One month ago, I began writing this blog series. It was the week my aunt Betty passed away from cancer. It was also the same week of my breakup with my ex, Nick…and it was also the last week of my 40-day home confinement. (Aka probation-ish). Amongst the petty reasons of why I began writing, I didn’t know how to deal with the submerged realities and immersed myself in what I’ve always done; I dipped my sorrows in ink, and jotted down the events that led me to a detrimental state. In a platform of memories. In sloppy cursive. Only this time, I kinda made it public. Unknowingly, the process would be scarily healing. You see, I’m troubled, although it‘s freeing to express myself openly, it’s also unpleasant to emphasize failure and pain by formatting it into words. Relieving and humbling, yet scary. So, I’m still here, writing. (Essentially, it’s a test to see if trauma can be avoided).

I prepared a draft blog written about a N-A-S-T-Y situation concurrent with the submergence, and didn’t think I would dare touch the subject of my Tiá Betty, but this has garnished all of my senses.

My precious, soft-spoken, kind, and beautiful Tiá Betty and her husband, my father’s brother, Tio Tito, had retired in Miami. That’s where she decided to discontinue her treatment. During my aunt’s last moments, my family was by her bedside. My sister Melissa, who was Tiá Betty’s goddaughter and favorite, represented me and my other sisters who couldn’t be there. I couldn’t go because of the aforementioned probation. Thankfully, that was my last week of confinement, so I desperately booked my flight to Peru. By the time they sent her ashes back to Lima, I would be free to attend the ceremony.

In the Peruvian tradition, after the death of a loved one, we are given exactly one month to grieve before having the one-month memorial mass with family and friends.

The entire month before Peru would be staggeringly teaching. There would be a time for anguish, and a time to get shit sorted out before I left the country. Including throwing a birthday party for Kamille. (I wanted her to come with me but that will be saved for another baby daddy drama blog). When the tears subsided, the motherly instinct to stay strong emerged. It confused my gut and since Nick was the only confidant I had known for the last two years, he was my closest physical support. If you’re stronger than me, I don’t recommend rebounding to the ex you just kicked out for comfort. You do not want to be a user…unless you really care for that person and you agree to use each other accordingly…in a good way…OK, trying to compartmentalize these thoughts as best as possible. (Ranting was promised in the first blog)!

So, time encloses as it does, and one day before I leave, I’m mistakenly shopping for what I think is grandmother-approved black clothes. I later learned absolutely no one wears solid-black outfits to this ceremony because the grieving has surpassed and it’s time to celebrate life. Then the day I had to leave crept up. I packed my bags and randomly grabbed the first book off my shelf: “The Secret of HAPPINESS, How to Find Joy and Live Your Best Life.” Ughh. A gift given to me by a stranger a year ago…a book I avoided for a whole year…because I’m in the race of, “I can make myself happy.” BUT, I guess timewise, it was appropriate. I smothered it into my luggage and rushed to my lash appointment which was right before my flight. My lash lady, Kellie, (I can almost guarantee it’s not her real name so why disguise it here?), gasped at how hot my head was and called out what I refused to admit. I had a fever and flu. She gave me a mask to wear during my lash fill and suggested I take it to the airport. I felt like a leper. On top of that, I was PMSing because my boobies had inflated to what felt like a size F, and my pants barely squeezed over my thighs, so I had BETTER be PMSing, (turns out, I was). I prayed that all these minor setbacks would deflate (literally), so I could focus on my family and aunt’s memorial.

To be transparent, I loved my aunt so very much. However, I, nor my other sisters would ever come close to the connection she had with my darling sister Melissa. Melissa was her daughter, not by blood, but because Tiá Betty never had children, Melissa was HER daughter. That’s what goddaughters are for. My mother had four, so not having Melissa’s undivided attention never bothered her. Tiá Betty would fly Melissa to Disney World and Peru, and give her money and gifts, while we stood by waiting for something to fall into our hands. Now, I really laugh as I think about how grubby we all were. We all were spoiled by other aunts and uncles, but somehow still suffered by the hands of envy.

The main reason I rushed to Peru without hesitation was because I feared for my grandmother’s health. She was on the verge of turning 92 and I was frantic to be by her side and support her. Throughout the entire process of wrapping up home confinement, birthday parties, a sickening breakup, fever and flu and hormonal debts to my monthly collectors, my father was in my ear warning me about my layover in Mexico City. He swore they would smuggle drugs into my bag, and use me as a mule. I tried to ignore all his warnings but when I arrived, the side-eyes, and suspicious activity all around me made my flu sweats even heavier. A conspicuous TSA member followed me across the entire airport, up to the escalator that led to security, and tried to communicate something with me. I could have passed out but instead I ran away, up the escalator.

All this to say, I allowed my vulnerability and codependency to interfere with the promise I made to myself, which was to “LET HIM BE.” Ever since the breakup with Nick, whatever he did and wherever he went, it was a constant, “LET HIM,” in my head. It wasn’t my business anymore. But none of my sisters were answering their phones, so I called Nick to leave a description of the TSA stalker and to complain about the security who went through my bag, no answer. Then came the text that he was out with friends. I forgot why I was calling, and it was then that I realized my pets wouldn’t be accessible as easily as I thought they would be. He was babysitting all the animals he gifted me. Even after I begged to hire a sitter, he insisted he would care for them. I did the math in my head from the time Nick dropped me off at the airport, then went to work. This meant that my puppy, Ramsey, had been in his cage for close to 10 hours. It’s a kingdom of a cage, but a cage, nonetheless. I was furious. I had to focus, and make it out alive, there wasn’t time for his shenanigans. As long as my only child and firstborn was safe with her father, my fur kids would have to take their chances. I was sick, scared, and just trying to make it to my grieving family. I had to mentally let go of that balloon and let it float away into the sky. That’s what I do when a situation I can’t handle falls into a state of disarray. I mentally turn it into a balloon and visualize it floating away.

The day I arrived was the day of the mass, which was also the day of my grandmothers 92nd birthday. I landed at 6:20 am, and all I could think about was sleep. Call me paranoid, but the sus activity at my layover in Mexico had me bushy-tailed. Sleeping on the plane was not an option.

4,158 miles later, I landed in my grandmother’s arms. She didn’t care that I was sick, she still loved on me. That’s exactly what I needed, hugs like a warm shower in winter. I hugged my uncle in sadness. This is why I needed to be here, all this embrace and concern. But in a flash, my grandma ordered Tio to call the chauffeur. I was embarrassed because I really wished my grandma wouldn’t call an Uber a chauffeur. Francis, they called him, pulled up and helped us into the car. No Uber sign. Turns out he is a chauffeur and had been driving my grandma around for 20+ years. Grandma comes to her home in Lima only once or twice a year.

There’s something poetic about being with your family in their home HOME away from their home stateside. I spent a lot of time with my grandma at her house in Virginia. Once, I stayed with her for 3 months. Exactly three months later, I fled back to California cowering back to my mother’s arms. The very arms I tore away.

So now, I already know how my family maneuvers. Family, religion, education, and money are first priorities, then comes manners, politeness, and class. I always knew my dad’s side was, I don’t want to say uppity, but..my dad would enforce absurd rules when we ate at our home in ROSAMOND. No one cared if I dipped my spoon in my soup frontwards to backwards, instead of backwards to frontwards. When I took my grandma out for a burger in Virginia, she ate it with a fork and knife. You NEVER touch your food with your hands… EVER (Eating with my hands is my favorite)! You never leave the table without dismissing yourself, you never use a public bathroom, otherwise you are sure to catch a venereal disease. She said I would never forgive myself if I brought it back to Kamille. You always allow the waiter to take your dish, do NOT pass it, (got in trouble for that on day one). You ALWAYS greet with kisses, and you NEVER go to bed without dismissing yourself. There’s a lot of rules, but this blog is looking close to over 3,000 words and I need to keep it moving.

Upon arriving, I already knew my leash would be tight. My grandmother holds a grudge against me for sneaking out of her Virginia home at midnight to hang out with friends, when I was 18, and I’m still making up for it with semi-good behavior. Luckily enough, my grandmother doesn’t bother with having WiFi, so I would be able to have some reflection time alone and walk around to find WiFi. She’s contracted people to cook, wash dishes, answer her phone, change the sheets, water the plants, clean the house, do the laundry, run errands, get groceries, and everything else, but WiFi… Nope!

I wasn’t gone 20 minutes across the street at the Bodega, when they sent someone named Leonardo to tell me to go back home. He made sure I was back in, locked the door and then they sent him to prepare flowers for the ceremony. I looked out the window and there was Francis, the driver, sitting in his car. No escape. Why I thought downloading Tinder in Lima would be a good idea-I don’t know. (I never used it before and it wasn’t my intention to use it at all, I just wanted to take a small peek to distract myself from the chaos).

I swear I adore my family; they are everything to me, family is EVERYTHING. In fact, I didn’t understand the magnitude of healing I would feel lying next to my grandmother, on the side grandpa used to sleep on.

Finally, I took a nap, and woke to prepare for the mass. I was completely distracted thinking about my poor pets, that I forgot to wear the pearls my grandma gifted me a few years ago. I had especially packed them so I could be twins with her to express my support. But the balloon I let go into the sky, found its way back. I quickly released it back. This was Tia Betty’s day to celebrate her life. This was Grandma’s 92nd birthday.

It was my first time ever in the “Virgin Del Pilar,” church and I was told, every first-timer was allowed to ask for one single desire. At that somber moment, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted at all. I just wanted my uncle to be at peace, and my grandmother to stay strong. Which in actuality they were. I think I was being dramatic thinking this would be the end of Grandma. She stood tall, while everyone said happy birthday to her and gave her gifts after the priest said his last words. There’s much more to the family dynamics. Between the Pineda’s and Tiá Betty’s other side; greed over the pending will, and feuds sparked by classism but for that one day, everyone came together as the Red Sea did. It was unison in front of the saints.

Tiá Betty would have loved every moment. Tio Tito was the perfect host, and made sure every flower was standing straight, everything was on cue, he greeted every single person who came to pay their respect and treated every detail with fragility. I watched him with admiration. What a blessing when someone can find that one person who will still cater to them when they’re gone. It almost felt like an impossibility.

We were driven home and Tio just wanted his little sip. He sent someone to grab us some Peruvian beers.

After Tio retired from the Department of Labor, he became a deacon at his parish, so the conversation felt like it was straight out of Plato’s Symposium. One moment we are talking about holiness and goodwill, and after a few more drinks we were talking about ethics and self-righteousness.

Once everyone was relaxed, I went and tried to get WiFi at the Bodega, but apparently the system was down. There wasn’t much to do at night but read. I surrendered myself back into the tower and reluctantly dragged my “Happiness” book out of my luggage and as I sought out a remedy for my self-pity, I realized how unhappy I was making my ex.

Katherine Schreiber quoted Edward L. Deci and Richard M. Ryan in their theory of self-determination:
“Our values of autonomy, (the degree to which we feel we’re making our own choices) and competence (how effective we feel we are) are two of three fundamental needs. (Relatedness-being connected to others-is the third)”.

I was SICK. These are the three functions I deprived my ex from. I made most of the decisions because I’m older and wiser. I purposefully made him feel incompetent because I was angry that Ramsey was in his cage for an undesired amount of time and thirdly, I took up all his time from his friends and family, even after the break up because we had loose ends to tie. Him taking care of the fur pets we shared and other ties we had. His attention and catering were petting my ego… LAME. I hate discovering toxic things about myself. But there’s something peaceful about accepting it, even if it’s accepting the evilness in yourself.

Now, had my grandmother even known half the things that happened back home, her health would be more affected than anything. There’s no such thing as me having a boyfriend or ex. She’d always been smitten and obsessed with the baby daddy. She still calls him my husband until this day, and she KNOWS we NEVER got married. I don’t know how on God’s green earth he established a warm spot in my grandmas’ heart, but I never bad-mouthed his antics or smeared his name to her… until now, I had to! I wouldn’t be surprised if she prioritized him into her will over me. NOT that any of that matters, but money is extremely important to Grandma and it’s necessary that she allocates everything accordingly. I mentioned the custody battles and him not allowing Kamille to come to Peru. She scoffed and said it’s because he loves her so very much. Grandma is, I don’t want to say stuck in her ways, but the other day I heard, Berlyn, the woman who was cooking and washing the plates, tell one of Grandmas guests that she had a two-hour trip home after she was done with the dishes.

“I take a bus, then I take a taxi, then I take a motorcycle-taxi back home.”

I blurted out, “REALLY?”

Grandma quickly responded and said it was okay because her kids are grown, and she’s allowed to be out as late as she wants. She had been working for Grandma for over 30 years and watches the home along with others when Grandma is stateside. When Berlyn began working for Grandma, Grandma paid for her baby son to be watched over across the street. Everything felt…surreal. I snuck Berlyn a $20 USD before grandma could protest. Tippage is the pathway to a good, karmic-life and for her, it was the path to financial destruction. So yes, Grandma is stuck in her ways, and I have a lot of transitioning to do. First things first: I had to stop using my pets as a tool to gain control over the situation in California.

And then… another enlightenment. I still had my one desire granted to me from the Virgin del Pilar. Here comes the moral of the story: I wanted loyalty, but from who? I wanted love, but I was surrounded by it. I wanted so much of things I already have. I longed for that unconditional love Tio Tito had-HAS for Tìa Betty. But the truth is is that that sacred, untouchable, immovable unification was orchestrated by a higher power than the Virgin del Pilar! SO, I asked for the strength to always remain true to myself, no matter how sloppy, dramatic, emotional, or needy I can be. I never want to stray away from the truth but always remain loyal to me.

Ok, so I asked that 90% of my desires go toward that request. And I asked that 10% go towards my grandmothers understanding that baby daddy is NOT my husband, that he is HUMAN and NOT God’s gift on earth. Well not to me at least…to Kamille, well that’s a different story.

Now as my illness is simmering down, the hormones are backing off, and my family show signs of collectiveness, I can live in the now. Not in California, not in a balloon filled with problematic illusions, just live NOW.