domingo, 11 de octubre de 2015

La nostalgia de los sentidos

En 1990, cuando me casé por todas las leyes habidas, decidí que nunca iba a aprender a hacer tortillas de harina: No es como veo mi futuro, dije y conscientemente decidí no aprender. La realidad es que alguna vez había intentado hacerlas y los resultados eran desastrosos.

Creo que no solo hacer tortillas, si no una serie de decisiones tal vez no muy conscientes. No tienen idea de cuantas veces salí corriendo de mi casa para alcanzar una conferencia, tomar un curso, asistir a un diplomado y con el rabillo del ojo, la cocina me gritaba: hey! y yo sin culpa alguna, tomaba las llaves, mi bolsa y corría hacia el aprendizaje. Ya estarían ahí cuando regresara y probablemente a la manana siguiente cuando tuviera energía para ello.

Desde que llegué aquí a Bloomington Indiana y compré tortillas procesadas, la idea llegó a mi cerebro y me dije: Nomás eso falta, que venga a Estados Unidos a aprender a hacer tortillas!

Hace muchos días que siento una terrible nostalgia, no solo por las tortillas, sino inclusive por imagénes, voces y sensaciones. Hay un fenomeno que he vivido cuando me he cambiado de ciudad, y es que empiezo a ver personas que creo que son mis amigos, un perfil, unos ojos, un cuello y sabes que es imposible que sean ellos y ellas.

El llegar a mi trabajo y saludar a la gente querida, abrazándolos es lo que mas extraño tal vez, nahhhh los tacos de carne asada! son muchas sensaciones que los sentidos otorgan: el carcajearse por una broma tonta o de doble sentido con los compañeros y amigos; la sonrisa pícara de tu pareja o de tus amigas; lo mullido de tu cama, el espacio de tu regadera. El estirar tu brazo para acercarte a alguien a tu pecho.

El caminar por los pasillos y ver la sonrisa de mis alumnos, las carcajadas y sonrisas. Hay algo entrañable en nuestro mirar hacia lo conocido, lo familiar, que no se encuentra en ningún lugar.

Estoy a la mitad de esta experiencia. Es tal vez la experiencia de mi vida y eso me abruma. EL no saber que sigue después. Siempre he visto al futuro, he trabajado para el futuro, he soñado y construido cimientos para mi futuro. Estar aquí es resultado de ello. Estar entre dos aguas es fuerte. No sabes hacia que lado nadar.

Aquí todos son especialistas en algo, dominan una área de su conocimiento y son expertos de ello. Yo como buena mexicana, soy todóloga, es mas tengo una carrera que dejé y perseguí otra, educación, que adoro pero no es mi perfil.

Del español, yo solo se hablarlo, medio escribirlo y gozarlo, no me preguntes del subjuntivo y del indicativo porque no tengo idea.

Sigo en dos aguas.

Hoy me levanté a las 6:00 a.m., las tres de la manaña de mi Mexicali.. preparé café, perdí tiempo en Facebook (es mi ancla hacia lo familiar) y cuando el hambre me impidió leer algo serio, me decidí a hacer tortillas.

Seguí la rutina que innumerables veces vi a hacer a mi madre, mis tias, las madres de mis amigos. Agarré harina, la mezclé con agua y mantequilla (no hay manteca como mi mamá hacía) y amasé, se tiene que vencer la desagradable sensación de sentir tus manos llenas de masa chiclosa, hasta lograr una masa uniforme, suavecita. A la hora de hacer las tortillas, es donde la puerca torce el rabo. Como pude redondeé las tortillas y al sartén. Nada que ver con las tortillas que mi madre sacaba o la mamá de mi mejor amiga, suavecitas y sabrosas. Pero el sabor de lo conocido en mi boca, no tiene precio. El mismo sabor de las tortillas de mi tierra, me dio un terrible gusto.

Para mi todo son palabras, mis sensaciones las traduzco de inmediato a palabras, surgen sin permiso y sin batalla, emergen y buscan la superficie. Regalo palabras.

miércoles, 7 de octubre de 2015

Mexico… what image comes to your mind when you hear this word? I attended a conference days ago and I will not even mention the name of the author, because I had to listen to his generalization of my country. It was very painful and now I fully understand why people do not react when I say: I am from Mexico!
I am going to write about my Mexico. People full of love and deep emotions from and to their family and friends. People who help each other without asking or waiting for something in return, just for the pleasure of helping or giving. Homes full of flavors and smells and love. People who would help you anytime, offer you their house, their car and everything they have.

People who would not eat if you do not accept the dish that is in the table.
People with needs, perhaps with so little in material level, but even that, they would share with you. Mexicans that work the entire day with pride and joy. Mexicans who are creative, genuine, and brave.
Mexicans that laugh the entire day, making other people happy. Students of mine, thousands in 20 years, that I am sure they still are noble, kind and decent and make everyday a better Mexico.
Because I am a teacher, I have the privilege to know them deeply and genuinely. I have listened to their dreams and I have seen the future in their eyes.

My job is not like this reporter’s that is to research in the dirty side of my country, which a very small percentage of its population happens to exist, and that luckily I have never ever seen it in my life, nor the people I know or I have known. Because we are hardworking people, we are kind and we are noble as many of the 120 000 000 that live in Mexico and the 13 000 000 that were born in Mexico and now live in USA, fighting for a dream.

It is not the people that he portraits, or the ugly images of my country, that he sells.
If you could see and travel to the places where I have been. If you could feel the warm feeling that my soil and people inspire. Do not believe me or believe him, look for yourself, dare to live Mexican experience.

domingo, 30 de agosto de 2015

Classes at Indiana University

I am taking two different classes and a Friday Seminar in which we will analyze about education issues and we are going to listen to important speakers and experts. There are some other free workshops that the University offers as professional development opportunities.

My first class in the week is English Phonology: Language, Learning & Teaching. My teacher is French, she worked in Germany many years and she is so fresh and promotes our participation all the time. She speaks so fast in a varied stream of ideas that I have to pay a lot of attention.

My classmates are such a mix of languages, nationalities and skills, is amazing to be there: a Japanese teacher, a Korean Linguistic, 3 American teachers, one is a poet and musician, another is a Mexican descendent that teaches Arab. The foreigners speak 2 languages or even 3: their native tongue, English and some of them speak or read French or another as Arab.

I have high expectations from this class. I chose it because is an area that I know very little or nothing. The teacher told us that is not taught in many Universities and we must be sure to take note of that in our curriculums.

The second learning is that despite our efforts and beliefs, we must not pursue the ideal of a native English pronunciation, such thing doesn’t exist and if it does, it occurs when you have deleted your national essence in your person. My teacher did not say it with that specific words, but that is the idea: When you lose your accent, you become someone else.

My other class is Language Foundations for ESL/EFL teachers. This a 4 hour class in one day, on Wednesdays.
My teacher has a huge experience in languages and working in Africa and with students from different countries.
My classmates are also from different countries with backgrounds in teaching languages, not only English.
The topics are pretty interesting and I feel comfortable in class, and I really liked the required book.
I enjoy reading for pleasure and the 3 books that we have to read every week, they are clear, precise and appealing to my educational needs and experience, so I found myself reading them with a deep interest.

It is a huge privilege to attend these classes, learning is what makes humans grow and become better human beings.

miércoles, 26 de agosto de 2015

Bloomington, Indiana, a College Town

I have never seen so much nature in my life. It's green wherever you see. Huge tall trees, bushes everywhere, flowers that full your eyes.

We took our airplane from Washington DC to Indianapolis at 8:30 by Southwest Airline, which allows you to travel with 2 suitcases. (In San Diego I had to pay $25 per each suitcase). We arrive to Indianapolis modern airport and immediately took a shuttle bus to Bloomington. It took like less than an hour to get here.
We arrived to the Evermann building that is shaped like a huge E, I lost myself the first day and the corridors reminded me the shining movie, but it was the first experience, now they are filled with cooking smells from all over the world.

We met this nice lady Cristina, who welcomed us and gave us our key to the apartment. I do not know why I am in a different area, apart from the other 16, time will say if it was good for me or not. My apartment is pretty big comparing to what we see in movies, a small kitchen, bathroom, two closets!!, and two individual beds, one for me and one for Ana Isis.
The water runs like a strong stream, I almost feel bad because my friends in Ensenada, they do not have water on a daily basis.

The Indiana University Campus in Bloomington is beautiful, almost every building is made with limestone, and they are huge, several floors all covered and made with limestone. So you see this combination of green trees and white buildings in every corner you step.

Also in every corner you would hear different languages, it is a multilingual city. You would hear Chinese, Mandarin, Hindi, Arab, or any Asian language.

A lot of people, youngsters, run here, you will see them in the mornings running alone, or in big groups.
You do not see many fat people, perhaps because many of them are beginning their twenties.

The bus service is excellent, they run like 10 different routes. The students just jump in the buses, without need to show any ID. The University has their own routes and the city has others, in which you just show your ID student.

It is a city where young and aspiring people live, happy to be here, learning to be adults.

sábado, 22 de agosto de 2015

Love is our Flag. Poem written by Alba Marron describing México.

We are men and women
Made of gold and silver
Death is our friend
Pure, hard and yet soft and tender
Chocolate made, sweetness joy
Surrender us, love is our flag

We have in our eyes
Thousands of memories
From our ancestors
A history like no one else’s
Majestic, vibrant and powerful
Yet pain shows when one of us
Is wounded
We are one, yet we are many
Colors, many rituals, many sorrows
We are one, but many sounds come
From our mouths.
Many rhythms from our bodies
Hymns and songs.

We are one, but we have different seas,
Gulfs. Many mountains, perfect deserts.
The aquarium of the world.
The beauty of volcanoes, canyons, jungles and lagoons.

We are one, yet so many
We are diverse and the same
We are laugh and love
Tears and sorrow
We are one, men and women
Full of love.

martes, 18 de agosto de 2015

We arrived to Washington on Monday 10th, at 11:30 in the morning. It was an exciting moment for us, the Liason Hotel is just 2 blocks from the Capitol and they allowed us into our room just right away, so we could take a shower. We, as Mexicans, were the ones that flew less hours, my beautiful colleagues flew from 12 to 16 hours from the farthest places like New Zealand, India or Botswana. I have the incredible honor to represent and describe my country, my beloved Mexico. When I knew I was going to do a presentation in which I had to sing, dance or recite, I honestly felt a cold feeling. I dont know how to dance Mexican songs or dances; I dont do Karaoke because it is not fair to others. So I thought I could read a poem. mmmm, I will choose a famous poem like la Suave Patria..but suddenly I said to myself why dont I write one of my own? and my mind started to think and rhyme. That day I wrote it and the day of the presentation I finished it. I was very nervous, I read it many times in order to memorize it and to read it as a poem should be. WE ARE ONE We are men and women made of gold and silver death is our friend pure, hard and yet soft and tender chocolate made, sweetness joy surrender us Love is our flag We have in our eyes thousands of memories from our ancestors A history like no one else's Majestic, vibrant and powerful yet pain shows when one of us is hurt We are one, yet we are many colors, rituals, many sorrows We are one, but many sounds come from our mouths Many rhythms from our bodies Voices and songs We are one, but we have different seas, gulfs many mountains, perfect deserts The aquarium of the world The beauty of volcanoes, canyons, jungles and lagoons We are one, yet so many We are diverse and the same We are laugh and love tears and sorrow We are one, men and women full of love love is our flag. WRITTEN BY ALBA ROSARIO MARRON CANSECO JULY/AUGUST 2015.