2013, Part I: Iced-Chai Latte

2013 was the year I discovered Chai. Masala chai is a flavored tea made by brewing black tea with other Indian spices and herbs. Although the combination of those spices and herbs varies across borders, its smell is mostly exactly the same. I first tried it against my will at one of those bagel places that become popular over night. The guys (my boyfriend at the time and his friends) made plans to go on a Sunday morning and so we went. I ordered a salmon and cream cheese sesame seeds bagel after spending an unnecessary amount of time talking to the inexperienced cashier about menu options. Pressured by the line behind me, I was rushed into an order I wasn’t quite comfortable with. Ergo, the small iced chai latte. Having an accent and trouble speaking in public, I often find myself ordering food I don’t want. After taking onions and peppers off my salmon & cream cheese only sesame seeds bagel, I wasn’t impressed by neither the food or by whatever the guys were talking about. Someone did something during yesterday’s four-hour session, I heard. It was apparently a big deal in Berklee’s music world.

As I drifted away from the conversation and into wondering where did the girl sitting next to us buy the crop top she was wearing, the iced chai latte met my heart. The sweet and cinnamony flavor activated the taste buds numbed by that awful bagel. The cool touch of the ice against the hot tea created the perfect feel to enjoy of that light-breezed Sunday morning. And so the obsession began. After ordering it at Starbucks and getting highly disappointed by whatever they gave me, the quest to find the best chai latte started. 

After months of looking and digging I still haven’t found a better chai than the one in the coffee shop next to my school. Java’s is known for being expensive, even more expensive than Starbucks, but damn good, unlike Starbucks. They serve Julia Organic’s Brewed Tea so I like to assume it's good tea, the best one around. Their tea is curiously in powder form, which makes the tea not only able to mix perfectly with the milk, but able to mingle in angelical creaminess. The owner, or whom I believe to own the place for his barista expertise, leaves little crumbs of tea in my latte purposely to emphasize the flavor. Mmm, totally worth $4.49.

After my boyfriend and I broke up, an iced-chai latte became the designated comfort drink anyone would need during those awkward transitions. Well that, and a Merlot. It was the only thing I digested in the two weeks of not being able to digest the idea of not having him. The breakup didn’t catch me by surprise, nor was I entirely crushed, but one thing is to know it and another one is to eat, smile or sleep. What did catch me by surprise, however, was by how much I enjoy the little crumbs David leaves in my tea. 

I stop by the coffee shop next to my school almost every day around 4pm. I became a regular without trying. Within a week, I knew who prepared the best iced chai latte and who prepared the worst. I knew that the table next to the window gets chilly every time the door opens and that the table in front of the cashier has a hidden outlet. I know that the books in the Non-Fiction section are not non-fiction but literary criticism, which annoys me till this day. I know that they combine whole milk with fat free milk to make 2%, that they spend an extra 30 seconds to make the foam perfectly dense, and that they only add the ice when everything else is ready. That’s their trick: the ice in an iced chai latte is not a key ingredient, but an inescapable commitment - much like a mother in law in an awkward looking family portrait. Starbucks could learn a thing or two from them.

My search for chai (and life purpose) was always accompanied by Wild Child, a band from Austin, Texas that my friend from Austin, Texas recommended. Well, she really likes Austin but she is actually from El Paso, or something. Wild Child released its second album The Runaround exactly one month after my breakup. It was handed to me in a silver plate, perfectly addressing many issues I couldn’t put into words. And still fully can’t, so I just sing along. The album is about leaving, coming back, regretting, forgiving, confusion, you know, the usual when the stiches are still fresh.

It became a routine of mine to walk with my headphones on blasting Crazy Bird while having chai latte, a combination that did not only make me oblivious of my surroundings, but unable to answer to people’s hi’s and how are you's. 

Perfect.

I avoided people so well that three weeks into the semester, the stranger I had to call roommate, moved out of the room and into a single, perhaps sensing my dislike towards human beings –and her.

--------------

Today, I find myself digesting every kind of foods, apart from the chai, of course. El Salvadorian cheese pupusas, home made nutella cookies, vodka and chasers, crunchy Cheetos, among many many others. The iced part of my regular chai latte had to refrain itself due to weather conditions, but I still go everyday to the coffee shop around 4pm. The Runaround is no longer about stiches, but about moving on. Today I bother to say hi first, even to my old roommate.

Sad or in peace?

Toco-Toco, Hoolz, Jules, Guns, Corazón de Melocotón, Mami, Pacho Agua, Titina*

I got my perky ears from my grandpa

My soft hands from my grandma

My neurotic nose from a cousin whose plastic surgeon hands glue back together six broken bones

My self-consciousness from my Guigui; whose refusal to leave the house pushed me out of it

My little off tooth from my stubbornness. I'm done with braces mom - age 12

My awkward sense of humor from my dad, who can only relax after a few drinks

My coquetry from my step-mom (former step-mom). Fortunately, I learned how to be a lady from my Belkis/mother

My will and commitment to excellency from her too, a person who does not doubt my own abilities, not one bit, but constantly questions hers

My internal clock to know when to shut up from my sociology teacher, who shook me out of my spoiled self in five minutes

My appetite for writing from my 4th grade poetry teacher

My sassiness from my other grandmother. She's 72 and there's no stopping her

My courage from the same person who taught me how to build a fruitful relationship without ever having one as an example

My ambitiousness from an ex who lacks an emergency stop button

My patience from Guigui's son, whose heart is bigger than his reading abilities

My stubbornness from an uncle who I refuse to call an uncle

My athleticism from a body that loves food and a self-esteem vulnerable to western expectations

My fear for animals from the darkness that invaded my room every night

My love for love from my own naiveté.


*My nicknames, from special people.

Shiverin'

The combination between my love for Spoken Word and the palpability in Sy Stokes and The Black Bruins' facts made me fucking shiver.

El Caraqué?

La última gota que derramó el vaso ese 27 de febrero de 1989 fue la subidita de precio del transporte público en tiempos de Carlos Andrés.

Cual será la que derramará este?

The Runaround

"No hay nada más especial que disfrutar de aquellos que pueden. De aquellos que sí quieren, que saben que pueden. De esas mentes inspiradas que lo logran. Inspiración profunda' euforia infinita que te llena por dentro. Ser testigo de algo así te sube y te amarra a un futuro bonito."

Abril, 2010.

Poco sabía yo que ese dharma no me incluía.

The Verstehen Approach

There are three definite situations in which neither party can ever agree on:

One. A roommate disagreement.
Two. Drivers in the highway
Three. A breakup

(you should know the only reason why I am writing this is because I want to talk about disagreeable situation number three).

The thing about breakups is that you get over them with friends who always nod warmly, keep count of your drinks and repeat on and on that your ex is a fucker, or something. They never actually help you.

What is there to do in such disruptive moments?

There's rebounds, parties, alcohol, the possibility of starting fresh.

No thanks, my bed is more comfy, my laptop more reliable.

His Facebook? I know it as if it was mine. I've been all up on that shit.
Movies? No thank you, I particularly don't want to cry watching Jennifer Aniston fall in love, or gross up my keyboard with melted ice cream.

I will turn to google instead.

How to get over your ex? Boom, 752.000.000 results in 0,38 seconds.

So I begin on reading, because my pizza is not here yet and I don't have a boyfriend no more.

Recipes of 10 steps, 7 steps, 18 steps of "how to"s. Anything from getting drunk and acting libidinous, to God knows best.

I did some of them. I erased him from my room, hardware, and Facebook. Ok good, what else? I dressed up pretty and called a boy for attention. Ok good, what else? I led myself cry the fuck out and scared my next door neighbor in the process.

Nothing.


I'm not about to make myself believe that "I know it was for the best" because I simply had a precious relationship that I don't and won't regret. Or that I am a  newborn feminist that needs no man. No No. No, because I know that being alone is not what I came to do in this earth. I know that alone I  (no one) can't accomplish everything. Because behind a great man there's always a great woman (and viceversa).

(I now close Google)

Since none of those answers did it to me, I've decided to make one myself by applying stuff I learned in class to my life. The Verstehen Approach. Geertz, the guy who developed this theory of Think Description, is one of the biggest Anthropologists of all time that didn't believe in cultural evolutionism or relativism. He simply believed that a good ethnographer would merely write down a story, freezing it in time. No analysis, no judgement. He said that if you don't understand a culture, it's your god damn problem, not theirs.

(pause)

This is me, trying to step into his drum set and follow his Verstehen Approach,  Bring it Geertz.


Having a girlfriend is impeding me from really stepping up my game and becoming an accomplished drummer. I just can't make commitments without feeling bad about not seeing her, visiting her, being a boyfriend to her. I just don't have the dedication and attention she deserves. Might as well end it here and take advantage of the time I have left in the place where I'm supposed to be. It will be hard, but I know that one day I'll go back and think to myself "yeah, good move dude."

My friends agree with me, so it must not be crazy. Whenever I tell them this is something I need to do they nod warmly. My dad  also thinks this is the time to explore and play as much as I can (and she always said how wise and smart my dad is). Might as well listen to him. My mom is worried about paying for my education: maybe I can use the time I spend with her, working and getting paid...

You know what: F*ck Geertz.


Dude, you feel trapped not because of me, but because you don't feel you are doing enough. You have always being a confident person. Now you wander around seeing what everyone else is doing. You are relying on friends that will hardly question your decision (because they don't fucking know you). I mean, what you are saying is completely normal: "this is my time," "I have to do this." What are they supposed to say? Those are the most clichéd excuses in the world. Everybody does that. It's so normal, but so stupid. Since when are you average?

I won't allow You to make ME your excuse.

Your parents are fucking with you, sorry but they are. Your dad went through a hard relationship that made him really cautious about who to rely on (the answer: no one). For him, relationships are constricting, far from empowering, nutritious, or useful. They are only distractions. This eventually has gotten under your skin. Your mom? You know very well she can be a little too melodramatic. She doesn't trust your father, she doesn't want to rely on your father. Of course she is going to insist on you working, on doing this or that to make things work. She is sending a message to your dad, through you: she can do it without his help.


You feel trapped, claustrophobic, which is completely normal. You are in a small school where all your accomplishments must be public and advertised. What choice do you have but fill your life up with shit you don't care about, only to feel and look busy. What choice do you have but pretend you're fine, because (you think) you are running out of time. What choice do you have if people are telling you you'd be ok.

I sincerely tell you to let yourself feel your thoughts. I'm sorry to break your heart, but I am not the reason why you feel the way you do. I am sorry to tell you that you will do ok with or without me. That you are going to be the person you were born to be without this pressure on your back. You are more than a musician, don't you dare forget that. You will never be a failure. You long passed that. Take an American chill pill (as Barney once said). Just don't make me responsible. Don't let your drums break you down.

Be true to yourself.

Anyways, my pizza is here.