My heart. My soul. My life. Boyle Heights.

I guess this means I'm a shopaholic

2010-07-06T11:42:00.000-07:00

"Haven't I seen you here before?"

I wasn't in a seedy bar. This question wasn't asked by a drunk trying to get lucky. No, this scene played itself out in an Aldo store.

"Yeah, I know I've seen you in here a few times recently." The sales guy has an "Aha!" look on his face as he points an i-know-you finger at me.

I smile, amused and flattered but eventually slightly embarrassed. He's right. I had been in that store a few times recently. What he doesn't know is I've been in an Aldo store at another location recently as well. And what only my trunk and closet know is I've been in many stores at many locations recently, each time carrying out adorable loot in my re-usable shopping bags—my sorry attempt to be altruistic amidst my self-fulfilling addiction.

Though this guy had no ulterior motive in saying what he said to me, or was probably just trying to get another sale out of me, those 6 words caught me like spotlights catch escaped convicts as they attempt a jail break.

Caught.

It all became blindingly clear. I shop so much that the sales people are starting to see me as "a regular." Not good. Not good for my closet. Not good for my bank account and credit cards. Not good period.

I smile at him, he's sweet-looking, the kind of guy I'd have a crush on in junior high.

"I guess that means I shop too much."

"I didn't mean it like that." He's suddenly embarrassed for me. Again, not good. "It's just good for us to know our customers." His explanation is plausible, but we both know it's an attempt to save face—my face.

"Well, I'm just looking today."

"Ok. Let me know if I can help you with anything."

He walks away and I look around, admiring the heels and wedges and sandals and flats. I build outfits in my head, imagining the perfect sun dress or skinny jeans or accessory that will compliment each pair. I sigh internally. I remember the stack of boxes at home. I remember my dwindling bank account and the growing balance on my credit cards. I remember the heavy feeling of guilt and remorse that closely follows the initial but fleeting feeling of exhilaration and joy each purchase brings me.

I sigh again and walk out. I have to stop. And thanks to this Aldo shoes sales guy with the cute, boyish smile, his question was just the slap in the face I needed.

My name is Carina Zaragoza. And I am was a shopaholic.

Good-bye

2010-07-04T13:02:00.000-07:00

Another ending.

Meaning #1: something that began for the third time has ended again.

Meaning #2: something that began for the third time can continue, resulting in something different, better, happier.

#1 is reality.

#2 is fantasy.

Can I alter the meaning of something that has already happened? Can I make fantasy reality? Maybe a more important question is, do I want to? And, what does he want?

Well, it's too late for any question now. What's done is done. This is another ending. And sadly, the last ending.

Sad for two reasons.

Reason #1: I miss him.

Reason #2: I fear the loneliness.

#1 is the immediate pain.

#2 is the real pain.

It isn't so much the absense of him that pains me as much as it is the presence of no one.

I am alone. He filled that void. And I am alone.

At least these experiences have sent me running back to my one true love: writing. It fills the void like it fills a blank page like he filled me.

But whether it's writing or loving, I remain empty. And alone.

And here I sit, dwelling in this, another ending.

Option #1: Sit and fester.

Option #2: Return to him if--he'll have me.

(And this time, there is a #3)
Option #3: Live and love living and erase the emptiness with life and love and laughter and the exhiliration of it all.

#3, because the sun is waiting for me and so is life.

Good-bye.

A crossroads.....

2009-12-31T20:13:00.000-08:00

.....yes, a cliche, but a crossroads nonetheless. 2009 has brought tremendous changes for me, most of which were unwelcome. But they came regardless of my most passionate efforts towards a different reality and so here I am now. December 31, 2009, a full moon above, a rare occasion as I've read. I sit here as a guest in a familiar house with curlers in my hair awaiting the night to start, a night that will bring memories and pictures along with the new year. Yet, I am not where I imagined myself to be. This feels almost like a lie but not as harsh or cruel. It's as if I am machine in a car factory, diligently doing what I must, completing the task put before me, but all without feeling, emotion, or desire. That's what 2009 has felt like for me. I want 2010 to be on purpose, not a reaction. Do I have it in me? It seems as if this rallying cry of mine comes around once in a blue moon (pun intended as there is a blue moon shining down on me as I type). Am I going to do it? Not right now at least. It's time to layer on the sequins and heels and mascara. It'll happen. The question is, will it happen because things must happen or will it happen because I made things happen?

In Memoriam

2009-11-09T16:50:00.000-08:00

Kitty (aka The White One aka El Chiquiado) has gone onto cat heaven it seems. Almost two weeks and no sign of him. In my experience living in Boyle Heights, if a pet disappears for more than a few days, this usually means it bit the dust or it found a home that feeds it better. Either way, our cat is gone. It's sad a little. He was playful and silly while his brother (aka The Fat One) is more stand-offish and rude. For reasons I think we may never understand, Kitty provided a certain comfort. All he did was lay around (ah, the life of a cat) and beg for food. But somehow, seeing him everyday, doing his cat thing, everything seemed right in the world.

So wherever you are Kitty, here's to you.....may you rest (or live in a nicer neighborhood) in peace.

A typical Sunday morning in Boyle Heights

2009-10-25T11:26:00.000-07:00

Woke up this morning. Had coffee and tamales for breakfast. Just a chill morning. Watching the games. Went outside to check out the neighborhood. And lo and behold, chickens kicking it on the street. Nothing unusual. Just another typical Sunday morning in Boyle Heights.

Le Sigh

2009-10-21T12:56:00.000-07:00

He saw beauty where I never thought it existed. Made me smile while I looked at spreadsheets and reports. Gave me a high that was unlike anything I've felt before. He gave me a taste of ecstasy. And in a flash, it was gone. No need to shed tears. No restless nights. No pathetic "Why? Why? Why did this happen to me?" Just simply a sigh and a memory. That's all. That's all it ever could be. I see that now. I knew all along this had an expiration date. Now I'm on the other side. But how I hunger for that moment of sheer bliss when I was in his arms.

Oh well....on to the next....

RIP: Us March 20, 2004 -- October 5, 2009

2009-10-06T13:18:00.000-07:00

"I hate you." That's how 5 ½ years ended. A horrible, unjust end to a painful but unforgettable relationship that was, at times, filled with love.

This blog isn’t about Boyle Heights. It’s about me. And about him. And about a relationship that ended. I just couldn’t let 5 ½ years go without…..writing something, saying something…..I don’t know what. I just needed to do something. As a step towards healing.

I was devoted to him. Our love and desperate need for each other took us from Pasadena to New York to Miami to Jamaica to San Diego to Rosarito and finally….to Boyle Heights. So I guess in a way this is about Boyle Heights. After 5 ½ years, I found myself home again. It’s fitting. Now I can start anew.

I was devoted to him. Loved him like no other man in my life or woman in his life. He was to be my life partner. And as I think about that dream of my future with him, now shattered, I am saddened and my heart breaks again.

I was devoted to him. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough. I gave everything, was left with nothing, became a shell of myself. My life was not my life but his life. But it wasn’t enough. And now I must accept that it’s over.

I was devoted to him. And for my devotion I received pain and lies and betrayal and broken promises. There were good times and laughter and joy and light and yes, even love. There was hope. The hope of a life together. The possibility that will never be is what hurts. More so than the what he did to me.

I was devoted to him. And now I must devote myself to me.

This is it. We were and now we’re not. “I love you” became “I hate you.” Whereas before I needed to hear “I love you” or die, I now realize I needed to hear “I hate you” to live.

LA Chick in NYC

2009-09-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

I had a fling over Labor Day weekend. I was in New York. My good friend Yogita played hostess and tour guide. I walked shopped ate danced and site-see-ed. Exploring the city on my own was a great adventure to a home-body like me. And a much needed stress-reliver for the worry-wart in me. Taking in the rush and hub-bub of the streets, checking out the bars and restaurants and shops and cafes and store fronts of each block, exploring the neighborhoods and communities that make up the island, excited me and thrilled me in a way no other city has. Slowly, NYC started to seduce me like a handsome debonair southern gentleman who already has his hands full with women from all over the world but doesn't see the harm in adding one more notch to his belt. I was wined and dined by the high-end restaurants, street food, and weak drinks. I was caressed by the rich fabrics of all the clothes in SoHo. My heart beat faster and faster as I went in and out of the train stations and up and down the city. I became enamored with NYC with each passing second. Before I knew it, I was sprung. I felt like I was 16 again, uninhibited and daring. I began fantasizing about moving. Gasp! An LA chick moving to NYC? Blasphemous! The blood rushed through my veins and my head was spinning at the thought. Why not? There's so much to do and see and feel in NYC. "I can see myself living here," I kept thinking to myself. The thought exhilarated me like the thought of running away with sexy stranger to a destination unknown.

Then, standing in Central Park, on my last day in New York, as I looked up at the blue, sunny sky, I realized what I'm loving the most about New York, the aphrodisiac that is enticing me and making me crazy with desire, I already have in LA. While I stared at the white clouds and took in the sun's warm rays, I realized it was the bright sun and dreamy sky that I was high on, and in NYC, the bright sun and dreamy sky, like the Aurora Borealis, only shows its beautiful face once a year. No, it was fun while it lasted New York, but this chica has all she needs in warm, sunny, LA.

Sadly, I boarded the plane, but happily, I set foot in my home and found pleasure in being back with my true love, LA.

LA Summer

2009-07-14T09:45:00.000-07:00

Driving up the 110. LA ahead of me in front of a mountain back drop. Sun to the right over SC. Black Eyed Peas on the radio. Windows down. Hot breeze blowing. Blue skies. I may be all alone in my car but this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Sure, other cities around the world may have something on LA, I’m big enough to admit it. But give me LA in the summer and I have all I need.

Beauty in my little barrio

2009-04-08T12:57:00.000-07:00

Cherry blossoms in Boyle Heights. Just wanted to share something that made me happy as I stepped outside my home one morning.

The seasons of life in LA

2009-01-21T15:17:00.000-08:00

Who says there aren’t any seasons in LA? I beg to differ. We do too have seasons, unique to LA. We may not have white winters and turning foliage, but what we have I sure do love. Just take a look:

Winter

Spring

Summer

Fall

It's a beautiful thing, no?

Over the river and through the woods….

2008-12-13T13:14:00.000-08:00

Well, we’re not going through the woods and we certainly ain’t going to grandma’s. But we are going over the river, the LA river to be exact. From Boyle Heights just past the LA river is another world, a world unique to Downtown LA. I’m talking about the alleys.

Now, for those unfamiliar with LA, going to the alleys doesn’t sound too charming. Don’t get me wrong, some alleys in downtown shouldn’t be traversed by anyone who doesn’t live there. In fact, just a few blocks over, you’ll find these alleys, infamously known as Skid Row.

I’m talking about the alleys between Santee Street and Maple Avenue. These alleys have been re-imagined as the Fashion District, but they’ll always be the alleys to the locals like me. Here, you’ll find finger-licking-good food, small pets, bootleg DVDs, and knock-off’s of all kinds, from Louis Vuitton wallets, ipods, Gucci watches and who knows what else.

I was there recently, and man oh man, has it ever changed! What used to be a narrow alley has blossomed into mini-malls and store fronts down every parallel and perpendicular street. But what’s really changed is the prices. Back in the day, if you wanted a deal, the alleys is where you’d find it. But now, the prices are so high, you might as well go to the mall. At least at a mall you’ll have a parking lot or garage. And that’s another part of the adventure that is a trip to the alleys. Good luck finding parking.

When I first had this idea to write a blog about the alleys, it seemed a lot more fun and exciting. But this is all I was able to muster. So there it is. The alleys. Just one of the many interesting communities that surround the great Boyle Heights.

PS: Here’s a surprising fact I found: Fashion District retail sales exceeded $495 million in 2005—topping sales at The Grove. Take that you yuppie assholes!

Turkey Day at the Zaragoza Residence

2008-11-27T22:38:00.000-08:00

No warm memories of a hot, golden turkey right out of the oven. Or of warm, fluffy stuffing. Or of tangy sweet jiggly cranberry sauce. Nope. My fondest memories of Turkey Day will be of my dad hammering and sawing away while we're dressed in our Thursday finest.

Take, for example, this picture taken on Turkey Day 2008. While our dining room table is set, brimming with delicious food, my brother and uncle are busy helping my dad put up a ceiling. This is normal in the Casa Zaragoza. Just another day in Boyle Heights. Never mind that it's Turkey Day and the family is gathered to spend an hour together gorging ourselves while watching Dallas play on the big screen. Never mind that we're all waiting to dive right in. Never mind that this is the only day out of the whole year we actually eat together at the table. Nope. We have to wait until the construction zone is closed for the day.

It's typical. It's funny. And, for better or worse, it's my family.

So much fun!!!

2008-11-07T10:46:00.001-08:00

Thanks reese81! I LOVE THIS! Wordle is where it's at! Now I have to create one for everything I adore!

Like USC Football!

And the beach!

Oh, too addicting.....

Ahh....this is the life

2008-11-05T09:00:00.000-08:00

This is where it all starts. The beginning of a long night in the alley, chowing down on good grub, throwing back some Tecates, shooting the shit with the fam bam. Some people’s idea of a good time may involve hitting the hottest spot on the Sunset Strip or wining and dining at an overpriced fancy restaurant. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy that too, occasionally. After all, I am from LA. But my idea of the BEST time is kicking it with my peeps. There's nothing like firing up the grill at the spur of the moment, grabbing some food at the grocery store down the street, and just hanging out talking about whatever. It's times like these when the best tasting food is made, the funniest stories are told, and true bonding happens. Not the sissy kind of bonding like telling each other how much we love each other and all that nonsense. I mean the unspoken bonding that occurs between a brother and sister who, though never said aloud, will do anything for each other and always have each other's backs. I mean the kind of bonding that can only happen between uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews and brother-in-laws at 3 in the morning after 5 bottles of cheap wine and several tortillas later.

This may not be what Hallmark cards are made of, but it's what Boyle Heights is made of, and it's what I'm made of, and that's a whole lot better if you ask me.

Are you going to dress up for Halloween?

2008-10-31T13:24:00.000-07:00

I remember when trick or treating was actually a treat….now you’re likely to run into tricks standing on the corner making a living the only way they can.

Halloween when I was a kid was all about roaming the streets with your friends, having a night out elementary-kid-style, with no adults, only grocery bags and cheap plastic costumes. Ha! Those costumes were crazy! I remember my face getting all sweaty, not being able to breathe, but refusing to remove my mask for fear that it’ll ruin the illusion I was so desperately attempting to achieve—a princess or a cartoon character—a costume most likely bought at the market.

Yeah, those were the days. I guess every generation reminisces about days long gone when things were just different and better than they are now. It was better back then. Now I see parents driving up, parking, walking their kids to a couple of houses, then getting back in the car, and driving to the next block. What the hell kind of fun is that? I guess I can’t knock parents for being careful and taking every precaution. Shit, I don’t remember hearing about pedophiles back in the day and now everybody you encounter might be one. So I guess they gotta be careful. But it makes me sad to think all these kids won’t have the same carefree memories I have.

Memories of walking around at night, giggling, trying to get the most candy, feeling cool, and getting excited to see a kid from school outside of school. Are those days gone forever? Will I never get that ooey-gooey, creepy-crawly-spiders in my stomach, candy-coma, don’t-want-the-night-to-ever-end feeling again?

Nah. I can make Halloween in Boyle Heights fun again. It ain’t all that bad. You just gotta know what streets are off-limits and which houses give out the good candy. (FYI—It ain’t mine. Shoot, I eat them all up before the kids even get there. Or I stash ‘em. Hey, that’s me. And what?)

You know what though? We can still make warm memories even though things may have changed. So tonight, I’ll be the big bumble bee pushing kids out the way to make sure I fill up my grocery bag. That’s how we do it in Boyle Heights.

Happy Halloween!

Like scars cutting through my ’hood

2008-09-08T18:00:00.000-07:00

The Metro Goldline Eastside Extension—the main reason for my starting this blog.

I have witnessed its construction—and resulting destruction of my hometown—since its infancy. I regret not having documented the phases of the deconstruction of Boyle Heights. Nor have I captured my hometown prior to it being torn apart by outside investors. How sad I am to know I will never see Boyle Heights again as I did growing up here. And the most bitter pill—I scarce have any photos to relive my memories.

I hope this humble blog entry will justly serve as a homage and remembrance for what once was my Boyle Heights.

It pains me to see how this line has caused such upheaval. The streets I once traversed so easily were blocked off, my daily schedule interrupted, our lives cut straight down 1st Street, all for the construction of the Metro Goldline Eastside Extension. This image captures perfectly what I have been and am witnessing (and I have to give credit where credit is due). Signs of growth and progress are everywhere. But I feel invaded, my neighborhood razed for the profits of outside investors.

Boyle Heights was always a sanctuary for me. A warm blanket I could wrap myself in to keep all the bad things out. It was my own little paradise closed off to outsiders. A secret little hangout. And now, it, I , we have been opened up, without our consent, to anyone who pays $1.25 and hops aboard a sleek train.

Maybe I’m stubborn against change. Maybe this will turn out to be a good thing. (It hasn’t for the homeless population who call the streets of Downtown L.A. their home). I don’t have an answer. I just wanted to give a shout out to Boyle Heights. Hang in there. We’ll make it through this. You’ll always be my old Boyle Heights.

Hey, on the bright side, at least the “gentry” will be able to return to their pedicured streets having gotten some “culture” i.e. “eastside flavors.”

More on gentrification:

We won’t go down without a fight.

Self-Help Graphics is one of the latest victims of gentrification. Listen here.

Artists respond to gentrification.

Gentrification in El Paso.

The light of my life. The center of my world. Join me, won't you?

2008-09-03T17:14:00.000-07:00

Boyle Heights. Two simple words. But oh so much more. A community. A collection of homes, panaderias, carnicerias, schools, liquor stores, stray dogs and cats, parks, carcanchas, paleteros, loud music, taco trucks, and of course, mi gente.

Today I announce the birth of “My Heart. My Soul. My Life. Boyle Heights.” A blog about mi barrio, my hometown, my neighborhood. But mostly about how Boyle Heights is more than just where I’m from—Boyle Heights has come to define who I am.

Along the way I'll share esto y el otro with you. I invite you to join me and visit often.

So take a ride down Evergreen Avenue with me. We can stop by Jato’s and enjoy some fresh mariscos. Or we can just chill at Hollenbeck Park, talk, and explore this mystery we call life. Either way, I am honored and blessed to share this Boyle Heights life with you.

Peace.