A tale of two immigrants

Every day, at 5:15 on the dot, I look away from my monitor to say hello to Ale*, a Dominican who vaccuums and sweeps our entire office building -- including the dermatology office upstairs. He must be in his late 40s, maybe early fifties; his hair is already silver, but he's a chipper, tan, happy guy. I don't really know much about him, except for the fact that he's Dominican and says "hello beautiful" to me every afternoon, expresses surprise at my being Russian and commiserates about having lots to do that day. I've told him I work with Spanish, so we often discuss the varieties of Spanish across South America, the different pronounciations, and how nobody can understand Puerto Rican anywhere.

"Rita," Ale says to me the other day. Usually we chat in Spanish at normal volume; most of the office leaves a little earlier anyhow. This time he sounded hushed, a little secretive. "¿Te puedo hacer una pregunta?" Can I ask you a question?
"Sure," I say.

He leans over my cubicle wall and speaks in an indoor voice. "What are the minimum qualifications to work here?"
I'm a little taken aback. "Qualifications? It depends. Depends on the role, the position."
"But what are the minimum qualifications to be employed here? The minimum qualifications for your position?"
"Well, I just graduated from college," I say. "I like it here very much. I suppose a bachelor's degree and some experience in research. I don't really know what any minimum qualifications are..."
"It would be great to work for a company like this," he says. "What does this company do?"

I tell him we make websites about public health and that I work with the Spanish projects.

"Ah," he says. "Debes saber de computadoras." Computers. "You know," he says, "I was a corporate statistician in the Dominican Republic."

I try not to look surprised or embarrassed, but I am probably not very successful at this -- as in most things when I have to hide an emotion I'm feeling, or convey one that I do not feel.

"I have another job now," he continues, "at the Home Depot in the mornings, and then this at night. It would be great to work for a company like this. I was just wondering." For the first time, I see him look less than happy. If only for a second.

"Good for you. Fuiste inmigrante también pero tuviste una educación acá," he adds. An American education.

For a millisecond, I feel a pang of needless, but nonetheless global guilt, for having drawn the straw that I was handed.

"See you later, beautiful," he tells me.

"Hasta mañana," I say, looking back to my screen.

Gurrrl Power

Hmm: if, in the year 2008 and the middle of an economic crisis, the only requirements for being a vice-presidential nominee are...

• Two X-chromosomes
• Brown hair
• Glasses
• Sassiness while holding rifle

... then maybe I should sign up for the job.

Oh mon dieu.

Nonwithstanding that Sarah Palin "can see Russia from [her] house", let us hope she never gets near any White Houses.

September 20

In less than 2 hours, I'm another year older.

Well, technically, being born in the [then] USSR, it's already done -- Moscow is 9 hours ahead. But for the purposes of qualification on U.S. soil, after 12:00 a.m. Eastern time, I add one more unit to the second digit of my age.

Geez.

That was fast.

Happy September

I was born in September, and I actually used to dislike this month very much. Having a birthday was exciting as a child, but September really meant that the summer -- my favorite season -- was ending. September meant returning to school and all the anxiety associated with this; the dog days of summer would soon give way to cool October. And October is the month that truly means "fall", the precursor to winter, the most miserable season of all.

September has always precipitated change. With change, inevitably, there is apprehension, trepidation, self-doubt, and a myriad other regressive emotions. Still, most change also bears hope and opportunity for growth.

I still remember what I wore on the first day of high school in September of 2000, not knowing what those next four years were going to be like, and worrying about the usual things teenagers worried about... Four years later, I moved to college (literally this time) and mused similar thoughts (perhaps up a level). Then, two years ago, I moved to Spain -- and the night before my flight from Boston to Madrid, I felt a lot like then, and a lot like now: unbelievably excited and unwilling to wait any more for the change to arrive, while at once apprehensive about being on my own for real, that the tide brought by change would be too difficult to sail. That I was unprepared, that I've had it too easy along the way. The long-awaited milestones -- driver's license, 18th birthday, high school graduation, 21st birthday, college diploma... they've passed by, and I've survived. Now, I'm realizing that I'm no longer in that numbered "era" when there are clear benefits passed along with milestones of age. It's now that era when you're not a kid anymore and the privileges are indeed much larger -- but so are the responsibilities.

New spaces and places aren't really news anymore, but the stack of paperwork on my desk is. Details like work pay stubs and insurance cards and papers in my name, and my name alone. The support network will always be there, but along with this and many other things, I've realized that on this year's tax return I am a household of "one". No longer seven... just one -- an adult in the eyes of the law. This is what I wanted since I was 10, back when I thought that being adult meant knowing all of the answers.

Perhaps the mark of becoming an adult is realizing that, in fact, it's quite the opposite. With every amazing wave of happiness that comes with privilege, comes another with a burden and questioning one's decision or the circumstances that led to that decision, or the times, or the government, the future, the state of the universe, the purpose to live, and so on and so forth. And then, perhaps, another wave of marching to the beat of your own drummer, of overstepping the fear of crossing boundaries dictated abstractly by age and circumstance. It's the feeling of the exhilaration of making a decision and having the means to carry it out. Learning to overcome yourself, your own complexes, above everything and everyone else. It's to understand that feelings like guilt or doubt come right alongside thankfulness and contentedness, perhaps add to another color to familiar emotion. Another (happy) challenge.

I realized that in reality I really liked September about a year ago. It has nothing to do with the fact that I was born this month; rather, September is a reprieve from the muggy heat of August. School starts in September; things get rolling again; the leaves start slowly falling, with uncertainty at first, but catching on pace; the heat slowly, stubbornly, retreats; and by the end of the month, the trees will begin to turn different colors and hues, just as life goes on and young people get older and the clock ticks. Another September, another year: whether we admit it or not, we long for change, even if we fear it. It's what keeps the wheels going.

Here's to my new place. May there be many happy Septembers there.

Where have all the bloggers gone?

Soon, blogging will be on my "lost arts" list.

I can't believe the summer is almost over! How did this even happen so fast? My three-months-at-work-being-a-financially-independent-person "anniversary" is about to sneak up on me, and I only went to the beach twice this summer. Not many changes here in the Swamp; but another generation has moved to college... and soon this generation will be moving, period.

BUT! This weekend there was picnic-ing all day by the Charles River.

AND!

...a lot of blueberry picking near Ipswich. I believe my teeth are now stained navy and can never eat another berry again... until tomorrow!

Good night!

The Office

I've mentioned before that one of my coworkers is an amazing photographer. This is what happens when a break occurs and a new wide-angle lens is purchased:

A coworker sent me this