What'd I miss?

Quite a bit, it seems. The second half of the Trump fiasco — and a pandemic. And that's just on the widest-picture scale. Life has changed so much, everywhere, for everyone, since Saturday the 23rd of June, 2018 (the date of my last post), that it feels herculean to try and catch up. Which is part of the reason I've let so much time pass without writing here. Every time I thought of doing so, the sheer amount of information I felt I'd need to cover just... tired me out before typing a single word. 

(Disclaimer: I'm not sure I will be posting with any semblance of regularity, even now.)

A shame. I've missed writing here. I've missed many of the people I connected with in the blogosphere (is that still what it's called? I feel so out of it, haha.). Friendships forged through distance, without ever meeting, and yet so powerful, so close. Some of those people I have still on Facebook (I've also almost forgotten Twitter exists), but... it's not the same. The connection feels... well, different. So I'm looking forward to reconnecting with some of them, if they're still around. And if they still find something interesting in what Quiet Laughter will be.

Because things are going to change around here.

This is another — maybe a larger — part of the reason I've been 'away': those Trump diehards. Some of the people I interacted with on a regular basis back in 2018, and earlier, would've been not just delighted but honored to be at the Jan. 6 attack on the Capitol — maybe they even were there. And that's not ok. Not on this blog. This blog is my space — mine — and I get to decide which voices (if any) besides mine are heard here. If you're one of those (or if you feel the need to speak out in favor of Trump, of antivaxxers, of QAnon, of lizard people, of...) please do that in your own space. Not here. And I'll tell you right now: any and all of those comments will be deleted. This is not a public forum. Not your cup of tea? Please unfollow / block / do whatever you feel you need to. For both our sakes.

My space.

(Aahhh, that felt good!)

About a year after I stopped writing here, I realized that I didn't actually miss blogging. And that kind of shocked me. I'd always felt I loved blogging; why didn't I miss it? Why did the thought of writing an update leave me so... well, indifferent? Back when I started blogging — 2011, if you can believe it — it held such joy for me. What happened to it? Where did it go?

I don't have the answers. Not all of them. But reclaiming this space as mine — where I don't compromise, where I can write if / when / what I want — feels like a good place to start if I'm going to find it again. Quiet Laughter began as a sort of journal... a writing journal, a life-in-Curaçao journal, an I-dreamt-this-last-night journal, a journal of milestones. That's what I want it to be again.

Coming soon (ish): an update on this new crazy hobby that's been eating up all my time since 2019 — and the business that's sprung up, kind of like a weed after a surprise rainshower, from it.

The Other Side of Hope: Film Reviews from the Curaçao Film Festival #ciffr

The Other Side of Hope, a film from Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki about a Syrian immigrant in Finland and officially labeled a comedy (more on that below), was the opening film for the Curaçao film festival on Wednesday April 5th. When we were making our selections for the festival, I marked this one as a must-see: immigration, especially from Syria, has taken a prominent role in news and debates worldwide, and after my dushi spewed a few anti-immigration sentiments (on which I swooped down like a rapacious bird of prey, no mercy, no quarter, until I saw a dawning light of reason in his eyes), I thought a story such as this one might help elucidate some of the finer points in the refugee-crisis dispute.

The #WATWB June Edition: Celebrating Diversity

Love rules!!!!

June 30th, was a landmark day for Europe. The German parliament voted to legalize same-sex marriage after an emotional, if brief, debate that resulted in a 393-vs.-226 vote in favor. After three decades of the struggle for equality, and especially given the present rise of conservative policies worldwide, this victory for equality comes as a beautiful, and much-needed, source of hope for a more inclusive climate everywhere. As one member of the German parliament put it during the opening debate, with the legalization of gay marriage "many will receive something, but nobody will have something taken away.” (Thomas Oppermann, parliamentary leader of the Social Democrats)

June 30th also brought cause for celebration on a more personal, but still related, note: my dushi celebrated 20 years since coming to live in Curaçao. He never imagined, back then, that he'd stay on this rock so long; like most financial services employees, he came to the island with a three-year contract, and he hadn't given much thought to what he'd do after. But Curaçao won him over rather quickly. People who had arrived around the same time he did began leaving: to other financial centers, back to Holland, or changing career tacks, marrying and moving away... And, year after year, farewell party after farewell party, Cor stayed. He was offered a couple of good opportunities elsewhere, but—for one reason or another—he ended up turning them down. (Which was a good thing; otherwise we might never have met.)

Curaçao does that to some people. Not to everyone, maybe not even to the majority of expats and immigrants who come here. Lots of people have a hard time with the island; many never adapt, several can't wait for their contract to be up so they can leave. The smallness, the endemic limitations, the heat, you name it: there are plenty of reasons to dislike living here. But, for some of us, the cons can't hold a candle to the pros.

The pros might seem obvious; we're a Caribbean island, after all. Sun, sea, flip-flops and shorts, seafood and ice-cold beer, feet in the sand, cocktails with umbrellas in them. Not to undervalue these, but... well, pretty much any seaside destination offers variations thereof. No, what makes Curaçao special—truly special—has to do with diversity. Over 50 nationalities live here; all religions are present, all cultures, all colors. Just imagine the variety of delicious cuisine we have! And food becomes a metaphor for all sorts of wonderful things. No, Curaçao is no melting pot; that would imply a homogeneity of flavor and texture that would become antithesis to diversity. Food, however, says it best: flavors meet in combinations that build on each other, that borrow from each other not just to improve but to broaden the experience. Our experience. Our selves.

Today, July 2nd, the island is celebrating Dia di Bandera (Flag Day), and our new Prime Minister—a man who stands for diversity and inclusivity—posted this message on his Facebook page:

TRANSLATION FROM PAPIAMENTU (mine): "Our island is very diverse. People from different origins, cultures, and religions, together forming a nation which is unique. Which lives from union, united in our diversity. We are proud to live together with each other, here in our dushi Curaçao. Let's keep caring for and supporting each other, so that we can all continue prospering, together under one flag. Happy Flag Day."

And this year it's an especially happy celebration for Kòrsou: our soccer team won the Caribbean Cup last week—for the first time! EVER! It was the first time they even made it to the final. That footage in Mr. Prime Minister's video above showing the crowds waving little flags are from the welcome the team got at the airport Tuesday evening. Yes, we're very, very proud of them. 

Celebrations at Brionplein last Tuesday, when the Curaçao soccer team returned to the island after winning the Caribbean Cup — for the first time in history!

But I digress. The point I'm trying to make here is about diversity, and about how sharing space—a city, a nation, a life—with others, with very different others, is no impossible dream. Curaçao is living proof of that. This island is far from perfect—same-sex marriage, for instance, is still not legal here—and there's certainly room for improvement on all sorts of areas (corruption is a big, big problem; illegal immigration is, too, and there's still a lot of unresolved conflict with Holland), but the thing that makes Curaçao different from other diverse places is the attitude. In Curaçao, difference is normal. No one expects anyone else to be the same as they are. Diversity in background and religion is a given; people take it in stride, take it even for granted: everyone is different. It's not just how it is, but how it should be. And people here do, mostly, get the enormous benefits of a diverse society. 

I have hope that the world will, one day, not too far away, take the hint and follow the example.

Curaçao's national anthem (original Papiamentu, with the English translation—mine, don't quote me—in italics):

Lantá nos bos ban kanta
     Raise our voices to sing
grandesa di Kòrsou;
     the greatness of Curaçao
Kòrsou, isla chikitu,
     Curaçao, small island,
baranka den laman!
     cliffs at arm's reach
Kòrsou, nos ta stima bo
      Curaçao, we love you
ariba tur nashon.
      above all nations.
Bo gloria nos ta kanta
      Your glory we sing
di henter nos kurason.
      with our whole heart.
Nos pueblo tin su lucha,
      Our people have our struggles,
ma semper nos tin fé
      but always we have faith
di logra den tur tempu
      we'll achieve every time
viktoria ku trabou!
      victory with our toils!
Ban duna di nos parti
     Let's do our part
p'e isla prosperá.
     so the island may prosper.
Laga nos uni forsa
     Let us join forces
p'asina triunfá.
     in order to triumph.
Nos patria nos ta demostrá
     To our homeland we show
Honor i lealtat,
     honor and loyalry,
meskos na e bandera
     same as we do to our flag
union di nos nashon.
     union of our nation.
Nos bida lo ta poko
      Our life is a small thing
pa duna nos pais,
     to give to our country,
luchando uní pa libertat,
     fighting together for freedom,
amor i komprenshon.
     love, and understanding.
I ora nos ta leu fo'i kas
     And when we are far from home
nos tur ta rekordá
     we all remember
Kòrsou, su solo i playanan,
     Curaçao, its sun and beaches,
orguyo di nos tur.
     pride of us all.
Laga nos gloria Kreador
     Let us give glory to the Creator
tur tempu i sin fin,
     always and endlessly,
k'El a hasi nos digno
     that He has made us worthy
DI TA YU DI KÒRSOU!
     OF BEING CHILDREN OF CURAÇAO!

This post is part of the We Are The World monthly blog hop, an effort to change the focus of our ill-riddled world to hope and positivity, hosted by the most excellent Damyanti Biswas, of Daily Write fame, and co-hosted this month by Belinda Witzenhausen,  Lynn Hallbrooks, Michelle Wallace, Sylvia McGrath, Sylvia Stein

The Mexico Trip (Part 2)

(Continued from Part 1)

The Plan was as follows:

- Fly out of Mexico City at 8 am, get into Miami at 11 am.
- Seven-hour layover in Miami. (I had a really great book to look forward to.)
- Leave Miami at 6:30 pm, get into Curaçao at 10 pm.

Inconvenient, with that incredibly long layover, but no more so than I'm used to.

And it all went according to plan. Until the last part. And it ended with me not sleeping (or changing clothes, eww) for over 48 hours.

The Mexico Trip (The Gory Details)

Divi-Divi airlines. (No, these don't fly to Miami.)

I've mentioned before that traveling from Curaçao is never a simple matter... It can be, if you're going to Caracas or Bogotá. Or Miami. Or Amsterdam. Or Dominican Republic. Or Bonaire. Or St. Maarten. Or Aruba. Or, nowadays—thank you, JetBlue!—New York City.

But not Mexico.

To the point that once I received an itinerary from a travel agent helping me with my trip (this was years ago, before online booking caught on) suggesting that I travel from Curaçao—in the Caribbean—to Mexico—North America—via Charles de Gaulle. Yeah. The Paris airport. You know. Paris, Europe.

(That's a good story. Remind me to tell it to you some day.)

The Drawbacks of Paradise

I do love Curaçao. I love living here, I love its 'prickly kind of beauty', its contrasts, its contradictions. To me, this tiny island that so few people have heard of -- and of those who have, most relate it to a blue orangey-tasting liquor -- is paradise.

But paradise, any paradise, comes with drawbacks. And, depending on who you are and what you love, the drawbacks and their relevance to you may vary:

#Cherished: If This Teddy Could Talk...

On a bookshelf behind my desk, out of sight unless you know where to look, sits a toy koala bear. He's old, dusty, and faded. The hair on his ears is matted. His eyes are scratched, and the tan felt of one eyelid has peeled off. The plastic pear he wears as a nose needs to be glued back on. Again. And yet his grin remains. A tad sardonic maybe--not surprising, given the degree of abandonment he's put up with. But there's real bonhomie, too. Good-natured patience. I'm here, that grin seems to say. Whenever you remember.

Is there anything as sad as a forgotten once-beloved toy? These cast-offs speak of lost childhoods, changing priorities, the ephemeral nature of our attachments, even the ones that feel, at the time, forged in steel. Most of all, I suppose, these little personalities -- for who can deny them that bit of humanity? -- remind us of the selves we've left behind.

E-communications: A Reality Check

A friend asked me for some help with a project he's working on, a few suggestions for short stories that might be apt for sparking a child's imagination. I'm not an expert--not even remotely--on children's literature, and I told him that, but he wasn't interested in the traditional stories for kids, so I agreed to come up with some ideas. I compiled a list--dove into my favorites, reread a few (some as a refresher, some just for the sheer pleasure they bring), checked to see whether they were available online somewhere, etc.--and emailed it to him.

And waited.

I wasn't sure how helpful I'd be... Whether my suggestions were PG-13 appropriate, whether they were too long or too short, whether they'd serve for the purpose he intended them. So, yes, I was kind of anxious to hear what he thought. After two days, I went to my inbox and did a global search: could I have missed his response? Could it have gone into the Spam folder? Had I sent it to the right address?

Everything checked out fine. And no, there was no reply.

Before pulling out my violin and climbing up to the rooftop to bemoan my friend's ingratitude in hauntingly melancholic tones (no drama queen here; I'm the freakin' empress), in a moment of enlightened maturity I decided to ask. "Hey. Did you get my email?"

What email, came the response.

Turns out the only way this dude checks his inbox is if you tell him you sent him an email. So I resent it, told him I'd resent it, and he confirmed he'd received it. Yay.

But it got me thinking. Email is a central part of my life. Email, Facebook, Whatsapp, Skype, the blog, social media in general--they're how I stay in touch with the world. Not just with friends and family; my critique group, my publisher, my journalism contacts. Even my dushi Skypes me when he's at the office.

This friend of mine, except for Facebook, uses none of the above.

Perhaps it's my ex-pat status. Or the fact I live in a small island no one's heard of. A large part of the people I speak to every day are too far away for face-to-face contact. But--again, the dushi-with-Skype example above. And it's not just him; most of my island friends are either on Whatsapp or Facebook (or both), and that's what we use to communicate.

So tell me, then. Am I weird? How do you communicate with your world? Do e-communications play a large part in your life? Are they a good thing? Or are we, in Fahrenheit-451-dystopia style, trading real contact for cyber-versions of ourselves?

Lessons of 2014

1. Rhythm is the key to discipline. (Achieving that rhythm is on the list for 2015.)

2. Unconditional acceptance is the most beautiful gift of love.

3. Nostalgia is a powerful drug. It feels good (in a masochistic kind of way), is great as an excuse to avoid reality, is also great for writing fiction, and--because of the above?--is highly addictive. Do not exceed recommended dose. (Recommended dose still to be determined.)

Best 20 minutes you'll spend today

The Meaning of Cuernavaca

The city of memory, the city of nostalgia, of everything that's been lost, and found, forgotten, remembered.

We--my father, my mother, and I--moved from Mexico City to Cuernavaca in December 1975, when I was two months shy of three years old. I have fragmented memories of that December. For instance, walking around the pool wearing corduroy pants and a woolen sweater (yes, winters in the central altiplano of México can be cold), but my parents were wearing swimming suits, and I remember remarking on that, briefly, internally.

View of the house I grew up in, from the carport. The deep end of the pool is just off-frame to the right.
In the back you can see half of the sandbox I played in for hours, the tree where I had my treehouse
(long gone, rotted or something, before this photo was made), and a corner of the tennis court
(you have to look hard).
My father made this photo five months before he died.

A whole month off...

Where did May go?
(Image credit)

May flew by and--not a single post. Oops.

Yes, the A-to-Z took a lot out of me this year. Never again with more than one blog, never again in the middle of another project...

'S a matter of fact, maybe never again. Or maybe just not next year. It would be nice to just spectate for once. Get to visit blogs instead of stressing over my own posts or about not keeping up with the lovely comments y'all leave here. Which I love, and which I'll miss...

Well. We'll see. I love being a part of the A-to-Z, but I feel I miss out a lot. Yes, pre-writing is the key. (Why the hell is it so hard to follow one's own advice?) If I'm able to get at least half the post prewritten by January, when the sign-up list opens, maybe--maybe--I'll consider having another go. Right now I'm simply too exhausted to consider it.

What's been happening here over the last 30 days? Well, my laptop broke down mid-March. (The fact I did the A-to-Z on a borrowed computer might've contributed to the aforementioned exhaustion.) No, it's not fixed yet. It's a 2007 MacBook, and one of the fans is shot--but Apple doesn't manufacture it anymore, which means the pseudo Apple store here can't order it. They told me it's available on eBay or similars, but they've failed to give me (in spite of numerous calls to remind them) the specifications on what, exactly, I need to order.

Perhaps a new laptop is the solution. Sadly, seeing as I'm a starving artist (ahem) with a copious family of dogs who cannot starve, that solution isn't much of a solution at all.

Then the washing machine broke down. And then my car broke down.

This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.

I'm done whining, though. I have this awesome borrowed laptop (borrowed from an even awesomer person--thank you, Cor!) to keep me connected to the world and--most importantly--to keep writing. The washing machine couldn't be fixed, so said Awesomer Person bought a new, supersonic and super quiet, one (thank you, Cor!)--and, as an added brushstroke of the Universe's goodwill, the delivery guys even took the old one away. And my car has been fixed. It was expensive, and it's not perfect (yet), but it drives. (Thank you again, Cor!)

It's possible the dogs might've missed the car more than I did. Which is saying a lot.

Awkword Paper Cut

Another marvelous thing that happened in May: I was featured all month on Awkword Paper Cut, in the Writers on Writing section, along with two other (pretty fantastic) writers to talk about Mexico and why we writers must (sometimes) leave our countries to find our writing. Awkword Paper Cut is a beautiful literary journal, and the Writers on Writing pieces provide powerful inspiration--as well as much-needed diversification--every month. Bookmark them, visit often, and enjoy.

2014 A Year In Stories
A 12-vol anthology
published by Pure Slush Books

And then there's the Pure Slush 2014 A Year In Stories project. Yesterday was the deadline to deliver all 12 stories in our cycles. I've delivered 9, have #10 in an almost-workable draft.

(Today, by the way, my June story is happening. Want to read it? You can, for free. It's part of the Amazon preview for the book. Just click on the Look Inside link and... enjoy. If you do like it, please remember I'm the ugly duckling among these swans of writers. Their stories are so worth your time. And money.)

As of last count, there's 315 stories (out of 365) delivered and approved for print. The July volume is now out, too, and volumes January through May have a 20% discount on Lulu.com.

Aaaaaaand... The fantastic Susan Tepper, another of the magnificent 2014 authors, has snagged a reading date for the project at the KGB Bar in New York's East Village. Talk about illustrious venues! We'll be there on Wednesday November 5th--so if you're in the NYC area, it would be a super treat if you stopped by.


All right. You're all caught up. Now it's my turn to catch up with you.

#NoBystanders -- Would you? Will you?

I found this brilliant video on Upworthy. Maybe you've already seen it. Maybe it's old news. But it's worth sharing, and saving on the blog.

So. Are you a bystander? I know I am--but I won't be anymore. You?

Carnaval in Curaçao

Carnaval in Curaçao has two parades: the Grand March on Sunday
afternoon, and the Farewell March on Tuesday, Mardi Gras,
which starts around 8 pm.

Carnaval in Curaçao is a serious thing.

If you've been to the big Mardi Gras celebrations--Rio, Veracruz, New Orleans--the Curaçao version will be, sadly, disappointing. But to locals, Carnaval (no, not Carnival) is the event of the year. More important than Christmas, or even the newly minted Dia di Korsow (Curaçao Day) that celebrates Curaçao becoming a country within the Kingdom of The Netherlands (instead of part of the defunct Netherlands Antilles).

The only holiday that might give Carnaval a run for its money is New Year's. And that would be a close run.

Which is why Carnaval Monday shouldn't surprise me.

Uh-huh. Today is a holiday here.
Everything is closed, just like New Year's Day. No, no parade today--the time off is to recover from yesterday's, and to be fresh for tomorrow's. Which ends at midnight, with the burning of Rei (King) Momo.

Pleased to have met you, Sochi

I'm a fan of Olympic games. I rarely watch sports (live or otherwise), and I've never been much of a (sports) player, although I did win silver in a 1.5 km race back when I was... twelve? First race I ever ran. Last, too.

But I love the Olympics.

It's the dreams, I guess. The hope in every face, spectator or competitor. The coming together. I know--cheesy. I choke up with the first strains of the Chariots of Fire theme (yes, even on the Carnival Cruise ad).

I watched the Nadia Comaneci movie dozens of times. And Ice Castles? Hundreds.

I probably learned to skate more from this movie than from the lessons I got at the Galleria rink every time we were in Houston for vacation. (Disclaimer: I can't skate to save my life. Do not try this at home.)

The rink at the Houston Galleria where I learned
 to skate (humming Through The Eyes Of Love)

So the past two-plus weeks have been a mix of heaven and frustration for me. Heaven because--well, see above. Frustration because of TV coverage, or lack thereof. But I managed to watch some events, not as many as I'd have liked--not, for example, nearly enough figure skating, or skiing--but still.

And beyond the sports, what struck me was how different Russia seems to be from the idea I had of it. Yeah, I grew up in Cold War times.

Being Mexican, I'm no stranger to the lengths a country will go to in order to put on a show worthy of international Olympic coverage. Still, Russia's presentation to the world was impressive. How real it was, what it cost (I'm not talking about money here), whether it was a sweeping-under-the-rug or the proof of a true desire to move forward, rise above... Well, time will tell. There's that LGBT issue, for example, that shows no signs of changing in the near future. But this article in the New Yorker added a level of depth to these XXII Winter Games that make them a greater part of history.

Are you an Olympic fan? Did you watch the Sochi games? What did you think about Russia's image?

Top Photos of 2013 -- #1

This was hard. Much, much harder than I thought. Number 1 of the Kuantan blog's Top 20 Challenge:

July 2013, Amsterdam

There's an untold story here. A story which I, as a passerby, don't know and never will.

That's what captivated me here. It will be forever unknowable, won't it, the reason why this

toy ostrich was abandoned on a front step in a busy city. Where is the child that played with it?

The toy has no means of expression, but its forlorness cried out to me anyway.

The moment made me respond viscerally, and because it was so random, it became special.

I've so enjoyed this challenge. Thank you to Duncan of the Kuantan blog for hosting it, and for the wonderful photographers that shared the best of your 2013 with us. Loved it, and look forward to your Best of 2014 :)

Top Photos of 2013 -- #2

The next-best of 2013 today, on the Kuantan Blog's Top 20 Challenge:

August, 2013

I take my dogs (I have seven, all rescues) to the beach every week.

As far as they're concerned, it's not nearly often enough. They have a blast every time,

and my greatest pleasure in life is watching them bug out and go nuts in the water.

This is Panchita, the first of the seven. This February 1st will make seven years that she's with us.

She used to be terrified of the water, wouldn't even dip a toe.

Look at her now.

Top 20 Photos of 2013 -- #10

Today's edition of the Kuantan Blog's Top 20 Challenge brings us to... The top ten! It was so hard to choose, and there's like 100+ pics that I'd have loved to share, but--alas--only ten places are left, and I had to choose the best of the best. Here's #10:

April 2013, Perú. A street dancer with musicians in the background. The photo isn't excellent,

but the joy on the girl's face, and the way the photo captures movement--

makes you imagine the next step, 

makes you want to join in. 

That photography allows me to bring such a moment to you--bizarre, and fantastic.

Come back tomorrow for #9, my favorite portrait of my dushi.

The search (words) for Quiet Laughter

2014

Happy 2014!