(Pre-game introductory ceremonies)
(Aldo and Nicho)
Friday, October 10, 2008
Mexico vs. Honduras
The game between Mexico and Honduras was a fun game held in the historic Estadio Azteca. The same Estadio Azteca where Argentine legend Diego Maradona scored the infamous "Hand of God" goal and where he also ran past and juked like 5 or 6 English players from mid-field to score one of the best goals ever. It was a fun game that saw the Mexican side control most of the game but still found themselves losing 1-0 (one-nil as the Enlglish would say) on a beautiful shot scored off a free kick by the Hondureños. The score remained that way until the mid-second half and than Pavel Pardo saved the day for the Mexican side scoring off a free kick and then off a rebound where he honestly kicked a laser of a shot to put the Mexicans up for good. The Honduran side played tough and almost completed the nearly impossible, which is beat Mexico in Estadio Azteca. A place where they have only lost once in eliminatory games. Overall, it was a lot of fun and here are some pictures and I'll try to load video later. Enjoy!
(Pre-game introductory ceremonies)
(Aldo and Nicho)
(Pre-game introductory ceremonies) (Aldo and Nicho)
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Visiting with Mari.
I am making a special post for meeting with Maricela. I first met Maricela in 2006 when I was studying at UNAM in Mexico City. We took a class together on Labor Migration and she was easily one of the friendliest people I have met not only in my class but also in Mexico. Once you spend a little time with Mari, as I like to call her, then you will realize that she is one of the most joyful people in the world. She finds the joy in the smallest things and it begins to rub off on you. She always is carrying a smile and happiness flows through her. Anyway, Mari only thought it would be right for me to pay a visit to her family after all of these years....and so I did, and I don't regret it. It was fun to hang out with her beautiful family and talk about life, social issues, politics, etc. These are some pictures from when I went to visit and eat dinner at Mari's home, just right outside of the city lines (literally, like a few blocks away begins Mexico City.) Oh yeah, her mom cooks hella bomb food...
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Tierra de mi abuelito
After a sixteen hour truck ride, half of which was spent in the back of the pickup. A slightly painful trip but also again a trip filled with splendid views of a diverse Mexican landscape and an excursion that led me through the mountains and jungle like scenery of Puerto Vallarta to the grandeur of Guadalajara City, on through the countryside full of crops and various tequila plants filled with miles and miles of the maguey plant crop. We passed through Zacatecas where my mom's side of the family is from and later Aguascalientes and finally we arrived to our destination. Venado, San Luis Potosi, la tierra de mi Abuelito.
My time spent in Venado was short because I had to report to Mexico City, however, in that brief period of time it was good to meet other family members for the first time and to see where my Abuelito grew up. I met my grandpa's sisters and brothers. Sweet moments of life and wisdom were shared, like when my Tia Estefana reminded me of sabbath taking. She closed her little makeshift store in one of the rooms of the house that is conveniently on the corner of the street every week out respect for the sabbath. She told me “En el séptimo día, Dios tomó un día de descanso. Por eso, cierro la tiendita…” (On the seventh day, God took a day of rest. That's why I close the store). It reminded me that God still provides for my family even in economic uncertainty.
I had the chance to see, or better, imagine, what life must have been like on the rancho. I had the chance to taste fresh aguamiel which is taken from the maguey plant once it completes a certain age. Without a doubt, it is a Mexican rarity and treat. Family members who lived there still lived a very different lifestyle than one I am accustomed to. Many lived the same way as those who came before them for generations and generations. Of course some things had changed. Even something like a rancho, where the closest neighbor could be half a mile away or more, could not remain virgin from a globalizing world. Chevy and Ford trucks replaced horses or just the use of legs as a method of transportation as well as farming techniques.
One moment that was special for me was visiting the well where my Abuelito and his brothers would retrieve water and the small canal bank which provided the source. I saw my Tio climb the stairs enthusiastically and even my Abue, whose brittle legs don't hold up so well from day to day, made his way determined to relive the memories this space elicited even as it stood now as a relic. I'm not sure what exactly they thought about. The moment was too peaceful to interrupt. I all of sudden became extremely sensitive to the elements around us. Wind breezes soothingly blowing by while the leaves whispered age-old wisdom and the branches crackled rhythmically off-beat. Meanwhile, it was apparent that this moment was special for my Abuelito. “Yo siempre venía aqui mijo. Jugaba aqui. Sacaba el agua para mi mama...” (I always used to come here son. I used to play here. I used to get water for my mom...") I was trying to recall how and when I ever felt something similar to try and identify in this moment. I knew what my abuelito meant. In that magically surreal moment, I began to understand better what this meant for him. It is like those moments where the spaces that one occupies and inhabits begins to develop meaning and significance on its own. Where the space itself is no longer defined by those who use it, but also the other way around. The space begins to define and shape the being and vice versa. The two become inseparable forever burned into one another. This is what this moment meant for him and now interestingly enough...for me.
My time spent in Venado was short because I had to report to Mexico City, however, in that brief period of time it was good to meet other family members for the first time and to see where my Abuelito grew up. I met my grandpa's sisters and brothers. Sweet moments of life and wisdom were shared, like when my Tia Estefana reminded me of sabbath taking. She closed her little makeshift store in one of the rooms of the house that is conveniently on the corner of the street every week out respect for the sabbath. She told me “En el séptimo día, Dios tomó un día de descanso. Por eso, cierro la tiendita…” (On the seventh day, God took a day of rest. That's why I close the store). It reminded me that God still provides for my family even in economic uncertainty.
I had the chance to see, or better, imagine, what life must have been like on the rancho. I had the chance to taste fresh aguamiel which is taken from the maguey plant once it completes a certain age. Without a doubt, it is a Mexican rarity and treat. Family members who lived there still lived a very different lifestyle than one I am accustomed to. Many lived the same way as those who came before them for generations and generations. Of course some things had changed. Even something like a rancho, where the closest neighbor could be half a mile away or more, could not remain virgin from a globalizing world. Chevy and Ford trucks replaced horses or just the use of legs as a method of transportation as well as farming techniques.
One moment that was special for me was visiting the well where my Abuelito and his brothers would retrieve water and the small canal bank which provided the source. I saw my Tio climb the stairs enthusiastically and even my Abue, whose brittle legs don't hold up so well from day to day, made his way determined to relive the memories this space elicited even as it stood now as a relic. I'm not sure what exactly they thought about. The moment was too peaceful to interrupt. I all of sudden became extremely sensitive to the elements around us. Wind breezes soothingly blowing by while the leaves whispered age-old wisdom and the branches crackled rhythmically off-beat. Meanwhile, it was apparent that this moment was special for my Abuelito. “Yo siempre venía aqui mijo. Jugaba aqui. Sacaba el agua para mi mama...” (I always used to come here son. I used to play here. I used to get water for my mom...") I was trying to recall how and when I ever felt something similar to try and identify in this moment. I knew what my abuelito meant. In that magically surreal moment, I began to understand better what this meant for him. It is like those moments where the spaces that one occupies and inhabits begins to develop meaning and significance on its own. Where the space itself is no longer defined by those who use it, but also the other way around. The space begins to define and shape the being and vice versa. The two become inseparable forever burned into one another. This is what this moment meant for him and now interestingly enough...for me.
Monday, September 8, 2008
"Mock" news=real news?
Being here in Mexico, I don't really have a TV (idiot box), but I do have internet that is from the the stone age that loads 5 minute clips on youtube in like an hour. Haha, nah, I'm kidding but it is hella slow though. Anyway, the thought crossed my mind the other day that we live in an unintellectual era starting from your good ol' boy from Texas sittin' in the oval office all the way down to mainstream news sources, and sadly a dumbed down generation of people whose minds have been littered with useless information. I'm no exception either. I constantly feel the temptation to fall into this cycle and sometimes do. There is a socialization process taking place that urges us to be ignorant and detached from the truths of the world around us. I know, I'm starting to sound like Morpheus from the Matrix. Anyway, an example, fellow citizens are dying in a "war" that initiated on the lies of our government, the pretext of the "War on Terror" campaign, and faulty premises, but one wouldn't be able to tell by talking to the everyday American. People are numb to it all. In contrast, the Vietnam War aka the "Vietnam 'Conflict'" in U.S. textbooks because 'war' wasn't declared by congress (but we all know it was a war), sparked the momentum of a civil rights movement that was grand on many scales but...well...did not do enough (more segregated today than the time of Brown v. Board, still police brutalities taking place in ethnic communities, a growing wealth and inequality gap, an unjust justice system that persecutes ethnic minorities more harshly, etc.) It was all short lived with the rise of the "New Right" (damn you Reagan! haha!). Anyway, back to Vietnam. People were moved by the news coming in from testimonies of soldiers, reporters reporting incredibly from the ground. The news actually helped to stir the U.S. public to mobilize and rightfully so. Now...people can barely mobilize themselves to get off a couch and make themselves something to eat. Playing or being dumb is popular and marketable now. How does this happen? It's like we're a degenerate population. I don't mean to sound elitist although I might be doing a good job at it, but I can't help but feel that sometimes the retrogression of hummankind starts with us. I saw a clip of a recent show on "The Daily Show with John Stewart" on youtube and thought it was...well, funny. I thought to myself that it was sad that a program designed to deliver news in comedic fashion could actually be more critical and useful than actual mainstream sources whose "purpose" is to actually provide news. I wish news in general could be half as honest and critical as "The Daily Show". I hope you enjoy, and thanks to John Stewart and Co. for exposing the snakes hypocrites among us!!! Peace!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMiUAcEJY98
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMiUAcEJY98
Monday, September 1, 2008
Woe to thee Merced!
Sadly, Merced has made big headlines in the NY Times but for unimpressive reasons. I know too many people who have been affected by this including my family. Here is the link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/24/business/24house.html?pagewanted=1&adxnnlx=1220327998-42Abj1WqJYdhr9MEOMHDvA
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/24/business/24house.html?pagewanted=1&adxnnlx=1220327998-42Abj1WqJYdhr9MEOMHDvA
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Putting a face to the effects of flawed systems
Some of you may have already seen this, but I read this story and I was extremely touched by this man's story. It goes to show that we have some heavily flawed systems in the U.S. and throughout the world. It is a long article and there is a video that can be viewed in the article as well, but I think it's worth the 25 min. to read and watch the video.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/03/us/03deport.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th&adxnnlx=1218560790-X2NYmp3rSfnFGan2qSV7RQ
Blessings,
SZ
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/03/us/03deport.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&th&emc=th&adxnnlx=1218560790-X2NYmp3rSfnFGan2qSV7RQ
Blessings,
SZ
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Zancudo, Puerto Vallarta and the Zancudos pican!!!
My apologies to you the reader. I don't really know if I have any readers but to those you, if any of you, swing by here, I apologize for being a bad blogger as of late. I attribute the shortage of entries to the scarcity of internet access here in Mexico when I first arrived, an intense month of classes in Mexico City, and preliminary research. However, the lack of entries is deceiving because I have managed to have quite a bit of fun in my time here. On that note, the following entries will be dedicated to just that, the highlights of my trip thus far. The first obviously being my visits to Puerto Vallarta, MX and to San Luis Potosi, MX.
My Grandpa and I left LAX approximately around 6:30am and we made one pit stop in Phoenix, AZ. In no time we found ourselves back on a plane but this time we were heading to our final destination, Puerto Vallarta, MX. We arrived in the early afternoon of July 2nd. The trip was smooth in general minus the fact that my guitar didn't show up in the luggage shoot. Una disculpa (an apology) from the staff workers and we were moving right along. I wonder what I'm going say to my family? This is exciting but admittedly, slightly awkward. I se
e all the people with anxious gazes. Which ones are my family members? Smiles...We were met with wide smiles and eager eyes and an indifferent little one occupied with her chupon (pacifier). There they were, my Tio Cristobal, Tia Petra and my little primas Karla and Daniela. After some abrazotes (hugs) and besitos (kisses), and a few mucho gusto (Good to meet you) greetings for good measure. I'm always so self-conscious about my Spanish when I'm around new people. We make it out to the the truck and cram in and we take off one piece of luggage lighter for Zancudo (Zancudos are pesky little mosquitoes that embark on recon missions in the night time and ambush you agressive attacks and by sun rise, there is not trace of them except for the aftermath which looks like bumps on your arms =) haha), a ranchito where my family resides about 30 minutes east of the coast and away from the tourist areas of Puerto Vallarta.
The view was amazing, although I can't say as much about the ride, which was rather stiff, perhaps to some extent painful. Despite this harsh (literally) truth, the tropical vivid green landscapes that filled the scenery sufficed to take my mind off how my rear-end was feeling or rather what it wasn't as I had began to lose sense of feeling there and other limbs. The pouring of rain that began along the way surprisingly gave the picturesque sights a more serene feel as the roads cleared and while animals has already sought refuge which left the views to stand alone.
The following days I spent hanging out with family, and once we passed all of the formal greetings, I got to know my little cousins better. We played soccer, went out to the mango orchard, saw their church, visited hot springs, went to the beach and I had the opportunity to sing worship songs with them and I got to learn a little more about their lives and what they do. Days were filled with work. Everyday, there was work to do but my family still made time to go to mass. The church was...well, it wasn't really anything physically speaking. It was a concrete slab with half-built brick walls around it and no roof. The altar
was placed in the back and there were some chairs. It wasn't exactly some type of pristine chapel or some "glorified" colonial structure. It was very raw and simple. Slightly disorganized and there wasn't exactly a set entrance or exit but still some order to it all I suppose. You could kind of enter from the wall of choice. However, there was something special about simplicity of it all. One doesn't stand in awe of structural design as much as they do in awe of God. No atmosphere created within the structure to help you imagine God in a set, "stereotypical" way. Just you and...well...God. This was easily one the most special moments for me.
Some of my female cousins worked in the tourist areas doing maintenance work at the hotels, while some of the younger ones bagged at a grocery store which is not uncommon in Mexico to see youth do such work. One of my little cousins told me that money she earns is off the tips. My male cousins mainly worked construction. One of them left his family in the state of Hidalgo for a few months to work and save money and then take it back to his family. He would do this every year for 2-3 months. Their lives were drastically different from the lives that my family members live in the U.S. and in many ways it was hard to see these realities. It was difficult to understand the sacrifices and struggles that they go through and even harder to accept. I did not, nor could I pretend that I could identify with their everyday challenges. I just stood frozen at everything before me, or at least it felt that way. Sadly, perhaps even pretentiously, I felt like I had to love out of obligation at first. My own family, yet like strangers I saw them.
Regardless of whether it was my first time meeting them. How pathetic that I could not see them and love them like my family, but yet I felt so loved by them from the moment that I met them. I replay the irony of this last statement, or perhaps it is not ironic at all. P
erhaps, it is the fact that I am so far removed from what it means to love and what it means to be in community and family. Perhaps, it is the fact that in the "world" I come from, the capitalistic, individualistic society of the U.S. has weakened the fiber of the family structure to the point that no matter how "close" I think my family is, it is still almost a process of resistance and struggle to maintain close relational ties. Or perhaps it's the fact that we're all so far removed from God's love. I myself, have constantly forgot God's love in my life. I had to question many times whether I really believed in God's "love" or is it something I just say because I'm "Christian". Another thought that crossed my my mind which I have always wrestled with is how come I can't just love like Jesus. To love freely. No barriers, to his love. Most people, including myself have all these inhibitions about love. As if love had prerequisites. As if there were formalities to approaching it all. Why can't I just see any one person, stranger, family, friend and feel at liberty about expressing love without questioning? On the contrary, how come it feels awkward to receive love from someone I don't necessarily know? It's almost a foreign concept. It is actually all a little frustrating but I feel this will be a question I will wrestle with more here in Mexico and more importantly, the implications of such a question will reveal much, I think, maybe I hope, about this odd thing called life. However, this is not the space to flesh out such things. Until next time. Peace!
My Grandpa and I left LAX approximately around 6:30am and we made one pit stop in Phoenix, AZ. In no time we found ourselves back on a plane but this time we were heading to our final destination, Puerto Vallarta, MX. We arrived in the early afternoon of July 2nd. The trip was smooth in general minus the fact that my guitar didn't show up in the luggage shoot. Una disculpa (an apology) from the staff workers and we were moving right along. I wonder what I'm going say to my family? This is exciting but admittedly, slightly awkward. I se
e all the people with anxious gazes. Which ones are my family members? Smiles...We were met with wide smiles and eager eyes and an indifferent little one occupied with her chupon (pacifier). There they were, my Tio Cristobal, Tia Petra and my little primas Karla and Daniela. After some abrazotes (hugs) and besitos (kisses), and a few mucho gusto (Good to meet you) greetings for good measure. I'm always so self-conscious about my Spanish when I'm around new people. We make it out to the the truck and cram in and we take off one piece of luggage lighter for Zancudo (Zancudos are pesky little mosquitoes that embark on recon missions in the night time and ambush you agressive attacks and by sun rise, there is not trace of them except for the aftermath which looks like bumps on your arms =) haha), a ranchito where my family resides about 30 minutes east of the coast and away from the tourist areas of Puerto Vallarta.
The view was amazing, although I can't say as much about the ride, which was rather stiff, perhaps to some extent painful. Despite this harsh (literally) truth, the tropical vivid green landscapes that filled the scenery sufficed to take my mind off how my rear-end was feeling or rather what it wasn't as I had began to lose sense of feeling there and other limbs. The pouring of rain that began along the way surprisingly gave the picturesque sights a more serene feel as the roads cleared and while animals has already sought refuge which left the views to stand alone.
The following days I spent hanging out with family, and once we passed all of the formal greetings, I got to know my little cousins better. We played soccer, went out to the mango orchard, saw their church, visited hot springs, went to the beach and I had the opportunity to sing worship songs with them and I got to learn a little more about their lives and what they do. Days were filled with work. Everyday, there was work to do but my family still made time to go to mass. The church was...well, it wasn't really anything physically speaking. It was a concrete slab with half-built brick walls around it and no roof. The altar
was placed in the back and there were some chairs. It wasn't exactly some type of pristine chapel or some "glorified" colonial structure. It was very raw and simple. Slightly disorganized and there wasn't exactly a set entrance or exit but still some order to it all I suppose. You could kind of enter from the wall of choice. However, there was something special about simplicity of it all. One doesn't stand in awe of structural design as much as they do in awe of God. No atmosphere created within the structure to help you imagine God in a set, "stereotypical" way. Just you and...well...God. This was easily one the most special moments for me.
Some of my female cousins worked in the tourist areas doing maintenance work at the hotels, while some of the younger ones bagged at a grocery store which is not uncommon in Mexico to see youth do such work. One of my little cousins told me that money she earns is off the tips. My male cousins mainly worked construction. One of them left his family in the state of Hidalgo for a few months to work and save money and then take it back to his family. He would do this every year for 2-3 months. Their lives were drastically different from the lives that my family members live in the U.S. and in many ways it was hard to see these realities. It was difficult to understand the sacrifices and struggles that they go through and even harder to accept. I did not, nor could I pretend that I could identify with their everyday challenges. I just stood frozen at everything before me, or at least it felt that way. Sadly, perhaps even pretentiously, I felt like I had to love out of obligation at first. My own family, yet like strangers I saw them.
Regardless of whether it was my first time meeting them. How pathetic that I could not see them and love them like my family, but yet I felt so loved by them from the moment that I met them. I replay the irony of this last statement, or perhaps it is not ironic at all. P
erhaps, it is the fact that I am so far removed from what it means to love and what it means to be in community and family. Perhaps, it is the fact that in the "world" I come from, the capitalistic, individualistic society of the U.S. has weakened the fiber of the family structure to the point that no matter how "close" I think my family is, it is still almost a process of resistance and struggle to maintain close relational ties. Or perhaps it's the fact that we're all so far removed from God's love. I myself, have constantly forgot God's love in my life. I had to question many times whether I really believed in God's "love" or is it something I just say because I'm "Christian". Another thought that crossed my my mind which I have always wrestled with is how come I can't just love like Jesus. To love freely. No barriers, to his love. Most people, including myself have all these inhibitions about love. As if love had prerequisites. As if there were formalities to approaching it all. Why can't I just see any one person, stranger, family, friend and feel at liberty about expressing love without questioning? On the contrary, how come it feels awkward to receive love from someone I don't necessarily know? It's almost a foreign concept. It is actually all a little frustrating but I feel this will be a question I will wrestle with more here in Mexico and more importantly, the implications of such a question will reveal much, I think, maybe I hope, about this odd thing called life. However, this is not the space to flesh out such things. Until next time. Peace!
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