Friday, September 23, 2005

"Si, mi coronel"

Right on the heels of my ra-ra Chile's Independence entry I thought it'd be nice to acknowledge an important event that happened pre-chicha festivities. President Ricardo Lagos has loosened the military grip on Chilean government.

Even though I'm a Latin Americanist by trade, my knowledge of Chilean-anything has been acquired not learned (thank you U of C "Mexico rules, all others drool" LatAm dept.). So what I know about Chile I gather from the news, books, mags, but most importantly (and entertainingly) from my fam.

My cousin Pedro, who let me shack up at his place the first five months of my "time off", is a chemist at the military hospital in Stgo. I have had the opportunity to see the place in action and at one point have my blood tested on the same floor where Pinochet was no doubt having his pillows fluffed. Now, you should all know that Pedro belongs to the "subversive-leftist-white-collar" element of my family. This would explain why on many occasions he's been on review, to the point where he might lose his job, because he wouldn't be a sycophant, revering every member dressed in blues with a "si, mi colonel." Being someone who harbors good feelings towards foot soldiers, but not necessarily to high-ranking officers I asked him to elaborate. Most of the officers he works with don't have medical backgrounds, they just needed a place to go once the wars ended and their trigger fingers became plagued with arthritis.

I'm not a voter nor a citizen of Chile, so I can't comment on this reform. But being a borderline libertarian, I want my goverment smaller and dedicated to protecting my country. And a machine gun, be it in a hospital, on the street, or in my supermarket, is quite uncomfortable.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Fulfilling wishes from '93

Chile will be celebrating its Independence Day this Sunday, the 18th. But being Chileans, the festivities will start tomorrow at 1pm and end when I pass out late Monday night. Of course, this is much more than a party weekend.

A year ago I came to a point in my life where I didn't have to be anywhere, do anything, or answer to anyone. Except for Cynthia Gonzalez, my loan officer, natch. The feeling was tremendous, the possibilities were overwhelming. Being a normal girl from the suburbs who up til then had done everything by "the young adult guidebook to adult happiness", I realized that I didn't have dreams. Given a handful of freedom, a key to the world, a new prescription to see the universe if you will, I realized all I could do was analyze it and give it back. And then she came back to me. Doris at 12. About to buy "Siamese Dream", about to have her life changed; still painting her toes blue and defiantly covering her walls with high fashion photo spreads. It was the me I had forgotten about on my way to becoming one of you. The me I thought I'd always be. The me who would pass this girl on the street without a second look.

Doris at 12 came to Chile for the first time and met 40 people who in later years filled out the spaces of aunt, uncle, cousin, and grandmother. Doris at 12 wanted to bury herself in her grandmother's vineyard. Doris at 12 promised that one day, when everything she was supposed to do was completed, she'd come back. And live her life like she'd always dreamed.

Which is why, this week in this year is so awesome. 12 years, a lifetime, a second in the making this weekend I will be exactly where I'm supposed to be and dance cueca and drink chicha for my old man, sitting on a couch in a darkened living room in Florida.