one voice in the revolution

What happens when you've grown up in the company of individuals who freely exchanged racist jokes without any recognition that you might be personally hurt, fundamentally offended by their "humor" at the expense of "people like you"? What does it mean to have been taught to check Hispanic/Latinx on every form you've ever filled out but to have never had to worry about racial profiling?

What is the role of someone now who is very privileged but also not of utmost whitecismale privilege?

I've spent a lifetime coming to terms with the nuances of my identity and my belonging; embracing "who I am" to myself and to the world (thus I will never change my last name, but that's a story for another day). And somewhere around thirty, a sweet, knowing acceptance seeped in. Hallelujah! Yet the hard work very much continues. Because I was born into an obscenely unjust world, with racist systems and dark histories and normalized oppression.

We all were.

I cannot speak to what it feels to be white right now because I am not U.S.-white; though I have regularly been mistaken for being so, and have definitely benefitted from those assumptions (see: white privilege). Nonetheless, those of us who are not-Black need to take on the uncomfortable tasks in this moment of deep pain, trauma, and loss that's been compounded by centuries of more of the same.

We must use our collective power to transform this broken world of ours. Tu lucha es mi lucha. Below, a few actionable ideas from the U.S. I welcome your ideas, too.

• Protest this weekend! If you're able-bodied, and are able to safely assemble where you are, please get out there, know your rights, and march/rally/kneel/lie down/cheer in solidarity. Search a local blog or news site to find a protest near you.
• Can't protest? 26 Ways to Struggle Beyond the Streets.
• Acknowledge your racist biases, and then, unlearn them. It's on you to do so.
• A fellow accomplice (met on the yoga retreat pictured above) invited me to join a book group. How to Be an Anti-Racist is up first. Want more? Some recommendations by HTRAAR author and scholar, Ibram X. Kendi.
• Watch (or re-watch) Ava Duvernay's 13th and so many other films that tell untold Black stories and provide a broader context to the rage we should all feel.
• Listen to Black voices generously ushering us forward. Some of my favorites as of late: Scene on Radio's Seeing White, NPR's Code Switch, WNYC's Come Through with Rebecca Carroll, The Ringer's Higher Learning with Van Lathan and Rachel Lindsay, and Good Ancestor Podcast with Layla Saad.
• Have tough conversations. A resource for speaking with elders. A resource for speaking with kids; and another, for kids, because futures depend on their understanding. A resource for speaking with colleagues. A resource for "casual" racism. And a starting point-resource for all those least willing to engage.
• Donate effectively. Some places doing good work, and some more, on behalf of Black Americans. Supporting mental healthcare is beyond essential; and the Southern Poverty Law Center is always a good idea.
• Also, pay special attention to support Black artists and creatives and farmers and restaurants and makers and small business-owners. As we know, BIPOC communities have been disproportionally impacted by the Coronavirus pandemic, well before this most recent assortment of murders.
• Vote. Vote. Vote for local officials that promote racial justice and ensure all citizens are registered to do so.
• Rest and restore. We are, culturally, in the eye of the tornado. Our lives have slowed down to the point that society's most horrific ills can no longer be ignored by those of us not directly experiencing them. This perfect storm has seemed to have activated more people than ever before to bring transformational change to life. Take care of yourself, still. He couldn't breathe. You can. Find a restorative practice so you're best able to "keep your foot on the gas." (For me, that’s been yoga with aforementioned retreat instructor). We're in this for the long haul. Sending love.

close to home

I grew up around kids. My mom watched all ages: 3 months, 10 years. My brother, sister, and I learned how to change a diaper, make a bottle, keep an eye on and entertain. We helped, though not always happily. We often didn't have access to our bedrooms until so-and-so got up from his or her nap. So, we'd keep an ear out for crying. We came to understand what it stood for--whining, frustration, discomfort.

The cries I heard on this recording were different.

At this point, I expect you're well aware of the crisis taking place at the U.S.-Mexico border. You know that last month: 2,000+ children were taken from their parents, that every person to cross the border without legal documentation was prosecuted as a criminal, that AG Jeff Sessions tried to use the Bible to defend the zero-tolerance policy, and that President Trump signed an executive order to discontinue family separation, an act that was put in place with his blessing. Hopefully they'll make their deadline? And still, one can only imagine the pain and suffering that continues through trauma.

Decades after my grandfather ventured to Central California with the Bracero Program, my dad crossed that same border for that same economic opportunity. He stayed longer though. He sent money home, supported siblings as they, too, came over. Years later, once my dad had met my mom, after my siblings and I came to be, my dad became an American citizen.

It's no wonder this feels personal, and yet... nobody risks their own life, let alone that of their child, unless they have to; unless doing so feels like the only viable option for safety. If they make it, their family might come to know the opportunity that comes after. Maybe.

Who do we think we are to dehumanize fellow human beings by labeling them illegal? A descriptor of an action, by the way, not an existence. Do we not share the same value, the same entitlement to human rights? Dignity, let alone decency? This administration appears not to think so. How quickly we forget our origins.

I am the child of an immigrant. My father achieved "the American Dream." This has afforded me the privilege to move across borders and oceans without any apprehension a.k.a. the entire premise of this silly blog. The magnitude of these truths are enough to paralyze me with guilt sometimes. I'm trying my best to do more. I hope you are, too.

P.S. For some levity whilst giving a damn.

a weekend in sf

Upon discovering Anna and Leslie would be hiking Yosemite and then San Francisco in May, I decided to hijack their trip.

Last Thursday, I drove straight from the office to the airport and joined my two friends at a table at 1760. A painless 50-minute flight took place in between. And because the journey had been so easy, and because I've been working so hard and non-stop, I was hyper-excited about it. "I can't believe you're in San Fran! And I'm here, too!" Yes, dear self, this is what we call taking a long weekend...

{Oscar de la Renta: The Retrospective}

{Aperitifs at Rye}

{Breakfast by the beach (Outer Sunset)}

{A belated Cinco de Mayo party}

{Burning Man remains in Hayes Valley}

{Mission donuts and murals}

For someone who's stumbled into rooted contentment, it was so very refreshing to luxuriate in a different yet conveniently-close-by city—especially in the company of some of the world's best. I doubt I'll let another 5 years pass before my next weekend visit.

a date with sausalito

Last year, a stranger invited me to be his date to a wedding in Paris. I was caught off guard, I didn't know how to respond, I became overwhelmed with all the reasons why I shouldn't take him up on the offer. I missed the opportunity. 

This year, a stranger invited me to spend a late afternoon with him in Sausalito. I just happened to be at the Ferry Building picking up a vegan Pumpkin Pie Scary Spice donut from Pepples Donuts. The ferry to Sausalito was leaving in only 20 minutes, from a dock about 20 yards away. Most of my friends had already left San Francisco and I had 6+ hours before my own plane took off.

This time around, I accepted the spontaneity. It went a little something like this...

 

 

 

 

...a drink beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, a drive into the mountains to watch the sun set over the Pacific Ocean, a Vietnamese pho dinner, and a ride back to San Francisco. I'm convinced: It's almost always worth taking an unexpected chance.

foodbuzzing at perry's on the embarcadero

Last Monday, I was bleary-eyed. The redeye flight from San Francisco left me beyond exhausted and it wasn't until this past Saturday that I finally felt well-rested again. This morning, on the other hand, I awoke naturally at 6:30am. I can't remember the last time that happened. 'Twas nice.

But since we're speaking of San Francisco :) we can do one last Foodbuzz recap, right? I sure hope so, because the Farewell Brunch was an amazing highlight.

I doubted I'd even make it as I'd gone out the night before, but once Sunday morning came along, I couldn't even consider not going...

there were too many bright, shining faces to see, and sadly say goodbye too. I had the pleasure of sitting with Courtney, Gina, Courtney, Shannon, and more.

The brunch was set up buffet style with quite the selection. Before heading for the food though, I chose to quench my thirst by serving myself a cup of Godiva coffee, and ordering a necessary Bloody Mary alongside a glass of water.

Then, I stocked my plate with challah french toast, goat cheese frittata, scrambled eggs, fruit, a spoonful of granola, and my favorite, Sinhi Breakfast Daal (curry roasted cauliflower and crispy almond slivers). And I had seconds. Delicious.

After a flurry of an exchange of business cards and goodbyes, I met up with a friend of mine to walk off the indulgent brunch I'd just had through the city.

It was so great to see those neighborhoods I'd wandered through the year before again. We even stopped inside the quaint (and free) trolley museum,

where I couldn't resist the touristy photo. Later on in the day, I had an even more spontaneous adventure, but I think I'll save that photographic medley for another time. It's worth the wait, I promise.

P.S. Above is the one worthwhile photo from that gala dinner I'd been so unbelievably excited about. For as fun as it was to get dressed up, and as cool as it was to watch Tyler Florence on stage, I was unenthused with everything but dessert. No matter what, I think I'll always love a San Francisco trio.

foodbuzzing at the farmers market

This morning I stopped by my local farmers market. I filled my bag to the brim with apples, butternut squash, carrots, lettuce, parsnips, and an onion, all for under $10. It was bittersweet though. Over the next few months, produce options will decrease as the temperature does the same. Farewell summer's bounty.

And yet, even now, the local fruits and vegetables I was able to choose from here in New York are limited compared to those in California. Last Saturday morning, I left Foodbuzz HQ to meet Melissa, Bobbi, Mara, and Diana at the Ferry Building. Although I enjoyed wandering through, the farmers market was my favorite part:

What I wouldn't do for options like that year-round! Though I suppose I'd have to move to Los Angeles for that :). Either way, I'm so glad I had the chance to gawk over the California-grown grapes, potatoes, greens, squash, heirloom beans, and peppers, and enjoy my first sweet slice of persimmon.

Afterwards, we walked over to the craft fair across the street, and then headed to the Metreon. More Foodbuzz Festival wining and dining ahead...