The Impossible

Amidst my ever growing collection of random thoughts placed on paper, I found this one... A very warm thank you to a special friend who got me searching for my buried treasures.

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June 2008:

I ask for the impossible in a man. I wonder sometimes if dating outside of my race is the only option left. According to Mexican mothers all around the world, I'll never be good enough for their now-adult-man-of-a-son who still lives at home, and whose laundry basket she just loaded into the washer. "Ya esta la comida" is a phrase that Mexican men have learned to, ironically, embrace and neglect all at once. As a young college activist, I vowed to never cook for a man. Feeding ourselves is a survival instinct. You'll get up and eventually find your way to the fridge if you're hungry enough. My thoughts were that if a man did not have those fighter instincts to make himself something to eat when he was hungry, then he was obviously not the man for me. I used to seriously think, "why is it that a slit between my legs puts me in the kitchen? Did God design that slit with a kitchen knife?" Thoughts of a "Maria gone wrong", let me tell you, I had plenty of 'em.

The way I see it, if you, your mother, or grandmother were named Maria - you're screwed. I have both in my family. Maria, my mother, and Maria, my grandmother. My anti-Marianismo mentality fought constantly against that invisible badge of honor in my family. "We're Mexican women, and as such - you will work, you will sacrifice, cook, and clean - and you will do it with no complaints. Why? You don't get to ask why. Just do it, chingado!"

Eventually, I grew out of my rebel phase. I guess you're early 20's would be incomplete if there weren't a million things you wanted to change about your culture, family, or country. My anger shifted into compassion, and I learned to be grateful for the values that all the Maria's in my family had taught me, and the humility they fulfill their culturally given roles with. I still; however, yearned for the impossible in a man. And if I wanted to be completely honest, I wanted it from a Mexican man... Take that grin off your face. He's out there... Right?

I asked myself sometimes if my expectations were surreal. Can I find a man who can manage to thank me just the same when I take that chicken out of the oven versus taking it out of a Stater Bro's already-cooked-rotisserie box? A man who looks into my eyes and finds my soul before he grabs my breasts like dough? - a juxtapose camaraderie between the macho man I yearn to have and the gentle love I need.

A bull with a heart of a lamb... Yes, I think that's it... I'm telling you- I want the impossible in a man.

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Inspired by Ana Castillo's "I Ask the Impossible"

"I ask the impossible: love me forever.
Love me when all desire is gone.
Love me with the single mindedness of a monk.
When the world in its entirety,
and all that you hold sacred advise you
against it: love me still more.
When rage fills you and has no name: love me.
When each step from your door to our job tires you--
love me; and from job to home again.

Love me when you're bored--
when every woman you see is more beautiful than the last,
or more pathetic, love me as you always have:
not as admirer or judge, but with
the compassion you save for yourself
in your solitude.

Love me as you relish your loneliness,
the anticipation of your death,
mysteries of the flesh, as it tears and mends.
Love me as your most treasured childhood memory--
and if there is none to recall--
imagine one, place me there with you.
Love me withered as you loved me new.

Love me as if I were forever--
and I, will make the impossible
a simple act,
by loving you, loving you as I do"