Finally home: But for how long?

Finally home: But for how long?

In the past two weeks, two amazing things have happened: I moved into affordable housing that I have been waiting for years to achieve, and I started my new position as the Communications and Development Coordinator at the Community Alliance of Tenants here in Oregon. It seems like a weird twist of fate that I would move on to do both in the span of 7 days, but justice has piercing vision.

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My husband’s dating profile while we were still married.

 

 

By this point, many of you have heard my story and I’ve practiced telling it hundreds of times. I feel compelled to tell it because every time I do I feel freer. I used to feel condemned to silence, to my own discomfort, but the more I shared my story, the more solidarity and strength I have found and offered.

Years ago I was the wife of a wealthy British expat. I met him in Berlin when I was 22. I was married young, the same year I met him. He moved us to America, back to Portland where I went to college. Once he had secured American residency, I was driven out of my home and threatened with retaliation if I came back. I felt like a dog that someone didn’t want anymore. There was no fight, or lead up. I was just told to pack a bag and abandoned by a man who claimed he loved me. I had gone from rags to riches to rags again, having started my time in the United States as a Salvadoran refugee.

The rental crisis in Portland was in full swing when I found myself houseless in late summer 2014. Airbnb run amock, private developers eyed corners were beggars could scarcely sleep at night without being harassed by the City. I was scared. My husband asked me if I thought I was “too good” for the life I had left behind.

news-12west-aia-awardNo. I was afraid. Just like my parents were, just like I was when I was a child. How horrible it was to not know where to put my head. Other women my age were cuddling their first-borns, just getting married themselves. My wedding dress was stuffed in my husband’s closet while other women asked him “Did a woman used to live here? Do you have a wife?”

There is a corner of my life I still do not understand – the futility of understanding a man’s cruelty. When rents skyrocket the way they do here in Portland, and in the Bay Area, women like me, like us, fall into desperation.

We don’t frequently think of poverty as a women’s issue, per se, but the face of poverty is female. Mothers with children, Black women, trans women, disabled women, women escaping domestic violence: these are the women who cannot afford to live alone. These are women who are coerced through capitalism to live and stay in the arms of men who make more money than them. Through no fault of their own, these women are given the choice to be homeless or go back. Rent control and the rental crisis are women’s issues.

When I was alone and picking through my last things in the luggage I lived with, I remember begging my husband to let me go home in voicemails. He deleted them, threw my letters away, but I cried out to him to please help me go home. When the pain grew too heavy, I tried to check myself into a mental health clinic for suicidal ideation. That is when I learned my husband had cut my health insurance. I was still married, still his wife, but I had no other thoughts than “he is trying to kill me.”

I often kick myself for the sense of loss I have for that man. I can still close my eyes and see him like it was yesterday. There is not a single day I don’t think about him: my husband. The only one I ever had. If there was ever a case for fate or a higher power, it was that I clawed myself out of the hole he left me in and that I am housed today.

The concierge he treated so poorly saw his actions. The neighbors he dismissed reported back to me. The baristas, the women he accosted in bars and online, many of them searched out his name and only learned who he was because of my decision to write it all down.

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Not knowing where I was going to sleep next was one of the most distressing ordeals of my life.

 

Years later, one of the women recognized me. She was the property manager of a new building with affordable housing. She told me I would finally have a home. I cried because I had not known that feeling for so long. I do not know where I would be now without it.

The work I am doing now represents the work that made me whole. I am letting you know that Oregon needs rent control and an end right now to no-cause evictions and extreme rent hikes. If I could have found affordable housing after my husband abandoned me, I would have been able to re-establish my life more quickly. One of the biggest indicators for whether women overcoming domestic violence can thrive is if they can find a home. You’re even more likely to find a good job if you have a stable place to live. It’s a catch 22, but it’s the reality for thousands of women in Oregon every year.

Even if you own a home, I hope you will help me spread the word about HB2004, also known as Stable Homes for Oregon Families. Please make sure other women like me stay housed. Write or call your legislator and tell them why this matters. But go beyond that. Figure out where people are living when they lose their homes near you. Where do they go? Where do the women who suffer go? Who is profiting off their sorrow and pain?

17861920_1665967807045068_1438011596778990259_nI challenge you to follow the trail of money. See who is making money when a family loses their home. Look up how much money it is. Look up everything you need to know and do something about it. Challenge the people who kick women out to offer affordable housing and support rent control. We cannot continue to treat our poorest people like this. We cannot thrive as a society when we are hemorrhaging our young people who cannot afford to buy homes like this. Our elderly cannot simply be thrown into the streets because of profit margins. Limitless growth for the property management industry is not possible.

Our lawmakers work for us – remember that. Hold them accountable for what they do to the meekest of your peers.

San Patricio Batallion

San Patricio Batallion

In Texas, St. Patrick’s Day has a little known historical significance. During the Mexican-American War, while the U.S. was engaged in an illegal invasion and occupation of Mexico, hundreds of Irishmen left the U.S. Army and fought on the side of Mexico. They realized that they had more in common with the people of Mexico than they did with the invading force. Many of them had grown up in Ireland in poor/working class Catholic areas and they too had lived through their home being invaded and occupied by a foreign army, in their case the British Military. So when they were deployed to Mexico and realized they were on the wrong side they organized the San Patricio (St. Patrick) Batallion and gave their lives defending the people of Mexico. Let’s spend today and this weekend remembering the spirit of international solidarity that the St. Patrick Batallion showed in 1847. And let’s not forget that both Mexican and Irish lands are still being illegally occupied by foreign armies.
British troops out of Ireland!

Solidarity between all colonized peoples!

Disney In 48 Hours

Disney In 48 Hours

I had a great time in Disney Land this weekend, thanks to a group trip that I took to learn more about the ins and outs of branding, customer service, and emotionally connecting to your clients.15055644_1605813203060529_6291833328063458022_n.jpg

I hadn’t been to Disney Land since I was a kid, so the entire experience was very different than how I remembered it – and probably different than the way anyone else might too. One thing I learned visiting the parks (I got to visit California Adventure as well) was that every person approaches the park differently. Some people in the group went very early in the morning and got everything out of the way taking a midday nap, while others (like me) started the day a little later and stayed late into the evening when things really closed down around 1 a.m.  The first day, when we hit up California Adventure, I took some time out of my day to hit up the hotel spa and get a very special Disney massage. The treatment was exemplary and showed off one of the things that make this complicated place such a treasured experience – the service was amazing. The woman who booked me knew I was on a time crunch because I wanted to attend a musical at 7:30, so got me a half-hour session which wasn’t normally on the menu. My masseuse was so gentle and friendly and made sure I had water and knew right away my legs were hurting. She made sure I’d be able to walk through the many extra hours I had ahead of me.

And when I was done, I had enough time to score myself a cocktail at the replica theater of the original place where Snow White first debuted. This one was called the Poisoned Apple and came with a souvenir “poison apple” – a waterproof cube that can be turned on and off and dropped into a drink at any time. A thoughtful, fun way to take the magic home. I brought them home and showed them off to my partner who immediately fell in love with it. I also got us something else that I really wanted us to share:

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engagement rings!

I think I sized my partner correctly, but just to make sure, I asked the sales woman at the store (somewhere in Fantasy Land) if there was something I could do if the ring was the wrong size. She wrote down a phone number and said if I had any problems someone would be available to help us size them retroactively and get a replacement. They seem to fit but Phoenix says it’s a bit tight – so we might need that number.

I got to take a number of photos that are perfect for parents and friends that want a holiday memory of me taking a trip through the Happiest Place on Earth too.

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Along with several shots of me with the one thing I promised myself I would not buy – that’s right, a pair of mouse ears.

15129961_1606242043017645_1960408763_n.jpgI arrived Disney skeptical – keep in mind I come from a leftist family that doesn’t like big shows of money or power. I myself assumed Disney would be a more opulent capitalist experience, but to my surprise, it was just the break I needed from the world in which things have been really violent to immigrants and refugees like my family lately. The place is kind and gentle with heavy souls, even my own. I am a journalist and writer at heart, so it seems I might always be carrying a bit of the world with me. Disney must have had more magic than I expected.

I sent dozens of photos to my friends back home who know I have been scared and confused these past few months as white nationalism has been on the rise in the United States. The people that love me were so happy to hear I had taken a moment to care for myself and enjoy the gorgeous California weather for a much-needed break.

I can’t wait to bring back some of the joy I got to the communities I live in. You don’t need a $200 ticket to a land of adventure to show kindness to the people around you – although it certainly doesn’t hurt! I challenge those around me to do something genuinely kind for an immigrant or refugee in their life right now. I challenge myself to be the person I am fresh out of a joyful vacation even when things get tough. I challenge myself to find a deeper part of myself with a vision of what I want to create. I hope you will join me.

Need a little inspiration? You can always check out the cheesy holiday vacation video I made for my mom and dad.

See You at the Death Rattle Writers Festival, and in the new Unchaste Anthology

See You at the Death Rattle Writers Festival, and in the new Unchaste Anthology

I’m excited to announce I’ll be a headliner next week at the Death Rattle Writers Festival in Nampa, Idaho. I’m excited to read with fellow northwest writers, including Jamondria Harris and Mike Young.

I have never been to Idaho, but I am eager to scratch my travel itch. There has never been anything more exhilarating for me than boarding an airplane, knowing that in a matter of hours I’ll be somewhere entirely different. I love the excitement of packing, of scrambling to get to the airport on time, of the cute snacks they hand out, of watching the world turn into tiny dots underneath you. Even more excited is traveling to a place where you are wanted – where people called on you to be.

Like many people I have often struggled with a sensation of not knowing where I belong. I think the sense is heightened for immigrants and refugees, and growing up a Salvadoran girl I never quite felt safe calling a place home. Traveling has always alleviated a lot of that for me. When I travel, I’m not obligated to be “from” that place. I’m allowed to just be a traveler, someone passing through, and maybe that’s the truth: my hometown is simply the sensation of being new. I am from a mixed feeling of exile, desire, loneliness, and excitement. That’s what it is like to be a refugee. It is like always being on a plane.

I know the writers running the Death Rattle Writers Festival because I met them when they invited me to read with them here in Portland. Thanks to Mike Young, someone who has always shown me the kindness of an old neighbor even though I feel like I’ve hardly known anyone for longer than two years in my life, I was able to read with Dig Reeder, Griffin Rae Birdsong, and Diana Forgione as they toured through the area.

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Unchaste Anthology, Volume I

I will be reading on Sunday, October 9th, at Lloyd Square in downtown Nampa from 5:30 to 7 PM with other Pacific Northwest writers.

I also have a few more exciting October and early November appearances ahead.

I’m excited to say I will spend my birthday this year reading with fellow Unchaste Readers for the new Unchaste Anthology launch – which will feature my writing along with dozens of other women. You can support the Unchaste Readers Series, along with its future anthologies, by backing its Kickstarter here. We’ll be reading October 22nd, with exact time and location to be announced.

Then, at Wordstock 2016 the Oregon Writers of Color is hosting a reading for Lit Crawl on Reparations. Stay tuned for more details as we get closer to the date!

I’m excited to be a part of a variety of readings that uplift voices that so often are not heard. When I read, I try my best to commit to reading new material whenever I can, because I know readers come out of the woodwork for a unique opportunity to make a connection with a writer and storyteller.

As I work on my next reading and prepare my travel bag for my time in Nampa, I continue translating for El Hispanic News and boosting Sankofa Collective Northwest through their relaunch. I also continue my weekly column at the Rumpus, Notable Portland.

 

 

 

Bring your Vision to Wordstock

Bring your Vision to Wordstock

Portland friends:

As some of you know I’m on the Wordstock advisory council here for Literary Arts, a writing-focused nonprofit based in Oregon. In November, Literary Arts brings local, national, and international writers and readers alike to the Portland Art Museum for a uniquely Portland literary experience. The festival saw over 8,000 visitors last year, and this year we expect to see even more.

While there is an opportunity to visit for literary fans from all over the state and the world, we also have an opportunity to do more. We are empowered to represent the breadth of the literary spectrum by curating different reading shows for this year’s Wordstock Lit Crawl.

If you have an organization that can and should be represented at Wordstock’s Lit Crawl, I urge you to submit as soon as possible. We would love to make this year’s festival and readings the most diverse to date – and like any nonprofit, we can only do that from the ground up.

I just submitted an idea on behalf of the Oregon Writers of Color on the theme of “Reparations” and what life could and would be like for nonwhite creators if they had the same opportunities others do. What ideas do you have?

Bring your ideas, themes, and readers to our application form now. 

Fundraising for PFLAG Portland Black Chapter

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It’s not news to any of you – much less those who have been close to QTPOC in any capacity, that the past month has been full of violence and triggering events. The bloodshed, the loss of so many Black lives, has put a special drain on organizations catering to Black folks, especially Black LGBTQ folks, since Orlando.

As an Afro-Latina, I live at the intersection of many of these identities. My partner is trans, I am queer, and my life matters too.

One of the organizations that has helped me and people like me the most in Portland has been PFLAG Portland Black Chapter, the first chapter in the country to cater specifically to African American and Afrodiasporic LGBTQ communities.

I work as their Communications Specialist, and organize regularly with them to ensure our united communities feel at home, and are cherished while we are alive here and now – instead of later, once we’re a hashtag, a viral video, a ribbon, a picture at a vigil.

So tonight at my dear friend Sara June Woods’ book launch party for Careful Mountain, a group of us collectively decided we would donate copies of our work and other books to a raffle. The proceeds from the raffle will go to PFLAG Portland Black Chapter and to providing advocacy, legal support, youth programming, and more to local QTPOC.

 

I will be reading, alongside Sara, Manuel Arturo Abreu, Irene Milsom, Ines Falcö, Prairie M. Faul, and Stephanie Stiffler. You will have a chance to win a copy of my debut chapbook, No One Remembered Your Name But I Wrote It Down.

Please join us at 7 PM at the People’s Food Co-op in Southeast Portland.

I am grateful to my community, and yes, I have been writing endlessly and creating in our names. I don’t want to wake up a hashtag.

I will close with a video that has spoken to me during this time, Sleep, by the Roots.