Peekaboo!
It’s been more than four years since I blogged.
My last blog post was on September 22, 2018. I had just returned from my 50th High School Reunion in San Jose, CA, where my family emigrated to in 1960 from Colombia. After I graduated from Blackford High School, I attended San Jose State University and graduated with a BA in Graphic Design in 1972. A year later, I followed my two older siblings to Vancouver; and my parents and two younger siblings followed two years later. I only share this to give a context for what motivated that “last” blog post in 2018.
While we lived in San Jose, I was sexually abused and also raped by two different men. The first was a paper route customer, and the second was an Argentinian in his early twenties attending San Jose State when he raped me. I was 12 and 15 years old, respectively. Should you care to read that blog post, I share how the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation hearings triggered me.
On the Saturday of the reunion, I drove to the two apartments where these events took place and took pictures of the front doors. I can draw you a floor plan of each apartment; that’s how my visual memory works—and I can replay the video and audio in my mind of each event and relive the confusion, fear and disgust. But I didn't go to these two apartments to relive the attacks. I went to reclaim my innocence. Those attacks were not my fault.
By September 2018, Donald Trump’ presidency, which had begun with his executive order to ban Muslims and his attacks on transgender persons in the military, and how it seemed like his followers felt empowered to be horrible. I wanted to lash out; I felt like a steam kettle ready to explode. Whenever I sat down to write a post, my internal critic would say, "If you write that, you will sound like just another "angry tranny." So I wrote nothing.
A week after I returned to Vancouver, I started my new job as the chaplain at George Pearson Centre in Vancouver. My focus completely shifted as I immersed myself in meeting and learning about the lives of the almost 120 people who called this place their home and an equal number of devoted people who work there.
A lot has happened in these last four years. The COVID-19 Pandemic was and continues to be the great disruptor, and life just hasn't been the same as it was. Our hospital is primarily for disabled persons 18 years and older, with an average age of 55. Many require total care; many are on ventilators and feeding tubes, some are non-verbal, a few are comatose, and some are cognitively impaired due to acquired brain injuries. About a third of the residents can operate an electric wheelchair, while the rest must be ported around in both powered and manual wheelchairs. Some never leave their bed. Because of how fragile our resident population is, we had some of the most strict protocols; we succeeded in preventing any outbreaks. It wasn't until the Spring of this year that the less dangerous but more contagious versions of the virus finally penetrated our defenses. Fortunately, those who were infected recovered quickly, both residents and staff.
Life still needs to be back to normal. It will take a while. We still have screeners at the entrance; only vaccinated and boosted persons can enter. But I am so grateful for the privilege I have had to be with these folks who were already isolated by their disabilities from their families and friends and then had what few contacts with the outside world be restricted further. There is a camaraderie that is hard to describe. I only work part-time but arrive early and leave late on most days. It is such a rewarding job.
Can you see why being at George Pearson Centre has left me somewhat speechless and unable to continue blogging? How could I sit at my computer to bitch about this or that when I am so aware of all the privileges and blessings I enjoy?
As 2022 winds down, I want to acknowledge how fortunate I have been. If I were to start listing all the things I am grateful for, I would have to start with something that happened a month after I started my job as a chaplain; I met someone. I was not looking, but then it happened. This relationship kept me from spiraling down into a gloomy pit of isolation. We became each other's bubble when COVID restrictions were at their apex, and best of all, we enjoy being with each other.
I want to refrain from implying that I will start blogging again. I am still conflicted by the lashing out on Social Media on all sides of any issue, whether politics or religion. I am angered by how mostly conservative right-wing "so-called" Christians and Republicans in the United States are going after trans persons, passing laws that criminalize trans health care, threatening both parents and doctors, and going as far as proposing laws that force medical de-transition of trans youth under the age of 18. Even as I type this, I want to scream. So maybe I need to prolong the moratorium a bit longer. Blood pressure, they say, is the silent killer.
May you have a blessed Christmas, and I hope the New Year will be more fulfilling and less contentious for you in every way.
P.S. I left Twitter and moved to Mastodon as an act of self-preservation.
