In the storm-we either fall or we come out from it with defiant desire to overcome anything.
Who would have thought that as I wrote this I would be in the midst of a world wide pandemic. Certainly would have never put bets on this unprecedented situation and time in our lives. Part of me kinda thinks my first sign of what a shitty year 2020 was going to be started in December when that punk kid from CAL state Dominguez-Hills thought he was smooth and showed up to Regulo’s album drop and used the same words he heard at my presentation to post about his interview with Mr. Caro. What this jackass didn’t know was that everyone there heard him talk and by the time he posted his teaser about his interview those who heard him would turn around and tell me. By 3:00 am my phone had texts and calls. I spent a week on plotting his demise only to remember that I wasn’t going to send anyone to break every bone in his body. But instead I took it to my university’s attorneys, my department chair and the graduate committee. I also contacted my great and bad ass Chicano warrior attorney in Los Ángeles. At my call we would begin whatever legal action I choose to do against this punk. Interestingly, by the end of the toughest academic year I had ever endured allies and comrades had contacted me. Apparently, word was spreading quickly and one of my dear friends and incredible artist had sounded the alarms at CAL state. That punk was being discredited on social media and in his base on campus at Dominguez Hills. That was the beginning of the chaos and negative energy that would be the ending of 2019 and the beginning of a turbulent 2020.
I met with my curandera (traditional healer) before the holidays. She always did a limpia (cleanse) before the year ended. She told me I still had some bad energies wanting to see me down. I sighed. I felt it. It annoyed me more than before. I think it was the culmination of all the things I was feeling and going through. I just wanted it to be done with. Like damn. How much more could they suck from my spirit. Apparently a lot more. So, the holidays came and went. I focused on my projects, my two new book babies. My novel was coming along and my third and final book written in first person was flowing. In February, I spent four amazing days at my favorite place in the whole world. From drinking rum filled dole whips at the Disneyland hotels pool to days inside the parks. Life was great. I was excited for the end of this semester and the beginning of a great opportunity. My submission for the international conference on Chicano Literature and Latino studies had been accepted. I was taking my work to Spain. While there I had worked out several other presentations. I was looking forward to sharing this incredible work and production of the last 8 years at universities in London, Paris and Berlin. It came with a new audience and a whole different environment for me. With these upcoming events I had never felt so happy, excited and finally in my element. Ironically, these plans would never come to fruition and as I write this we are all still doing life in the midst of a covid era. My events were moved to next June 2021.
In great relief I have burn sage, done limpias and spent the last months isolated in my home. The woman who never thought herself a home body was now finding it hard to think of what a normal life outside her home would be like. In some ways I had always been preparing for this. My OCD about germs and my constant accessory of a hand sanitizer and a pack of wipes now was the trend. While my friends would laugh and take snaps of my designer bags with the famous Angie sanitizer now found themselves carrying the same accessory I had carried around religiously. Guess I got the last laugh.
In my life I have experienced grief and death through the losses of family and friends. I coped with it through the same ways we all do. I cried for my grandparents. I saw my godmother succumb to a malignant brain tumor and leave me immediately after diagnosis. I mourn and miss her every day. So, this monster covid was here. I think for a minute I forgot that the human shell was so fragile. Thus, knowing people everywhere had been dying from this plague made me forget about death in other ways. Three days after my birthday someone I loved dearly died. His death was not covid. But, a horrific car accident in the State of Sinaloa, MX. Omar, my sweet, talented, beautiful friend. His loss greatly impacted me. I don't know how many tears I have shed since his passing. I have tried to make sense of why his death hurt so much. I don't know. We had such an intimate relationship I suppose that losing him so unexpectedly and in the middle of such a chaotic time in humanity just cut deeply into my heart and soul. He wasn't supposed to leave. We had plans. There was a lot of conversations and ideas we still did not complete. So I was angry. I guess at him. At the universe. At life. I was mad that he left me. As if he had a choice. But, that is how I coped with his loss. I couldn't come to his wake. It was too hard for me. My spirit was not in a good place. How could I go grieve his loss so openly and shamelessly. I thought of the last time he was my guest speaker. Ironically, it was at CAL State Dominguez-Hills. Two nights before in our same meeting space he opened up and told me about his new business partner and his new plans. My sweet Omar was glowing. His spirit was so bright. For the first time since meeting him in 2014 he was happy. He had to leave to film and I was going to return to my hotel. I kissed him and rubbed his face. When he walked me to my car he hugged me and he left to hustle. Just like he always did. If he was anything he was the definition of hustler. When I came back to Los Angeles in December to speak at CAL State Northridge he tried to make it to my events. But, he was busy filming. The night before while we spent some time together I told him I loved him. I did/do. It wasn't your conventional love. I loved him for all the things that he was; ambitious, incredible, a loving father, his amazing creativity, for his passion (s) and for his determination to hustle hard. More importantly because we had a solid friendship above all. He backed me and I backed him. Our intimacy was a bonus in so many ways. When he finished a product he would send it to me and ask me what I thought. When I would respond I would remind him of how incredible his visions were and how I loved what he was doing for the genre. He would ask me "are you sure you like it?" As if it mattered what I thought. His work spoke for itself. It was bright and beautiful. His calling had always been this and there was so much more that he needed to create, make and bring to life. So, during my grief I listened to our last messages. I heard his last Whatsapp messages. I looked at the snap messages we had sent. My last message to him was Friday May 15th, 2020. Exactly three days after my birthday. Around 8:00pm. Reports say he died around 9:30-10:30pm. I messaged him Saturday morning. When he didn't respond I began to worry. At noon the corridista singer Abraham Vasquez shared a photo of the van he crashed in. He posted a lovely tribute to my sweet Omar. I lost my shit then. I wanted it to be a lie. Except it wasn't. My sweet Omar whose laughter made the world laugh with him had died. Too soon and too unexpectedly young. Grief has let me have some good days and some bad days. But, mostly it has allowed me to go for the sky when I am told to go for the barely there. Last month on the day he passed away I drove around my little city in the middle of the night surrounded with the mountains I love so much cradling me while the bright stars of the night shined as I drove in a madness of tears. I asked him why he left me. When I wasn't ready for him to leave. I said the things I couldn't say out-loud finally and I cried so hard that I had swollen eyes for two days after. I finally got home and got into my bed sometime in the middle of the early morning. At one point during the stupor of me trying to sleep I felt someone embrace me, caress my shoulder. Maybe it was my mind, maybe it was him. I finally slept and woke up in a state of peace. Days later I would see that I had messages he had sent in one of our usual heated conversations. I can't hear them yet. I don't know when I will be able to.
I don't know exactly what happens next. Or when we will return to what life in normalcy looks like. I couldn't write for months following the outbreak. It was hard to want to write when the world was suffering. Its my empathetic spirit. My selfless mindset. I suppose that keeps me from moving when I sense the pain and sorrow of the world as we live through this pandemic. In any case I would have one or two good days of solid thoughts and ability to type it down. It never lasted. I have like three or more scripts that I have worked on. None I have gone back to and picked up were I left off. Until just recently when I was able to sit down and write for 8 hours straight and finally felt the desire to produce. To write and write and look at the white of the blank pages inviting and enticing just waiting for the sentences and thoughts to materialize on them. I have so many more things to piece and put together. My grief will pass and I will commemorate and give this insane time justification when it has passed and I can return to being a hustler. Just like my sweet Omar was. He would never forgive me if I stopped. And I would never forgive myself either. With love and gratitude for life and health and internal peace and laughter.
