My thoughts in 1984 – A time capsule found

Last week, as I was digging into a drawer, I found a time capsule from 1984. My discovery, as I opened the pink binder adorned with flowers, was exhilarating. Inside the binder were traces of my life from 35 years ago. More astounding were the memories that took life again as I opened the treasure.

The year 1984 marked important events in my life. I graduated from college in Puerto Rico that year. I also transitioned into my new life in Michigan, as I departed Puerto Rico to attend graduate school. These two very important events were forever linked into the binder, reflecting a turn in my life that will forever change me. Or maybe not?

What was perplexing is that while going through the pieces of paper that I carefully folded and kept for years to come, I discovered that my soul has not changed. Despite the many life turns and experiences during 35 years, I could easily relate to my feelings in 1984, as if time has not passed.

I felt overwhelming joy and melancholy at the same time. I was happy to re-discover friendships impressed in greeting cards from my college days in Puerto Rico and from those who I met in graduate school. I recognized all the names, but some are not part of my life today, bringing sadness and longing.

I read a poem from a friend, releasing emotions not forgotten. I also read a letter meant for my college friends as I said goodbye – the paper and ink intact. The letter touched on the many feelings of friendship that I so much wanted to leave for posterity in a piece of paper locked away in the binder. I could not remember if I ever sent the letter to my friends. The letter was full of emotion. Did I had the courage to share it with my friends? My memory failed to recall what I did, so I decided to send them the letter last week, as a reminder of my lasting love and friendship.

The binder also unveiled small cutouts with thoughts written by others. As I read the words of wisdom, a puzzle started to come together. The cutouts were from newsletters from my dorm during my first semester at the University of Michigan. Since I was a teenager, I have always liked to collect quotes. I found comfort in reading quotes that connected with my own thoughts. It was as if strangers could read my mind – knowing who I was or wanted to be. I ended up with a notebook full of reflections from poets and writers. The notebook was left behind in my bedroom in Puerto Rico. However, the urge to preserve words of wisdom, which aligned with my own beliefs, never left me. Thus, it was not a surprise that I have continued to collect written quotes that appeared in a hidden corner of the dorm newsletter – the section entitled ‘fuzzy words.’

As I relived the memories, a realization came to mind. The letters and cutouts from 1984 revealed a love for writing that has always being part of my soul. The letter to my friends showed me that I always yearned to put my thoughts on paper, wanting to capture and preserve the fragile and elusive feelings of my soul. The cutouts from the dorm newsletters illustrated my fascination for the written word.

I have always found magic in writing. In a mystical turn of the universe, I find myself today where I was in 1984 – listening to my soul and writing my thoughts and feelings in this blog.

Because you – the reader – are also part of my journey, I wanted to share some of the quotes that I discovered in the binder. They opened a window to where I was in 1984. But they also connect with who I am today. The quotes have a way to awaken the character and desires of my soul.

I hope you enjoy the quotes below, as much as I did reading them again. I also hope that you can find inspiration for your own journey. Enjoy!

“We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it — and stop there; lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove lid. She will never sit on a hot stove lid again, and that is well; but she will never sit on a cold one anymore.” — Mark Twain

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a little bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden path, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Why didn’t you walk around the hole,” asked the Tin Woodsman. “I don’t know enough,” replied the Scarecrow cheerfully, “my head is stuffed with straw, you know, and that is why I am going to Oz to ask him for some brains.” “Oh, I see. But, after all, brains are not the best things in the world,” said the Tin Woodsman. “Have you have any?” inquired the Scarecrow. “No, my head is quite empty,” answered the Woodsman, “but once I had brains, and a heart also; so having tried both, I should rather have a heart.” — The Wizard of Oz

“You may not see it now,” said the Princess of Pure Reason, looking knowingly at Milo’s puzzled face, “but whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way….”And it’s much the same with knowledge, for whenever you learn something new, the whole world becomes that much richer.” — Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

“And remember, also,” added the Princess of Sweet Rhyme, “that many places you would like to see are just off the map and many things you want to know are just out of sight or a little beyond your reach. But someday you’ll reach them all, for what you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful secrets of tomorrow.” — Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

Our Anniversary – Serendipity

My husband and I celebrated our anniversary yesterday, as we do every year. This is not the usual wedding anniversary, but a celebration of the day we met – February 12, 1993.

It has been 26 years since we met at a St. Valentine’s party at the clubhouse of the apartment complex where we both lived. It was a wintry night. I remembered vividly what I was wearing. I loved my creamy white sweater that my sister gave me for my birthday a couple of months before – perfect for the cold February night. I also wore a long golden chain necklace with an iridescent white oval pendant – also a gift from my sister to accompany my birthday sweater.

Saturday night arrived and I did not have anything else to do, so I went to the party. I do not remember how much debate went on my mind before I decided to attend. I would not consider myself the ‘social’ type, so I do not remember me going to many gatherings at the clubhouse. Maybe this was the only one? But it did not matter what happened before that night or how much thought went into my decision. The truth is that destiny was taking hold of my life and serendipity was my guide.

There were a few dozen people at the party. Some came and went quickly after going through the food line. Others lingered. I do not remember the crowd, but I will never forget the moment when my life changed forever. I met my soul mate.

I remember sitting in the living room area of the clubhouse, with maybe three or four people around me. We were introducing ourselves and suddenly I heard four words that raised my level of attention.

“I am from Idaho,” my (now) husband said.

And that was the start of our soul relationship. Not many people know about Idaho, but I did. I lived in Idaho a couple of years after graduating from graduate school. I have just recently returned back to Michigan when we met. In fact, I lived in the same town where my husband was from. And it got even more astonishing as we continued to talk through the night. Everyone else around us began to disappear as my senses focused on only one person in the room.

It was serendipity. We do not have any doubts about that. We were meant to meet at that particular time and place. We learned that we worked at the same company and office building in Idaho for several months during the summer of 1992, when my husband was doing a summer internship. He worked for a different department, but our sections were not that far apart in the building. In fact, when he described one of the summer projects, I remembered seeing a display about it. But we never met there. It was not the right time. Then we started exchanging names of friends and acquaintances from Idaho. Later on I learned that my previous boss in Idaho knew my father-in-law relatively well. One more thing. I found out that my father-in-law also worked for the same company.

After the wondrous evening, we began to realize that we have shared personal connections that were hard to believe or understand, if not for their magical meaning. We never met in Idaho because it would not have worked then. Many of my friends and family questioned why I took the job in Idaho. Now I know, and they know, why. I needed to be in Idaho so I can experience my husband’s hometown in preparation for our fateful meeting on February 12, 1993. I liked my job in Idaho very much. I learned a lot and I was able to use my expertise in a meaningful way. But after a couple of years, I felt that I needed to come back to Michigan. Something was pulling me back. Destiny was waiting for the right moment to spell its magic. And it happened on that evening where two soul mates met.

Beyond the circumstances surrounding the Idaho connection, we also realized that there was a very small window of opportunity for our souls to bond. My husband closed on the house that we live in a week after we met. He had already decided to move on from the apartment and had put an offer on a house. I did not exist in his life when he bought the house. He was prepared to take the big step of home ownership as a single man. If it was not for the stars aligning on February 12, we probably would not have met. It was meant to be on that day. I popped up in my husband’s life just in time, and the rest is history.

We started dating immediately. He asked me to a hockey game – my first hockey game ever! He brought me a hockey sweatshirt for me to wear to the game. I still have the sweatshirt! We went to movies, dinners, antique shows, car shows, jazz concerts, and many other events. He got me involved in car racing, although I already had a soft spot for cars because of my dad. The love of cars was yet one other thing we had in common. We became, and still are, inseparable. We enjoyed each other’s company during our dating years – and still do today. There are many things that I would like to write about our love relationship. I will get into more details later. For now, I wanted to focus on how we met.

I have always believed in magic. I believe that the unbelievable is possible. I believe in the impossible. I believe that there is a force in the universe that sometimes gives a nudge to make things happen just right. We were blessed by that magic.

My husband and I are soul mates. We were meant to be together. We believe that our love is special and forever. After 26 years together, we still hold hands, we kiss in public, we embrace each other, we hug, and we express our love in as many ways as we can. Our eyes are always gazing at each other as they did the first time when we met. “I love you” are the most frequently words that we tell each other every day, always with a kiss, at the beginning and end of each day. With those words, we pay tribute and gratitude to the single point in time where our souls met and our lives became one.

And that is why we celebrate the day we met. Nothing else would have been possible if not for that blissful day in our love history.

Thank you Universe! Cheers to Serendipity!

My First Dream – In Memory of My Dad

I shared earlier that after my dad passed, I was hoping to dream about him because I missed him so much. My dad’s passing was very tough emotionally. I experienced different grieving phases – a roller coaster of ups and downs. It felt unbearable when I was going through the first days, weeks, and months.

Even many months after his passing I would still get very sad when I thought about him or saw him in pictures, especially the one in my living room taken during the 50th wedding anniversary of my parents. This particular picture is very dear to me, but also brought the most melancholy. It made me sad – still does – to remember that my dad only exists through memories and pictures.

Slowly things got better. Time helps. It is true. Sadness never abandoned me, but I was able to control my emotions and tears while looking at him and remembering his love through the pictures.

“While you are grieving, when you are feeling the deep pain of losing a loved one, you don’t believe that time will actually help. But time helps… It is true.” –IS

I had an obsessive desire to dream about him. I wanted to see him again. I knew I could only do that in my dreams. The desire grew stronger and stronger with time. I would think about this before going to bed. I would talk myself to sleep while thinking about my dad. Frustration grew stronger as my dream never materialized. Maybe I had dreams but those were elusive as my consciousness awoke every morning. My dad was on my thoughts all the time and I couldn’t understand how could I not dream about him? Regardless of how much my dad overwhelmed my thoughts, he was not part of my dreams. The awareness of a dream never happened. The story never changed until after eight months to the exact day of his passing.

Suddenly my excitement was overcome by tears, as my husband’s alarm clock went off. My husband got out of bed and went to the bathroom to take a shower – his normal morning routine. I stayed in bed that morning, as I was trying to get a bit more sleep and let myself drift back to the dream. Time was suddenly frozen – seconds, minutes, became eternal. My husband came back to the room to wake me up. As my consciousness awoke, I realized that I had seen him. It happened. I desperately tried to go back to sleep again, the dream was gone. I felt such happiness and sadness at the same time. I was happy to see my dad, but sad again as I realized that he was gone from my life. Tears rushed in. As I woke up, I rushed to catch the glimpses of the dream, desperately trying to put the pieces together – collecting and deciphering the tangled but delicate threads of thoughts that were populating my awakening consciousness. It worked. I was able to re-build my wonderful and only dream.

The location of the dream was hard to pinpoint. It started as a house. Maybe my parents’ house? The first person that appeared in the house was the lady who took care of my mom after my dad passed. She was dusting some shelves and I remembered being very hot – typical heat in Puerto Rico. The caretaker was wearing a light overcoat opened in the front, all buttons undone. I commented to her that there was no one else in the house so she should feel free to take the overcoat off, as it was so hot. Then the house slowly morphed into a wrought iron arbor framing a green field in front of a forest. I floated to the arbor. The caretaker was still in the house and then my sister came in the picture. I was concerned – distressed – as I was asking them about the whereabouts of my dad.

“We have been in the house for several days and I have not seen my dad,” I almost cried in desperation.

But no one else seemed to share my concern. I couldn’t understand why they were not worried about my dad, as he was missing.

Then my dad suddenly appeared in the field and walked toward the arbor. My grandpa passed by in the corner of my eye. My dad was young, maybe in his mid 30’s. His hair was black and he was as handsome as ever, with his usual perfectly trimmed mustache that he carried all his life. I recognized his clothes – maybe from memories of old pictures that I have seen growing up. His clothes matched the era – definitely the 60’s – striped loose brown pants with a loose short-sleeved buttoned shirt. Everything moved slowly, like in a dream. There was a mesmerizing calmness that permeated the air. As the picture of my dad became clearer, he stopped in the middle of the field and started throwing a baseball toward the forest. There was no one catching or returning the ball, but somehow he kept repeating his pitches – first some high balls and then some low ones. After several throws he then approached the arbor and I looked into his eyes. No words were exchanged. I was looking at him but it was like there was nobody there. His dark eyes uttered peacefulness. He sat down on one of the benches inside the arbor. Then a little brown-haired girl emerged on the bench across from my dad. She was wearing a white cotton dress with eyelets and ruffle details. As she leaned on the arbor bench she playfully looked at my dad. She shared my dad’s eyes. They were looking at each other communicating through their eyes.

I was the little girl and I found my dad. The peace spoke of eternity. I then slowly walked away, knowing that I finally found him and he was alright. He was not lost. He was there but also with me. His eyes told me so and I saw him with my own eyes. The memory ended.

I was so happy the day I dreamed about my dad. I smiled for days. I tried to repeat the dream but it was not meant to be. There was no need. I felt my dad’s presence. I saw that he was in a beautiful place. I know I will see him again…someday. And every time I feel sad, I can go back to the serenity of my dream.

My dad passed three years ago. As I remember him, it brings comfort to remember my dream.

“Dreams carry us through difficult times – never give up on your dreams.” — IS

Have I felt this before?

There is something magical about the art of creation. It feels so exhilarating, so fulfilling. That’s how I feel when I write. Being in touch with my emotions, expressing my deepest feelings, my true feelings, is like nothing else that I have experienced before. But is it that true? Have I felt this before?

My memories started flooding my senses as I went back in time to a place that I have not forgotten. Tears start coming down as I realize that my soul was trying to tell me something many years ago. I tried to listen, but I was still a child and my dependent self couldn’t survive by itself.

When I was a young teenager I took art as one of my elective classes. There was not much thought about taking that step. There is not much thought about anything you do when you are in middle school. I was a very good student – all As, all my life through school. As every good student, your parents and teachers want you to focus on those hard math and science classes. You are supposed to set your sight into something bigger than art, something more serious, more respectable. So I never received encouragement to pursue the happiness of creation. I probably didn’t share with my parents or my teachers how I felt when I was doing the art projects.

I never talked about the ecstasy of forming clay with my hands until the shape of an abstract sculpture takes life. I could almost feel today my fingers working the wet clay and the smoothness of the process of creation when I let myself go. Those pieces still live in the abandoned shelves of my childhood bedroom – testaments of another path that could have been.

I did not share with anyone the joy of smelling the oil pigments while working on my masterpiece in the garage. The excitement of buying the tubes of colors and the pride of creating new members of the rainbow. The awe when a new color blooms – an infinite number of possibilities as the ochre mixed with white. A fresh shade created by my senses – an original never seen before. The masterpiece no longer exists in this physical world, but it will never leave my mind.

I had similar brushes with art in college, where I again decided to take an art class as an elective. This time was different though. It was an art appreciation class where we were asked to pick an artist and study the style. I selected a Spanish artist, El Greco. I still remember vividly the painting that I chose to analyze, the long bodies extending to the sky and the challenge of trying to figure out what lied behind the intent of the artist. As a writer now I realize that it is impossible to know exactly what an artist is thinking during the moment of creation.

“Art for an artist or a book for a writer are personal expressions that escape the conscious understanding of the viewer or reader; the viewer or reader can only attempt to decipher the emotions and feelings behind the creation.” — IS

But wait…there is one more memory that is awakening. There is another time – that innocent memory of my first performance when I was in primary school and I played the organ at the Christmas show. I was so nervous, but I felt so proud. I did something that was creative. It was my first meeting with the pleasure of owning the joy of art.

I didn’t know how to interpret the deep sentiments of my experiences. I don’t even know if I understood then the meaning of the emotions – the calmness, the peacefulness, the freedom of creation. I felt something – many things – but those feelings were foreign to me and I didn’t understand their true meaning. No one around me took the time to ask. Even if they have asked, I’m not sure what I would have said.

My soul attempted to rise from the depth of my being. My soul was shouting, but the noise around me was too loud. Those around me showed me a different path. I became a scientist. The voice of my soul was put aside in a corner of my brain where memories accumulated for a later time. I left my soul behind until now. Those memories today becoming significant as I again encounter the art of creation – the reconciliation with my soul.

My soul-searching journey uncovers an important piece of the puzzle. It is comforting to know that the pieces are starting to come together. The memories of the past evolve into who I am today. My soul is happy to know that I am listening now. I don’t need to depend on others to show me the path. I own my destiny and I can’t wait to continue discovering the mysteries ahead.

Everything is starting to make sense!

Our House, Our Home

Today my husband and I reached a life milestone – the last payment of our home mortgage. We are so happy. This is one of those long milestones in your life that you dream about. It means so much to be able to celebrate the achievement of this goal at this stage of our life. We are overjoyed.

When you start your life together as a couple, searching for a house is usually the norm. But our life together did not follow the norm. When I met my husband, he was one week away from buying the house that we now own. The story of how we met is worth telling, but I will do that later at a future post. For now, I want to focus on the fact that we had a very narrow window to meet. When we met, we were both living at an apartment complex. Within a month or so, my husband moved out of the complex to the house that he purchased as a single man, which is the house that we now live in.

Thus, I never experienced the house hunting experience that couples usually go through. We met, we dated, we got married, and the house came up as part of the package of marrying my now husband.

The house needed a lot of work. My husband was looking for his first house. He was single. I was not in the picture when he picked the house. He used to watch home remodeling TV shows and he wanted a fixer upper project. I did not know anything about fixing a house. So after we got serious about our relationship, I realize that he did not intend to move anywhere else or find a different house together. He wanted to stay in the house and work on it.

At first, I was a little upset about this. I was dreaming about a new house – about going house hunting and searching for the house of my dreams. I felt that the right thing to do was to start over. The house my husband picked when he was single was not something that I would have go for. It was an old house. It needed a lot of work. It was not ours, but his. I did not feel any attachment to the house and it was difficult to accept that one of my dreams was not going to be realized. But I love the guy that I married and I went with it. I’m so glad I did!

Before we married – two and a half years after we met – we worked on fixing the house. I did not know anything about working on a house, but I learned very quickly. My husband has been watching remodeling TV shows, like ‘This Old House,’ for years and he could not wait to practice what he learned. I was completely lost, but little by little, I got the hang of it. Working on the house together was the beginning of our story. Slowly, the house started to grow on me. Slowly, I started to discover the gem my husband saw. Slowly, I started falling in love with the house.

The walls began to gently caress my heart and soul. The house embodied our love story. The old character was comforting and symbolic of the strength of our relationship getting stronger every day. I did not want a new house any more. I wanted to live in a place with roots and armor. A place that had defied the passing of time. A place with fortitude and dignity where our own history could develop with confidence and grace. A place where the warmth of the years past would welcome with open arms the new life ahead. A place where a house becomes a home.

The house stands today with pride, as we celebrate our life together in the place that we call home. It is an old house and we love every imperfection. It is like an old friend that welcomes us every day. We know every crevice, every plank of wood that carries our steps, every window that filters our view, every door greeting our arrival. The roof sheltering us from rain and snow. The walls quiet witnesses to our laughter and our sorrows. But more importantly, a home standing tall and strong as a reminder of our love.