De Mi

Un Verano en Nueva York

     Naci en la ciudad de Nueva York hace 43 veranos, el primero de tres hijos de una pareja de imigrantes Colombianos muy cariñosos. Como mis padres nunca olvidaron sus origenes ni sus costumbres, criarme a lo Colombiano junto con las influencias de Sesame Street y McDonald’s resultaron, en mi opinion, en una mejor version de mi que si hubiera formado parte de solo una ú otra cultura.

     Generalmente fui buen niño, mis travesuras y regaños fueron por cosas relativamente normales; no comerme los vegetales (bueno, en realidad a la hora de comer di muchos problemas. En cierto modo las sigo dando…) Aveces hablaba mucho en mis clases, o hacia reir a mis compañeros de salon y resultaban castigados por mi culpa. Una vez una niña que me gustaba mucho me arrebato un borrador. Ya que me gustaba la nena, poca excusa necesitaba para jugar con ella. Me levante de mi asiento sin permiso del professor para recuperar mi borrador, y cuando ella se nego en devolvermelo hice lo que cualquier niño normal hubiera hecho; le puegé un beso ruidoso en el cachete. Al professor no le gusto para nada mi conducta y no solo me castigo, sino que a la hora de mi mama recogerme al fin del dia, el pidio que le tradujera a mi mama lo acontecido. Aunque para mi estaba claro que no habia cometido gran mal, el hecho de ser castigado por lo que fuera me preocupo porque uno nunca quiere decepcionar a los padres. Durante la traduccion, y cuando acumulaba suficiente valor de mirar mi mama directo a los ojos, me acuerdo haber notado en su cara una expression dificil para mi decifrar. Cuando mi papa llego del trabajo y ella le relato lo sucedido, comprendi que la expression de mi mama fue de confusion; no entendia porque el haberle yo dado un beso a una niña quien no se habia quejado de ello hubiera sido motivo de haberme castigado. Mi papa solo me dio unas palmadas en la espalda y dijo “Ese es hijo mio”. Despues de todo, el recipiente del beso fue una niña, no el professor, cosa que claramente alivio a mis padres.

Aun no era famosa, pero yo botaba la baba por ella

     En el bachillerato (high school) tuve pocas amistades, pero fueron muy buenas amistades. Juntos formamos parte de la primera clase que se graduó de la entonces recien inagurada La Guardia High School of the Arts (Escuela de Bellas Artes La Guardia) en la ciudad de Nueva York. La mayoría de mis amigos se dedicaban al arte y diseño como yo, pero el hecho de que tambien tenia amistades que se dedicaban al ballet, al canto, a la actuacion ó a tocar un instrumento enriquecio mucho el ambiente escolar. Aunque nunca llegamos a ser ni amigos ni conocidos, con frecuencia veia a Jennifer Aniston. Aun no era famosa, pero yo botaba la baba por ella. Compartimos un salon de clases, solo que cuando mi clase terminaba la de ella comenzaba. Mejor dicho, yo sacaba excusas de donde no las habia para vacilar al final de mi clase y esperar por ella. Mas sin embargo de nada me sirvio pues nunca tuve el valor de dirigirle una sola palabra. De lo que se perdio la ahora famosa, hermosa, millonaria, super-actriz de Hollywood, no?

     Cuando me gradué en 1988 tuve un corto descanzo antes de ingresar al Instituto de Moda y Tecnologia (FIT) en la ciudad de Nueva York. Por dos años me someti a un intenso entrenamiento en esta famosa universidad para una carerra como diseñador de modas, pero la experiencia fue para mi como el haber tenido una fiebre muy alta; no recuerdo muchos detalles y muchas veces me sentia muy incomodo y medio mariado. De vez en cuando tuve nauseas y vomitos tambien. Fue un plan de estudios bastante dificil para mi de seguir sin ninguna preparatoria, o sea que de dibujitos medio encaminados en el bachillerato a tareas diarias en maquinas de coser industrials hubo demasiada distancia. En mi opinion una corta clase de introducción para los estudiantes novatos antes de que comenzara el primer semester hubiera servido de mucho. Mi abilidad de asistir la universidad vino casi completamente por becas ganadas atravez de concursos y loterias, lo que decia que era de suma importancia que todas mis notas universitarias no bajaran de cierto puntuaje, ó como consecuencia perderia las becas y me hubieran tenido que echar de la universidad. Por lo tanto mis experiencias sociales fuera de las aulas fueron casi inexistentetes; para ser un estudiante que solo alcanzaba notas mediocres requerio un esfuerzo supremo de mi parte, mucho enfoque y mucha determinacion. Tambien hubo mucho estress, desvelos, lagrimas y frustracion. O sea, todo una novela. Ademas, siempre fui  introvertido y no muy social, pues de fiestas, bailes y amistades universitarias no tengo absolutamente nada de que contar. El dia de graduacion amaneci deseando que ya fuera de medianoche para cerrar aquel capitulo de una buena vez.

     Imediatamente despues de graduarme sentí la necesidad de limpiar mi paladar mental. Consegui empleo con una organizacion de actividades para niños durante los meses de verano. Me  resulto super–conveniente ya que la oficina se encontraba a cuatro calles de donde vivia. queFue el tangente perfecto para calmar mi mente y sanar mi psique, y fue donde aprendí  me es mucho mas facil hacer reir a los niños que a un adulto, cosa que aun sigue siendo curiosamente cierto.

     En los años siguientes me encontre brincando de un corto trabajo a otro como grillo sobre plancha caliente. No porque fui mal empleado sino porque como recien estaba graduado, me fue bastante dificil conseguir quien me diera trabajo. Para colmo de males, despues de tan dura lucha por conseguirlo, a los tres o cuatro meses me despedian. Hasta que un buen (o no tan buen) dia caí en cuenta de que al cabo de esos tres o cuatro meses era cuando una compañia estaba en la obligación de ofrecerle a sus empleados paquetes de salud y cuidado, y era simplemente menos costoso despedirme que paga por mi salud. Tras de varios años de esta mala rutina, quede con una hoja de vida que mas bien parecia restos de una fiesta entre tiburones; pedazos por aqui, trozos por alla. Lo que me salvaba era mi facilidad con las artes plasticas - mi portafolio demostraba muchisimos ejemplos variados de dibujos, pinturas, illustraciones, de todo un poco. Mas sin embargo con el tiempo hasta eso comenzo a trabajar en mi contra ya que para muchos directores de arte con quien me entrevistaba “un poquito de todo” significaba que no era experto en nada; que como no me habia especializado o enfocado en una sola direccion, pues no sabian como utilizarme. Parecía que nisiquiera en un concurso para peder podia ganar.

     En la decada de los 90 logre un puesto con una compañia de ropa muy conocida llamada Gitano. Fui asitente diseñador para ropa de mujer, y los años que trabaje con esa compañia fueron las mas ricas en terminos de el ambiente y mis compañeros de trabajo. Fue algo tan especial que mientras todo marchaba viento en popa, estaba conciente de que en el futuro aquella experiencia laboral seria la que quisiera duplicar. Fuimos un grupo de 10 diseñadores y asistentes que nos veiamos las caras mas que las de nuestras propias familias, pero quien sabe si debido a un fantastico aliniamiento planetario, nos llevabamos quizas hasta major que algunas verdaderas familias. Con el tiempo varias de estas relaciones maduraron y se convirtieron en amistades y hasta la presente somos un grupo que seguimos en contacto y tratamos de reuinirnos por lo menos una vez al año. Desafortunadamente aquella suerte tambien tuvo su final y llego el dia que como compañeros de trabajo nos tuvimos que decir adios, y me encontre nuevamente rebotando de un trabajo a otro.

     Al pasar varios años en este patron, comence a perder confianza y el deseo creativo. Solamente me dedicaba a pequeñitas obras de arte que si se las mostraba a mi familia ó amigos, era mucho. Me encontre con la realidad de tener que aceptar cualquier trabajo por muy lejos que estuviera de mi carrera o gusto. La realidad era que como hombre casado y papa de una bella recien-nacida, era de suma importancia generar un tipo de ingreso y asi no dejarle toda la presion a mis esposa Sofia. Esto fue un duro golpe a mi auto-estima, mucho mas de lo que espere pues creia que desde ese punto no habia marcha atras y nunca volveria a tener que ver con el arte y la creatividad. Me habia hecho la idea de que mi regalo de Dios fue inutilmente gastado y perdida por errores de mi parte, que de alguna forma la ventana hacia mi triunfo se habia cerrado. Pense que la familia y amigos que alcanzaron a ver un poquito de mi arte constituyo mi audiencia mayor. Que junto a mis seres queridos, me habia decepcionado a mi mismo.

Quizas ninguna otra lección en mi vida me haya enseñado de cerca cuan poderosos son nuestras creencias, y lo facil que es creer en las negativas. Las positivas son igual de fuertes, pero es el mantenimiento necesario para prolongar las creéincias positivas lo que las distinguen. Es esa una conclusion a la que he llegado y pueda estar equivocado, pero para mi funciona y pueda que para ustedes tambien. En el gimnasio, es muchisimo mas facil dejar caer aquellas pesas que lograr hacer una repeticion mas con ellas, y mas dificil aun rebuscar la fuerza para efectuar aun otra repeticion. El pensar positivo es similar y a la vez mas dificil porque no se trata ya de un peso fisico en las manos, sino un peso filosofico sobre los hombros.

Este tipo fue mil veces peor que La Puta Cancerosa (una anciana decrépita y diabolica que me toco de jefa una vez. Era tan pero tan mala que se fumaba 3 paquetes de cigarillos sin filtros diarios en toda la oficina sin importarle un pito la salud o opinion de los demas

     Aunque me tardo un largo periodo, y ademas de una fuente sin-fondo de amor, comprension y apoyo de mi esposa Sofia, lentamente comenze a salir de la picada en que venia y comence a volar mas perpendicular a la tierra. Viviamos en Brooklyn, Nueva York y consegui un trabajo con un almacen de articulos domesticos cerca de la famosa playa Coney Island. Alli aprendi a manejar todo tipo de estratas sociales; contentar a los cleintes mientras la cajera no me funcionanba, viejitas Rusas exigentes con sus cupones de descuento, y trabajar toda la noche hasta la siguiente madrugada limpiando y organizando para que el proximo turno de trabajadores lo encontrara todo listo. Deje ese trabajo por otro en diseño de empaques de luces y bombillos. Esta compañia fue dirigida con fuerza bruta por quien es sin duda alguna la peor persona con quien haya tenido el mayor disgusto de tener como jefe. Este tipo, a quien llamo El Judio de Hierro fue mil veces peor que La Puta Cancerósa (una anciana decrépita y diabolicaque que me toco de jefa una vez. Era tan pero tan mala que se fumaba 3 paquetes de cigarillos sin filtros diarios en toda la oficina sin importarle un pito la salud o opinion de los demas. El olor que si detestaba? El de palomitas de maiz hechos en el micro-ondas, vaya usted a ver..). Este tipo tambien se fumaba varios tabacos al dia, hedia a rayos ( y no me refiero a la peste de tabaco), lanzaba su cellular con toda fuerza cuando enfurecido, cosa diaria, la saliva le explotaba de la boca hedionda cuando gritaba, era todo un pequeño monstruo atrapado en un cascaron humano. Su idea de hacernos trabajar mas duro era de comprarnos pizza para que almorzaramos sin tener que alejarnos de la computadora ni mucho menos salir del deposito de mercancias, un enorme cajon sin ventanas. El unico aspecto positive que encontre en ese trabajo fue la amistad que forme con otro empleado, miembro del movimiento judio Lubavitch. La compañia era compuesta casi en su totalidad por judios Hassidicos, cosa que fue una experiencia muy distinto para mi por decir lo poco. Aprendi mucho acerca de las costumbres de esta cultura, principalmente porque mi compañero de trabajo nunca se rehusó en contestar cualquier pregunta que le hiciera. Digo esto con toda seriedad - despues del cheque semanal, lo mejor de aquel trabajo fue aquella amistad. Bueno, eso y el dia que me fui; deje ese trabajo repentinamente porque al dia siguiente viajaba para las Bahamas contratado para un evento especial. Me hubiera encantado haberle improvisado un discurso de despidida a aquel pequeño animal, trepado en mi escritorio para que todos me olleran, y quien sabe si asi iniciar una mini-revolucion, pero la realidad era que ademas de hediondo y grocero era paranoico. Para entrar y salir de su igual de hedionda oficina solo era posible con un boton la cual el controlaba desde su escritorio. Muy decepcionanate que tras mi discurso de despedida diera la vuelta para irme..y tuviera que esperar hasta que le diera la gana de undir el boton para dejarme salir. Asi es que solo le informe lo disgustado que estaba trabajando por su compañia y que ese seria mi ultimo dia. La mueca/sonrisa que me dio de respuesta me dio a entender que quizas queria que me fuera tanto como yo. De todas maneras parece que ambos encontramos lo que buscabamos. Di la vuelta para irme...y tuve que esperar hasta que le diera la gana undir el boton para dejarme salir.

De Brooklyn a las Bahamas

     Hacia ya varios años que me habian contratado para un evento especial en uno de los almacenes de lujo de Nueva York llamado Lord & Taylor. Fue un promocion para el Dia de las Madres; con la compra de una fragrancia se obsequiaba gratis una tarjeta hecha y personalizada por mi delante del cliente. De casualidad escuche que mi jefa se peleaba con alguien por telefono. Resultaba ser que ese alguien personalizaba las botellas de perfume, pero no hiba a ser presencia como habian acordado por motivos que no logre a entender. Repentinamente se me prendio un bombillo y le dije a mi jefa que si me daba la opportunidad de practicar, yo podia hacer ese trabajo tambien. Se entusiasmó mucho y me dio el si. Poco me importaba que se trataba de algo de la cual no tenia ni la mas minima idea como se hacia, pero ven? De veras que habia recuperado la auto-estima y valor. Bueno, al llegar el primer dia me fue tan super-mal que al cabo de la tercera botella rallada y fracturada la jefe se me acerco y al oido me pregunto que si tenia mis pinceles para seguir mejor con las tarjetas. Con el rabo bien escondido asi hice, pero no me di por vencido. Hice mis investigaciones, me consegui el equipo de herramientas apropiadas y tres años mas tarde me habia ganado suficiente buena reputacion para trabajar con la gran mayoria de almacenes de mas alto lujo en la ciudad de Nueva York. Me llaman para eventos caritativos, dias festivos y promociones especiales y gozo de una excelente reputacion con todos mis clientes.

     Un Dia del Padre lluvioso, durante uno de estos eventos me di cuenta que una pareja silenciosa llevaban varios minutos observandome de todo angulo. Me figuré que querian hacerme alguna pregunta ó esperaban pacientemente mietras terminaba esa botella para verla de cerca. Cuando les entregue la botella, me informaron que ellos eran los dueños de una distribudora de perfumes para el Caribe basados en Miami, Florida. Estaban tan impresionados con mi trabajo y pensaban que la idea de personalizar las botellas como evento promocional era tan buena que me pidieron que hiciera lo mismo por ellos…en el Caribe. Que me pagarian bien, que me conseguirian mucho trabajo, que viajaria mucho, etc, etc. Aunque estos detalles eran llamativos, si tuviera un centavo por cada vez que ya alguien se me habia acercado para ofrecerme trabajo…bueno tuviera como nueve centavos pero mi punto es que ya habia escuchado mucho estas palabras y todavia estaba esperando que de palabras pasaran a hechos, lo cual nunca sucedia. Fui cortez como siempre, etrecambiamos informacion y nos despedimos, en mi mente para siempre como todos los demas. En menos de un mes recibi una llamada telefonica de ellos para hacer planes de itinerarios. Seis meses y un dia despues de mi despedida del  Judio de Hierro, me encontraba con dificultad creer que en realidad estaba abordo de un avion con rumbo a las Bahamas. Asi fue que comenzo un capitulo muy colorido y satisfactorio de mi carrera como artista y diseñador en donde tuve la opportunidad de viajar a bellas islas como San Martín, Curaçao, Aruba y Gran Cayman, por nombrar algunas. Trabaje con un magnifico elenco de personas, me hospedaron en los mejores hoteles y comi platos deliciosos. Asi seguimos por varios años hasta que tomamos distintos rumbos. Hoy en dia sigo gravando en vidrio casi exclusivamente para el area tri-estatal de Nueva York, enormemente agradecido y siempre conciente de que a pesar de la presente condicion de la economia global, me han llamado para mas trabajo con cada año que pasa. Me láte que a Dios le gusta los perfumes, y mi ortografía tambien.

     Pues aqui estoy, un papa que  orgullosamente trabaja desde la casa presentándole al mundo la totalidad de mis abilidades. Es una idea asombrosa en ambas direcciones; cualquier persona con acceso al internet puede gustarle ó criticar mis creaciones en completa anonimidad. Y no solo eso sino que me expongo a que me hagan saber sus opiniones. Interesantemente, no veo ningun negative en esto principalmente porque me he dado cuenta de que ya tengo suficiente edad para comprender mi pasado y usar esa sabiduria para balanciar mi futuro. No quiero decir que haya decifrado los misterios de la Vida, solo que comprendo que lo que esta ‘pa ti, nadie te lo quita. Pero lo que la abuela Panchita no menciono es que aquello que esta ‘pa ti solo te llega cuando estas realmente listo para recibirlo, lo cual muchas veces es impertinente a cuando crees estar listo.

Referiendose al momento en que nos ganamos nuestros cinturones negros, nuestro instructor de Tae Kwon Do, el Maestro Lee nos dijo “Han aprendido el abecedario. Ahora pueden aprender a formar palabras”

Si mi arte fuera no gustarale a nadie, el impacto, si lo hubiera, seria minimo ya que no puedo crear algo que guste a todos. Soy creativo porque me nacen aquellas ideas, y cuando esas ideas brotan necesito hacerlas realidad para que expandan alas y se me salgan, asi dejando el espacio necesario para la proxima crisalis. Antes de este punto en mi vida no tenia la fortaleza de mantener esa actitud, y ahora si la tengo. Nuestros cuerpos pierden flexibilidad a lo que envejecemos, nuestras mentes su agudez, pero nuestros espiritus no son cosa que el paso del tiempo ni una falta de cálcio pueden afectar negativamente si asi lo decidimos que sea. Mas sin embargo no es hasta ahora que siento que en realidad comprendo todos los buenos ejemplos y modales que mis padres me enseñaron. No es hasta ahora que entiendo que aveces son los pequeños movimientos de generan los grandes efectos en la vida. No es hasta ahora que se me hace mas facil de diferenciar entre lo que puedo y lo que no puedo cambiar. Todo esto solo pudiera suceder ahora – no es hasta ahora que tengo la experiencia necesaria para internalizar estas lecciones. Referiendose al momento en que nos ganamos nuestros cinturones negros, nuestro instructor de Tae Kwon Do, el Maestro Lee nos dijo “Han aprendido el abecedario. Ahora pueden aprender a formar palabras”. Como en muchos otros campos de aprendizaje en la vida, a pesar de lo dificil y monumental que fue alcanzar aquel cinturon negro tan anhelado, en cuanto lo alcanze me di cuenta de que el peldaño mas alto para mi en ese momento era el peldaño mas bajo de aquella escalera. Habia mucha mas escalera sobre mi para subir, y toda una vida no alcanzaria para subir todas las escaleras que le siguen a esa. Se requiere de tanto tiempo, tanta paciencia, tanta dedicacion para primero ganarse y luego disfrutar los frutos de la vida.

 

Pero vale toda la pena.

The Right One

The building formerly known as
the "FLAT-ee-run"

     In 1998 I was 28 years old and living in a cool studio apartment in Queens, New York. I was working as a toy and packaging designer for a company out on Long Island, and it was a great time in my life overall save for the one blemish of an extremely bitter ending to a long-term relationship. As a result of that end, however (or as a prize for my anguish, I like to think), I began dating the coolest, most intelligent Dominican woman I have ever met. Although I did all my growing-up in Washington Heights (a largely Dominican neighborhood located in upper Manhattan, New York) it just so happened I had never dated a Dominican girl. I had no idea what I’d been missing...

     I met Sofia through internet dating, which back then was still relatively new and therefore more of an adventurous option than the more commonplace advertising we see for it in the media today. I went through three distinct stages of DDE, or Digital Dating Evolution; during the first stage I spent many a night in front of the glow of my monitor trying to write the cleverest paragraph ever written in the history of cleverest paragraphs. One that would magically make women swoon at their computers and send their names and e-mail addresses to me by the truckload. Alas, not only did I never write anything even close to compelling, at some point I decided to switch tactics and read/respond to what women were writing instead. That was the second stage. I was very discerning about whom I would answer, which meant I wasn’t making very many connections, and the ones I would make and later decide to meet would end in one form of psychotic or deranged disaster. Sometimes a psychotic and deranged disaster. Eventually all discern, care and judgment fell out of my second story studio window and I was answering just about any ad with enough consonants in it. That was the very cold hard bottom of stage three, but what may have very well opened up the right door. Having each been on multiple yet spectacularly bad on-line-generated blind dates, and after comparing notes later on, we came to the conclusion that after, after Sofia had pulled her ad from the net is when I happened to come across it. Whatever lapse of time it actually took for her ad to be removed is precisely when our digital paths crossed. It could have been a day, a few hours or mere minutes before her post (which contrary to what I had originally been looking for was actually quite short, to the point and rather bland) caught my attention and provoked my response. But I already believed that certain events in our lives are scheduled to occur, so I wasn’t totally surprised to find this out.

Was I more worried this time because she drove a car, could possibly overpower me and stuff me in her trunk to drive me somewhere isolated and have her way with me? (Dear God, yes please!)

     Our first date was never-ending, but in the best of ways. I remember being more nervous than usual and I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. We had been instant messaging (the grand-daddy of texting) and speaking by phone for about three months before curiosity had sufficiently accrued and we decide to meet. We picked the bakery on 181^st and Audubon ave. as a central point for both of us (I could walk there from my parents apartment in Manhattan and she could drive the short distance from her mom’s place in the Bronx whom she was visiting). On my way out to our date, and like never before, I felt the urge to tell someone where I was going. Was I more worried this time because she drove a car, could possibly overpower me and stuff me in her trunk to drive me somewhere isolated and have her way with me? (Dear God, yes please!) I was admittedly a bit more nervous this time than all the others and as I walked out I grabbed my brother Luis and with an equal mixture of glee and fear I told him about my secret rendezvous with either danger or the love of my life. Seeing my excitement he wished me luck, but maybe took a good look at what I wore to properly identify my body later if need be.

     I’d heard many times that the answer to the question “How do you know when you’ve met the right one?” is “You just know.” As I leaned against the store-front window on that beautiful warm, sunny afternoon in September, trying my absolute hardest to look like irresistible boyfriend material reading a book that to this day I’m not really sure why I brought along, I watched her pull up in her off-white Ford Tempo. Without moving a muscle, fully conscious that that first impression, that first look, the first exchange would set the tone for the rest of our time together however long that would be, I looked through the rolled down passenger window right into her eyes…and I just knew. I knew she was the one. She had to be; I glanced down and realized the book I was pretending to read was upside down.

      Sofia and I had agreed to go bowling up in Yonkers, an activity that we figured would allow us to get to know each other better than just lunch or a cup of coffee.  Afterwards we played video games at the arcade inside (the long gone) Nathan’s on Central Park Avenue. We had a lot of fun bowling and letting each other think that the other had won at video games. We were getting along really well and having a genuinely good time. Ironically (or not, oh hand of fate) both these places we visited that day ended up being in the neighborhood that as a married couple we called home for a while many years later. We had not made plans for anything beyond that, I think we consciously avoided getting any further ideas that first time because hey, she may have ended up really abducting me, or I may have had unusually small hands or disproportionately larger earlobes than she preferred. But we had such a good time together that we decided to relax our unspoken “daylight-and-well-lit-areas-with-plenty-of-witnesses-only” conditions and go to dinner in the Village. She parked her car near Yankee Stadium and off we went by subway, tearing through the Village, Chelsea, Mid-town and back, truly enjoying each other’s company, laughing honestly and finding a somewhat abnormal amount of things in common. At one point we stopped for a bite to eat at the McDonald’s on 23^rd street, near the Flatiron building. To this day we still chuckle at how up until that night she believed it was pronounced FLAT-ee-run. I laughed harder than I meant to. I was definitely falling for her right then and there, but also conscious it was too much, too soon and too good to be true. On the other hand, I’d been through the mother of emotional wringers in the previous relationship; why couldn’t this be God saying right to my ear “Hey…umm, sorry about that last one, I got distracted by…well you know...famine, war, plague and whatnot. Here you go dude, you earned it”. I decided that that particular voice in my head really was God, and never doubted its tone again.

     It was sometime after midnight while sitting in Union Square Park that we caught our breath and decided it was probably time to let this first date actually end and head home. She was going to Atlantic City for a family trip in the morning, and I had to finish preparing for my first business trip overseas. Unfortunately, from that spot in the city we would have to part ways in order to each get where we needed to go, so we said goodbye at the subway station entrance to the 6 train. I kid Sofia all the time that I would have kissed her goodnight anyway, she says that if left up to me we would've just awkwardly shaken hands, but the truth lies somewhere in the middle. As phenomenal as the entire and very long date had been, pressing for a kiss at the end of the evening is where in my mind I feared a line lay in hiding. That crossing it even then would bring the good vibe crashing down, ruin the moment, leave her with a bad impression of me, maybe she wouldn’t…

With all the confidence of a woman who recognizes what she wants when she wants it, Sofia erased my every doubt with a deep, warm kiss that actually lowered the volume of the New York City subway system and re-awakened all sorts of winged creatures that had long ago lost their ability to fly within my belly. It was almost overwhelming to feel that degree of comfort, compatibility and longing for someone I didn’t even really know earlier that same day. Crazy I tell you, yet there I stood, stunned, giddy, suddenly missing her terribly, hopeful that magic would never end.

TWENTY years, a great marriage, some ups, some downs, a few sideways, some losses, some tears of laughter, some not, a few cats, two amazing, intelligent and beautiful kids later, the magic is indeed still there. In several ways even better than before.

As I waved to her from behind the dull chrome of the turnstile that night, I knew in my heart (and belly) that she was not just “the” one; she was the right one, and well worth the wait.

Updated 9.5.2018

About Me...

I was born in New York City 42 summers ago, the first of three to a very loving couple from Colombia. My parents never lost sight of where they came from and who they are, so growing up Colombian alongside Sesame Street and McDonalds molded, I believe, a better version of me than if I had only been a part of one culture. I was a good kid growing up, not venturing far from the normal trouble even good kids get into; not eating my vegetables (well, not eating much at all was a more frequent issue. Still is.), talking too much in class or making the other kids laugh, kissing a girl that I liked in the 5^th grade because she took my eraser. Still can’t believe I got into trouble for that. What made matters worse was that Mr. R made me translate the incident into Spanish for my mom after school. Although I was conscious I didn’t do a horrible thing, I was in trouble nevertheless and worried about disappointing my parents. I later learned that my mom’s odd expression during the translating, whenever I gathered enough nerve to look up into her face, wasn’t so much displeasure as confusion as to why I was in trouble for kissing a girl on the cheek. When she told my dad about it, he gave me a pat on the back along with a happy “That’s my son”. After all, it wasn’t as if I had tried to kiss Mr. R, and that was clearly a big relief to both my folks.

•

I never said a word to her, though, which I’m sure is the only reason I never became Brad Pitt.

•

 In high school I made few friends, but they were very good friends, and we were part of the first class to graduate from New York City’s newly formed LaGuardia High School of Arts. Most of my friends majored in art as I did, but having other friends that took ballet, sang, acted or played a musical instrument made for a very rich environment. (Although not part of my acquaintances, in the hallways of my high school I often passed Chaz (Chastity back then) Bono, Carl Anthony Payne, who played Roach on the Cosby Show, and Jennifer Aniston. She wasn’t even famous yet, but I had an enormous crush on Jennifer and would hang out nervously after homeroom was over in order to “run into her” as that was the same room her French class met in the following period. I never said a word to her though, which I’m sure is the only reason I never became Brad Pitt.) By the time I graduated in 1988, I felt the beginnings of self-possession and had a good idea of where my strengths, and weaknesses, lay.
 

     Later that same year I attended the Fashion Institute of Technology for two intense years of education in fashion design. Unfortunately for me the experience was much like having had a very high fever; I don’t remember many details, just feeling ill and very uncomfortable most of the time. There were incidences of forceful vomiting as well, I believe. It was a very hard course schedule for me as there was no real segue from basic high school art classes to homework on industrial-speed sewing machines just a few months later. I was there on a nearly full scholarship, so it was paramount that I do well, which for me translated into virtually no socializing - which wasn’t exactly surprising to me as I was still very shy and introverted. I found I had to focus intently and work way harder than my fellow classmates just to maintain a slightly below average standing in most of my classes, and in the end I had sad and somewhat bitter memories of my college experience and virtually no friendships or acquaintances to speak of. I couldn’t want it to end sooner.

  
   Immediately after graduation I needed to both cleanse my mental palette and find a job to start saving money, and within a few weeks I was working as a counselor for a summer day camp just a few blocks away from the apartment building I grew up in, in Washington Heights, a predominantly latin neighborhood in upper Manhattan, New York. It was the perfect tangent to go off into to try and calm my mind, and where I learned that I was far better and quicker to make children laugh than adults, a fact which continues to be curiously true.

   
  In the years that followed I repeatedly found myself going from one short-term design related job to the next. Not because I was a bad employee but because landing a full-time job was difficult as a recent graduate; I had no bankable work experience. And how exactly was I to begin to acquire said experience if no one would be willing to hire me? That question is up there with the one about the chicken and the egg. Most jobs would last about 3 or 4 months, and one day it dawned upon me that this was probably so because companies were required to provide health care packages at about that period of employment. It was preferable (i.e. cheaper)to let me go, and after a few years of that routine it made for an awful, ragged-looking resume that made me cringe to see recruiters and headhunters try to mask their own cringe. My saving grace was my very strong and diversified artistic ability; you name it I probably drew or painted it in about every form of media available. Much to my frustration this grace slowly grew darker and less graceful as I realized that it was almost impossible for headhunters or art directors to properly place or even categorize me because I hadn’t focused in any one particular area of design - I did a pretty good job of spreading myself so thinly across such a large gamut of artistic expression that it was difficult to demonstrate true understanding of any one area, even if I actually understood very well.


     In the early nineties I landed a job with the Gitano jeans corporation as an assistant designer in the womenswear division. The years spent there would turn out to be the richest in terms of work relationships and the one that even back then I was conscious I would always chase or hope to repeat in the future. We were a group of about a dozen designers and assistants that saw each other’s faces far more often than our own families’, but perhaps due to some fantastic planetary alignment we got along incredibly well and perhaps even better than some actual families. These working relationships in time grew into genuine friendships and to this day we remain in contact and have the same chemistry and bond forged in an office so long ago on 38^th street and Broadway. But once again, the day arrived that we had to say goodbye, and I found myself bouncing from one brief period of employment to the next.


     As the years continued to flow by, I began to loose my overall confidence as well as the desire to push my art. I began to focus on infrequent pieces that I might only show to family and close friends. I was faced with the very real-world decision to take any job because as a married man with a newborn baby girl, I needed to help bring in income. Any income. This was a far greater blow to my ego and self-esteem than it should have been or could ever have imagined to be, and in retrospect I believe this period of my life was marked by a mild form of depression. I felt that the wonderful talent God had infused me with was wasted, that I had somehow missed the window that would have, should have provided my family a “better” life. That the family and friends that had seen any of my art was as big an audience as I would ever get.

That along with my loved ones, I had let myself down.

Perhaps no other lesson in my life has taught me how powerful our thoughts are, and how easy it is to believe the negative ones. The positive thoughts may be just as strong, but the maintenance involved in prolonging them is where the difference lies, I believe. At the gym, it’s just so much easier to put those heavy weights down than to do one more rep with them, and even harder to push for one more rep after that. Thinking positively is similar yet harder but only because it isn’t a physical weight in your hands – it’s a philosophical one on your shoulders.

•

He was way worse than Cancer Bitch (an unholy septuagenarian I once worked for so latin soap-opera evil she smoked 3 packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day in her office, maliciously unconcerned for the safety or comfort of others. Or for the sprinkler system.

•

     Although it took a long time, in addition to a veritable bottomless well of love, support and understanding from my wife Sofia, I slowly pulled up from my nosedive and began flying a more level flight. We were living in Brooklyn, NY at the time, and I managed to get a job at a Linens and Things on Coney Island. I got a heavy dosage of dealing with awful and wonderful Brooklynites, malfunctioning cash registers, little Russian ladies dead-serious about coupon redemption, and working through the night for re-stocking duty. I left that job to work as a packaging designer for a company also in Brooklyn. It was run with an iron yarmulke by whom is without a doubt the absolute worst individual I ever had the displeasure to work for. He was way worse than Cancer Bitch (an unholy septuagenarian I once worked for so latin soap-opera evil she smoked 3 packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day in her office, maliciously unconcerned for the safety or comfort of others. Or for the sprinkler system. The smell she did detest? That of microwave popcorn popping. Go figure.) This guy was a cigar chomping, foul smelling (I mean besides the cigar), cell phone flinging, tantrum-and-spit throwing little monster of a man whose idea of working harder involved trying to pay for lunch so that I could continue to work at my desk uninterruptedly within a warehouse with no windows. The only good thing that came from that job (because at this point I had fully embraced finding the good within the bad, no matter how deeply buried or how long it took) was the friendship I forged with my friend of the Lubavich order. The company was almost completely composed of Hassidic Jews, and this made for a very different experience for me to say the least. I learned a lot about their culture, and mostly because my buddy there was extremely open and willing to answer any question I had, and was just a good guy to be around. Really, beside the paycheck he was the only positive about that job. That and quitting; I left on a Friday because the next day I would be boarding a plane for a completely new gig in the Bahamas. I would have given that nasty troll of a man a piece of my mind while I informed him that I was up and leaving, but the fact that his paranoia holed him up in an office that you needed to be buzzed into and out of stayed my tongue. How embarrassing to bid him “Good DAY sir!” after an awesomely dramatic and lengthy farewell speech, spin around and storm towards the door… then just stand there awkwardly until he decided to buzz me out… Not cool. Instead I simply informed him that I was very unhappy working there and that it was my last day. His faint smirk made me think he had wanted me to leave anyway, probably for as long as I had wanted to leave myself. I turned around and headed for the door… then just stood there awkwardly until he decided to buzz me out…


From Brooklyn to the Bahamas


     Several years ago I had a freelance gig in Manhattan’s Lord and Taylor (with the purchase of a fragrance for Mother’s day you would get a greeting card created on the spot by yours truly). I overheard the manager argue with a glass engraver over the phone who apparently was not going to show. Seeing how disappointed she was, I thought to myself, “How hard can glass engraving be?” (Never mind it was something I’d never tried before. See? My confidence had come back). I offered my services and she happily agreed to hire me for those events as well. The first event was so disastrous that after the third chipped perfume bottle that manager whispered to me “Did you bring your card making supplies? Maybe we’ll stick to that”. We did for the rest of that day, but I refused to give up, got the correct equipment and kept practicing. I gained enough skill that this same manager eventually recommended me to another manager over at Bloomingdales, and within a period of 3 years I had gained enough of a reputation to work major holidays and special promotional events at most of the high-end retail stores in the 5 boroughs. And it had all started as an apparent “fluke”.


     One rainy Father’s Day event, I was happily engraving away at Saks Fifth Ave. when I became aware that a couple who had been quietly walking around my table had been doing so for a few minutes. I figured they were being polite in not wanting to disturb me, but were eager to either get a better look at my work or ask a question. Once they had a chance to see the bottle in their hands, they informed me that they were the owners of a Miami-based, perfume distribution company for the Caribbean area. They were so impressed with my work and thought that the promotional event was such a good idea, they asked me if I would be willing to do the same for them…in the Caribbean. They would get me plenty of work, fly me to different islands, etc. etc. As unusual as these particular details were, I was not initially very impressed because if I had a dime for every time I had been approached with a similar job offer promising more work…well I’d have had about 70 cents but my point is that I had heard this speech many times before and the words had yet to become actions. I was as polite as ever, exchanged my information with them and thanked them for their time. Within a month I received a call from their office to make itinerary arrangements. Six months after that, and a day after my anti-climactic departure from The Iron Yarmulke, I sat in disbelief on an airplane heading to the Bahamas, about to embark on a wonderful chapter in my career that included events in beautiful locations such as St. Martín, Curaçao, Aruba and the Cayman Islands to name a few. I worked with a wonderful cast of people, stayed in beautiful hotels and ate delicious food. This went on for a few years before we parted ways, and my skill increased exponentially, as well as my reputation and the demand for my work. Today I continue to do glass engraving events primarily within the New York tri-state area, enormously grateful and always mindful that despite the current gloom of our global economy, I am actually called to work on these luxury items more often with each passing year.

I think maybe God likes perfume, and She digs my handwriting too.

     So here I am, a proud work-from-home dad literally presenting the totality of my artistic abilities to the world. It’s a staggering thought in both directions; anyone can now criticize, constructively or otherwise, my work to their hearts content. Not only that, I’m opening myself up to let them tell me so. Interestingly, I don’t see much negative in this, primarily because I realize I’m finally old enough to fully understanding my past and use that knowledge to balance my future. Not that I’ve got life figured out, I mean that I understand that things come only when you are truly ready, which a lot of the time seems to be irrelevant of when you think you are ready.

•

In reference to earning our black belts, our Tae Kwon Do instructor Master Lee said to us “You’ve learned the alphabet. Now you can learn to put words together”.

•

 

     If my art is disliked, the impact if any is minimal at best because I do not and cannot create for everyone. I create because it’s in me and I have to release it and make room for the next idea, to clear space for the next inspiration. I wasn’t strong enough to have that attitude at any other point in my life, and I’m strong enough now. Our bodies grow less limber as we get older, our minds less sharp, but our spirits aren’t anything that the passage of time or a lack of calcium can actually ever affect if we don’t choose this to be true. Yet it’s only now that I feel I really understand all the good and the positive that my parents tried to instill in me. It’s only now that I see how sometimes it’s the smaller motions that garner the larger effects in life. It’s only now that it’s easier to differentiate between the things I can and cannot change. It could only be now; now is when I’m experienced enough to internalize the lessons. In reference to earning our black belts, our Tae Kwon Do instructor Master Lee said to us “You’ve learned the alphabet. Now you can learn to put words together”. Like so many other areas in life, as difficult and momentous as earning a black belt can be, once we earn it we realize we’ve only just reached the bottom rung; there’s a whole lot more ladder above us, with more ladders to go after that than we have life to climb them all. It takes so much time, so much patience, so much dedication to earn and then harvest the fruits of life.

And it’s so worth it.

But enough about me…