On death and life. Nini & Bebe.

A long time ago I read an article on how maternal grandmothers have connections with their granddaughters that go further than an emotional or genetic similarity. They tend to have parallel experiences through life. Granddaughters somehow inherit these identical moments that they would eventually live in one way or another. The article had no scientific support whatsoever so I decided to ignore it.

---

I found out I was pregnant on my Abuela's 89th birthday.

The first thing I did after telling my husband was call my mom back in Montreal, thinking I wanted to congratulate my grandma, she put me on speaker phone. I said "I just took a home test, I'm pregnant!". Everybody cheered, I was crying, my mother was going to have her first grandchild and my Abuela her first great-grandchild.

We spoke on the phone for a while, my uncle was also visiting from Miami, my brother came out of his room when he heard the yelling. I was alone at home, waiting for my husband to come from his night shift at the hospital. Abuela was participating in the conversation.

And then my mother mentioned something on the lines of "but now that you are pregnant..." and Abuela interrupted asking "Who?".

She did not remember or maybe never really recognized who was the person over the phone. Or what we had been talking about for the past five minutes.

She had been officially diagnosed with dementia (or Alzheimer's - something within that spectrum) a couple of months ago.

Nelly Beatriz Antonia Blanco de Méndez (Abuela) was born in San Carlos del Zulia, Venezuela, on November 12th 1930. Her mother died during labour due to preeclampsia complications, or back in the time, lack of knowledge for treatment. She was raised by her father, the town's pharmacist, and her aunt "Mamacita Carmen".

She grew up between San Carlos and Santa Barbara, two small towns divided by the Escalante River. Her house was right in front of the river. She used to tell me that whenever it rained, the river would grow and flood her house. Santa Barbara was known for its vast and rich land, perfect for cattle and plantain crops. Many families made their fortune from those lands, providing the state and the rest of the country with the best beef, milk and cheese products for generations. Among them, the family of Hernan Alfonso Méndez Rincón (Abuelo).

They fell in love in Santa Barbara, and after years of courtship, in which my grandfather was forced to pursue a university career (because my Abuela was not going to live with someone that had no future) they married* and moved to Maracaibo, the big city. They had four children, Mariela (my mom), Hernan, Maria Gabriela and Carlos Eduardo.

Abuelo passed away when he was only 60 years old, of lupus complications. I was born 4 months later, the first grandchild of the Méndez Blanco family.

Abuela passed away on January 14th 2020, as I was half way through writing this post. The first great-grandchild of the Méndez Blanco family will be born this July.

Family history has a funny way of repeating itself.

 Coming soon.

The Méndez Blanco family in my baptism.
I still remember that striped dress Abuela kept using for many years after that.

Spotify plays: Canzone per l'estate - Frabrizio De André
AnaPé says: * Last year, during a casual conversation with Abuela, I found out that she first married in civil union, then Abuelo went to university and they waited until he graduated four years later to do a church ceremony. I happened to have done the exact same thing with my husband, a civil union in 2014 and the catholic ceremony in 2018. I was completely unaware of my grandma's marriage story. Maybe that article was right.

Je me souviens.

What does it take to feel homesick?

At seventeen I left my country for the first time on a one-year adventure. It was too exciting to feel sad. Whatever my international friends felt during that time was too strange to me. Why are you so sad? Your parents are coming to visit you? What do you mean you want to go back?

Two years after my exchange, I left again for good. Starting a new life has always been more appealing than continuing with my routine in a place I know too well.

Some people hate it. The experience of the immigrant is not the same for everybody. I was definitely lucky. Still am.

Another opportunity to start over came to my life, after eight years in Montreal. I was eager to feel that adrenaline again. The rush of looking for apartments, the stress of thinking about the logistics of the move, and the need to wrap up of everything you have.

This time it took an 18-hour car ride, instead of the usual 5-8 hour plane hauls. The landscapes, the weather, the people. It was all new and different. I spent two weeks at my new place, unboxing, attending some meetings, attempting my luck at a new job. Then I came back to finish some projects before leaving for good.

And then it hit me.

The airport was packed with tourists coming to visit for the hottest month in the city. July tends to be the busiest time for us, two or three festivals happening at the same time, parks crowded with free activities, people soaking in the sun at every corner.

Montreal was alive and everything felt so natural.

I contacted a couple of friends, scheduled some dinners and drinks here and there. I was back to using public transportation, the system I knew so well. My mom's house felt warm and my brother telling me in his monotone voice his day at college was somehow exciting. At my office, though chaotic, work was smooth that I even went for one last shoot.

And then we had to hire two people to replace me.
And then my boss was asking me to make a list of duties for the people who would come after me.
And then I had to change my address to another province.
And then my friend cried talking about me leaving.
And then my husband asked me to see him on a weekend and I didn't want to.

I didn't want to spend one second away from this place when I had so little time left to enjoy it.

Someone I only speak with sporadically called me to tell me he wanted to see me before I leave, even if for a brief second.
My university professor wanted to grab a quick drink.
My boss was still in denial.
Time became this precious thing. I had to enjoy every part of it, with everybody.

What is separation anxiety? For a PLACE? HOW? WHY? Is this what it feels like?

Whatever it is I am feeling right now, I have never felt before. I want to cry, scream, lay down for hours and not do anything but also do everything at the same time.

In the meantime, my face is straight. I have never been the one to get emotional, in any way (love, stress, angst). The eternal "resting bitch face".

“Home is not where you are born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease” ― Naguib Mahfouz

April 2011. First week in Montreal. Still my favourite place in the city.

The café plays: Some beautiful Italian oldies. Aperol Spritz in mano.
AnaPé says: "El lugar donde has sido feliz no debieras tratar de volver." - actually Joaquin Sabina said that.

"Y habré llevado esta nube hacia otro cielo de nubes pasajeras"

Lo curioso quizá no sea que está esperando un hijo/a.
Si no lo que me hace sentir.
Que al mismo tiempo yo lo estoy buscando. Irónicamente tomándome un vino
Y abstente de relaciones
No por querer si no por poder.
No tengo poder. Al menos no sobre lo que siento. Al menos no siempre.

Me quede mucho tiempo viéndolo, perdí la cuenta de las repeticiones
Así como perdi la cuenta de las veces en las que me busco a media noche
Queriendo y no queriendo
Masoquismo eterno que se refleja incluso diez anyos después.
(Irónico que google drive no me acepte la enye espanyola
y deba escribirlo como lo hacía en aquel tiempo, con fonética húngara)

Estoy muy feliz, pero es extranyo.
Porque no lo esperas y mucho menos ahora
Y cae en casualidades de realidades separadas, nunca paralelas.
Que en algún momento parecieron no separarse aun cuando parecía.
Igual estoy feliz.
Espero pronto estarlo aún más por mi.

Escucho, en mi cabeza: Dame Una Noche de Asilo - Jorge Drexler con una tal Mon Laferte (cuando deje de saber quienes eran los artistas contemporáneos?)
Hago: Terminando un horario en un hotel remoto en la Gaspesie
Pienso: Todos vuelven de alguna manera. Siempre.

Apt. #10

Listuguj Diaries.

I don't travel for work often, but when I do, I go to Indigenous reservations.

Since the past Wednesday I've been immersed in the corners of Point-à-la-Croix, also known as Listuguj, in the mouth of the Atlantic ocean in the east of Quebec. Home of the Mi'gmaq people of Canada.

Sometimes I'm not a hundred percent sure of what I am exactly doing here. Technically I'm part of a film crew for our next show. But really I'm doing research or production assistance work, denying my real title of coordinator. Or more than denying, just not really experienced (or brave) enough to take the matter on my hands.

Still, the experience has been a very particular one, reminding me a little bit to that time I spent over a week filming in Kuna Yala in Panama. Except the weather is not tropical, nor there is a pig sacrifice as offering to the gods.

So far this week: I've hiked (?) on the snow to a fully frozen river, drank more alcohol than water for three days straight, got frustrated for the future of my career, ate the most disgusting carrots in my life, ignored people's substance consumption, practiced honesty, saw my grandmother in every elder's face.

I have the sneaky feeling that when I'll come back to Montreal it'll be like a dream-like souvenir. In the sense it seems almost impossible, in the sense there's little I can do to change things to my convenience or I have little control of what is going on. I kind of want and not want to wake up. I just want to keep having and learn to control these dreams. As much as possible.

Ice fishing at the Restigouche River.

Escucho: Paseo para Marie - Roberto Camargo (weird but beautiful mix of french and vallenato music)
Hago: El reporte del rodaje, way behind on this.
Quiero: Abrazar a Andrés.

28 Primaveras invernales

I started my 28th birthday crying to my favourite artist (Alejandro Sanz) in the car I bought a bit under a year ago, before my second wedding with the same man. I had just left the gym after going for my fifth consecutive day since I had been back from my holidays vacation, #newyearresolutions or should I say Rezolution? Pun intended to mention the company I’ve been working at for the past three years and I still can’t believe it.

It’d be nice to say I’m grateful to be where I am right now, but grateful became such a millennial word that my almost-innate-pseudo-hipster personality wants to ignore it from its vocabulary. Along with blessed (#?).

I guess some things don’t change with time. Like feeling all peeps are posers, or believing Alejandro Sanz is the best hispanic artist alive. Maybe I just keep that mentality out of nostalgia… sorry, saudade (becoming proficient in Portuguese #2019resolution)

Truth is, that from the day I became legal in paper (#10yearchallenge) to now, I have accomplished everything I’ve wanted or at least most of it. I moved from my hometown (twice) obtained a degree and I am actually making a living from it, found the love of my life, my family is healthy. My life is good, and yes, I am grateful for that.

And it’s only getting better.

Either way, it’s fun to be 28 and feel you have your life figured out, or at least pretend to have it figured out for the world, and for yourself.

This has been true since 2015, doesn't seem to change either.

Agua de Canto, casa no. 11

El año pasado, en esta época, me invadía una nostalgia de esas que los portugueses llaman Saudade. La lejanía había convertido lo familiar en ajeno. Maracaibo se había convertido en lo que temía que fuese, una ciudad más. Tiempo me tomó para entender que no era el espacio si no la gente, las almas dentro de aquel lugar lo que recreaba aquel recuerdo eterno. Hoy, la saudade vuelve con motivos menos geográficos. No puedo cambiar lo que es ahora Maracaibo. Tampoco puedo cambiar el inevitable destino de la distancia de él inmigrante. Hoy, por primera vez en siete años quiero estar genuinamente allá. Pero no en la Maracaibo idealizada del sol amada, de la basílica iluminada, del lago con los más bellos atardeceres. Hoy quiero estar pasando calor sentada en el erótico sofá de cuero verde, acariciando el cabello plateado de la hija del perro más rabioso del mundo, comiendo arepa con carne mechada y queso de mano, escuchando a la detestable Taylor Swift, oliendo el aroma de las velas de colores y el popurrí esparcido por la sala y el baño de visitas, hablando nimiedades con las únicas tres personas que no nos cansamos de estar juntas, acompañándonos, acompañándola.

Hoy Maracaibo es la caminata con Rubi Elena en la mañana a las afueras de Agua de Canto, el cigarrillo en el patio de terracota, las llaves dejadas en el borde de la ventana para no perderlas, la corneta perfectamente rítmica a las afueras de la casa de porton de cuadros blanco (pipipipipi-pi-pi).


Chao "cuerpo", aquí estaremos con tu flaca, siempre.

AnaC, Isabel, AnaP y Andrea - 2013

Isabel y AnaP - 1998

iTunes Plays: Ay! Carmela -Joaquín Sabina
AnaPé says: nos hace falta la casa de Capri, donde podamos pasar estos momentos tomando vino, comiendo olivas y recogiendo limones.

C'est quoi un sacre-fice?

El 27 de diciembre pasado me casé. Me casé con el hombre de mi vida, como un día lo predijo mi mejor amiga (versos inesperados). Nunca pensé que cerca a mis 24 años me casaría con la esperanza de formar una familia en un futuro. Siempre he bromeado (aunque no tanto) con tener 10 hijos, lo cual me obligaría a empezar a una edad un poco temprana, pero me había dado un limite de 27 años, estoy tres años adelantada. Según mi mamá siempre he sido muy prematura, por lo menos no estoy embarazada.

En febrero viajé a una isla remota del Caribe en Panamá para hacer un documental. Estuve rodeada de indígenas conocidos como Kunas por una semana, sin internet ni línea telefónica. El día que regresé a la civilización fue como si hubiera despertado de un sueño que fue a la vez fantástico y perturbador. Entre las situaciones vividas se incluyen el sacrificio de un cochino a media noche y la dramatización de el momento en que castran a un hombre. El bronceado no me quedó nada mal tho.

En abril terminé el tercer año de universidad y estrené mi último cortometraje. Sólo queda un semestre para declararme oficialmente una mujer libre de obligaciones escolares, pero el descubrimiento de un MA en mi amada ciudad de Budapest me desvía los sueños de apartar la academia de mi vida para dedicarme en lleno a la producción cinematográfica. Por los comentarios recibidos luego del estreno, creo que mi cortometraje me daría la aceptación al postgrado, aunque una voz me dice al oído "Recuerda que ahora eres una mujer casada." y la vida se vuelve complicada.

Mi mamá y mi hermano se mudaron a Montreal y ahora nos mudaremos juntos de nuevo a un apartamento. Extraño la soledad y privacidad de mi apartamento. El verano Montrealais promete mucho más ahora que viene una de mis mejores amigas. Mi esposo llega en agosto por un tiempo limitado, pero peor es nada. Quisiera irme a una granja a recoger limones y olivas en Sicilia. Mi mamá me dice "Por qué uno no puede estar conforme con lo que tiene?". Mi esposo escribe "...En cualquier causa que se refiera al progreso de la humanidad, ponga su fe en el inconforme!" citando a MLK en el 63. Yo me pregunto "C'est quoi un sacre-fice?".

On va essayer ça.

YouTube plays: Stella di Mare - Lucio Dalla

AnaPé says: Necesito una cura de sueño.