"Bad Neighborhood"

I used to have a pink alarm clock radio with red digital numbers that woke me up for high school at around 6:00 am. One morning the Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ song “Under the Bridge” woke me up, and it was the first time I heard it because it had just come out that year. It’s very different from their other song I knew, the frenetic, amped-up “Give it Away”. “Under the Bridge” is slower and melancholic in style, with sentimental lyrics. It struck me as so sad that I couldn’t bear it at first- even before learning that it was about the lead singer’s heroin addiction. Waking up to that chorus, the way he bends the notes when he croons,

“And I don't ever wanna feeeel/ like I did that day...”

I shot out of bed, groggily shut the alarm and started my day, getting ready for school, thinking ughh what kind of world is this that such sad music can exist? On my way to the train station I continued the thought: Between that song and Nirvana’s "Nevermind" album ... seriously... what kind of world is this?

 

And now I have to be a teenager in it…   

It didn’t stop me from buying RHCP’s “Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magik” and the “Nevermind” cassette tapes and regularly playing them. I remember once reading maybe in Spin magazine, Grohl or Novoselic joking that, "Kurt's lyrics are basically like, 'I hate myself/I hate life/someone give me a gun so I can kill myself'”. I could be recalling wrong, but I remember reading something like that. Too bad I can't find it now.

Some believe he was murdered. I believe (the official verdict) that he committed suicide. Whichever it was, his death indisputably occurred in April of ‘94 when he was 27. I was almost 17 at the time. The April before that (‘93), I was admitted in Holliswood from April to May for my suicide attempt, right before my 16th birthday in June. It's not as though I really looked up to Cobain, but hearing the news in the kitchen that day was a blow that hit hard. And I saw his impact, parts of the memorial, and how he reached so many.

“I'm not a perfect peersooon...” Hoobastank lead singer Doug Robb sings in 2003’s ”The Reason”

“...my eyes are way too far apart” Joe continues in the same key/melody cracking me up.

“I try so hard/ to be Fred Durst/ but in the end it doesn’t even matter” cracking me up again, parodying poor Chester Bennington in his song “In the End”. I'm sure I made fun of his name at one point too, something no one named Tennille should even think of doing. How we joked about all that and more without emotionally investing, yukking it up in my Brooklyn living room. Probably laying on the floor propped up against the bottom of the couch since sometimes it was more comfortable than sitting on the actual couch. My little sister laughing along, shaking her head. Not even preferring Fred Durst over Chester (at all), just joking around like that because we could.

In the early 2000’s I was more into singers like Alicia Keys, Shakira, Marisa Monte, and Norah Jones- her “Come Away With Me” album boring my downstairs neighbor Dawn to tears when I played the first song for her once…

“Well… she ‘didn’t know why’, I guess!” she politely remarked as she dismissed this lulling singer and her debut single, “Don’t Know Why”. I was also listening to (or revisiting more thoroughly) "The Clash" and Elvis Costello. I wasn’t really up on the post-grunge, nu-metal scene- passively liking some songs here and there, but…

But wow, Chester was so different than Durst! And for the record, I’ve always liked “In the End”. I love the piano in the beginning (and the end). It resonates deeper now that he’s gone. The video makes me tear up now.

Of course I think about my own attempt years ago. 
-The “selfish” label many give those who attempt/commit suicide,
-The Holliswood nurse shaming me when she found out why I was being admitted, saying how dare I put my mother through this pain
-My pen pal at the time calling it “stupid”, I’m sure in an attempt to emphasize value upon my life but I couldn’t help but feel as if she were lumping it with all stupid stunts that people pull, "America's Funniest Video" things like under/overestimating a leap, or aggressive sledding from the show "Jackass". 
-How Natalie, an old friend, confided in me about a rough patch in her life but how she nixed the option of suicide since it was “a coward’s way out”
-and so many people agreeing with that, especially online where one can make cowardly statements freely.

I'm not sure if it's exactly cowardice that's at play here. There is a degree of fear and terror, but I wouldn't be quick to call it cowardice.

I also don’t think trying to commit suicide is such a selfish act even though it may seem like it is. Speaking for myself here, sometimes you're so convinced that everyone would in fact be better off without you, it’s almost as if you’re trying to do them a favor. 

"This place right here (Chester pointing to his head) this skull between my ears, that is a bad neighborhood. I am... I should not be there alone. I can't be there by myself...It's insane, it's crazy in here, it's a bad place for me to be by myself." he explains almost jokingly, as the interviewer kind of laughs in response, asking for clarification. 

I think of all this and I learn just how much he meant to so many people, mainly my sister's generation. One of my co-workers said that he grew up on "Linkin Park", that it saw him through his high school years and that those songs basically saved him. He was looking forward to the recently cancelled Blinkin Park concert later this week.  Another co-worker (both in their early 30’s) said that her husband was a huge "Linkin Park" fan and that her first gift to him was their CD, “back when people still gave each other CDs”.  
I’ve been crying because he was only one year older than me, grappling with depression like me, and a child abuse survivor, trying to get past all that.

I think of Ned Vizzini, whom my cousin Vincent actually knew. We're planning to meet up soon and see  "It’s Kind of a Funny Story”, a film inspired from his book of the same name.

I'm gonna end this with two videos I saw last week. This singer, Anthony Vincent always blows me away with his versatility and talent:



And as you might already know, practically anything NYC related moves me- this memorial is no exception. Rest in Peace & Power, Chester

What Is It I'm Doing, Again?

I just came back from the U.S. Embassy in Dominican Republic’s capital Santo Domingo a couple weeks ago to help get my husband’s visa approved. Our interview went very well, so now he can come to the U.S. and live here soon, Amen. Needless to say, we’re pretty excited.

My mom lived back and forth between New York and the Dominican Republic. I don’t know her exact timeline- a few years here, a few years there... Born in Manhattan, sent to a boarding school with nuns upstate NY as a child (which she hated), the later part of her life living in Queens, and the back and forths in between. When she was pretty young, about 18 or 19 living in the Dominican Republic, Santiago, she eloped with a man named Fausto. I am told that he often neglected her once they were married, to the point where she fell very ill- and that one night (or afternoon?) her father went out looking for her and found her in bed, frail and limp, almost lifeless. He picked her up and carried her away back home.

It seems as though she was always trying to ‘get out’- out of her house, out of DR. When I asked one of her sisters why she didn’t like it there, she told me that she didn’t like guys catcalling her on the streets, that somehow she felt more comfortable in New York. I guess even though street harassment is/was just as rampant and it was overall, a more dangerous city in the 70’s and 80’s, New York must’ve meant more freedom for her, the potential to advance herself at work, and get away from the scrutiny of her parents.

A couple years after Fausto she started dating my dad, a 3rd generation Nuyorican from the Bronx, and his friends became her friends. They lived, worked, and played in the city but when they got married they eventually moved into her father’s house in Queens. More of her family moved into the other 2 floors and so with all the Diaz's there, my dad stood out in a way. He was well liked enough, but he didn’t exactly fit in, kind of like mom I suppose. A curious consequence of all this ‘standing out' or not being very in sync with a family or group, is what I originally wanted to zero in on for this blog.

Now this happened a lot- his father-in-law, for example, would fly in from the Dominican Republic every now and then to visit and no one would mention it to my Dad.

“Didn't you know Daddy Juan was in town?”

“Didn't you know?” was often posed to him.

A man who knew (knows) so much in that savant syndrome level, a man who possesses an extensive reader’s vocab, a solid knowledge of certain history, trivia, statistics, calculating equations and percentages sans calculator, this is what my father knows. The coming and goings of his in-laws, a strong command of the Spanish language, repairing or programming things- nope. And for every, “didn’t you know?”, he would feel exasperated and jerked around. I do too when shit like this happens. But what I’ve learned over the years, is that they're not really gaslighting you because they do this to themselves as well. One time I heard that it took them all day after bouncing ideas off of each other and no doubt arguing about it, to decide that they were indeed going to spend their day off at the beach. As they finally loaded into the car, my grandfather, about to start the engine, asked everyone for verification,
“¿Adónde vamos?”
This goes beyond the whole, “Island time” stereotype of showing up an hour late for something and having to plan accordingly when sending out invites. This is a, “who are we seeing, where are we going again, when are we leaving?” vagueness that globs on you like molasses, and question marks spin in your head so vigorously that you end up feeling like...

To be raised by a father who painstakingly explains movies, novels, jokes, alternate train routes, informing us on who won the Oscar for supporting actress on what year in which film, which Yankee hit the most grand slams or RBI's or which Celtic scored the most 3 pointers but left us alone when it came to the nitty-gritty everyday details of like, what we had in our bags, what time we should come home- different ways of expressing care and love can feel confusing and takes some getting used to.

My husband and in-laws have this kind of an opposite thing going on; they scrutinize the here and now, what you're eating, what you're wearing, and like my mom's family, do not always plan ahead socially, nor do they fill each other's heads with bits of trivia, anecdotes, or statistics. I was in frustrating tears at one point when my husband and I went to his brother’s computer store. He was so winging it as to where we were going afterwards, who he was waiting to talk to, then deciding not to do it anymore but not telling me, it just took me to (or at) my wit’s end, and to top it off we have our slight language barrier to contend with.

My mom was armed with perfectly fluent bilingual English and Spanish skills, but I was told by my dad that she never liked playing interpreter for her parents, that she did this as a reluctant chore. I find this so ironic, a little funny even, because here I am eager to learn more, understand, translate, bridge, and help. How similar and different mom and I were… look at whom I chose to marry- a Cibaeño from La Ciénaga.  But instead of eloping, we went back and forth to our city halls last year, getting documents notarized and apostilled, paying all the fees, taking the 2x2 pictures, arranging the wedding details over Whatsapp videos, calls and texts, with his sister's help. I think of my mom’s decision to elope and wonder- Was it impulsive on her part? Was it planned? Was she pressured? Fascinated?

My mother-in-law noticed a yellowish, jaundice kind of color on my hands and around my chin before I left. She harped on it and pleaded me to go get it checked out when I returned to the U.S. Personally, I think it’s just from all the carrot juice I’ve been drinking lately but I took her advice and got bloodwork done when I came back. The test results came back normal by the way, but they scheduled an ultrasound for my stomach this weekend as a precaution. I don't remember my parents really talking to me like that, maybe my mom a little bit, but it's not the same, I can’t quite put my finger on it right now.  

When I do the same thing with my husband, when I remind him to include some yogurt in his diet for his indigestion or to pick up some Epsom Salt, he actually thanks me sincerely. He's not annoyed by this kind of stuff.  He's used to it and to him it shows that I care.

How similar and different my mom and I were- because out of all the diversity in boyfriends I’ve had over the years, not caring to purposely get involved with someone Dominican, not avoiding it either, but not making a point to... that’s exactly whom I’ve chosen to tie the knot with- as if I were destined to repeat something from my mom without intending to.

Back in 2000, the day I turned 23 years, 4 months, and 1 week old- this is definitely a dad story- my dad calculated and pinpointed this day because this was when I would be the exact age my mom was the day she had me. He didn’t tell me about it until the end of the actual day. He was curious/interested in seeing what I would decide to do that day, where I would happen to go. I happened to go visit my dad’s friend Raymond in the city, in the same apartment my parents used to live in before they moved to Queens! Joe offered to fix his computer and I just went along with him. Just because. I came home later that night and he showed me all the math with pen and paper on the dining room table- all the days of the months adding up, and we both got such a kick out of this. It was spooky but in a good way. So yeah, I have to wonder some more: What do we unknowingly repeat from our parents? What do we go against their grains with, in terms of the decisions we make in life?

What would mom think of my marriage? Would she have laughed at its irony or would she have been more like, “Oh noo- Tennille, you're going “backwards” to something that I’ve always wanted to get away from!” I don’t know, I picture her doing a little bit of both. Ultimately I think that she would have liked my husband and his family though. I hope she's guiding me on some level somehow and I hope I'm making her proud, or at least happy. But I'm not trying to live in anyone’s shadow or for anyone. I'm just trying to do what I think is right in life, trying to make decisions with the curiosity if, and the hope that it is in fact, good.