothing else explains that the only activity that feels like second-nature to me is putting words to the music my soul sings. I may not be an excellent writer, and to some (I know), I lack whatever talent would deem me brilliant to their eyes. Little do they know that it's not so much about wooing them into helpless admiration, it's much much more about relieving myself, doing what my innermost being craves time and again. I cannot help it: I write, therefore I am. Can't be one without the other.

So for the first time in my life I'm seriously contemplating following what my instinct has been since I've been a wee child. I won't give more details than that, I tend to be superstitious "just in case", so I don't tell so as not to jinx it. But it will take time. In the end, I hope I have something to show for it. For the while being, I don't plan to stop writing here, it's all that's keeping me sane, away from high ledges and nefarious pills. In the way there, you might figure out what it is. As always, my problems and my blisses bleed into my words.

Want!

These past few days have been a bit of a Self Crisis. If I were turning 45 in the next March 8th, I'd say I was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. What I refuse to admit, though, is that I'm having a Turning 30 Crisis, 'cuz that is just plain stupid, and I will have none of that in this house (my body is a temple!).

I've been feeling the strongest of urges: to go out drinking, to get a tattoo, to cut my hair, to dye it blue-black (again), to get my nails done, to do a total overhaul of what "Diana" has come to mean in the past few years. I had never felt so strongly about these things, and I'm a bit scared of going near any shopping mall, in fear that I might get drawn into it and shop myself a new self-image, leaving my credit card maxed out and my economy whimpering on a thin line.


Unfortunately, Ebay exists, and I've already succumbed to the purchase of 2 pairs of spiral taper plugs (earrings, for those not familiar with bod-mod lingo): one pair black, the other red. And I'm on the lookout for Hermes sandals, which are not that easy to find (good quality, i mean. The rip-offs abound and will give you a blister you will not soon forget). What else lies in store for this phase of compulsive buying and tendency to make myself over? I dunno. I bought a henna conditioner treatment yesterday, but that is just a lame pacifier for the forces that usually cause my transformations. It's like stopping a hurricane with a butterfly net.

*sigh* The itch for ink has just begun. Whip out your tattoo guns, boys. It's just a matter of time before I enter a door asking for mayhem on my skin.

In Pain

I'm feeling like shit (emotionally), my back hurts (for real) and the day didn't get off to a good start since yesterday.

Thankfully, I decided to take my car for repair work on the A/C later in the month, 'cuz my plans would have been shot to hell anyways. Both options I had for a lift (Mom & Eze) had to leave their cars (Eze's car won't turn on, and Mom noticed her car making a weird noise).

The day looks bleak, gray .... just like the future. Bleak. Gray.
I need a shot of adrenaline, maybe some alcohol, maybe a good talk. I dunno. Or maybe I just need to shut up and go back into myself like I've been expected to, like I've tried doing all this time.

I loooooove my perfume

Wish you had smell-a-vision. Then you'd be able to smell this...

I know, it's classified as "WTF" if it's coming from me, tooting Puff Daddy's horn for designing such a delicious fragrance (or tooting P. Diddy's horn at all). It was unintentional and the associations to the perfume made the purchase so much easier (and impulsive).














A few months ago I started reading the Sandman comic series by Neil Gaiman, and about time, given the whole lot I had heard before about the comic. I loved it, and I immediately connected with Delirium.

Thing is, one day I'm walking around a mall, and I picked up a small paper card sprayed with this perfume that I pretty much liked. I stowed the paper away, and took it home, used it as a bookmark for Brief Lives. The perfume permeated the whole book, accompanied me in the Delirium-ridden story, got into my nostrils and my senses until the smell of it was forever associated with Dream and Delirium.

This past weekend, Mom insisted on taking me shopping, and I budged. There were more than a few things I was wanting/needing. I decided to go snooping around Macy's perfume department, and I really don't understand how I recalled the name of the perfume so clearly. What I didn't remember so well was why I was remembering a perfume named Unforgiven.

As soon as I whiffed at it again, the decision was made, I had to have it. This perfume IS Delirium, this perfume IS Dream. It wasn't until I was drawing out the credit card to pay for it that I noticed what the signature on the back stood for.

Puff-fucking-Daddy, aka Sean John. Jeez!

But then again, he's got a better nose for fragrances BY FAR than all the little Hollywood bitches designing stenches for the gullible masses.