SOMOS Fall 2009

SOMOS Editorial Staff Editor-in-Chief Kimberly Arredondo '11

SOMOS magazine was established in the 1990s by a group of students who envisioned a medium that would bridge the gaps between communities sharing Latino experiences.

Unfortunately, for a short time, SOMOS was discontinued, but it was revived five years ago and has since worked to give voice to artists in the Brown and Providence communities.

For this years fall issue, SOMOS has published submissions that relate to poignant and pertinent issues in the Latino community.

In Alejandro Ceja's poem, "Gracias Ama," she sketches a scene of her family, focusing on her calm, supportive, beautiful mother who was her "feminist before [she] knew the meaning

Art/Photography Editor Alex Tudelo '10 Layout Editor Christion Martell '10 Publicity Director Dovid Hernandez '11 Spanish Editor

of gender." Ayoosh Pareek writes about a dwindling love and his last reaches for saving it when looking for four leaf clovers when our time was near over." Pareek's use of word play and humor give levity to his poem, "Little things you do make me move the earth."

In her creative nonfiction piece about the Koch's, Amanda Machado uses food to discuss issues of belonging and isolation in unfamiliar environments. Elote takes on a transformative power, bringing her confidence in a new place. Kelly Glaser explores exploitation and colonization in Puerto Rico in her piece, Boriken. Questioning the discovery ond explora­ tion of the Americas, she asks, "Oh holy Isabel, why did you condemn us to pay your debt?" in our closing piece, Boricua sin definicion, j.D. Andrade claims his Puerto Rican heritage by writing "En esa patria no noci, pero eso patria nacio en mi."

The art submissions we received complement the poetry ond prose pieces of this edition

Pablo Galindo-Payan '13

by reinforcing the diversity and richness of the Latino community. We are invited to look through the eyes of these artists. We ore token to all corners of the world, and we ore re­ moved from the quotidian, as we are exposed to provocative ond exciting images.

Portuguese Editors

We ore excited ond honored to present this semester's issue of SOMOS.

Camila Moraes '11 Silvia Dos Santos-Pereira '11

Sincerely, The SOMOS Team

Contact us at: Somos.Brown@gmail.com

Special thanks to: Former SOMOS editor Bianco Figueroa-Santana '10. our University Finance

tv?? ^eien,atlve Mitro

Anoushiravani '11, Office of Campus Life's Rosario Navarro, and ihe Ihird World Center for their financial guidance and support. Most importantly, thanks to all of our contributors ond our readers without whom this magazine would not be possible.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS I [TEXT] 2

Little things you do make me move the earth, Ayoosh Pareex '12

17

Todas, Angelica Garcia '10

20

Elote. Amanda Machado '10

5

Voces Roncas, Juan Ruiz 13

18

Poetas de Nadie, Sara Mann '10

23

Borlcua Sin Definicion, JD Andrade 10

6

Sin T'rtulo, Arranda Machado '10

7

Sin Trtulo. Emily Kirsland '13

8

O Segredo Que Fere, Camilla Spinola '10

10

Boriken. Kelly Cbser '10

14 Craclas Ama, Alejandro Ceja '12

[ART] Cover Sailboats, Jungmin Son RISD'll 1

Stairway, Anamaria Ramos '07

3

Peel back the layers, Francis Gonzales '11

4

Translation, David Hernandez '11

9

Grottes. Alex Tudela '10

12

Biccletas en los poises baios, Alex Tudela 10

13

Ncvidad en Monterrey, Christian Martell '10

13

Volante, Kam Sripada '09

15

Untitled, Maria Krezia '08

16

DR Ladies, Christian Martell '10

21

Rock, Cobriela CaTargo '11

24

Night, David Hernandez '11

*Stairway" Anamaria Ramos (photograph)

m.*, PAREEK make me move the earth We walk along the creeping sand Waiting for the tide to take us In To die is nolhing but the parting of the Bongs to the left side.

I osk you dire questions because my world lies Atop a fulcrum which is nothing but your widow's peak.

Because I wonted to give you something

What ooout the ring, kids, a house?

That would bring you luck; us luck.

Are we too young, maybe too old.

So cliche. That is why I decided on

You reply In non sequlturs which mane my day.

Roses instead.

And make me forget.

I dream of those artificial cocktails

I rememoer looking for four leaf clovers

In o bar nowhere in Kansas or Ohio

When our time was near over

But what I really want is milk.

And whiskey when you kiss me And you miss me in your Living room because drooling Is something I have fun with And you are someone I am done with.

2

3 J

Son voces roncos De gritorles sus penas a los dioses que odornan mi mundo.

Son voces roncos que se aferran o las lagrimas grunidas que brotan del pasado.

Son voces roncas, casi mudas, que de un delirio nacieron y cegaron a un mundo entero.

Son voces roncas omnipotentes que una sombra proyectaron sobre el sol.

Son voces roncas, aullidos que rompen el sosiego de la luna, que adornan nuestro mundo.

5

o

o

AMANDA I Knew attending a university with an Ivy league reputation meant luxuries not afforded to most of the college-attending population. But I never believed this would lead to the absolute best aspect of Brown University never mentioned in the brochure: all-you-can-eat Cracklin' Oat Bran for breakfast. Every single morning. nete is notung special about Cracklin' Oat Bran. It does not contain chocolate or marshmallow horseshoes It doesnt lower cholesterol or have a charismatic cartoon character with a catchy slogan on the cover. But ever since I was five, Cracklin' Oat Bran has held a special status in my life it is the only birthday present I have requested for a record thirteen yeas. ne ace of this life-changing delicacy? An unreasonable five dollars for an undersized seven inch box far surpassing the costs of Lucky Charms and Cheerios. So my mom. in her unwavering attempts to constantly budget, refused to purchase my culinary passioa "Next time, mija. Let's buy the Bran Flakes. Two for one."

Of course, shed make exceptions fa holidays or special occasions. So every birthday. I'd get a kiss, Td get a cake, and I'd get Gacklin' Oat Bran.

Coming from this very middle class family who believed in modest living and necessary thriftiness, I was overwhelmed upon arriving at Brown. I stood in disbelief befae the beautiful brick buildings and the lush surroundings, amazed at every aspect of this university that screamed "prestigious." interesting It wasn't until my first meal, where a big dispenser of Cracklin' Oat Bran lay before me w - a bowi skim milk, and unlimited refills did it ever cross my mind that "Wow. I've made it."

sin titi

•gAllY

KIRKIAND Close de matematicas. El profesor Habla de figuras. de tiempo, De lo que vo comendo.

Sin sober que lo podemos parar.

En el mundo piano de la pizarra, Puntos pason en filas.

En nuestro mundo todo Que esta cambiando.

Creomos y rompemos.

Aprendemos y olvidamos.

Lleno las hoias del cuaderno.

Con apuntes, con poemas.

Tengo el poder secreto de palabras:

%

« Asi es, osi fue una vez

%

el 22 de septiembre en esta close en este parte del mundo inmenso y ozul »

7

Rosana tem um segredo Nao pode contar esse segredo a ninguem Sabe que se contar para sua familia e amigos eles nunca aceitariam Esse segredo Mesmo sem ninguem saber Afasta as pessoas O segredo a fere sem saber O segredo a fere se contar

CAMILLA 6S Seus amigos ligam Percebem que Rosana esta com urn problema Tentam conversar com ela Ajuda-la

Esse segredo

Mas Rosana disfarpo e nao conta nada

Acabaria com tudo

Seus amigos Ihe garantem

O segredo Fica guardado

torna-se furia

Porque Rosana nao liga

Que sempre estariam ao seu lado

O segredo

Rosana briga com todos

Sua familia nao entende

Para o que der e vier

Todo dia que passa fere mais

Pa qtdquer coisa

Porque Rosana nao visita

Sua familia passa por sua casa

Esse segredo

A paaencia de seus amigos

Seus amigos e sua familia

Percebem que Rosana nao esta bem

Fere quern sabe

Esta se esgotando

Esse segredo

A compaixao de suo familia

Fere quern nao sabe

Esta falhando

Por causa desse segredo Rosana vive uma vida infeliz

Todos tentam descobtir

Seus amigos nao entendem

Noo sabem que Rosana Guarda urn segredo Esse segredo

Tentam conversar com ela Aiuda-la

Fere quern sabe

Mas Rosana finge e nao conta nada

Esse segredo

Sua familia Ihe garante

Fere quern nao sabe

Que sempre sera parte da familia

0 que esta errado

Anda pelas ruas sem rumo e de mau humor

Com a pobre Rosana

Nao consegue expressar suas emogoes

Sabem que prec^a de um abraco amigo Mas Rosana nao conta

Os dias possam. Rosana guarda

Paa o que der e vier

Esse segedo

Rosana nao consegue

Ndo consegue admitir sua verdade

Que arde por dentro

Rosana nao aaedita

Precisa falar

Os etas possam. Rosana precisa desabafar

Rosana tem certeza que

Precisa guardar O tempo passa. e a tristeza

Rosana nao conta Esse segredo Que continue ferindo a todos envolvidos

Esse segredo Que feriu muito Que mudou tudo

Ela precisa de seus amigos Eb precisa de sua familia

Rosana precisava falar e ndo falou Rosana precisava confiar e ndo confiou

Esta na hora deles descobrirem Agora ndo tern ninguem A verdode Familia amigos, e nem amor Rosana liga para seus amigos Esse segredo Rosana visita sua familia Feriu Agora quern ndo quer falar Feriu muito mais do que pensava Sao eles Ninguem saberd que

"Crotfes," Alex Tudela (i

Cansaram de correr atras Esse segredo Cansaram de esperar Ela esta muito sozinha

Os anos passom. Rosana cansa de viver sua vida em segredo

Era amor Rosana ndo liga

Ndo aguenfa mais a solidao

Amor inexplicavel Ndo visita

Ela quer subir em cima de uma montanha

Anos guardando

Amor inaceitdvel Durante anos

Esse segredo Critor o mais alto possivel

Esse segredo Eles abriram seus corapoes

Sem poder tocar Para todos ouvirem

Fere quern sabe

Sem poder be'ia

Agora eles ndo tern mais para da

Esse segredo

Sem poder agir

Ndo querem sqber

Fere quern ndo sabe

Esse segredo

KHJLY Bffil^SEP Suspended over the edge there were no better people. of the world, it was so new it forced your mouth open gaping, wind charging inside, prodding all your organs, saying look, outside your skin, there is magic. and it is real as a leather whip.

We don't remember Africa, but we yearn for it.

We don't remember Africa but we yearn for it. Heat, they say it suffers unlike any place on earth.

Dcrkness, they say it first, so we cannot insist, what about here?

Stop with this self-centered seasickness!

In the fields, hiding Look at these horizons condensing from our very own sweat. Dreaming of blood dripping from out lips, we ate garbanzos and bacalao. bobbing on.

The rain, droplets as big as the coqui, thundered, only to stop quick as life. Oppressive heat boils the jungle's blood evaporates to chirps and bellows, sweats waterfalls. Happy to explore what was new, we gave them everything. Colon said we were always laughing. He wrote to the King. He said in the whole wide round world.

10

behind saints, we dung to our ways, to each other.

Our backs like a cockfight, our sweat beating the ground hader than they could us.

Rumble like the rain and a nauseated stom­ ach. the murderers, the complicit, and the naivelive in one body now.

how many of us there were.

did you condemn

Pot and pans to protest,

us to pay your debt?

stomping reminds us of sugar cane.

The addict stumbles.

But we are proud of the discovery, even still.

Our fingers tear.

Sickness plagued us. too.

Mofongo, tostones, santeria.

it at four times its worth) This sandy mezcla binds us. cement that it is. building us into dusty back rooms, unmarked graves, plastic-covered couches. cocktails in coconuts, ghosts.

like faded colonial grandeur,

We created something, we sold wonder to

Dictators cede toblinding rice.

the world.

the mixture, ridden with dust, Nuclear testing ends.

Music does not feed us. Speaking

attracts. Tourists sweat, forget

a foreign tongue, our baby strains.

their sunscreen. (We sell

Vieques becomes the new hot

the box in both hands.

The cup teeters.

Juice drips, slow as certainty, onto the floor.

How can our groundwater be safe from all the bloodin the ground?

An addictive personality, first spice.

—

—

How can our

Numbers say nothing. As a child, 1 felt too tall.

Ten thousand years and we all die, neander­ thals bellowing their way down before us.

groundwater be so from

safe

all the

blood in the ground?

sugar, export markets,cocaine.

Oh holy Isabel, why

destination.

—

—

11

ALEJAMDPA

CEifteio, a„

She smiles, but never in pictures.

Porcelain faces run amuck.

She embraces them.

Deep hearty loughs to the tune of Apa's guitar.

The aroma of a dish perfected by years of

I look to Ama, and now she is smiling.

repetition

Caring not about her thinning hair, false

They call us fanatics, too passionate, too loud Colas as bright as quetzal feathers, I see mirraed Montezuma's ferva in my father's gestures.

Dozens of tiny feet pitter-patter in and out the house's doas.

A tortilla burning, maza falling to the floa.

Children running running running.

Me hacen preguntas

y preguntas.

I smile at my sister, her wild unruly hair and her eternally Curious nature.

Mi mama. in a heated discussion poised as a viceroy

You were my feminist, before I knew the meaning of gender

and as beautiful as the very Holy Mother.

ICOU Mi papa y su equipo de futbol.

A plate of food in hand gaze perpetually glued to the screen.

The sound of heels dicking on the floor Silks, reds, scarves, mi tia twirling round and round the room Doe-eyed amazement We all begin to dance.

teeth.

Or her boisterous laughter, i see wrinkles in her face, delineating yeas of life and love And I can't help but wonder...

Mother of ten how was it possible?

Perseverance and hope, how dd you garner?

These risks, how did you not folter?

Your journey, so bold.. ci.No tenias rriedo?

To you I owe the scene outside.

These greens, these oranges, These 3,000 miles.

You were my feminist before I knew the meaning of gender.

You were my rock before i knew I would be singled out fa my name.

You encouraged my introversion, my intricocies,

my eternally pensive nature You smiled as I held books you knew you would never be able to read Achate ganas, you told me, while on my ivory tower A tear in her eye to the melody of a mariochi's joyous vtolin I give her a hug aid tell he,

14

Gacias, Ama

ANGEUKA Gtodas>A "No hay lagrimas suficientes en todo el mundo para expresar todo mi dolor."

Asi dijo en tal novela una joven hermosa

Dejadas plantadas, las raices de esperanza encaiadas en la tierra seca -

Asi lo suspiraba casi sin espiritu.

bellas. Nacidas lindas.

Cos' suplicaba. por favor, ya no mas, no tengo lo que falta

ya comprometidas a Idstima

Casi gritaba casi lloraba La voz casi dispgaba de su boca como una pistola.

No hay lagimas suficientes en todo el mundo para expresar todo mi dolor

Y can esas polabtas, ya no existia nada perola desgracia.

Aunque no recuerdo exactamente quien to diio.

Noda pero to sange que coma pa las venas como veneno.

Recuerdo como me dio con una fuerza inolvidoble

Y asi con todo su cuerpo se ahogo en su clamor.

Yo no mas, no tengo lo que falta no tengo la fuerza Ya no mas, nunca to tuve, mis esfuerzas estan tiradas al piso, Yo Qjfame estedolor antes de que se convierta en la coma sobre cual duermo.

Es dificil decir quien lloro mas: La Virgen con fe, sacrificada Mi abuela con arna, rechazada.

0 mi mama con promesas, abandonada.

Eran todasOjotes gandotes, pintodos negos alrededor, llenos de lagrimas.

Un ataque de memaias que no eran mias Pero de todos las muieres que vivieron antes y que vivirdn despues de mi.

Una gomesa, sufriraa Cargcwan una cruz.

Con todas sus tristezas. sus alegias.

Munecas perfectas dibujando to misma historic

Como el mar. que no para de lamentar. que manda las olas saladas para adelante y para atrds. cortdndose una y otra vez en los ganos brutos de gena Asi somos nosotras. las lagrimas cansadas y retrosadas

17

SAPA MAN^tletas de nadie I En b calle Verbal. en una pared de ladrilb. bs principbs de un poema estan esaitos en bianco, en letra mayuscub y rdpida. Tan rapida que la cuiva de la 'D' no toca el tallo; tan rdpida que las pabbras. en vez de mantenerse rectos como las pabbras de las senales de transito que bs rodeaa suben la pared rayada con esperanza. Alguna vez un autor famoso vivio en el espacio dentro de estas paredes de bdrilb. Pero estas pabbras blancas no son de el. dSon de alguien? dSon de nadie? dSon para alguien? iSon para nadie? iY quienes son bs poetas? dQuien es nadie?

T

SOf?fa Un° 'eflexi6n de ,us curvas ^forrnos Y movimientos, pero sin peso. sin V,? A ^T te toce ' eSs rH ^ tSOnid°dUe pf°ducis 5ea lo alguiea Las pabbras que el «***> due hace tu ° °5 USdiS" E'500160 66 tu 0 VO" Ldo desdl IJSaa Z1U1 " mientrQS hQbldiS; d S°nid° 66 tu Pin,UrQ de ^ ta lQ,° ° uno °°red 66 tacMW Tal vez bs poetas de nadie les den a las sombras lo que mas les falta.

Pero dquienes son los poetas?

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Ouzos el poeto sea uno de bs traoaiodores que compaten los sandwiches de iamon y queso d mediodia sentodos en cajones para deiar la silla disponible para usa como una mesa de dmuerzo. Quizes el poeta sea el que ha dejado las palitas de madera enfrente del camion de los trabaadores para que enmarquen el almuerzo de iamon y queso como una pintura. Quizas el ooeta seael que ha colocado la botella de agua fresca en el parachoques del cqmion. (sfspero aue se aoareciera el ogua en b superficie del pldstico como los pequenas gotitas de sudor are se ban formado en las caas de los trabaiadores? iEscribio sus inciales con el dedo irdice en elvapor de agua en la superficie de la botella? bEso seria poesia?) Quizas el poeta sea ei hombte mirando mi camera desde su puesto al lado de los trabaiadores. iEI es el unico que sabe que estd siendo observado? iSi rode te observq sos nadie? iSi no le observais a nadie, sos nadie? iSos poeta?

r

IV Tanto como tu perspectiva cuando estas parado en un ferrocarril hace que el espacio entre los dos lineas de hierra desaparezca en la distoncia, tu perspectiva en la ciudad hace que cosas desapaezcan tambien. De la puerta de la casa del autor famoso en la calle Yerbal, el grafiti de los poetas de nadie casi no se puede ver. Lo mas cerca que estas a la misma pared, lo mds officii resulta leer el mensaie. dEste grafiti todavia representa a los poetas de nadie si nadie to puede descifrar? ilos poetas todavia representan a los "nadies —a los trabaiadores, a las som bras, a todas las personas callactos—si su esaitura desaparece? iNadie. todavia existis si nadie estd para observer tu ausencia?

V Yientras bs trabaadores olmuerzon con el iamon y queso en la silla mientras la sombra de cfg^ien cambiq de forma mientras una muier vestida de azul carnina por una obra cte grafiti Que earned de forma y senticb mil veces con coda paso, un joven mira, desde una ventana un mundo cue no esta permitted accede. Estd lleno de arte y de color, de perspectives distintas, de historiq y de bs obras de ninos que ya no son nihos. El joven pretende sacar una foto de lo Que ~<ji adentro-quizas, piensa la cbmara pueda entrcr donde el no puede—peo to imagen que resulta es una reflexion de el mismo, mirando to ventana Mira, que se puede ver sus qnteoios v su chaoueta con la mono met'do dentro de la bolsilla 60 es el poeta? ?EI poeta observe a bs otros, como si estuviera detrds de uno ventano? iO se miro o si mismo? bEs posible miror los dos cosas a to misma vez?

VI. bPuede ser que un poema este abierto siempre? bAun para los poetas? <iAun para nadie?

AMANDA MACHADgiote The summer after my sophomore year, my internship in San Francisco placed me with ahost family, the Koch's, who lived in a posh house in the Pacific Heights neighborhood of San Francisco with bedroom windows looking out to the Colden Cote Bridge. Living with the Koch's took some odustment. I struggled to find any familiarity or parallels of their lifestyle to my mdde class, Mexican immigrant family upbringing. Their house was stacked with old Economist magazines and a Russian literature collec­ tion. Their get-togethers were the kind spent reminiscing about days at boarding school or about their kids "finishing up" graduate degrees as if they were sandwiches, or something dse as equally ordinary. I wasn't used to parents that had catch up dinners with college roommates, that even hod college roommates or who started conversations with

my mystified expression and as if habitual, said 'Of course."

So naturally, during dinner one evening, I was excited to find corn on the cob was on the menu. Finally, a simple appetizer I was accustomed to. But the excitement was quickly deflated when I saw the lone ingre­ dient on the table only organic butter from a farm nea Main County.

During a lull in the conversation. I decided to casually mention: Its funny, my mother always used to make this with sour aeam and queso bianco. And tobasco sauce."

The Koch's raised their eyebrows in interest. "Really? I've never heard

"So what have you been reading lately?" I wasn't used to people who

of that". Mrs. Koch said taking a quick glance to her row of cookbooks.

quoted the New Yorker and made jokes where you had to know what

' doubted Betty Crocker had learned of this recipe.

the Marshall Plan was to get the punch line. A pat of it was stimulat­ ing. being aound the Kochs kept me on my toes, running through all my nineteen yeas of eduction to catch each political and historical reference and be able to respond adequately. Yet another part of me was screaming fa a conversation that didn't feel like leopardy, where I

Still, I couldn't really complain. I never enjoyed having dinner at someone's house as much I did with the Koch's, even if their daily menu seemed so unusual to me. Mrs.Koch- a. Kathy. since she refused to take her husbands last name- was a fabulous cook who knew how to mix end match her organic treasures and spiced them perfectly. I'd spend my

could talk with ease about the simple things that usually floated aound my head

evenings having long dinners and chats that began with French cheese

Even their food seemed faeign and made me realize how vastly dif-

and Napa Valley wine-tasting aackers and ended with Cerman ginger whole wheat cookies and soy milk.

ferent two household eatng styles can be. They bought everything from farmer s makets and small groceries, so their kitchen contained not one generic brand of food No frozen vegetables, no Ritz aackers. no Peter Pan peanut butter, not even Post cereal. Dinner consisted of dishes d never head of. like "Chicken Bouillabaisse" and "Wild Rice Pilcf. I'd often pick slowly at my plate, observing their method of eating to mc*e sure I was keeping up. not cutting things that shouldn't be cut a mixing things that shouldn't be mixed. I studed the way they rolled their linen napkins into ring holders after dnner and put their knife and fork in a

!0

certain cross formation on their plate to signify they were fulL And every time they offered something I hod never head of. I conscientiously hid

One nght, what the corn on the cob emerged again, I was surprised to find they had taken my suggestion- only of course, with all natural sour aeam and pamesan cheese as a replacement. Even so. I appreci­ ated their thoughtfulness and had a ball having the closest thing I had eaten to my version of a home-cooked meal in months.I devoured it in seconds, savoring and licking every flake of cheese andsour aeam with o finesse and expertise Ihad never realized I had until I looked up and saw the Koch's, with sour cream smeaed across their upper lips, cheese stuck to their chins, and looks that seemed as if they were convhced they must be doing this wrong Guiltily, I chuckled to myself. Whenit came to eating the Mexican way, I was no longer out of place.

Ahora con la mente mas clara, siento

bori<cua sin deflnlcion

algo diferente un respiro diferente la que no me llama un alma diferente pa' tras.

Yo siento el color

En esa patria no nacf, pero esa patria nacio en mi

Del sol en mi frente Del asopao en mi garganta

Pues chupate esa, Senora

De esa mancha roja encima

Porque

Del terreno bianco.

Mi mama me crio Criolloconarrozcongandulesycarneguisada

Leche no es cafe Cielo de dia no es de noche En esq pqtriq no naci No soy moreno Pero Entonces una gente Esa patria nacio en mi. que ni me llama

Gracias a... ni me canta Oios cerrados una bianco arena

... Si senor que encontre ni me quiere.

Una gente nueva de culture

un cielo azul un coqui que conta una tierra que 'iamo

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Que me acepta sin pensarlo Esa mirada de Pero nunco deiare de ser Gringoqueestdaprendiendoespanolenelcolegio.

Boricua sin definition.