The price of being yourself

                    

Acting like we are who we are is not easy.

We live in a world where society constantly let us know how we should be, how we should act, how we should look and how we should feel. All those who do not fit into those parameters are considered weird and are automatically treated as if there was something wrong with them.

From the moment that we are born we are taught that being different is wrong and we are encouraged to be like everybody else, to fit in.

The moment we perceive ourselves as different, we live in fear of others finding this out and we dedicate a great amount of time to do things so that others accept us.

Teens get drunk, smoke and do drugs just to be part of a group, just to be “cool”, a word used to describe a person that has all the attributes that society approves.

Adults follow the steps of the ones before them but sometimes not because they want to but because that is “the right thing to do”. Society has taught us that if you do not have a career, if you do not get married or have kids then you are wasting your life. And please, don’t think I am criticizing wanting to study, learning or wanting to spend the rest of your life with the person that you love beside you. If I did, I would be doing the same thing that I so strongly believe we should avoid: JUDGING

Doing what we feel like doing, Speaking our mind and heart out, Listening to the music that we like, dressing up to be comfortable not to be admired or accepted, all of that comes with a price. Being free is not for free. When we start caring more about what we think rather than what others think of us, we pay a price in the form of a label. It could be loner, weird, nerd, dumb, smartass, slut (If you happen to have friends that are not girls), gay (sometimes just because you are nice and have good manners), you name it.

There are millions of labels for people that decide to be just the way they are. Being free is being willing to accept that label, to embrace it and to redefine it for ourselves with its true meaning without expecting others to approve it.

THE FRIEND$HIP DETECTOR

I was never one of those “know it all girls” that would just correct a word for one of my friends or almost recite the entire concept of a difficult word in primary school, however, I must say that I was able to understand by the age of 5 what a friend was, and I have always been certain that it is NOT a bank account.

At the age of 25 I have realized that not everybody understands the difference between these two.

I recently discovered that some people have what I have called: “a friend$hip detector” They use this sensor to determine if the candidate has enough economic value as to be one of their friend$.

You can tell once they have passed the test because their comments will sound something like this:

“I just came back from lunch with Susan, she is the (insert fancy title) at (insert fancy workplace) we went to (insert fancy restaurant) I did not have to pay for anything. She is the best”

“George is the best of friends. He just bought us a trip to (insert fancy place)”

You can also tell when a candidate failed the friend$hip detector. It often results in comments such as:

“He is just so creepy. Did you see his cheap jacket?”

“Did you see his old car? And he expected me to accept his ride home”

Making friends is today (for these people) is a synonym of gold digging. It is no longer the personality what they want to explore but the possessions.

People with Friend$ip Detectors don’t talk about the human qualities of their so called friends but about the quality of the wallets they own.

As far as I am concerned, I still prefer this concept:

“The proper office of a friend is to side with you when you are in the wrong. Nearly anybody will side with you when you are in the right.”  Mark Twain

I don’t think a bank account can do this for anyone yet…

Our principles

A big part of what we are is what we believe in.
What we believe is important because it guides our actions. If we are not sure about what we believe then our actions become inconsistent.
Some time ago my mom and I were talking about how having values and principles are sometimes a disadvantage when it comes to money and status. Having values, believing in something and act based on it creates an imaginary boundary that prevent us from deviating from the path that we have chosen.
For example, if you are not honest, nothing limits you from stealing a co-worker’s idea saying it’s yours. By doing this you may accomplish materialistic goals.
There are fewer limits to those whose actions are not based on values.
On the other hand, if you are honest, loyal and kind, there are several things that you just would not do.
The main argument on our conversation was that even when my dad had been dishonest and disloyal during the time they were married, he was now in a relationship with a well positioned lady, living a life full of luxury and financial balance, while she, the one that had been honest, caring and loyal was now alone and suffering from the consequences of divorce at the age of 57. My mom expected that because of the fact that she had been principle oriented and he had not there should be some kind of reward to her/punishment for him. I agreed. That day, we concluded that perhaps it was better to lack values since people who did not have them had a better quality of life.
After the pain went to a place in my heart that allowed me to go dipper into my thoughts, I realized that the reason why I thought it could be better to lack principles was precisely because I was expecting that so called reward  that would compensate me for being “ good” from outside instead of from within.
The greatest reward in life is being true to our selves. That is what true freedom is about: Acting based on what we believe; even if that means that the consequences won’t be the ones that we expected.
When we are untrue we become slaves. Our beliefs live trapped in our mind making us deaf by the sound of their eternal scream for freedom.

Lejanía

Hola mundo!

Escribí esto hace algunos meses cuando mi tía llego a México. Creo que es la primera vez que pude sacar desde la situación de alguien más, un poquito de mi añoranza por Cuba. Aquel cubano que se encuentre lejos y de casualidad encuentre estas letras entenderá.

                                                    

Al abrir los ojos olvidó donde estaba por unos segundos, cuando por fin lo hizo la tristeza invadió repentinamente su corazón. Lágrimas en los ojos.

Miró su reloj, era tempano. Noventa mañanas como esa habían pasado y aun no comprendía del todo por qué ese sentimiento no se alejaba.

Cada mañana la nube de recuerdos, personas, ideas, deseos, problemas, dudas y confusión acerca de su Cuba linda recorrían su mente sin descanso. ¿Cuándo acabaría? ¿Sabría algún día si había tomado la decisión correcta? ¿Llegaría el momento en que se sentiría parte del lugar en que estaba? No tenía respuestas.

Esa mañana decidió caminar al trabajo. El día estaba fresco y nublado, con ese olor a lluvia que agravaba su melancolía. Antes de salir, se puso los audífonos, quería escuchar una vez más el disco de Silvio que le había regalado su hijo la noche antes de irse.

Pensar en su hijo era lo peor, no había vez que lo hiciera que no se le nublara la vista por la presencia de dolorosas lágrimas de tristeza, distancia y desesperación. ¿Qué estaría haciendo? ¿Cómo le iría en la escuela? ¿Tendría dinero? ¿Estaría comiendo bien? ¿Lo vería pronto? Incertidumbre, cruel incertidumbre.

Sumida en esas ideas revisó su cartera. Una foto de él cuando pequeño la hizo sonreír. Le quedaban 100 pesos, suficientes para escuchar su voz solo por 5 minutos, aun así se alegró. Le hablaría en la noche.

El ruido de un claxon la asustó. Aun no se acostumbraba al tráfico,  a casi nada en realidad. Muchos carros, muchas personas, otra cultura, otra vida. ¿La quería? No.

“ser positivo, ser positivo”, se repetía a  si misma mientras secaba las lágrimas.

A veces las razones que la habían hecho decidirse a salir de su tierra no eran suficientes y solo pensaba en sus tardes de domingo en las que lo único importante era estar junto a los suyos tomando café y jugando dominó. Pero ¿Y los arreglos de la casa? ¿Y que pasaría con el dinero que le mandaba a su hijito para que pudiera vivir un poquito mejor? ¿Qué hacer para garantizarle un mejor futuro estando allá? ¿Como garantizarle una casita? Tenía que quedarse.

Se detuvo, estaba cansada. No había dormido bien la noche anterior. Miró a su alrededor, ya solo le faltaban un par de cuadras.

La música de su MP3 se había detenido. Quiso escuchar a Silvio una vez más antes de entrar a trabajar. Comenzó a llover. No apuró el paso. La lluvia era lo único familiar. Imaginó el mar. Ya había llegado. Miró al cielo para ver las gotas de lluvia caer antes de entrar al edificio. Cuando saliera de él ya seria noche. El día pasaría rápido. Se alegró. Una última lágrima resbaló por su mejilla. Nadie lo notaría, después de todo estaba lloviendo. Sonrió.