Juan of Words

Top 10 Dichos for New Year’s Eve

New Year's Eve in Times Square

If you believe in 2012 time will truly be of the essence, considering the end of the world and all according to the Mayan calendar, then let’s just pretend this Bucket List is sort of a how to guide for putting your best foot forward in the next and final 12 months of life on earth. Think of it as all of the best advice your momma gave you growing up on how one should lead a good life! And hey, if we do live to see another year, this advice might just enrich your life anyway.

1. Haz Bien Sin Mirar A Quien – Do good for the sake of doing it, regardless of who might be on the receiving end of your good deeds. You don’t need to be thanked. You don’t need to be acknowledged. It will all be returned to you in the end. Read More About This Dicho Here.
2. Amor Con Amor Se Paga – Love is paid with Love. There’s no other way around it. If you really want to experience true love you have to learn how to love. How to love others, how to accept love, and most importantly, how to love yourself. Read More About This Dicho Here.
3. Mientras Hay Vida Hay Esperanza – So long as there is life there is hope. The last thing we should ever let go off is hope. There are going to be horribly painful moments in your life, when you probably won’t be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, when life might not even seem like it’s worth living. It is these moments when our faith is truly tested. No matter what the odds, know that tomorrow is another day and that things will inevitably get better.  Read More About This Dicho Here.
4.  No Hay Peor Ciego Que El Que No Quiere Ver – There is no one more blind than the one who chooses not to see. Or loosely translated could also be “you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves.” Regardless of how hard you attempt to deny your own truths, or those of others, life always has a way of bringing them to light and making you deal with them whether you want to or not. Remember that age old rule, honesty is the best policy. Read More About This Dicho Here.
5. En Boca Cerrada No Entran Moscas – If you don’t want drama, keep your mouth shut. Nobody likes a chismoso, especially if your gossip is intended to offend and hurt others. Of course life without a little harmless gossip just wouldn’t be as much fun. The key is in keeping it respectful and not humiliating anyone. Read More About This Dicho Here.
6. La Muerte Es Lo Único Seguro Que Tenemos En Esta Vida – The only sure thing in life is death. Sorry, but your momma was right. It doesn’t matter how much money you make, how much fame you might achieve, how luxurious of a life you might lead, at the end of it all you’re still headed towards the final truth we all share: death. Concentrate not on how much you can attain, but on how much you can affect the lives of others and how you will be remembered. Read More About This Dicho Here.
7. Dios Aprieta, Pero No Ahoga – God squeezes, but doesn’t choke (sort of a literal translation). Or if you prefer a less religious interpretation, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. When you’re at the brink of desperation, right about ready to just give up, always remember that life is precious and ALWAYS worth living because you never know what tomorrow could bring. Okay, so this dicho is very similar to number three, but it’s just such great advice! Read More About This Dicho Here.
8. Quien Bien Te Quiere Te Hará Llorar – You are going to cry and that’s okay! Sometimes letting go and just letting it all out is the best thing you can do for yourself. I’m telling you from personal experience, the more you have been holding in, the more relieved you are going to feel when you just stop and allow yourself to feel what you need to feel. It might be a little embarrassing,sure. Then again what’s more important? Peace in your heart and soul or saving face? Besides, it’s not like you can’t go lock yourself up in the restroom and cry your eyes out. Read More About This Dicho Here.
9. Más Vale Tarde Que Nunca – Better late than never. It truly never is too late to right a wrong, or make a change, especially if it means you will be happier. So often we are held back by our own insecurities and excuses, preferring to live with the consequences of our actions and decisions, that when we finally decide to accept that apology or offer our forgiveness we can’t help to wonder why we waited so long in the first place. Challenge yourself. Ask yourself what is holding you back. Read More About This Dicho Here.
10. De Noche Todos Los Gatos Son Pardos – Certainly we’re different. In so many ways. There wouldn’t be enough space on my poor little server to go through all of our differences, and the truth is they don’t even really matter. We are much more similar than we are different. Remember that when someone approaches you for help, when they are too scared and weak to speak up for themselves, when they are hopeless and helpless, when you yourself are under any of these distresses, that on a human level we are all the same. Read More About This Dicho Here.

Want even more Dichos? Click Here.

Hasta En Las Mejores Familias

Graphic by Eiji Boga

There was a television show by that same name that used to air on one of the major Spanish-language networks here in the states not too long ago.  Carmelita Salinas was one of the three hosts and aside from exposing a constant parade of dysfunctional families from one extreme to the other, the show was also well known for utilizing grossly made up characters, from midgets to circus folks, all exaggeratedly stereotyped, and for the most part, all fiction, as the jury of rhyme and reason in this chaotic makeup of a show.  I’ll admit it now, though I wouldn’t have before, that on some days when there was nothing else to do, or when it felt like the kind of day when my mind didn’t want to think anymore, I’d sit back on my sofa and just watch the craziness on screen.

There was always someone crying, someone yelling at the top of their lungs, people throwing punches, and of course, the little people jumping out of their chairs and running across the stage with an oversized pencil in their hands to try to call order on the set.  I never really understood the need for those humongous plastic pens… or the existence of a jury at all for that matter.  If it was strictly for the ratings, well it obviously didn’t work.  The show hasn’t been on the air for a couple of years now.

The thing is, somehow, for some reason, anytime there is any amount of chaos in my life it always comforts me to think back to the premise of that show: Hasta en Las Mejores Familias.  As if because my problems haven’t landed me on a similar television talk show yet they might not be as bad as what they seem.  Perhaps it’s the idea that all of the drama on that show was way worse than anything that’s ever happened to me.  In a lot of ways it was, but then again it was mostly make-believe… for the “magic” of the small screen.  More often than not though, on some days I completely understand the need for that excessively large pencil, the running around in circles on stage, the yelling, the crying, and yes, even the buenas cachetadas.  It’s not that my life is so stressful, or that the things happening in and around it are that chaotic tampoco, just that sometimes the freedom of going a little loco doesn’t seem all of that crazy after all.

They did always say things do happen “even in the best families!”

I’m beginning to think there is a lot more truth to this notion than I once believed.

Donde Cabe Uno, Caben Dos: Life Lessons for Adult Children

Donde cabe un mexicano caben cien. That was the variation of this popular dicho we grew up with. I think in actually it’s supposed to go something like this: donde cabe uno, caben dos. This weekend while we were working on the house we all lived in for nine years with my parents I couldn’t help but be reminded of this popular saying over and over again. The house has been in the family for a long time and for reasons that I won’t even begin to go into ahorita está en un completo estado de desmadre.

Padre e hijo

Suffice it to say when you get a renter make sure you know who you are renting to.  A lot easier said than done.  But hopefully now we’ve learned a very valuable lesson.

Anyway, when we came back from vacation, from making all of those great memories and spending so much quality time together, we had to face the reality that there was a whole lot of time and money that was going to be required to get this house back into shape.  Estabamos un poco dumbfounded at the bad luck.  I mean we hadn’t even taken a real vacation in years, but as they taught me in French class c’est la vie.  So off we went planning and budgeting to try to make things happen as soon as possible.  The very first thing we had to do was replace the back fence on the property.

Okay.  No problem!  Only contractors want way too much money to put up the fence and I haven’t the slightest clue about how to do it myself.  The last time I tried my fence started out pretty even on one side and progressively became more slanted along the 48 feet of property we had to cover.  By the time I noticed it was coming out crooked ya estaba bien cansado and my response was “oh well, fudge it,” which in hindsight is probably one of the main reasons we’re having to do it all over again… only this time under the supervision of mi papá.  I’d kind of been hinting around about him helping me, and by that I mean talking to my mom about it (she seems to have a way of getting him to do things, lol), without coming out and directly saying “can you help me?”

No sé porqué pero como me daba cosa to ask my dad who’s already in his sixties to give me a hand.  Finally, I just broke down and asked him.  He, of course, said yes.

The plan was that we’d show up on Sunday and knock out the fence in one day.  Go ahead and laugh.  It’s okay.  Llegamos temprano, and we started right off digging the holes for the 4×4’s we would need to put in to support the new fence – after we had already knocked down the old one.  My luck, desde luego, was that out of all of the rainless-drought-inducing days we’d had this summer – and we’ve had plenty believe me – this particular Sunday was the one day the rain would not let up.  Entre breaks in the heavy down pouring we tried our best to get as much done as we possibly could.  We did it… well at least put in the 4×4’s that is, but by the end of the day our shoes and pants were covered in mud, we’d both slipped in the mud trying to work, every single item of clothing we were wearing was drenched in very cold water, including my chones, and now we were facing the dilemma of how to cover up 48 feet of a barren property line.

We figured that one out too, and despite my complete exhaustion at the end of the night when I hit the bed, I was happier than I had been in a long time.  As a kid I’d always been more of a momma’s boy and rarely went out to do real hard labor with my father.  That was my older brother’s job and he was good at it.  Besides when was I ever going to need to know how to do all that stuff?  DOH!  This weekend, though, I really felt like we were making up for lost time.  No pude evitar feeling a little sad about having missed out on all this father-son comradery, but as we were working, having an actual conversation and telling jokes, I couldn’t help but feel a little extra joy in my heart.  I still feel it today, and the fact that we have to go back and work on it some more this week doesn’t even bother me at all.

In fact, I’m actually looking forward to it.

I might not be a kid anymore, but hey… it’s never too late to make up for lost time!

Los Hombres También Lloran

Y ahora sí, como dice la canción: “y no me aguito… ¡nomás me acuerdo!”

Man Tears by Artemis

In truth, there have only been a few times that I’ve seen my father cry.  A couple of times of joy, another handful of pura tristeza.  He’s always been a man of strength and bravery to me…  the one with arms of steel and shoulders capable of taking on the world.  When I think of him, instinctively my heart goes soft and something inside of me just makes it unavoidable to want to cry, at least a little bit for all the little things I think I know now that I didn’t know back then.

Ahora que yo soy el hombre de la casa it’s easier to recognize the hows and whys.  The things I hated in him once I now see and appreciate in myself.

The same things Edgar will probably grow up hating in me too.

La cosa es, that until I was teenager, I really did believe the myth that real men don’t cry.  That it was a sign of weakness, a symbol of having been defeated, to let even one single tear run down my face.  Even worse, to do so in the presence of others, because it made me look pathetic and stupid to them and to myself.  As far as I can remember though, nobody ever told me that “real men don’t cry.”  I guess I just assumed so because nunca in my childhood did I presence my father cry.  Maybe he did and I just didn’t pay attention… estaba demasiado ingenuo para entender. No sé.

The truth is we do, and sometimes it’s even good for us.  Personally, les puedo decir that up to now there have only been a few times when I’ve literally balled my eyes out, sobbing uncontrollably as an adult for things I literally had no control over.  Those memories are still too painful and fresh to talk about, but the happy tears I’ve shed… those, have left a lasting imprint on my soul.

I want to make father cry again.  Not tears of sadness, but tears of joy, because in the end he was the one that taught me this very important life lesson: que los hombres también lloran.

I hope I can do the same for Edgar.

Los dejo con la canción que fue la inspiración de este post.  Se llama “El Hombre Que Más Te Amo” y la canta Chente.  El otro día la escuche por primera vez en mi camioneta y al escuchar la letra se me salieron una cuantas lagrimillas porque me hizo pensar en mi padre.  Espero les guste también.

Una Piedra En El Camino, Me Enseño Que Mi Destino

Las piedras...

Las piedras en México tienen historia.  They’re jagged and rough.  Shapely in all sorts of colors and sizes.  Smooth to the touch.   Rough to the grasp.  Sturdy.  They tell the story of generations gone by, of old men playing their instruments and singing their música de vara, of old women walking by at the dawn of early morning, wrapped up against the cold in their rebozos, always in pairs, with their pails of fresh corn, heading to the molino, of huaraches de piel walking alongside mules, sheep and all sorts of other assortment of livestock, of children running to take care of mandados, of young men with their alcohol and cigarettes, laughing and carrying on, of young women giggling and smiling, trying their best to be proper while the objects of their affection walk by, of young boys and girls escaping from school, marching to the beat of el himno de independencia on Independence Day, of so many cousins showing us how to get from one place to the next without ever being seen.

That’s what I remember in those rocks.

I imagine Mamatule and Papanino, my grandparents, sitting at the front of their kitchen, wrapping up their tobacco in corn leaves, smoking it ever so peacefully in the dead air and silence of night, my father as a young man courting my mother, the young girl from Monterrey who showed up at the rancho every couple of months with her padrinos, wearing nice dresses and sensible shoes.  Shoes, in this place, where most girls walked around barefoot.  I imagine their conversations.  My mother playing hard to get, stern and dismissive, measuring every single one of her expressions ever so carefully, a half smile here, a look of agreement there, my father unrelenting, with his big smiles and nice words, staking out her every move from the tanque where pigs swam around to get refreshed and people carried pails of water to heat up for their baths, and slowly winning her over, one platica at a time.

I try to envision our land before the casita de escobas, that’s what they called the firmer shrubs they used to fill in the gaps between the frames of wooden sticks in those days, before the first room of cement blocks went up, when it was up to the people of the pueblo to decide whether the newly-wedded couple of my parents deserved to have this empty section of land donated to them, and then when they were there together for the first time, what conversations they might have had, what first moments they might have lived, welcoming my eldest sister, their firstborn, and then the ones that followed, the decision to leave home, first apart, cada quien a su tiempo, and then together, all of us together.

And I’m inspired.

It was there we began our journey.  The only place that ever felt like home, where even though it wasn’t my precise history that took place, it called out to me, made me feel one with the land, with the air, with the water, in a way that I’d never felt before.  Our apartments, houses here were mundane.

Those piedras, majestic.  Respectable.  Ours!

¡Hombre! ¡Te Haces Pendejo Para Tragar A Puños!

Battle of the Sexes

In driveways everywhere, front yards, back yards, neighborhoods, bars, clubs, patios, around the world, probably in every language, the principal complaint among buddies, when they get together for a little pisteada, is the same: ¡con las mujeres uno nunca gana! That universal grunt heard round the globe when words just aren’t enough to express our overall frustration with the opposite sex.

The common denominator among all men, in a relationship with a woman, almost our anthem, which we can’t help but chant when we finally come to that rite of passage, the realization that sometimes with our women, ‘we can’t live with them and we can’t live without them.’   Because no matter how common our interests, beliefs and values might be, the truth is ‘Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.’  El Sexo Fuerte, with our general misunderstanding of all things emotional.   El Sexo Débil, with their seeming obsession to explore even the minutest of feelings, to the very core of their existence.

But before the flood of usual suspects – machista, chauvinistic pig – come to mind, or to the lips, consider the female equivalent to this frustration: men are all idiots!

Or as my comadre Juanita pointed out recently, which coincidentally is the reason for this blog post today, us men, a veces nos hacemos pendejos para tragar a puños.  The oldest trick in the book, really.  Playing dumb to avoid responsibility, commitment, conversation, extra chores, or any other tasks we just don’t want to do sometimes…or all of the time, in some cases.  Where no matter how thoroughly or in how many ways our parejas try to get through to us, make us understand, our expression back to them is always blank and blind, completely lost.  And it’s not like it’s any big secret!  Las mujeres a veces nada má s nos tiran al leon.

Often, we return the favor.

The only problem, as my father once pointed out: las mujeres nunca olvidan nada / women never forget anything!