Category Archives: About Me

On Blogging: Finding Inspiration & Much More

22 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by in About Me, Relationships, The Writer's Life, United States

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Very Inspiring Blogger AwardVery Inspiring Blogger Award

 

When one’s day starts with news of terrorist attacks and more war, it’s good to receive unexpected news that makes one smile and warms the heart. I received such news recently from blogger, Dr. Gerald Stein, a retired psychotherapist in Chicago. His candid blog posts on our relationships are well articulated, insightful, and knitted together with engaging humor and honesty. In his latest post, he surprised me with the Very Inspiring Blogger Award.

When I started my blog over three years ago, inspiring others was far from my mind. As a newbie novelist seeking to have my work published, I started my blog as a means of building my author’s platform.

After learning that I was working on a novel set in Guyana, a friend sent me the link to the Guyanese Online Blog as a source of information. The blog, published by Cyril Bryan, went far beyond a resource hub. It connected me with the Guyana Diaspora, strengthening my frayed link with my native land. What’s more, in reblogging my posts, Cyril Bryan has expanded my readership.

Other bloggers inspire us with their life stories and vision of our world. As an Award recipient, I share the Very Inspiring Blogger Award with two such bloggers:

Bruce Witzel, a carpenter, lives on Vancouver Island, Canada. His self-constructed, off-grid home – powered by clean energy and integrated with a waste disposal system for maintaining a kitchen garden – gives me hope for our sustainable future. His down-to-earth spirituality expands my vision of life.

John Castellenas is a Vietnam veteran who found healing through poetry. The honesty of his prose and poetry touches my soul. His stories of saving himself from alienation and self-hate and finding love speak volumes to our nation engaged in never-ending wars.

In accepting the Very Inspiring Blogger Award, I’m also required to answer seven questions.

  1. Who is your favorite public figure?
    Senator Elizabeth Warren
  1. What do you like most? (I presume this refers to Question 1.)
    I admire Senator Warren’s political courage in defending consumers against the Too-Big-To-Jail financial institutions that decimated middle-class America.
  1. Do you follow trends?
    I follow trends that jeopardize our security and survival: changing job market, criminalization of the poor, militarization of the police force, privatization of prisons, growing income inequality, perpetual wars, and climate change.
  1. What do you do when someone gets angry?
    With strangers, I get out of their way. With bosses, I let them let off steam before I open my mouth. With close relations, I go with the flow.
  1. What have you loved most?
    My sons are my greatest treasure.
  1. Do you have causes?
    I support the following non-profit organizations:
    Feeding America (feeding the hungry)
    Public Citizen (getting Big Business out of politics)
    350.org (saving our planet for future generations)
  1. What quality do you admire most?
    Integrity: much needed to curb inequality and end wars.

Through blogging, I’m reminded that we all share the same humanity.

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A Father’s Enduring Legacy

16 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by in About Me, Brazil, Family Life, Guyana, Relationships, United States

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Happy Father's DaySource: forum.xcitefun.net

 

Last Wednesday, the father of a dear friend in Brazil would have celebrated his ninetieth birthday. He died twenty-three years ago, leaving a void in my friend’s life. Maria described her father as a quiet, simple, and observant person who did everything he could for his children. His greatest legacy to her was his kindness towards others less fortunate.

Once, Maria recounted, on the street where they lived, the father of a poor family died. Knowing that the family of the deceased could not afford the burial costs, Maria’s father stopped by at the family’s residence and sent her in to call his widow. He told the woman to bury her husband and send the bill to him for payment.

For Maria this was such a great lesson that, since that incidence, she cannot be indifferent to the suffering of others.

After reading Maria’s story about her father, I thought about my own father’s legacy. In Guyana, Land of Six Peoples, my father’s close friends included blacks, East Indians, Chinese, Portuguese, and people of mixed race like he was. They frequented our home for barbecues on Saturday nights. When, as a British colony, we were occupied by white British soldiers, he even entertained my aunt’s British boyfriends. (For a number of years, my mother’s younger sister lived with us.)

Through my father’s example, I learned to look beyond the differences of our diverse peoples, discerning what we shared in common as individuals.

Interestingly, for both me and Maria, the way our fathers related with people outside of the home determined the way we relate with the world.

What is your father’s enduring legacy? As a father, what will be your enduring legacy to your sons and daughters when you are gone?

 

Autumn: A Time for Letting Go

07 Sunday Oct 2012

Posted by in About Me, Human Behavior, Nature and the Environment, Relationships, United States

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Carpet of Fallen Autumn Leaves

Source: shinywish.deviantart.com

Autumn has arrived in the northern hemisphere. Deciduous trees transform from hues of green leaves to blazes of yellow, orange, red, and brown. Fallen leaves carpet the earth with gold.

While the vibrant colors brighten my day, the shorter daylight hours and longer nights dampen my spirits. The fallen leaves remind me of all that I have had to let go of along my journey through life. Each leaf: a person who, for good or for bad, has touched my life. Very few friendships have survived the distance and time.

I have learned to let go of the pain of losing the people I love. I have learned to let go of places that held special memories and happy moments spent with family and friends. But I am a long way from shedding the dead leaves that drain my energies and rob me of joy and peace of mind.

I am learning to let go of toxic predatory relationships that feed on my goodwill. I am learning to let go of the fear of losing what I had already lost or never was mine to lose. I continue to struggle to let go of disappointments, resentments, making assumptions, and passing judgments.

Letting go requires courage, a willingness to change the direction of my life, and acknowledgment that I do not live in a vacuum. I connect with others who connect with others. My actions or non-action have consequences in the grand scheme of life.

Autumn is upon us. It is a time to let go of our fears, prejudices, and ignorance that divide us, lest the approaching winter of austerity, desolation, and isolation find us unprepared.

Guyana National Service: Sacrifices for Nation Building

30 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by in About Me, Guyana

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Rosaliene in Guyana National Service Uniform, 1976

When Guyana’s first Executive President created the Guyana National Service (GNS) in October 1973, he had a vision for “a new Guyana Man and Woman, oriented towards their role in nation building.” He had envisaged a nation working together, with respect for each other, to develop our hinterland regions and defend our territory (1973 State Paper of the GNS, www.guyanapnc.org).

Over the next twenty six years of the paramilitary organization’s existence, thousands of Guyanese youth spent a year or more at GNS hinterland centers cultivating and processing cotton, black-eye beans, peanuts, and other cash crops. For young men and women without job prospects, the GNS provided an opportunity to learn and develop new skills.

When the first GNS hinterland center began operations, I was a second-year undergraduate at the University of Guyana. In my final year, completion of one year of national service became a requirement for obtaining a university degree. Caught in the change, graduates 1976 were required to complete only three months of national service.

With reservations about my safety, I resisted the requirement of spending three months in an isolated location in Guyana’s jungle interior. Moreover, I was a high school teacher, already doing my part in preparing our young people for their place in our young nation. Even though I had sacrificed a lot to attend university classes in the evening while teaching during the day, I was prepared to forfeit it all to avoid placing myself in harm’s way. I was not ready for such a sacrifice. Then the good news came. We would be serving in Georgetown, the capital.

The first weekend that we assembled at the GNS Center in Sophia, we formed a unified mass in our parrot-green uniforms issued by the GNS. My name badge bore only my family name: Fung. Divided into four units, each under the command of a GNS Officer, we spent our weekends studying cooperative socialist policies for nation-building; doing marching drills and physical training; and engaged in agricultural activities.

Mondays to Fridays, we served at various government agencies. I worked with six other graduates at the Guyana National Service Printing Center, setting up a staff library and executing other duties.

Under the tutelage of army sergeants from the Guyana Defense Force, we had to conform to military modes of conduct. I was relieved that we did not have to train with rifles. Our platoon had a tough, buxom, female sergeant with a booming voice.

“Fung, fall in line!”

Within three months, from July to October, she transformed our platoon into a marching unit for a top-notch performance at our Passing out Parade – held in October at the University of Guyana Turkeyen Campus.

Completing those three months of national service was an achievement for me. I had survived the marching drills, physical training, and agricultural work under the merciless Sun. Later that October, when we assembled in the auditorium of the Guyana National Cultural Centre for our graduation ceremony, we were no longer strangers.

“Fung, to the front!”

Rosaliene receiving Chancellor’s Medal – University of Guyana 1976

 

Remembering our Fathers on Father’s Day

17 Sunday Jun 2012

Posted by in About Me, Family Life, Guyana, Human Behavior, Relationships

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My Father, P.E. Fung – Photo taken during a hunting trip in Guyana

Our fathers are rarely everything we would like them to be. Many of them focus all of their energies on their work to provide us with a safe home, a good education, and all the stuff that makes us happy. Many others turn their backs on us while we are still young, leaving us to be raised by our mothers or other relatives. Some of them, like my father, are emotionally challenged: unable to express their love for us.

My father seemed to like spending time with his friends more than he did with me and my four siblings. He and his many friends went fishing; shooting birds; and hunting deer, wild pig, and wild cow (tapir). As the “cook-man” among his friends, he prepared and cooked the wild meat killed during their weekend hunting trips. “Cook-night” was party night in our back yard.

In our home, my father enforced the rules of good conduct.  At a time when corporal punishment was acceptable behavior, he did not spare the rod and spoil the child, as he believed. We feared him for the licks he meted out.

After leaving home at eighteen, I learned over time to forgive my father for the shortcomings that negatively impacted our lives. With parenthood came my perception of the difficulties he must have faced to father five children during turbulent and uncertain times in our country’s history. I realized that, given his circumstances and shortcomings, he did the best that he could as a father to direct us along the right path.

Reflecting on my life with my father with an open heart, I learned to appreciate all that I had inherited from him: a love of books and reading, music, and the natural world. (I do not know from which side of the family I inherited my talent for drawing and painting.) My fascination for international trade was also his gift to me. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my father was an import clerk. He was responsible for preparing the mustard-yellow customs forms (sometimes done by hand at our dining room table), taking care of bank import documents, and clearing the goods at the port.

Eleven years ago, my father died alone in his home in Georgetown, Guyana. We had all left him for distant shores. (I was the last to leave Guyana.) But, despite his stormy marriage, he never abandoned us. I would like to believe that staying with us was his way of demonstrating his love for us.

No matter how old we get, the influence of our fathers in our lives, for good or for bad, remains with us. This Father’s Day, I prefer to remember the good times I spent with my father and to think of him with love in my heart.

On Being a Working Solo Mom in Brazil

18 Sunday Mar 2012

Posted by in About Me, Brazil, Family Life, Working Life

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Rosaliene and Sons – Fortaleza – Ceará – Brazil

As a working solo mom in Brazil, I learned to juggle my priorities: me, my two sons, and my job. When my sons were too young to stay home alone and go to school on their own, I needed reliable help. My next-door neighbor, Dona Maria – a widow in her sixties – helped me find an empregada. In addition to staying with my sons during the morning, the maid helped with the cleaning.

My sons attended the afternoon school session (1:20 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.). Returning home during my two-hour lunch break, I had lunch with them and then took them to school. (I woke early to cook lunch.) The bus-ride took about an hour both ways. Their school stood a brisk five-minute walk from my workplace.

When I changed jobs and could not go home during my lunch break, I made several short-lived arrangements for them to get safely to school. In those days, children disappeared from in front of their homes. With trepidation, I had to let them go to school on their own.

After eighteen months and three maids, I learned that young maids in Fortaleza were unreliable. The third quit after two weeks, without notice. Dona Maria told me that was not unusual. I concluded that they did not like working for a gringo. Taking Dona Maria’s advice, I desisted in hiring another maid. Dona Maria offered to keep an eye on my sons, then eight and ten years old. To my sons’ dislike, she remained true to her word.

Continually rising educational, health, and living expenses demanded that I earn more. Unbridled inflation showed no mercy to a working solo mom. Focused on our survival, I participated in 16-hour specialized courses for international trade professionals.

The climb up the unstable ladder had its pitfalls. In the 1990s, Brazil’s economic plans to curb hyperinflation took down many good companies. Two of the firms I worked for also became victims.

I also faced another challenge. I discovered that men in a similar job position earned twice my income. Stepping out of my comfort zone, I asked for a salary increase. My boss looked at me in the eyes and called me presumptuous. Although I did not get my desired increase, I did get a raise. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

At another firm, the Managing Director did not hide his displeasure at my audacity. “You people never have enough,” he told me, in the presence of the General Manager. “You always want more.” I interpreted you people as the working class. He approved the increase I asked for, but I had to swallow a lot more insults after that.

I endured. I had to. . .for my sons, for our survival.

Being the sole-provider for my sons did not earn me an equal salary as my male counterparts. They did not welcome me into the Men’s Club. Without the help of neighbors, close friends, and school teachers, I could not have raised my sons to become fine young men.

Failed Expectations of a Work-at-Home Mom

11 Sunday Mar 2012

Posted by in About Me, Family Life, Guyana, Working Life

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Photo of Seamstress: http://www.michelleshaeffer.com

During Guyana’s struggle for independence from Britain and the years following independence in May 1966, my parents raised five children – two girls and three boys. My father’s wages at a small import and wholesale family-owned firm could not cover our basic expenses. As far back as I can remember, our mother worked at home as a seamstress to assist our father in providing for our needs. She was a housewife and a work-at-home mom.

As the first-born and a female, I helped my mother with the housecleaning and in taking care of my four siblings. By twelve, with the help of my brother or sister next in line, we often went to the corner shop for groceries and to the market for fresh produce.

My tasks in the afternoons, after school, included hemming, sewing on buttons and hooks, doing bead-work on evening gowns (fashionable at that time), and collecting covered buttons and buckle-heads from the lady in the neighborhood who specialized in this service. When dresses were not ready on the delivery date, I became the delivery girl. I must confess that I was not always a willing assistant. I had my school work. I wanted time to go out with my friends.

To take care of our washing and ironing, my mother hired a domestic servant (as they were called at that time) to come to our home twice a week.

Our work-at-home mom had no fixed working hours. Whenever she had a large dress order, such as a bridal gown and gowns for the bridesmaids, she would work through the night until dawn. Her determination, persistence, dedication, and hard work shaped our lives.

The money she earned went towards our private high school fees, school uniforms, and school books. Regretting that she had never had a high school education, she wanted a better future for us. In so doing, she sacrificed her own dreams.

This year, she will complete 79 years. She laments that she has never lived. Even though my siblings and I have succeeded in our chosen professions, we have failed to meet her expectations in our choice of spouses. She believes that the sacrifices she made for us were to no avail.

My reunion with my mother in the USA, after 31 years of separation, swept through my life like a tsunami. As I struggled to save myself from drowning in her anger and bitterness, I learned an important lesson. As a mother, I cannot expect my sons to fulfill the dreams I have for myself or my dreams for them. Regardless of my sacrifices in raising them, they have to make their own choices and live their own lives.

As women and mothers, we have to cultivate our own gardens. We have to take delight in our own achievements, however insignificant they may seem to others. When we fail, we cannot lay our failures at our children’s feet.

How we obtained permanent residence in Brazil

15 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in About Me, Brazil, Immigrants

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Brazilian ID Card for Foreigners with Permanent Status / Brazil’s Cédula de Identidade de Estrangeiro

Nineteen months after our arrival in Brazil, President José Sarney signed a Decree-Law permitting all illegal immigrants (estimated at about 500,000) to regularize their situation with the Departamento de Polícia Federal (DPF). Miracles do happen.

Uneasiness clung to me the afternoon I accompanied my husband and two sons to the Federal Police Department in Fortaleza, capital of Ceará. Would we be deported? My husband led the way through the checkpoint at the entrance and onwards to the sector indicated.

We were not the only foreigners seeking amnesty at the four-foot high counter. The Federal Police Officer who attended to us was soft-spoken and cordial. We presented our Guyanese passports with Brazilian Entry Stamps, showing location and date of entry. While we completed the Provisional Registration Forms, our restless four and six-year-old sons disappeared behind a door at one end of the waiting area. An officer appeared with them. His smile put me at ease.

Later, armed with my Protocol from the DPF – valid for 180 days, awaiting a Registro Provisório (Provisional Register) – I went in search of a job. As mentioned in an earlier post (Brazilian Friend of the Heart, 16 Oct 2011), I obtained a secretarial position at a private school offering courses in British English and culture.

Our Registro Provisório was valid for two years. During that period, I worked at an import-export consultancy firm. When the DPF initiated our application process for permanent resident status, they renewed our Provisional Register for another two years. After paying our processing fees, we set about obtaining the necessary medical tests and documents required for submission to the Brazilian Immigration Authorities (DPMAF – Delegacia de Polícia Marítima, Aerea e de Fronteiras).

Medical tests covered vision, auditory, lungs, heart, blood, urine, and stool. My handwritten Declaração de Bom Procedimento (Declaration of Good Conduct) outlined my place of residence, job title and functions, name and location of sons’ school, and my reasons for seeking permanent residence in Brazil. My employer also had to provide a declaration of my employment status with his firm. The Guyana Embassy in Brasília confirmed that we had no criminal record.

Obtaining the Certidão de Antecedentes Criminais (Certificate of Criminal Records), took us to an unsavory place. Some of the people waiting in line increased my wariness. Our interrogation, in separate rooms, caused me even more concern for our safety. Although I was not mistreated, I felt like a crime suspect. What a relief when we left with our CACs, certifying “non-existence of criminal record”!

At some point, at the Federal Police Department, a female official took our complete fingerprints from both hands. My sons had fun removing the ink from their fingertips with a bright pink, grainy paste. In another office, a photographer took head shots for DPF records and our ID cards.

When my sons and I received our Brazilian ID Cards for Foreigners in 1994, I was managing the import/export operations of a large melon producer and exporter.

Christmas is about Family

04 Sunday Dec 2011

Posted by in About Me, Relationships

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Christmas Family Reunion in Guyana

I love Christmas stories. They are magical. Christmas is, after all, a magical time of the year: The time of the year when we do our best to put aside our differences in the name of goodwill towards all.

For the past two weeks, I have been watching Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel. In the majority of these movies, one of the main characters at some point of the story says: “Christmas is about family.” I soak up these stories like a kid who still believes in Santa Claus.

When I speak of family, I am not referring to the nuclear family of father, mother, and children. I am referring to our extended family: our parents, siblings and their spouses, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces, and nephews.

Over the years following Guyana’s independence in May 1966, thousands of Guyanese left our shores for other lands across the ocean. Among the first to leave in my family were my aunts, uncles, and cousins. (My paternal grandparents were deceased long before I was born; my maternal grandparents had migrated to the USA when my mother was a teenager, leaving her and two of her sisters behind in British Guiana.) Close neighbors, school friends, and later friends at work also joined the exodus. At the same time, one by one, my mother and siblings migrated to Canada and the USA, leaving me and my father behind.

Marriage gifted me with a new extended family. I did my best to fit in with my new family. When I migrated to Brazil with my husband and two sons, I lost my second family. In Brazil, it took four years and a fractured marriage for my neighbors and work colleagues to open their hearts and homes to me and my sons. For the next twelve years, after my husband left Brazil to return to Guyana, the calor humano brasileiro (Brazilian human warmth) sustained us.

My sons and I never had to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day alone. Together with the families that invited us to join their Christmas celebrations, we shared their family Christmas traditions. We shared with them the Guyanese traditional Christmas black cake: ground mixed dried fruits and nuts soaked in Rum for over a month; caramel gave it the black color.

With time, family took on a new meaning for me. I learned to embrace as family all those individuals who became a part of our daily lives. Each relationship became more meaningful. When people left to pursue other paths, I learned to appreciate every moment spent with others. As often happens in life, some individuals were mere opportunists; others betrayed my trust. But, for the most part, I found people receptive, generous, and full of goodwill.

Christmas is about family. I celebrate being part of our universal family bound together on a tiny planet hurtling through space in an expanding Universe.

Overcoming My Reluctance to Speak Portuguese

23 Sunday Oct 2011

Posted by in About Me, Brazil, Working Life

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Brazil Wins FIFA World Cup 2002 (www.copadomundo.uol.com.br)

My greatest struggle in becoming fluent in Portuguese was overcoming my reluctance to speak the language. It embarrassed me to make mistakes when speaking to others: incorrect verb tense and endings; incorrect word gender; and, worst of all, the inappropriate use of a word considered offensive or with a sexual connotation in Portuguese.

It did not help when the secretary of the small firm where I worked told me one day in exasperation, as I struggled to give her a telephone message: Você é a minha cruz (You are my cross).

Clients referred to me as aquela gringa que enrola tudo (that foreigner that confuses everything).

Such remarks did nothing to build my battered self-esteem and self-confidence in conquering my place in the workplace. Thank God, the owners of the firm valued my English-speaking skills!

A young man – who I will call Carlos – helped me to unknot my tongue. Before Carlos joined the firm, I had spent my two-hour lunch break locked up alone in the office: a spacious house with a swimming pool in the backyard. Everyone else returned home or went out for lunch. Carlos rode a motor cycle and, oftentimes, joined me for lunch in the kitchen. He had lots of questions about my origins and why I had come to live in Fortaleza. He was the first non-English-speaking Cearense ready to listen and decipher my jumbled speech.

I do not believe in chance or coincidences. Carlos only stayed with us for three months: Enough time to help me overcome my reluctance to speak in a foreign tongue.

Years later, when I started to dream and think in Portuguese, I made an unexpected discovery. In embracing the language, I was embracing the Brazilian culture – their way of thinking and being. The Brazilian people are passionate, so evident in the way they play football (soccer). They are not inhibited in expressing their emotions. I experienced this in the workplace, among my neighbors and friends, and on the streets.  Telling someone “vou te matar” (I’ll kill you) is as acceptable as saying “eu te amo” (I love you).

In overcoming my reluctance to speak Portuguese, I was able to gradually let go of my Victorian, British-colonial bottlenecks and embrace the Brazilain joy of life. I became a new person. Even the way Brazilians pronounced my name – Hose-ah-lee-a-nee – baptized me with a new identity. I was re-born in Brazil. I became uma brasileira de coração (a Brazilian of the heart).