If you really knew me: You would know I hate Vegas, that when I was 14 and my brother was seven my mother use to drive to Vegas with my stepfather and neighbor to gamble while they left us outside in the car for hours.

When I heard the SLiCK training was in Vegas, I just knew memories would return of those moments waiting in the freezing desert cold for my parents to come back to the car. And so the memories came back and so did many others.

SLiCK is Student Leadership Inspired by Consuelo Kickbusch. For information on SLiCK go to
http://www.iamslick.com/.

Bring these young men and women to your school districts to change the lives of children who need help with school, peers, bullying, drugs, gangs, with their home, and life.

I and 39 other talented individuals from across the country were invited to participate in a training and to audition to help spread the work SLiCK does across the country. I was humbled from the very beginning at the level of talented individuals that I was surrounded by. As some of the readers on LatinosNJ.com know, I don’t hold my tongue for no one, and I’m as honest as I can be when it comes to Latino issues. This is no different.

As talented as I always tell myself I am (and people say I am, and I know it — plus I’m humble), I was in awe at the talents of individuals; from their singing ability to their pursuit of higher education and the changes they make on kids on a daily basis; from college recruiters that risk their lives driving to schools in snowy icy roads, to people who work in criminal detention centers that make a difference in the lives of kids in the “system.” I can sit here and write all day about the talent and loving souls in the room but it would take too much, plus I have to get back to writing a book (side note, in the last four months a copy editor from the Wall Street Journal is writing a book about my life, hence it has been difficult to write blogs) and the copy editor is a slave worker.

But what I do want to touch upon is the lives that touched my life, the stories that I will carry in my heart, the hugs and the tears I shared with so many people. We were there to get training and audition and we walked out of there with so much cleansing and release. Too many of the stories are too personal to share and it’s not my right to do so but one thing I can share is that we are all troubled and we all need this sense of release. As tired as I was from crying on Monday and as tired as I was trying to get my speech down to 20 minutes, I felt a calm, and I still feel a calm about me that’s different, I can’t even explain it, don’t want to, all I can say is that it’s SLiCK.

Consuelo Castillo Kickbusch once told me I had a gift, when all I did was stand in for a friend at a lecture and then because of a free ticket and hotel room in Chicago I went to do a workshop. I was not ever thinking of doing lectures for a living nor was ever thinking of someone writing a book about my life and now I feel even more humble because my story is not nearly as powerful as the stories of others in that room. I have not written a blog in a long time, but this experience moved me so much that I felt the need to tell people how wonderful this is. If grown professional men and women can reach deep into their souls and their inner demons and let them out, and feel at ease, I can only imagine what it can do to young men and women who have so much to live for.

As I was boarding the plane I had tears coming out of my eyes, which I thought was impossible from all the crying I had done on Monday. I had tears of joy; a place that I hated so much growing up, had brought me so much joy in the last three days. We took advantage of the buffet at the hotel, we went on a scavenger hunt, Consuelo said I looked “so cute” with my long hair ( I blushed) , we laughed till we couldn’t laugh anymore, I wore heels (don’t ask), and although hardly anyone saw this, I did a windmill at Coyote Ugly and won the dance-off against the Michael Jackson-looking guy, saw performances that couldn’t be topped anywhere else, saw a few friends I haven’t seen in a while, and felt inspired by humanity for the first time in a long time.

Yes, I thought, “How ironic, that I’m crying because I’m leaving Vegas and the memories and friends I leave behind, when I was crying a long time ago, that I was forced to come to Vegas.” Those things I can’t explain, but all I can say is, SLiCK made the change. Who’s SLiCK? I’m SLiCK!!!!

When all is said and done in this election, I hope that we as Latinos in New Jersey can come together again.  I hope that this past election year has been a learning experience and not one which drives a nail in the coffin of unity.  Many of us, including myself, have had our feelings hurt and others have been attacked mercilessly by the media and other Latinos.  This election has proven to be a test of our will to stand together while acknowledging that we all have faults,  and shown that many in our community would sacrifice themselves for causes they strongly believe in.

Education is a great example of an issue that this year has caused great animosity among people who a year ago were brothers and sisters.  We fight for the side that we know in our hearts will be best for our Latino children.  Some will attack anyone who disagrees with their side.  They will attack anyone who agrees with what they consider the wrong side.

Why are we so passionate about education and our children that we are willing to risk the unity we have built?  I don’t want an answer! I was there in Dayton St. School, Franklin, Garfield, Elizabeth High, and too many others to mention.  I had my Spinal Cord Injury in my sophomore year but before that I experienced it all.  I was jumped by eight other students because I was Puerto Rican.  I chipped my teeth when another student tripped me.  I was told not to aspire to great things because nothing great ever happened to kids like us.   Teachers sometimes acted more like wardens than educators.  I was there with my brothers and sisters and our struggles were those of our young kids today.  In some schools fear still reigns as king and we pray for a better future for them.   I know why we would do anything — so that they can do better than us.

However, I was troubled this year by the disrespect we have shown one another.  I was more troubled by my willingness to entertain gossip, innuendo, and half-truths.  I did not like the way I spoke to friends.   The truth is we are trying to have our kids taught by one entity or another but we are the ones that need an education.  I started believing in the abilities of Latinos to unite and be empowered while at Rutgers, when survival instincts told us we better stick together.   We knew then what we have forgotten now.

I have spent the last 10 or so years as a delegate of the Latino Leadership Alliance of New Jersey. Throughout that time I have grown to value differences of opinion and in some cases differences of ideology.  It is what has made us a strong organization; in fact, it is the founding mantra.  We work and tolerate others’ differing beliefs because the substantive issues like immigration, diversity, discrimination prevention and, yes, education are workable by us.  We can do something about them, or at least try.

I don’t know who will win in November.  I support one person and others may support someone else.  The truth is that a day after the election we will still be faced with the same issues as a community. The same struggle to form a better future for our children out of blood, sweat and tears.

However, we must not continue the tone of disrespect, which has prevailed.  We must show our children that we are leaders who came together despite our differences for one purpose.

Them.

I have waited quite some time to write this blog. Perhaps the reality that adulthood is still creeping in has marked my forehead with the words IN DENIAL. But, after many requests and a realization that I am growing; I decided to write it. Here goes…

I recently marked one official year since I graduated. Can you believe that? I can’t! Life after graduation has been so interesting; full of adventures and self discovery. You have probably read some of the summer blogs I wrote. If you have not, go ahead!

After my summer dreamland, reality soon kicked in reminding me I needed a job to pay off my loans. Oh, the burden of Sallie Mae! Unexpectedly, I started working for this small remodeling company in Brooklyn where I jumped in to be the Director of Administration. This was definitely not in my plans, yet it seems that the opportunity was placed in my life for a reason. For one I had the opportunity to do the two things I am best at: organize and administer. Soon I noticed that one thing remains constant in my life: the responsibilities on my plate. The joy! Immediately, I began to grow professionally and sharpen some of my strengths. Of course, I also learned about all of my weaknesses and how much work I really needed.

The months of September through December were crazy because I began to get deeper into ministry work. So many times my character was stretched, my temper tested, and my faith challenged. I was growing as a unique leader while unaware of what was going on behind the scene. God was getting ready to show me some realities that were going to change my life forever.

By the time it was January I was losing desire for everything. The New Year felt old and the burden of ministry was weighing me down. I was getting bored with everything. This was an awkward feeling for me because I hate boredom and try to avoid it! So much so that I have a list of things to research when ever I feel bored, that way I am still entertained. Yes, I love research.

I could not understand why I felt lifeless and unmotivated. Was this really Eliana? Was I missing something? Why was I not being productive at work or feeling on fire in my personal life? I could not stand being in my own head! My emotions were riding a rollercoaster everyday!

So one morning after I finished praying and got ready to go to work it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was still thinking like a college student!

What!

Life was challenging me! It was building character in me and weaning out of my spirit the cyclical tendencies produced in college students to hang in there with something for 3 ½ months and then go on break, then another 3 ½ months and our assignment as a student leader or staff is over. Here I was 4 months into my first post graduation job and it made sense why I was feeling that way. My mind was expecting a new assignment in January, but life said “No sweetheart you have work to finish and a purpose to fulfill.” I realized I needed to come up with strategies that will help compliment my weaknesses. My strength, for example, is motivated by passion, but when the passion is gone and my assignment is still undone, I need to have something in place that will carry me in faithfulness in the tasks until the second wind of passion kicks in. Have you been here before? Did you develop strategies or a game plan?

Let me assist you. Below are a few realizations that have helped me persevere during these last couple of months. So if you feel like you have been in my shoes or currently feel as if you are getting “bored” with what you are doing, read below and hope you are blessed!

1. Realize that there is always a bigger purpose at hand. Your life is one big assignment, and each season in your life represents a different step that is getting you closer to the completion of that mission.

2. Focus on the task life has in front of you right now. It could be school, a certain job, a certain position, etc… What can it help you develop and what are things you want to impart on it?

3. Take it a day at a time. You can’t conquer the world so quickly. Everything takes preparation. Do the best you can every day.

4. Let go of the things you have no control of. But rise up to take control of what is in your hands.

5. Balance! Wake up with a mind to work, but know when to relax.

6. Discipline yourself to finish what you start. Distractions will come. Don’t dwell in them, keep it moving.

7. When the road gets tough, don’t quit. Hang around long enough with something to know the value of why it’s in your life to begin with.

8. Be patient. Sometimes life presents us with the unexpected, but just because something doesn’t look the way we hoped, does not mean it will not work out for our good.

9. When its time to move on, move. You are not doing the world any good by staying where you are not suppose to. It’s like being a square peg in a round hole.

10. Realize that it’s not about you. Ever! Sometimes it’s about helping others reach their vision and soon enough you will stumble on your own dream

11. Lastly, know that your ending will be greater and sweeter than your beginning. You might not necessarily know what that end point is, but be assured that where you start or are currently standing is not where you will end up. Greater things are coming your way!

I hope that was helpful. Feel free to share realizations or truths that work for you! Knowledge is power, but the application and sharing of it is even more powerful.

It seems that the middle of our trip was more focused on love, exposure to reality, and preparation to be used like never before.

I felt loved every single minute, especially when I was with the kids. It does not matter if they were all surrounding me, braiding my hair,* or just looking at me. Every time I was with them I felt the sincerity of their hearts.

During one of our night reflections I mentioned that listening is an important part of love. When I was listening to the kids I felt love either because I saw how much they were lacking it and so there was a natural impulse in me to provide it, or I saw how full of it they were and I had a spirit to receive their embrace. So it does not matter if you are lacking it or full of love, through the art of listening you are in love with that other person. Love is just that: being in that invisible space with someone where your minds agree, your hearts seek understanding of the other, and your body feels at home.

This reminds me of the night that Lydia, one of the FoxFires, told us to read 1 Corinthians 13, the famous bible passage on love.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

She told us to replace the word love with our name. It made me think about all the times I say “I love you” to people. Am I really patient with them? Am I angered? I thought this was a great interpersonal exercise.

Another vivid memory in my mind is a time I was in one of the slums. I was sitting in this small couch and a street kid was looking at me. He was right next to me. I put my hands out and the child touched mine. He had small hands. When I looked into his eyes, it looked like an ocean of happiness. It was as if this simple touch filled his life. It was a sense of acknowledgement. The child knew he existed because of our touch. His eyes were happy. To see this child trapped in this moment, this real and yet unreal moment saddened my eyes. My soul rejoiced, however, because I know that part of my job as Eliana is to bring balance to these people. I was in love at that moment. It was only for one minute, but the residue still lingers in my heart.

* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uGPAiO7vj0

The first part of our trip was all about expectancy, adjusting, and receiving. Arriving to the Motherland was out of this world. We landed like at 9 am. As I stepped out of the plane there were too many thoughts in my head: How is the food? How do you say bathroom in Swahili? I can’t wait to see the kids! I need to take a lot of pictures and so on . . .

Everything was a rush. We got our bags, and were welcomed by two girls from the FoxFire team (the youth Ministry that were with us). Our welcoming committee wore blue shirts and their smile welcomed us. I looked up and there was a sign that said: “Smile, You’re in Kenya.” For some reason that made my heart jump.

When we got inside our bus, all I thought about was Dominican Republic. It looked very similar, except poverty was more obvious in Kenya. This can be seen in the streets since most people were walking or in a car. I fell asleep on the bus right away only to wake up to this beautiful complex. The air smelled like burning wood or leña, and the place was surrounded by nature. All the ladies stayed at the first house and the men were taken to the middle house. I felt as if I was in college all over again when I saw a door tag on my door. I jumped in my bed and noticed a mosquito net on top of me. I felt at home.

At 2:00 pm, after napping, showering, eating breakfast and lunch, we went to the ByGrace Home, the orphanage we worked with. Our time over there was beyond measure. As soon as we stepped out of the bus the kids came running to us. Immediately they got in a circle and we started to dance and sing. Afterwards the kids had a presentation for us. They wore dancing outfits and performed for us. There were several introductions and presentations and then we had a tea break. We ate the most delicious biscuits and drank tea.

We blew bubbles with the kids and played with them. I am glad we had this visit. The ByGrace Home housed 22 total kids who all slept in a total of three rooms in the second floor. Their small living room served as their school. Next week we would start constructing a school for them, and the entire team was excited.

The night came rather quickly. Before I knew it, we were back to the AEE (African Evangelistic Enterprise) house. We had a delicious dinner. The food was similar to what I eat everyday: white rice, a beef stew, delicious Kenyan bread (chapati) and greens. During dinner the foxfire team taught us a Swahili song, which became a group favorite, and we sang it together. Everyone went to sleep early. We were still exhausted from all the traveling.

I was anticipating what would happen the rest of the week. Everything was still unreal to me. I could not believe I was in Africa, but even more, I could not imagine the way I was going to serve the people and make a difference. The suspense was killing me, but I decided to turn my brain off, and just feel the experience.

For Fun:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lS47TSp-NY0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25sfoRiSDwE

One day I was talking to a friend who said, I talk black! What? I talk black? What does that supposed to mean? She said, “you know, you talk slang.” Ok, but because I talk in slang terms, doesn’t mean I talk black. If my vernacular contains words like “hot,” “Dip,” “bounce,” etc. , it doesn’t mean I’m talking black; I’m just communicating through a sub-culture that is from the street, where I grew up.

Our English, for example, is a diminished form of the British tongue. Which raises the question: are we speaking proper English? Absolutely not! We are speaking a form of the English language, but not the original, nor the most eloquent (in my opinion). Spanish is the same thing. Puerto Ricans and Dominicans eat letters and if they speak fast enough, you will think they speak something other than Spanish (I know what I just said, and I expect Puerto Ricans and Dominicans to say something about it). Mexicans have words that in Colombia could get you killed or looked at funny. In El Salvador, a bunch of kids are called “bichos,” in Puerto Rico un “bicho” is well… you know. In other countries the word “bicho” can be mosquitos. So, my question is, because certain words are different or take different meanings, do I stop speaking English?

Hip-Hop is a culture created in the United States, just like Jazz, the only true American culture (as in the definition of culture). In the early 1970’s a sub-culture was created called “Hip-Hop” and within this culture four very important elements were created; Emceeing, Dee-Jaying, Graffiti and breakdancing. Eventually the culture grew many different facets, encompassing beat boxing (creating musical sounds with your mouth) street knowledge, street language, street fashion, and street entrepreneurship (and no, for you ignorant people, this does not mean selling drugs).

One of my many mentors once told me, “You have to balance life out; you can’t just be walking around talking like you’re in the street because people in the business world won’t take you seriously. But you can’t forget how to communicate with the people you grew up with; that would be lying to yourself.” As I grew out of the street, I also grew out of the language, but I maintain enough that I can understand when young adults are talking. To me it is important knowing how to communicate with the young people. How are we supposed to understand them if we don’t know what they are talking about? We try to correct them so much that we forget that just speaking slang is intelligence being personified in and of itself.

For example, I was chilling with my dawg da other day and da click hollard on da celly that they were about to scrap wit these marcs from up da way who started beef with my other homie. Or, that same day, this happened; my ride or die chick was buggen cause she peeped me parlaying to another shawty that had my scriptures in her book bag. My lady was hot! Word is bond, she was boiling, I thought we was going to beef, but nothing came of it. Funny how things work out huh?

But the most impressive portion of the day came when I had a conversation with a business executive from a prestigious bank. A man in his mid-40’s heard me humming Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power” shortly after our meeting about investments. He looked at me, and he said, “You a Hip-Hop head?”

I said, “Word up.”

“That’s was up, and you hummen a good joint too, that was the jam back in the day, what else you marauding (that’s right, marauding is word used in Hip-hop) with your ears?” he asked.

I responded, “Son, I listen to more old school than any of the new bunk stuff that’s out in the hood or radio, you feel me?”

“I feel you, rap has lost its flava,” he responded.

“No doubt” I agreed. And out of nowhere he says to me, “So what’s the deally, can you rhyme?” I was shocked by the question because no one has asked me that in years, but being the trooper that I am, I said, “Son, don’t you know? This Merlin you hollaren at, you must recognize that you in the presence of pure genius with lyrics.” So, he beat boxed and I rhymed for about an hour and a half. We freestyled about everything, from politics, sports, Iraq, women, to slavery and much more.

My point is that now that we are moving into the 21st century the Hip-Hop generation is moving into the main stream of business. We are doctors, lawyers, educators, businessmen (women), social workers and much more. Hip-Hop was created to be a deterrent of gang violence, but like everything else the media turns and the powers that be make it into something that is not and now it has an ugly head. So, I can see where people can look at me and say hey, “he’s talking black” because majority of the people you see on TV talking in slang are from the Hip-Hop genre who happen to be black. But go to Germany or England, you will hear people talking slang and they’re not black. No, I’m not talking black, I’m talking Hip-Hop. Just like you are speaking broken English from Britain, or broken Spanish, we are speaking our language, our original language. All languages were created so a group of people from a certain culture can speak to one another. So, I speak with my Hip-Hop brothers the way I’m supposed to, whether he’s a doctor, lawyer or banker. We speak the same language and we can communicate and we can exchange ideas without anyone trying to bring us down in our words and work. Yes we speak professionally in front of the “man” because we have to. But we don’t have to if we’re in the street. And when they join in, they say, “Hey my son says that, what does that mean?” I highly recommend anyone interested in learning slang, gets Big L’s “The Big Picture” and check out track numba two. Yea, Imma finish this in slang, cause that’s what this article/ blog is about and if you don’t feel it, then too bad.

To dead the convo, I’m gonna have to just be a bit poetic. If you feel like parlayin in ebonics or slang, brotha do you, as long as you know that they peep your every mis-direction and they critical of everything from your gear to your hustle. As a matta of fact, they don’t know you have muscle for the hustle and if they do, then you already know that this is part of the struggle. Don’t dip on your youngens and don’t believe that our culture causes violence, cause peeps been scrappen here since before there were boroughs on the Island. And the boys are always going to be on you and let lead loose from the heat when they find you in the street, that’s guaranteed, believe me. Get your learn on, cause they feenen for you to be in the pine box or behind the steel cage, carried out your crib in silver bracelets, cause they found a bag of trees in your basement and now your moms and pop dukes is out there in amazement. Wade in the water G, and remember learn both languages, the corporate and the street, cause I feel you, “My word play only contain what the hood say.” — Xhibit

My father Roberto was born in 1898. You heard right. And no, I’m not 80 years old. Not even close.

You see, I was one of the last of the nine kids born to my father and my mother Ines – who was about two decades younger.

Over the years, I got used to hearing: “So, how’s your grandfather?” My response was automatic: “He’s not my grandfather; he’s my father.”

When I picture my father, I see a very handsome and elegant man who enjoyed puffing on his pipe and wearing tailored suits with bowties. People would tell us that he looked like the actor Cesar Romero, and I would feel proud.

Quite honestly, I was a little intimidated by him so I always was happy when we shared some kind of personal connection. And it usually happened with few or no words between us.

I remember my mother would sometimes ask me to take him a beer and a shot of whiskey. I would carefully hold the shot glass in one hand and the beer in the other hand and slowly and carefully walk down the hallway – afraid to spill a drop but thrilled that I was charged with this important task. And I clearly recall sneaking quick sips of the whiskey and the beer – and recoiling yet savoring this grown-up taste. I would hand him the drinks and he would smile at me.

When my mother bought me new clothes, she would often ask me to put on each outfit and show them to my father. I would go before him and perhaps do a little twirl. And he would smile and nod his head.

But there’s something more that sticks out in my memories when I picture my father – it was a constant in our lives during the few years we shared. He was always reading. He always had a newspaper or a book or a magazine in his hands or near him. Always.

To feed his hunger for reading materials, he’d head over to the library in Plainfield where we grew up. And, I’m not sure how it started, but I became his companion during those trips. I had already become a bookworm myself – it was a great escape for a shy young girl.

He’d announce that he was heading to the library and we would both scoop up our books and head out to the car. I don’t remember really even speaking on those short trips but I remember feeling happy. Once we got to the library, he’d go to the adult section and I head over to the children’s books.

One day, when I was in high school and hanging outside because I didn’t want to go to class, a friend came looking for me. He told me I had to get to Muhlenberg Hospital where my father had gone a few days earlier. He was already in his 70s and hospitalizations for heart attacks were almost a way of life for us.

I got to the hospital and was left alone with him while my mother and other family members went for a break. He was lying peacefully in his bed so I figured he would rest a bit more and eventually he’d come home like he always did. On his nightstand, there was a book with the place marked where he had left off reading.

I knew I’d have some time to while away till my family came back, so I fished out a book I was carrying that day and began to read. Once in a while, I’d look up to check the movement of his chest. And then I’d go back to the book. I eventually finished the book and – seeing no other recourse – I turned to the first page and began to read it again. Then I looked up and saw that he had stopped breathing.

When I look back at that day and the years that preceded that final moment, I realize the gift that my father gave me.

Perhaps, I wonder, he knew that it was difficult for a man in his 60s and 70s to connect with a young girl – even if she was his daughter. Perhaps he knew that reading would be that connection. An eternal connection.

I now wish I had kept his library card. But shortly after that day in the hospital, I went to the library and up to the front desk. I handed over his library card and said “My father won’t be needing this anymore.”

I’m still a voracious reader. I like to imagine my father looking down on me – with a smile.

Fathers and mothers – please read to your children. Please take them to the library because there’s one thing I know with certainty: Their lives will be changed forever.

Here’s a song for all the fathers in our lives — young and old:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=218TvjXZfi8&feature=related

In California, there is a case that in my opinion demonstrates the cold, insensitive, and the downright negligence of our immigration courts as well as the U.S. Immigration & Customs Enforcement (ICE). The story is about a Fresno, CA high school student named Arthur Mkoyan (pronounced MI-KO-YAN) who came to the U.S. at the age of two. His parents came to the U.S. from Armenia because their father blew the whistle on a corruption case in the country and feared for their lives. In fact, in 1992 after Arthur’s father notified the Armenian authorities about drivers license corruption in Armenia, their house was set on fire, which in my opinion was an attempt on their family’s lives. To protect his family and child, they fled Armenia to the U.S.

Despite the well-documented risk to their lives in Armenia, immigration officials have begun deportation proceedings on the whole family, including the child who is now a senior honors student at Bullard High School in Fresno. ICE decided that since Arthur Mkoyan is graduating VALDICTORIAN from Bullard High School, they would allow Arthur Mkoyan to graduate with his class, get his valedictorian award (and all of the prestige that comes with it), give him 10 days to pack his things, and then deport him with his parents to Armenia, where his valedictorian status would be meaningless because he doesn’t speak Armenian and knows nothing about Armenian life. After all, Arthur Mkoyan is an American child at heart. He did everything right and is graduating at the top of his class. And to show how much the U.S. government values his academic achievement and value, he’s being deported by ICE.

And to think that former U.S. Senate candidate and Mayor of Morristown, NJ Don Cresitello actually wanted to deputize his Morristown police officers under the supervision of ICE to help in these kinds of cases at the local level? So glad he was blown out on Tuesday’s Primary Election Day.

The Arthur Mkoyan is yet another example of just how unbelievably senseless the government is with the deportation of students. This is also an example that the immigration issue is not just a Latino challenge. Arthur Mkoyan could possibly be a marked man if he returns to Armenia because he is the son of a whistleblower who exposed corruption in the distribution of drivers’ licenses in the country and it almost cost them their lives. There are thousands of Latino students who are deported to countries that are foreign to them because they were too young to remember their country of origin and are ill prepared for life in those countries.

These students are true Americans by heart. But the government doesn’t want these kinds of talented students in America, and thus you have cases like Arthur Mkoyan. It goes to show you the extremities that the anti-immigrant forces will go to promote their causes. This case as well as the many thousands of similar student cases could have all been resolved if Congress had passed the Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act (DREAM Act) last fall. However, it fell four votes short in the U.S. of the 60 votes needed to have a filibuster-proof vote.

My message to the federal government is simple: USE SOME COMMON SENSE. Many of these kids with immigration challenges have the potential not only to fill hard-to-fill jobs, but they may also succeed high enough to even create American businesses that may hire the very people who are complaining that Americans are losing jobs to immigrants.

Wouldn’t that be ironic??? Students whose immigration problems are fixed and later graduate college to start business that in turn hire AMERICANS!!!! It would be a whole lot better than the current corporate culture of sending jobs overseas backed by U.S. tax incentives pushed by the Bush Administration.

Either the Bush Administration (and those Senators who voted “NAY” on the DREAM ACT) are too naïve, or I’m just too smart of a blogger to see that this deportation case raises serious questions about the care and prioritization of our children in America regardless of their immigration status. I stand by my Armenian friends as I do with my Latino, Asian, Caribbean, African, and European friends that have similar student immigration problems. WE MUST PASS THE DREAM ACT NOW and stop this nonsense!!!

To see the CNN story about Arthur Mkoyan, click here: http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/06/05/armenian.valedictorian/index.html

The fight for the poor is not a necessary evil in a stance where terror has refocused our mission on spending dollars across worlds and nations. Our children are sacrificed every time a bomb explodes and more children are killed with aerial miscalculations. I sit and keep quiet because my words and my mind have been calling this excuse to kill a fraud. I heard this was called the war on “terrorism” but somehow I feel like we’re fighting on the side of the Christian God. And for some reason, no matter when I get paid, I feel the pinch because I’m paying $3.75 a gallon for gas because my dollar doesn’t go as far. I’ve stopped dry cleaning because it has become too expensive; I’ve even stopped drinking because the expense has been passed on to me at the bar.

So my point of view is more realistic than some, because I know that there are kids out in the streets running with guns. In 2005, a 5-year-old child was shot with one, and to prevent from this happening again, nothing was done. I sat and pondered what if that was my niece? Hatred and anger would have brought me to my knees. So with no financing and no help from state government I created a mentoring program to alleviate the pain with ease. With quick success I believed to have something worth living for and receiving support. Just like many things in my life, I was wrong. State government with smoke and mirrors created $100 million programs that already existed and to get this funding you need to be a non-profit already existing (and as we found out, it was money for more police, cameras, and correctional facilities). Unfortunately, I’m on the New Jersey Martin Luther King Jr. Commemorative Commission, meaning I have to fundraise because the state is in a deficit where it can’t even help its children (MLK is a volunteer commission). Even at the League of Municipalities my commission was a part of the smoke and mirrors along with myself. We presented programs that in theory would work well but we have no funding for them. So in essence we are presenting an empty promise to the people of the state.

So, I went broke funding the program, and the Amistad Commission assisted with a van to pick up some kids to take up to the College of New Jersey. Kids that didn’t want to attend college were mentored in the program and felt that this cause was now worthy. So hoping to receive financial assistance from the Commission being a state entity, I was told, “what a great program good luck fundraising” and put your personal goals on hold while this will give us good press needed greatly. So, I’m out here fundraising. Businesses don’t want to donate because they don’t want to fall in the whole “Pay to Play” bit. I found a non-profit to help and maybe things will alleviate, but I just wonder who will now really donate. The program begins again in September. I wonder if we will have money to actually take these kids to museums out of the state.

The vision is simple: teach children that education is the key to economic success. Why state government is placing our kids in last place has me vexed but I have to say no longer perplexed. People may call me crazy, but I work in urban areas where babies are killing babies. I’ve seen mothers burying children since I was 16 and trust me — none want to be dead before finishing their teens. I came to ask, is $20,000 going to make a difference in a $3 billion deficit? I’m in debt more than I can handle from being homeless and hungry in the past, but if I see someone less fortunate, I will give my last dollar or buy a meal because I’m a humanist first, Salvadorian-American or plain American last.

It’s funny how a commission created to commemorate a great man who gave his life to serve others, is not being provided support by a government “of the people, by people, for the people.” I just want funding so this program, on its own two feet, can stand. Then maybe I can concentrate on making my escape out of this place. I’ve been told that I’m just “frustrated”; well you would be too if your people were being castrated and left for dead with no help for education because of your skin color and race. Or maybe it’s not even that, maybe it’s just priorities go elsewhere like a war in Iraq and Vietnam, or a war on drugs 37-years-old going on more. Or maybe because there is plenty of land in the Midwest to build more prisons to put us all in, maybe that’s why we aren’t educated properly; just imagine if that’s the case, what a sin.

So fundraising ideas are great, but just know that while we waste time on feeding people so we can get a cut to fund programs, that’s a disgrace (and just so you guys don’t say I don’t do my part: I’m selling tickets for a fundraiser at the Trenton War Memorial on June 26th, $45 a ticket, get them while they’re hot!). And between now and then, more children will already have found their fate, either joining a gang, or being carried out in a box or found guilty to live the rest of their lives behind gates. Our state senators are also at fault. Look at me taking on everyone: what gall!!! Yes, they are who they are because we elected them, and when issues get tough they stay quiet like if they were losing votes for being pro-urban education. I ask all to make an observation: who built this great nation? Who was hung on trees and killed for learning to read? Oh…yes those African-Americans, but let’s not forget also the Mexicans. And Puerto Ricans are sometimes considered Americans, only when they can vote and join the armed forces for the sacrifice of unjust wars on nations (there is a connection from past to present to future). All this is intertwined in simple programs that don’t get funding, because while the elected officials are sipping on hot cocoa and “sitting down, I’m out-standing” organizing and slowly dying.

And now that I know what it feels like to be inside of government, I know now why our Latinos and African-Americans leave because it is such a discouragement. We fight the system and we fight our own people who are trying to make a difference, I don’t want hand-outs, well unless they are given, but for too long we are the ones suffering for sins that aren’t forgiven.

*Note: Other social services in the state are being cut, Health and Education to the poor especially. This has nothing to do with race, but class. Unfortunately the majority of the lower working class happens to be African-American, and Latinos. And the programs affected by this at the MLK Commission are the V-free grants, MLK grants, of course mentoring, etc.

I am officially an alumna from The College of New Jersey (TCNJ). The last three weeks of school was a rush, the fastest weeks I have ever lived. Looking back, I feel like I was watching a movie and someone pushed the fast forward button and now, Kabam! Here I am.

As usual, my last weeks in college were spent wearing different hats. My emotions were on a rollercoaster ride and I was all over the place.

Running meetings, planning the last detalles of our closing event, organizing fundraisers for my Kenya trip in the summer, mentoring the freshmen, counseling the young girls, trying to figure out what to do with my life after college, winning awards for leadership, sitting on panels and representing the Latino community, and so on…

It seemed endless!

When people came up to me with comments like: “You’re graduating, oh my Gosh!” or “Are you sad that you’re leaving all this behind?” my heart would smile. I felt such peace and joy. When graduating grade school, I left with a feeling of “I should have and would have.” When graduating high school I left with the same feeling, hoping someone would have told me about this and that, so that I can be prepared for the next step. I decided that college was going to be different. I was going to seize every moment and take the campus by storm.

For the first time I feel something new. I feel ready. It is as if everything I wanted to do I did. Everyone I needed to meet, I met. Any dream or goal I wanted to realize, happened. Yo estoy lista!

Ready for what? I ask myself that question everyday.

Life. Adventure. Challenges. Learning experiences. Ready to be used like never before, and ready to expose my talents. I feel ready to give, uproot communities and uplift souls. I am secure about myself. I am focused. I am so alive and aware of who I am that I am ready to attack, and claim what’s mine out there. I feel like I have learned so much and acquired great wisdom, and at the same time I feel like a dry sponge seeking moisture. I need to sit, and reflect what I have done and learned. After submerging myself in the new knowledge, I need to strategize and then take the first step. Once I do, I don’t know what’s bound to happen, but I am excited. I am resting before I attack. That is my “plan” for anyone who asks the million dollar question, “What are you doing after college?”

As I sit here and look at the beautiful sunset out my window my spirit jumps. It’s such a crazy world. So predictable and yet so uncertain. So big and yet so small. The sun is always ready to set, at its appointed time. As it collects all the light from the sky, it radiates beautiful hues of pinks and oranges, in a way saying “I am going away for a while, but I will be back to shine brighter than today.”

I feel like a sunset, on fire and ready to burst. But before I arise, I must rest. Only then will I be ready to wake up to the reality and attack. I am ready. Aqui vengo …