Admiration club: Angelina Jolie

To actually feel like you’ve done something good with your life and you’re useful to others is what I was always wanting, and was always looking for.
– Angelina Jolie, American actress, film director, screenwriter, and author

I’m not into the concept of “girl crush.” I’ll use the term in a joking manner, but it’s just not part of my lexicon. I’m more comfortable with saying that I admire certain women. The other day I read an article about Angelina Jolie accepting an honorary Oscar for her humanitarian work at the Governors Awards ceremony in Hollywood this past Saturday. Jolie is one of those famous women who other women either love or late. I for one am a member of her admiration club.

My updated tribute to old-time Hollywood glamour: faux fur, vegan leather skirt, vintage brooch and mesh handbag.

My updated tribute to old-time Hollywood glamour: faux fur, vegan leather skirt, vintage rhinestone earrings, bracelet, and brooch, and vintage Whiting & Davis mesh handbag.

In accepting her award from George Lucas, she remembered her mother, Marcheline Betrand, who was only 56 years old when she died of ovarian cancer. Jolie said of her mother, “She did give me love and confidence, and above all, she was very clear that nothing would mean anything if I didn’t have a life of use to others.” I appreciate this quote because it embodies her spirit of generosity, the largeness of her heart, and a sense of community. It also entreats us to find out how we can help others and discover what our unique gift is so that we may nurture it and share it with the world.

Evoking 1940s glamour with vintage bracelet (The Cleveland Shop, Cleveland, OH), eBay vintage Weiss clip-on earrings, and Sundance ring.

Evoking 1940s glamour with vintage bracelet (The Cleveland Shop, Cleveland, OH), eBay vintage Weiss clip-on earrings, and Sundance ring.

It’s well-known that Jolie’s humanitarian work was inspired by seeing warn-torn Cambodia, where the filming of Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (2001) took place. Last Saturday, Jolie told the audience: “It was only when I began to travel that I understood my responsibility to others.” Indeed, once she returned home from making the movie, she became involved with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees and began visiting refugee camps in international trouble spots. She has gone on more than 40 missions in more than 30 countries for the United Nations Refugee Agency.

Vintage Weiss pin (eBay) nestled in faux fur.

Vintage Weiss pin (eBay) nestled in faux fur. Mix textures with faux fur, metallic mirror pointy pumps, vintage mesh, and vegan leather.

While known for her work in refugee camps, Jolie has also been involved with the Millennium Villages Project, which is run by the Earth Institute at Columbia University, the United Nations Development Programme, and Millennium Promise. The project’s goal is to end extreme poverty, gender and health inequities, and disease through rural development, environmental sustainability, and the building of basic infrastructure.

Sans faux fur: Bejeweled neckline means you don't have to figure out what necklace to wear. A creamy crop top works well with a high-waisted pleated skirt.

Sans faux fur: Bejeweled neckline means you don’t have to figure out what necklace to wear. A creamy crop top is nicely proportioned with a high-waisted pleated skirt.

She had the financial means to buy up land in Cambodia and convert it into a wildlife reserve named after her son Maddox in 2003, later expanding the project in 2006 to become Asia’s first Millennium Village. Jolie has built and funded 10 schools in Cambodia outside of the Village and a care facility for children with HIV. In Ethiopia, she founded a children’s center named after her daughter Zahara that treats children with HIV and tuberculosis. The Global Health Committee runs both children’s centers. The Jolie-Pitt Foundation, established in 2006, funds many of the facilities and projects such as the building of schools, some of which are all-girls schools, in Kenya and Afghanistan.

Vintage rhinestone jewelry is a spot-on match for the blouse's neckline embellishment.

Vintage rhinestone jewelry is a spot-on match for the blouse’s neckline embellishment.

Jolie has lobbied for humanitarian causes, advocating for legislation to protect women and children in developing nations and war-torn regions. Clearly, she has the money and the star power to affect change. But she could easily have not done any of this work or, especially, volunteer her time. Yet she does, and it’s not a fad or a publicity stunt. Jolie is deeply connected to humanity, and it is that dedication and commitment to our most vulnerable fellow human beings and our world that makes me such an ardent admirer of her. Whatever her flaws, I don’t care. She is a role model in matters of the heart. I applaud her big heart and her humanity. Girl crush. Okay, I said it.

A contemplative Angelina Jolie - poised and elegant.

A contemplative Angelina Jolie – poised and elegant.

While everyone sleeps, I write

A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.
– Maya Angelou, American poet, memoirist, actress, and Civil Rights Movement activist

Late Thursday night, and everyone in the house is asleep, except for me. Mobile phone safely out of his room, my son, Jacob, is at last sleeping soundly. David turned in early, as he has to get up early for an all-day fishing trip with colleagues and a client on Friday. Isabella has always been an easy sleeper since she was a baby – she lays her head on her pillow and is dreaming within minutes. And Rex, my faithful library companion, is chasing squirrels and cats in his dreams as his geriatric hind legs jerk back and forth and his nails scratch his dog bed, hot on the hunt.

Bold ethnic print jacket and skirt brightens a wintry day.

Bold ethnic print jacket and skirt brightens a wintry day.

I am wide awake, despite the many evenings I have been sleepy and exhausted of late, in part because of the time change, the falling back. I am wide awake on this late night, and it’s the best time to write. When it’s this quiet, the words in my head and on the page are dancing, alive, pulsing with energy.

Carmela Rose earrings, End of Century cicada ring (NYC), and Lava 9 Art Nouveau necklace (Berkeley, CA).

Carmela Rose earrings, End of Century cicada ring (NYC), and Lava 9 Art Nouveau necklace (Berkeley, CA).

It’s not so cold just yet that I need to be swaddled in a fleece blanket as I sit before my laptop. But in thinking of the late cold nights when everyone is beneath their down comforters and I must bear the thermostat having been turned down after 11PM, I remember one night before we remodeled and added on to our house. Our bedroom was my office, with our monstrous computer armoire looming in one corner of the room. When I worked late, which was often, David would sleep with the pillow wrapped around his head. Sometimes the luxury of staying up late at night was for my own writing.

Black platform boots and sky-blue turtleneck draw out the colors in the print.

Black platform boots and sky-blue turtleneck draw out the colors in the print.

I remember one night when I was writing for myself, working on my novel. Our bedroom sat over the garage. Cold air flowed through the cracks in the hardwood floor planks, making my feet icy and numb. I was wrapped in a blanket, but anything exposed – my fingers, my nose, my ears – was cold. But I was happy. Words were shaping worlds and giving voice and action to living, breathing people. Words were making them cry and laugh, gave them wishes and regrets. Words were flowing across the computer screen as my fingers tapped away, creating a musicality.

I finished a section, happy with the way it ended, happy with the chapter’s arc. And then I looked up for the first time in hours. I turned to my right, where the picture window faced the west. Dawn was breaking. I had written all night. The realization filled me with wonder. I was cold, but I was not tired. I was alive.

A perfect accessory match! Vintage Bakelite-inspired necklace with resin fanned leaves. Highlight it against a crisp white button-down blouse.

A perfect accessory match! Vintage Bakelite-inspired necklace with colored crystals and resin fanned leaves. Highlight it against a crisp white button-down blouse.

As I ponder the distractions of the last several weeks, which have tried to keep me from my writing, I think back to that one wondrous night of writing, which is not unlike a runner’s high. How to get back to that state of sheer joy? This is where the older, wiser self rises in freedom from the younger self, who has crumpled under the strain. Stand yourself up. Ask yourself: What do you really want? And then go to it. There is precious little time. With great defiance, go to your happiness. Many people are still trying to determine what makes them happy or would make them happy. But for those of us who have figured it out, against all odds, we must find our way. There are many more dawns waiting to greet me as I write.

Happy Friday!

TGIF! I am ready for what David catches for dinner and a much-deserved glass of wine!

TGIF! I am ready for what David catches for dinner and a much-deserved glass of wine!

Celebrating Kazuo Ishiguro on his birthday

As a writer, I’m more interested in what people tell themselves happened rather than what actually happened.
– Kazuo Ishiguro, Japanese-born British novelist, born November 8, 1954

When Kazuo Ishiguro came to San Francisco’s A Clean, Well-Lighted Place for Books in April 2005 – the Opera Plaza bookstore, one of my favorites, closed the following year – I made the pilgrimage across the Bay. I packed his five novels, including my first edition copy of The Remains of the Day purchased from Berkeley’s Black Oak Books – another favorite indie bookstore, which closed its Shattuck storefront in 2009, though reopened later on San Pablo Ave. That spring he had just come out with his latest book, Never Let Me Go.

Black is a literary color, with some red pop.

Black is a literary color, with some red pop.

I tried reading Never Let Me Go soon after his visit. I couldn’t get into it, much to my dismay. When the movie of the same name came out in 2010, I vowed I wouldn’t see it until I read the novel. I’ve tried picking it up a few times more, but I’ve still not seen the movie. I know it will be a matter of time when I’m in the right frame of mind to receive it. When I first started reading The Remains of the Day, recommended by my co-workers at the time, I had the same trouble losing myself in the world of the characters. To quote Ishiguro from a Paris Review interview published in the Spring 2008, No. 184 issue: “I’ve never felt that I have a particular facility at writing interesting prose. I write quite mundane prose.” True, I wasn’t pulled into his characters because of his prose. But I kept going on the journey – each novel is a journey. It wasn’t until I had read the last page and put the book down that I took in everything about the novel, what had transpired, what Mr. Stevens discovered about his life. And I told myself, his story was unassuming as you go along, but in its totality, the novel took my breath away. The feeling is not unlike stopping finally and looking back at one’s life and coming to an epiphany about all those years. The revelation can blow you away.

Lava 9 earrings (Berkeley, CA), BCBG MazAzria statement ring, and Sundance stack of rings.

Lava 9 earrings (Berkeley, CA), BCBG MaxAzria statement ring, and Sundance stack of rings.

My favorite novel of his is When We Were Orphans. It came out in January 2000. I can’t remember if I read it before or after my son, Jacob, was born. At any rate, at the time I was overwhelmed with the thought of parenthood. So the nut of the novel (“Christopher Banks’s parents disappear when he is a child, and he grows up believing that he can find them and turn back the clock – that they’ll carry on where they left off, and he’ll pick up a kind of happy childhood again,” from Ishiguro’s own words in his interview in the Paris Review) resonated with me. What I appreciate about Ishiguro is reflected in the quote that opens this blog post. How we remember things can be quite different than what actually happened, and that is not only more interesting, it makes for more interesting people, characters. In fact, what we think happened is more important than what actually happened. “Memory is quite central for me. Part of it is that I like the actual texture of writing through memory,” Ishiguro once said.

Dolce Vita bootie with silver accents against a bold Eva Franco puffy skirt.

Dolce Vita bootie with silver accents against a bold Eva Franco puffy skirt.

Given the fact that his first three novels were set in specific locations and historical time periods, I was surprised to hear him talk at the San Francisco book reading about the constraints of specificity, of not wanting to do that with Never Let Me Go. He was going for universality, stripping away the distractions of time and location. I was somewhat taken aback because at the time I was near completing one version of my novel, which was a historical novel – specific time and place.

In an interview in the Atlantic Online in October 2000, he said: “It’s all very well to say that wars or revolutions are bigger, that a love story somehow becomes more profound if it’s set against the backdrop of the Cuban revolution or the Russian revolution, but that’s not always true. There is a difference between being big and being deep. To achieve depth in art and in fiction you have to look at small things, things that aren’t always obviously important in a history-book sense. I think that’s often what we go to novels for – that depth.”

To balance out a puffy bold skirt, wear one color on both ends with a form-fitting blouse and opaque tights.

To balance out a puffy bold skirt, wear one color on both ends with a form-fitting blouse and opaque tights.

While I appreciate what Ishiguro is saying here, the two need not be mutually exclusive. You can, and always should, look at small things. They need not get lost in wars or revolutions. At the same time, you don’t set a love story in a revolution in order to make it more profound. It’s that the love story cannot be told any other way. The revolution is integral to the love story and vice versa.

Talking about Ishiguro, remembering his novels, and reading his interviews make me want to reread his novels. I’m not sure I’d want to have tea with him – a bit intimidating – but I will raise a glass today in honor of his birthday!

Welcome November: ‘in everything, give thanks’

You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance.
– Kahlil Gibran, Lebanese-American artist, poet, and writer, from The Prophet

When we moved back into our remodeled house in the spring of 2007, I saw a board in a catalog that simply said: “In everything, give thanks.” It ended up gracing our family room wall. Every now and then, I look up to it and I am reminded that we need not remember to give thanks just at Thanksgiving. It’s a daily ritual if we can find that quiet moment for reflection. I was supposed to take this past week off to work on my novel, but too many scheduled meetings and revised deadlines prevented me from asking for the week off. While I was discouraged, I told myself to keep plugging away when I could and everything would be fine. Last week ended with the beginning of a new month, the beginning of November. The end of the week also brought little and big joys, which afforded me moments of gratitude.

Combining leather and vegan leather in a boxy top and sweat pant style.

Combining leather and vegan leather in a boxy top and track pants.

Revision accepted
The revision that I had to do, the one that I fretted over because I didn’t think I could fit in everything the client wanted? I made an executive decision to include three concepts and no more. Though I had approached this re-do with mental roadblocks and a writer’s block, once I made that decision, it was easy to write. A burden was lifted. I sent it in, and the client liked it. Gone girl. The project and the stress, that is!

Ready for the Jenny K fundraiser with these accessories: Sundance rings, Lava 9 drop earrings (Berkeley, CA), and Carmela Rose reclaimed vintage sterling silver necklace (Jenny K, El Cerrito, CA).

Ready for the Jenny K fundraiser with these accessories: Sundance rings, Lava 9 drop earrings (Berkeley, CA), and Carmela Rose reclaimed vintage sterling silver necklace (Jenny K, El Cerrito, CA).

Jenny K fundraiser
This past Saturday was the last day of a week-long fundraiser for my son’s middle school. This is a fundraiser that I started last year with Jen Komaromi, local woman entrepreneur of Jenny K, (6921 Stockton Avenue, El  Cerrito, CA 94530, 510.528.5350). It culminated with a two-hour wine and cheese event. Our new PTSA vice president provided all the beverages and food, and our energetic and cheerful fundraising chair brought her group of friends to shop. I thank Jen for her generosity in donating proceeds of the sales to our middle school. She has always supported the local schools and the community. And I thank my PTSA colleagues and all the shoppers who came out to support Portola and Jenny K (support your local businesses!). It warmed my heart to be a part of this annual fundraiser.

A Ryan Du Val mural above the storefronts graces Jenny K gift store and Well Grounded Tea & Coffee Bar.

Jenny K gift shop on the far left hosted the second November Portola Middle School fundraiser. Thanks, Jen!

 

Lunafest planning going well
As part of the Lunafest East Bay Organizing Committee, I am in charge of a new part of the format – coffee and dessert after the screening of the nine short films, by, for and about women. By the end of last week, I had secured two wonderful women entrepreneurs who will be serving their fabulous baked creations. More on this later. But suffice to say, Lunafest on March 8th, at 7:30pm at the El Cerrito High School Performing Arts Theater (540 Ashbury Avenue, El Cerrito, CA 94530, 510.231.1437) is going to be a wonderful evening of engaging, creative short films by women directors (in fact, one of the directors will be at this event) and fundraising for the Breast Cancer Fund and other local groups. Mark your calendars and bring your friends. This is a terrific community event.

Grab a vintage floral handbag (Secondi, Washington, DC), and I'm all set.

Grab a vintage floral handbag (Secondi, Washington, DC), and I’m all set.

Finis: novel completed
This past Sunday I completed the last major revision of my novel, A Village in the Fields. I started the novel in May 1997. I wrote numerous revisions, removed a major character, cut down from a high of a thousand pages to its current 461 pages. Much has happened in my life since its beginnings – marriage, work, two children, work, home remodel, work, public education volunteerism and advocacy, work, losing my mother, work – with some false starts on thinking it was done when in fact it was not. I’m that much closer now. The last leg of this journey is reading it straight through, from page 1 to page 461, to check the flow, the language, and to fix a few more things. I have never met any of my big self-imposed deadlines (I was supposed to have finished the novel each of the last three years), but I’m hoping to finish the entire manuscript by Thanksgiving. Finishing the last chapter on Sunday afternoon – after waking up to an epiphany about it Saturday morning – was deeply gratifying. And I am ever so grateful to have stuck with it, to have had close friends lend their critical eye and cheer me on, to have been humbled by the rejections back in 2006 and to have found the confidence and perseverance to get up and keep going, and to know what was wrong with it and to fix it. Once I’m completely done with this journey, it begins anew with another journey. And I am more than ready for that next journey, bursting with joy and gratitude.

Outfit close-up with a strappy pointy pump with metal accents.

Outfit close-up with a strappy pointy pump with metal accents.

Sofia DeMay: Giving back to kids in Haiti and on a global level

You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
– Kahlil Gibran, Lebanese-American artist, poet, and writer

Selling Girl Scout cookies, at age 11.

Selling Girl Scout cookies, at age 11.

Throughout her young life, Sofia DeMay, 17, has always been involved in community service. Guided by her desire to give back to the community, through her years as a Girl Scout, Sofia has packed and delivered groceries for the elderly, cooked for the Harrison House at Children’s Hospital in Oakland, and gone Christmas caroling, among other activities. I’ve known Sofia since David and I became good friends with her parents, Raissa and Mike, about five years ago. Sofia babysat our kids when they were younger, and I’ve watched her grow up to be an articulate, conscientious, intelligent, and beautiful person inside and out. When Raissa told me about her impending trip to Haiti back in February, I knew I wanted to hear about her experiences when she got back.

Opening hearts, opening doors
As a senior this past year at St. Mary’s College High School in Berkeley, Sofia was drawn to a program affiliated with her school and founded by parent alumna Margaret Trost. In January 2000, Trost went to Haiti on a service trip, volunteering at an orphanage and hospice founded by Mother Teresa. She met Father Gerard Jean-Juste, a Haitian priest who wanted to establish a food program to serve the children of Port-au-Prince. Inspired, Trost returned to the U.S. and began raising money for his cause. As the fundraising took off, she founded the What If Foundation (616 The Alameda, Berkeley, CA 94707, 510.528.1100), which helps support Father Jean-Juste’s food, after-school, and summer education programs. As one of St. Mary’s students who helped put together care packages for Haitian kids under the What If Foundation, Sofia was curious about Haiti. “I had heard about it, but I had never actually learned about it,” she said.

Sofia with a new Haitian friend.

Sofia with a new Haitian friend.

Every year, a group of St. Mary’s students raise funds to go to Haiti for a week and work in Father Jean-Juste’s programs. Sofia knew that Haiti had staged a successful slave rebellion, but her perception of the small island nation was largely informed by negative media coverage – poverty, diseases such as AIDS, political unrest, and violence. On the list of countries that the U.S. State Department has issued a travel warning, Haiti was a place Sofia never considered a destination. “I didn’t know it [visiting the country] was something you could do, but I was interested in traveling to a place like that to figure things out for myself,” she said. More importantly, she added, “I was really into building a relationship with kids in another country; that’s what really drew me to it.”

As part of their orientation on cultural awareness, Sofia and nine of her fellow classmates read numerous articles and two books – former Haitian President Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s Eyes of the Heart: Seeking a Path for the Poor in the Age of Globalization and Trost’s On That Day, Everybody Ate: One Woman’s Story of Hope and Possibility in Haiti. After four months of preparation, Sofia and her classmates arrived in Haiti in early March. The philosophy and world religion teachers who chaperone the student groups were accompanied by a translator and a driver. Armed guards watched over them at the places in which they stayed.

A typical street in Haiti (photo by Sofia).

A typical street in Haiti (photo by Sofia DeMay).

Real-world education
On the second day of their trip, Sofia and her classmates met with a local historian who presented the history of her country to them, which included its one-sided relationships within the international community. Sofia was “shocked” upon learning about, for instance, the U.S. embargo and intervention in Haiti. “I realized that what everyone said about Haiti was really wrong and so skewed by the media,” she said. History, she came to see, was written by people in power. “It didn’t hit home until that moment,” she added.

Later in the week, Sofia and her classmates participated in a Q&A with a group of Haitian students and their translator, which exposed the differences between the two countries’ school systems. In the U.S., especially for seniors applying for college – which Sofia and her classmates were in the midst of at the time – students are very competitive and always trying to get head. Haitian students, however, consider education a great privilege because the majority of kids don’t have the financial means to go to school. Students interact within a “brotherhood” or “sisterhood,” helping one another to ensure success for all.

Sofia getting a Haitian drum lesson.

Sofia getting a Haitian drum lesson.

“It was such a moving moment because I would never have thought of that or would have imagined kids back home doing that,” Sofia said. “It was as if they were bound together somehow; they owed it to one another to share the little that they had.” Sofia also noted that the students understood that the enemy isn’t each other; it’s the system and the exam itself. In addition to the prohibitive expense of going to school, the university examination is so difficult that only 1 percent of the population goes on to higher education. With the current government favoring the elite and the gap widening between rich and poor, school, not surprisingly, is not encouraged for the masses.

Life-altering moments
After participating in the after-school program, Sofia and her classmates helped serve meals for the food program, which is run in a huge tent. As the children congregated, the tent filled with their laughter. When it was time to serve, however, Sofia noted that the entire atmosphere changed. The kids ate just as quickly as the food was being served, with many returning to the line, still hungry. The older kids were making sure their younger siblings had enough to eat. Despite the program’s best efforts, there is never enough food to feed all of the kids. “Four of us broke down crying,” Sofia related. “We’ve never experienced that kind of desperation before. At home I can walk into my house and get as much food as I want, whereas these little kids here can’t even get one meal. It put my life into perspective.”

Closing prayer with the kids at Sakala - solidarity.

Closing prayer with the kids at Sakala – solidarity.

Toward the end of their week, Sofia and her classmates visited another after-school program, Sakala, located in Cité Soleil, an impoverished and crowded commune located in the Port-au-Prince metropolitan area. The school, which is walled in, was a different world altogether and a safe haven for the kids, who were happily playing basketball, soccer, and ping-pong in the courtyard. After helping set up a water filter for the school, Sofia and her classmates joined in the sports activities. At the end of the day, despite the language barrier, they banded together and created a mural with handprints. When they ran out of paint, the kids pressed their palms together with the other kids and, smiling, said to one another: “Now you have color! Now you have color!”

Sharing paint for a mural.

Sharing paint for a mural.

“It was such a moving moment because I would never have thought of that or would have imagined kids back home doing that,” Sofia said. “I wrote in my journal that night that I finally felt a purpose in my life. I felt like I was actually making a difference.” Daniel Tileas, who runs Sakala, explained to Sofia and her classmates that the kids don’t care about money; rather, they value knowing that people care about them. “That moment just made me realize that there’s actually something you can do with your life that will fulfill you and that you can truly make a difference,” she said.

A Changing world view
Her experience in Haiti made Sofia question her life and wonder how we as a global society can allow hunger in fourth-world countries to exist. “Coming home, I was so much more aware of things,” she said. Sofia made “little changes” to her lifestyle: She scaled back going out to eat and driving a car, and instead of spending money she had earned, she donated it to the What If Foundation. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she talked about her trip, with the goal of enlightening her classmates and friends about “cultural consciousness.” At her grandfather’s birthday party in late March, she told one of her grandmother’s friends about Haiti. This friend, who had recently inherited a large sum of money, was so moved by Sofia’s experiences that she donated the entire inheritance to the What If Foundation to help build a school in Haiti.

Sofia and her mother, Raissa, and her grandparents.

Sofia and her mother, Raissa, and her maternal grandparents.

The moment Sofia came home, she knew she would return to Haiti, where she felt she could create more of an impact there than she thought she could at home. She made good on her vow to herself, going back with another group of students – including four returning classmates from her March trip – the last week in July, and further enriching her Haitian experience.

Sofia at her high school graduation, with her parents and brother, Nic.

Sofia at her high school graduation, with her parents and brother, Nic.

Sofia always knew that her career path would involve being able to give back. “I never realized that I could do it on a global scale,” she said, with wonder in her voice, until her trip to Haiti. Sofia, now a freshman at the University of California, Los Angeles, is majoring in Global Studies. “After going to Haiti, I realized there’s so much I don’t know and that we’re either not taught or dictated by the people who write the history books,” she said. As a result, she plans on traveling to other parts of the world and conducting her own research. When I asked what she might do with her career, she brought up a program that builds sanitation systems in the poor areas of Haiti, which combines her love for Haiti, giving back, and biology and ecology, her favorite school subjects. She imagines spearheading a similar type of program after graduation.

Telling Haiti’s story
Sofia talks about Haiti with emotions and descriptions at once vivid and immediate, as if she has just come back. At the end of her first trip, Tileas told Sofia and her classmates that if there is one thing they could do to give back it would be to “tell Haiti’s story.” For Sofia, it has become second nature because, as she said, “Haiti has become such a big part of me.”

Sofia and her family in India, December 2012.

Sofia and her family in India, December 2012.

Celebrating Larry Itliong’s 100th birthday, with an excerpt

I don’t see why I should bow my head when I could hold it high, or place it in the hands of my enemies when I can defeat them.
– Jose Rizal, Filipino nationalist, writer, and revolutionary

Larry Itliong, circa 1960s.

Larry Itliong, circa 1960s.

In honor of Filipino American labor leader Larry Itliong, who was born today, 100 years ago, in San Nicolas, Pangasinan, the Philippines, I present another excerpt from my novel-in-progress, A Village in the Fields, which is about the Great Delano Grape Strikes, in which Itliong was the leader for the Filipino farm workers. Following my last excerpt, we find our protagonist, Fausto Empleo, as a boy, with his first experience of America on his home soil, in his hometown of San Esteban, Ilocos Sur, the Philippines:

Although his father worked him hard, Fausto never missed school. When Miss Arnold presented him with a map of the world for his geography lesson, he was stunned to see how small the islands were compared to other countries, how vast the oceans were, and how big the world was. He learned about American history, and George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. By the end of his first year, before he turned eight, he could read and write a little in English, and add and subtract. He was looking forward to mastering English and learning the industrial skills she was teaching the older boys.

But one Sunday after mass when he came home, Miss Arnold was at the door, talking to his mother, who had stayed home sick. He wondered why she was not at church. She rested her hand on his shoulder, and then withdrew it, her touch so fleeting he thought he had dreamed it up.

“I’ve come to say goodbye, Fausto,” she said.

“Miss Arnold is needed at home,” his mother said. “Her father is very ill.”

Miss Arnold patted a handkerchief across her moist upper lip. “Your father was right about one thing: In the end, our families need us and we need them.”

Fausto wanted to strike the door. He didn’t want his father to be right. He didn’t want Miss Arnold to admit it. But he held his arms down, digging his fists into his thighs. “Are you coming back?”

“I’ll miss the planting season. It’s almost here, isn’t it?” she said, as if she didn’t hear him. “It’s my favorite time—accordians and guitars, singing, dancing in the mud. Such a lovely tradition, such a lovely people.” She fastened her gaze on Fausto. “I’m going home for good, but I hope to see you again. Perhaps you can come visit me in Kansas City when you’re all grown up.”

Fausto’s father emerged from the shadows and stood in the doorway. “There is no reason for him to leave San Esteban,” he said.

Miss Arnold’s eyes did not waver from Fausto. “With an education, you can do anything. I grew up on a farm, and look where I’ve been in my life! Remember Lincoln, where he came from and what he became. You can become anything you want.”

His mother coughed into the sleeve of her kamisa. “We can never imagine sending Fausto to the States, Miss Arnold. It is too dear a price for us,” she murmured.

Miss Arnold’s cheeks reddened. “Please excuse me for my indiscretion. I should leave now and pack. I’ve accumulated so many things in my eighteen years here!”

“Have you not seen your father in eighteen years?” His father’s voice was sharp.

Miss Arnold stood still for a moment. “No,” she whispered, blinking hard.

His father bowed his head. “Miss Arnold, we are sorry for your loss.”

“Pa, her father is not lost yet,” Fausto said. It was bad luck to talk about someone as if he or she had already passed away.

“It is a loss,” Miss Arnold said. She stuffed her handkerchief beneath her sleeve and tugged on the stiff cuff of her suit jacket. “Thank you all for your kindness.”

Fausto stood in her way. “What will become of our lessons?”

“Fausto!” His mother pinched his arm.

“Let Miss Arnold go,” his father said.

“Josefa Zamora will be taking my place,” Miss Arnold said. “She told me she will try to open up the schoolhouse on Sunday afternoons for you.”

Fausto didn’t know what else to say. Time would not stop. He stepped aside.

“I have fond memories of my stay here,” Miss Arnold said to Fausto’s mother and father. She knelt in front of him and gathered him in her arms. He smelled lavender in her hair. It made him think of the bars of soap at the schoolhouse for her students to wash their hands. She touched his cheek. “I shall miss you the most, my little spark of light—so full of promise. Remember, you can do more. You have it in you.”

She stood up, sucking the air around him, and hurried away. Fausto ran after her, but he stopped at the gate. He watched her leave, watched her arms swing by her side, her feet, in their brown, button-up boots, march—as they always did—across the dirt road. Then she was gone, swallowed by the bagbagotot bushes, the bend in the road.

“No more,” his father said in Ilocano. He clamped his hand on Fausto’s shoulder. “School made you worthless in the fields. I was going to stop it, but she did it for me.”

Fausto locked his knees, dug his feet in the earth. “If I finish seventh grade, I can teach school, too,” he insisted. “Just like Josefa Zamora.”

His father snorted. “Teaching is for teachers.”

Fausto wanted to bolt after Miss Arnold. She was still somewhere down that road. He imagined him next to her, ignoring the blisters on his feet from his shoes, wanting to keep pace with her boots. “I can become a teacher,” he said.

His father spun him around and turned his hands over. “See?” With his leathery finger he pushed the calluses in Fausto’s skin. “You are meant to work the land.”

He let go and strode into the house. His mother followed, trudging up the stairs. His lelang, quiet as a house lizard, emerged from behind the door.

Fausto turned to her. “Lelang Purificacion, are you with Pa?”

Her face was full of hard lines and sorrow. “Your father has his reasons, Fausto. You are too young to understand. There is so much you must learn.”

“I was learning!” he said. “You are all against me. Now I am alone.”

“Alone?” She stared at him as if he’d spoken in a foreign tongue. “You will never be alone, Fausto. You will always be with us.”

He shook his head and ran out of the yard, covering several hundred meters before realizing he’d gone in the opposite direction of Miss Arnold. Each breath scalded his lungs. His legs were giving out, his toes wet with popped blisters. He fell to the side of the road, crashing into a thatch of cogon grass. Its sharp-pointed leaves pricked his face. He rolled over and pawed at his ears, his lelang‘s words burrowing like a tick.

Author pose.

Author pose.