Sunday, July 14, 2013

Raqui's Take on my own Life - because of the Zimmerman Trial and Outcome

RAQUI WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THE ZIMMERMAN CASE!  - Ok I got a lot of messages from people asking me (I guess because I haven't said anything) what I think.  I decided to make a blog post out of it.

I am not going to say what I think about the case. I am going to tell you all that I know, and what I learned growing up.  I have learned at an early age many things because: 

ONE: I am a brown woman (Hispanic that cannot pass for white) in some places mistaken for light skinned black.

TWO:  I am a woman who is very tall, 6 foot 4 inches to be exact, which is considered threatening or intimidating even when wearing a smile or being friendly, especially since I am a brown woman that cannot pass for white.  It is always better for people to meet me sitting down to make me seem smaller. I tend to notice when people meet me standing I am called an it, but my humanity is realized slightly more, if I look smaller.

THREE: I am a fat woman always have been bigger, stronger, fatter and brown thus considered less attractive, disgusting, uncontrollable, dirty, unworthy, less intelligent, a threat and by some peoples standards, less of a human being. 

FOUR: I am a New Yorker, which means I have been taught not to smile every second of the day (especially when walking or traveling) because that makes you a target.  It makes you look weak. Something you don’t want to be seen as. This is not always a benefit, this same trait which protects you, also makes you a suspect.

When I was just a little brown girl, (still in elementary school) maybe about 9 or 10 years old, I was allowed to walk to school alone on occasion.  I didn’t realize yet all that was wrong with me, being born as I was.  At this age I was easily between 5’7 - 5’9 and I weighed about 175 - 200 pounds.  Yes bigger than many grown women, but you could tell I was a kid. I lived in a neighborhood that had diversity in it, but it had to do with which block you lived on.  My block was still mostly white (as were many blocks around us).  My mother and I were one of two families who were Hispanic in my apartment building which had 66 apartments.  There was one very light skinned black couple as well.  I was treated well on my block because people liked my mother.  She is a bit lighter than me, not by much but friendly and funny.

I realized that I was a threat when I was walking to school one day; a white woman dropped her wallet coming out of the corner store.  I picked it up and followed her; I was going to give it back to her.   I didn’t scream or yell at the woman, my mother taught me better.   I was a young little girl, at least in my mind, I touched the woman as she walked and she turned, jumped away with fear, disgust, then anger as she looked at me.  I held out the wallet to her not saying anything.  

WHERE DID YOU GET THIS!  She asked loudly lashing out at me with an accusatory tone.  I was scared, she sounded like she was ready to blame me for something, I wanted to cry, “You dropped it”. I whispered, handing it to her.  She snatched the wallet, wiped it off (as if I dirtied it) , put it in her bag and walked away. 

What have I learned because of this and other similar instances in my life?  

I learned to not be close to people, keep a distance. 

I learned to never pick up anything, stand away from it, and then say HEY YOU DROPPED SOMETHING.  Let them retrieve it, touching it can be considered an insult or you can get blamed for something.

I learned to not touch people; I learned that it didnt matter how nice, polite or if I was a good girl, I will always be seen by some as a threat and a disgusting huge brown fat monster.  

I learned to look threatening when traveling, so people will leave me alone.  Keep my head down, don’t make eye contact, stay silent, don’t speak, and move as fast as you can. If you are not sure of where your going, you better at least look like you know, and keep going.

I learned not to talk to people, and when I do talk don’t have an accent.  

I learned to adapt, and alter my voice speaking like they do making them comfortable.

I learned to put on my BECKY VOICE (my stereo typical white voice) when talking to anyone of authority and when talking to officials.  

I learned to keep this voice for professional reasons and especially when asking for help from people and police. By phone if they thought I was white I would get help, if they knew I wasn’t by my voice, I wouldn’t.  

I also learned to look helpless if need be, or try to in my case, which is hard when you’re so big.  People are less likely to want to help a larger person, some are actually fearful of you just because your brown or fat or tall, and I was all three.

I learned to change my voice according to circumstances, so as not to cause a problem or threat, more soft spoken if asking a favor, more pleading if I need help, or sounding extremely stupid if I don’t understand something and need further explanation. People are less likely to want to speak to you or help you if you are brown, fat or tall.

I learned to say I’m sorry a lot, and thank you repetitively, so as make others feel comfortable, keeping my tone almost childlike at times.  To make myself more endearing and less a threat, also so others would excuse my looks and maybe see me as a human. 

I have learned to take a beating, to not fight back because of my size and color, I fear hurting someone if I hit them even in self-defense.  I will be arrested and convicted especially if the person I hurt is lighter skinned than me. Any type of altercation actually is a fear, you know that being brown, fat or tall, automatically makes others view you as the aggressor and guilty party.  People are less likely to believe you as well.

I realized, and knew, if ever someone broke into my home, I better wait in my bedroom until they enter it, and only attack if I am attacked first, and I better have 911 on the line recording me while I plead to be left alone. I will still most likely go to jail for defending myself in my own home which was locked until someone broke in.  

I learned to control my outrage and anger (there are few things that set me off now with the injustice of this world).  You learn to not get loud or angry, you just accept it and try to avoid it happening to you.

I learned to not be seen or spoken to when doing regular things in life.  Try to disappear in the back ground, which has always been nearly impossible because of my looks and size. 

I learned to watch every word I say, and how I say it, because it will be used against me later.

People are surprised that I have intelligence.  That I can speak, read and write, that I am creative.  That I have a high IQ, I have never heard anyone surprised when a white or light person had any of those qualities.

When people see me they better see an overly happy clown.

Do not help others, do not let anyone in, because being involved in their situation, can result in you being blamed and paying the price.

KEEP QUITE do not engage in verbal war.

I learned to over compensate with facts and truths, to make sure I always have enough proof of every action and thing I have done.  This way I can always show where I have been, and what I have done, so as not to be accused of something.

The whole while I didn’t know this was happening to me, it is only after a lot of thought that I realize why I am the way I am. I didn’t plan it or think it out, I adapted to the environment around me.  To prevent altercations that could result in my harm or death, or the harm and death of those around me. 

People ask me why I have so many voices, and why I have such a sense of humor, and why I act the way I do.  I am not sure if I adapted and became this way, or if these are natural traits that I was able to pull on, thus making me a survivor.  Since my mother is the same in many respects, I will assume the later.  The fact that I was able to pull on my natural abilities, personality and enhance them, saved my life many times. I was able to prevent being arrested, going to jail, having a record or putting myself into a situation where I could be hurt.   This is something I have not come to terms with completely.   I could have easily reacted a different way to many circumstances in my life, and got a totally different reaction from others. I know it is quite possible and easy, for someone in these circumstances, to try to defend themselves, decide their rights are being violated, and speak up and end up paying for it.


A White woman dropped her wallet, little brown 9 year old Raqui picks it up to hand to her.  She gets nasty I stand down she walks off. 

A White man in a boarding home I stayed at for a very short time has a psychotic break down.  He begins to beat my door down, talking about the devil and how I won’t help him, he beats the door until he left blood on it. I am scared and call the landlord he calls police.  The police come and I am crying while they begin to try to handle this man, but then confront me loudly saying I am living illegally.  I rented from the landlord, how do I know it is an illegal dwelling?  They found a reason to blame me when I needed protecting.   I guess I should have never rented the place.  If I wasn’t there this wouldn’t be an issue.

Teen Raqui goes to visit a friend who happens to live in a white neighborhood. I get stopped by police when walking to the train, and had to give them information on where I was, who I was with, and what did I do.  They then called the home to verify it was true.  After I got "verified" (like a animal) I was told to go home quickly.  I was scared they were going to hurt me, or rape me. Something you commonly hear about as a young brown woman growing up.  Who would believe that a person my size could be raped?  I knew they would get away with whatever they did to me if they choose to.

Little Raqui was verbally abused by Michael Lion in school, in class and out of class.  No one helped or believed me, because he was such a nice looking, very fair boy, with a riot of beautiful curly light brown hair.  How could anyone accuse him of anything?

When with my diverse friends, I see the difference in the way men treat me.  The lighter you are the nicer they are.  The browner you are, the more vulgar and sexual they are.  The more likely they are to verbally attack you.  This still happens all the time, even though I am a lighter brown.  It’s a scale of conduct that decreases as you get darker. I see the difference from the winter when I am lighter and then when I tan in the summer and get quite dark. I see this mostly when I am with those who are lighter than me.  It is very common for men to give my lighter counter parts, lots of conversation and respect, but me near none.

I have been physically abused many times in my life by men in public.  No one ever helped me while this was happening.  I notice that if someone raises their voice (never the less a hand) toward a lighter smaller woman, there is always a man or people around who will stand up for her.  Being big, tall, fat and brown makes it so no one would stand up for me, at least not yet in my life.

When I ran away from home as a teen (because of abuse in my father’s home) I didn’t show up in court, because I didn’t want to face my father.  I was in a homeless shelter for teens, the police came to get me because my father listed me as a PINS case (Person In Need of Supervision) they wanted to take me to jail until my next court date, and they put handcuffs on me because I was a big tall brown girl.   I have seen them come to pick up other kids for similar things.  Cuffs were for violent kids, I noticed brown and black got cuffs, light and white got escorted.  The staff at the shelter asked them repeatedly (one lady begged them) not to cuff me and that it was unnecessary I am not violent, and actually was one of the nicest girls there.  All I could do is sit there and cry as I was cuffed for the first time in my life. The saddest part is that I know, most likely, no matter what I do in life, how well I act, how nice i speak, how clean my record is or my character, this will not be my last time in cuffs. At anytime because of the way others view me or because of a unknown situation, I might end up in cuffs again for no reason.  And I like most other brown and black people have accepted this as part of living in America.

In Elementary School, I had a white male teacher one year who I thought looked like superman, I was happy to be in his class (what kid wouldn't want to be around a real superman) until he treated me different than the others.  I knew it had a lot to do with my size, my height, fatness brown skin.  The way he looked at me, the face he made. When he berated me I just stayed quite.

I needed to get a replacement part for my vehicle recently, I called an auto parts location because I had difficulty finding them.  Yes... I had on my Becky voice and Larry was all to happy to speak to me and tell me some landmarks for me to go by and find them.  I was happy that Larry was so nice to me and I told him I would be there in a few minutes.  When I walked into the location with my happy tone and smile, the three white men behind the counter looked at me and ignored me.  I walked right up to one of them and waited for him to acknowledge me, he ignored me for a while and walked away.  Another man behind the counter said "What do you want?"  I need to replace my drivers side mirror I said "WELL WE DON'T DO THAT!" He replied.  I was told I could buy the part here.  He tapped some keys on a computer and after what seemed like a long time said "We dont have it".  No mentioning of ordering it or how much it would cost, he just dismissed me.  I asked for the part number and he gave me a hard time with giving me that information as well.  I just left.

My maternal grandmother is a very fair skinned Puerto Rican woman.  She could have passed for white (if her only language wasn't Spanish) from the pictures I have seen of her in her youth.   She had a thing for skin tone lighter is better darker is not as good.  I knew this because she never had anything positive to say when me and my mother would go and get tanned in the summer at the beach. She wasnt a very nice person in general to my mother very abusive in fact so I didn't like her and never have even in my baby years. To dark, to dark, is all I remember (from there conversation in Spanish) me and mother used to love to soak up the sun rays, I still do.  We would get so dark people would think we went on vacation or they didn't even recognize us.  Most were amazed by how dark we became with out burning.  I began to hate my grandmother when I was married, my husband was a very sweet caring dark skinned Jamaican man (RIP).  My husband was also very helpful and we all lived in the same big apartment building my mother on the 3rd floor, grandmother on the 4th and me and my husband on the 6th.  My husband would often see my grandmother in the building, and one time he helped her with some bags.  My grandmother had a home health aid (home attendant) during that time in her older years.  I found out that my grandmother had told her home attendant "Meda, eso el mono de Raqui" translation means "Look that is Raqui's Monkey".  The rage I felt was intense, I can say I hate my grandmother.  What is so sad is that this wasn't the only time my husband has been called a monkey or a gorilla and yes I have been compared to an orangutan by the public.  That is what we were called when we were together, A very tall couple both of us 6'4, big fat people who were brown and black.

I learned that when your a brown or black person, you receive less care, and consideration.  Some people will always see you in a bad light, and if you happen to be fat and tall on top of that, they want to help you even less.  They make assumptions about you, and the level of care or help you receive is minimal.  Even if your sweet, nice, caring, friendly and have a smile on your face, even if your paying for their services. All these issues I believe resulted in the death of my husband, and after reading depositions of those who cared for him while he was suppose to be getting help for a heal spur, showed me that he was nothing more than a BIG FAT BLACK MAN that they really were not very interested in helping or healing.  He paid for being a big fat black man with his life.


These are just a few instances in my life, (there have been way too many others to count, I tried to keep it tame) if at any time I stood up in defense of myself, (either verbally or physically) I could have been reprimanded, arrested or accused and attacked, most likely all of the above.  Add my size on top of it all and it becomes dangerous, my size alone can be considered a deadly weapon. I am no longer treated as a woman, I am treated as a man and men will attack me as a man and with even more anger than they would a man because I am a woman bigger than them.  They need to beat me into submission and show me my place.

I learned to allow myself to be victimized throughout my life for the greater good.  So I wouldn’t be beaten, arrested, accused or killed.  These traits stay with me, and are in my mind a lot now. They are a part of who I am and there is some shame. Thinking that my human adaptation might not have been the same, if I was a different race, color, height or size.  

There is the warrior in me, that hates that I had to adapt, a piece of me that wants to be like my ancestors, The Taino Indian warriors of Puerto Rico that said Fuck Christopher Columbus and his crew and if you come onto my land, my mountain’s, we will kill you, cut off your heads, and put them on spears as a sign to you not to enter.  You will not rape my woman, enslave our men, you will not steal my island, my mountain, I will not worship your god, I will not speak your language, or follow your words. I will not worship you and be enslaved to you. YOU ARE A VISITOR IN MY LAND not an OWNER.

The Shame comes from the realization, that I am more like the Enslaved Taino of Puerto Rico.  One that has been broken down and forced to conform and adapt or be killed.  Scared of death, retribution, and more at the hands of Chris and his crew.  To never speak my language, to never follow my faith, to never dress like my own people, to never dance and sing and live like my people did for generations, to never know the stories and legends.  To allow them to take my land, my children, my men, my sisters, to watch them killed off, and tortured, to adapt because I don’t want to die.   To watch them bring black African slaves to my land, and do the same to them.  I feel selfish for not fighting to the death, for what is right, but then again let’s think about where the Taino’s of Puerto Rico are now?   WE ARE EXTINCT!  Recent reports (in the past few years) show there is not ONE FULL BLOODED Taino of Puerto Rico alive on record. We have been exterminated (even though many mixed descendents are trying to keep the culture alive)  we have been Culturally Assimilated. I realized that is what we have gone through, along with the many other slaves of other cultures.


Cultural assimilation is the process by which a person or a group's language and, or culture come to resemble those of another group. The term is used both to refer to both individuals and groups, and in the latter case it can refer to either immigrant or native residents that come to be culturally dominated by another society. Assimilation may involve either a quick or gradual change depending on circumstances. Full assimilation occurs when new members of a society become indistinguishable from members of the other group. Whether or not it is desirable for an immigrant group to assimilate is often disputed by both members of the group and those of the dominant society.

I feel I have been through a modern day Assimilation of some sorts. The thing is how assimilated are we.  Why are our brown black people, men, women and children of all ages being locked up or killed so easily, and with out justice being done?  Have our newer generations lost some of their slave mentality?  The mentality that you are taught, by parents, and community after centuries of being a slave. How to fit in, in a roundabout way, how to make others more comfortable with your obvious negative traits such as skin, features, size, looks etc.  How to make others more relaxed with you and trusting. The knowledge that you never have the right to stand up for yourself or defend yourself least you are beaten or murdered.  To just keep taking it and taking it to survive, it is just what you have to go through.  We were taught those things to protect us and prevent death. This fact makes me so sad.


I am not in my 40’s yet, (getting close), but I remember my father taking me to a building that had an IRISH ONLY sign outside, and us having to wait for permission for my father to enter, but I had to stay outside sitting on the ground next to pine cones.  I remember the stories of when my dad was a young teen, they would find young black and brown people hanging from trees in Crotona Park in the Bronx NY.  They kept saying it was rival gangs but black and brown don’t hang each other.  They knife fight; this was a fear tactic by the white gangs in the area. Stories of my father driving across the US, how he was almost killed a few times during that trip.  How he was almost arrested because he looked similar to a criminal on the run. My dad is in his 60’s so this was about 50 years ago and more recent.  

I remember my mom telling me at times how to act and react, how to stay quiet and how to behave here in America.  Speaking good english was important, standing down was important.  I remember my mother telling me once that her darker skin was devalued by our culture and she is not as dark as me, (we are considered indian skinned) and we have people who are as dark as a beautiful nights sky in Puerto Rican culture. This is the same for many Hispanic Cultures. The mixture of Original Natives, Invading Spaniard/European's and traded African Slaves have made us a diverse people who are plagued with skin tone issues that are just as harsh as those in the African American community.  Only recently is Afro-Hispanic becoming a celebration for those of darker skin tone.

Those Hispanics who are away from there islands here in America, divide up even more so than we would on our island. We all know we are Hispanic/Latino of our culture, but those who pass for white will move into the white world, because of all the benefits, and yes some of them think they are better than the rest of us (my own maternal grandmother included). Those who are dark dont have a choice, and move into the black world and try to deal.  Those like me and my mother somewhere in-between live in limbo we just are, and depending on our skin tone we just fit in where we get in. This does not save us from being brown in this country, but we are accused by white hispanics for trying to be black, then accused by blacks Hispanics that we want to be white.  That is with in our own culture and immediate family, then we have to deal with the thoughts every other race in America thinks of us. Many of us just stay quite about it and many times we stay quite in every aspect of life, that usually makes people think we are lacking intelligence. I dont think my parents even realize to protect me they instilled slave survivor mentality and this is something that is not done anymore.

Let’s not act like racial stuff isn’t happening, every single one of us has some racial feelings. Daily life circumstances are racial, because we are not treated as equals, and we are automatically seen as a threat in one way or another.  The feelings you have in that situation become racial.  It all stems from the past thoughts that White skin makes you superior and better, the darker you are the more suspect and vile you are, a savage, that needs to be controlled, monitored and treated in an aggressive manner, because that is all animals understand right? Still in this day walking while black, or brown is a threat.  So if we dont bow down, and act exactly as we are told to, we are called the most horrible things and treated in horrific manners.  I am not speaking about those who are acting in obvious, improper, criminal threatening ways, I am speaking about the everyday citizen who is just trying to get through life.

What is worse, those children who are considered mixed (which really in the brown and black communities doesn't exist we all are a big mix already) are pressured at times to pick a side.   Well... lets be real the side is picked for you depending on what you look like, and sometimes who your with.  More white features, you pass, and might even be titled with exotic, because you pass enough to look white, but you got a little something to ya.  More black/brown features… well you know.

This is something that has crossed my mind many times, because in the case of those who are mixed, I have found if they identify as white there is a number of them, who really hate the brown or black part of themselves.  So much so they are easy to anger.  While I have not found that to be true for those who identify with the black part of themselves,  I have found some who do not like the white part of themselves but it usually is an internal thing not so much as an outward anger.

Makes me think are our people who are standing up for themselves,  being blamed for not having enough slave mentality in them?  Then we ourselves begin to blame them (the victim) as well.  Well what were you doing, why were you doing it, it was to late, you shouldn't have done this or that, you should have stayed quite, You should know better than that etc etc.


So… If I was walking down the street, and I was being followed or tracked by a white man (or someone who I thought was white).  My first thought would be, why would a white man follow me?  White people don’t follow brown or black people, OMG WHAT IS HIS PLAN?  If he was a brown or black person I would think he wants to rob me.   If he is white, I am thinking he wants to kill me or something worse maybe torture me and kill me.   Because everything I have learned in life is that some mean white people make targets out of brown or black people. You can tell by their behavior if they are targeting you it is pretty obvious.  If they don’t want to hurt you they usually ignore you or maybe they are nice to you if they don’t hate other races. They only follow, aggravate, bother, track; hunt you when they want to do something REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD to you. When they have bad intentions toward you specifically. Why would he follow me, because I am his target, what does he want to do with me?  Something really horrible, something quite possibly abusive or life threatening. Yeah I am just as bad as the white woman who I gave a wallet to when I was 9 years old only I am in utter fear, not anger at being touched by a fat brown girl. 

What would I do?  I would arm myself with a weapon and I would like to think that I would smash his head in when he rounds the corner following me.  But my life lessons taught me, I need to put on my Becky voice, call 911, hide and plead as quickly and desperately as possible for help, don’t let them know I am brown, don’t tell them my last name, don’t let them know I am big, tall, or fat and be ready for them to accuse me when they show up and see what I really look like.  They will probably laugh at me or be mad because a huge fat brown woman was scared and needed help.   Or it can turn for the worse, depending on what kind of police officer arrives, I have no choice but to take the risk of rape, getting beaten, accused, or who knows.  If I attack it is certain one or more of those things will happen to me.  I got to take the chance, call the cops who I hope will not automatically see me as a threat, But if I act helpless enough for a giant tall fat brown woman, maybe I can get home in one piece, and not pee my pants in the process. 

Makes me think, that the truth is there cannot be equality, because we are never treated as equals, we never have been, and it might take centuries until we will be. Until we are Assimilated, until we are no longer recognized.

Yes, this situation and all of these realizations make me a sad sad HUGE, TALL, FAT, BROWN, PUERTO RICAN, WOMAN.  Am I a fake, an adapter, am I like the taino or black slave? Come now master I will act dumb and stupid and talk all kinds of funny ways to ensure that you don’t feel threatened in anyway master, just treats me right master, I will never do wrong to ya master, I will dance for you master, and sing for you master, and I will be anything you want me to be at a drop of a hat master, just don’t kill me master.  I promise I will be a good little brownie for you master.

I sometimes feel like I am traitor to my Taino Blood, to the warrior in me.  The one that wants to wage war for my right to live with out fear. With out having to think about every situation, I might get into if I am out traveling alone.  If I am out after dark, if I have to come into contact with authorities.  What could happen to me, where I should live, and if I will be treated correctly or improperly today, because of my brown, tall, fatness.  The realization when alone walking, on a dark path or in need of help, I put on my Becky voice to ask for it.  I slap on a smile and try extra hard not to be intimidating in anyway. I have to prove that I mean no harm before something even occurs. But I am alive right?

Monday, December 3, 2012

Long Lasting Love

It was a random late night watching Netlix, I was enjoying a nice movie.  It was a real feel good type... man meets dog and they become best friends, family setting really nice little town, little family, little people loving and going on in this world, When suddenly one sentence changed everything in my mind.

  The man in this movie who accidently meets a dog and brings it into his family, Has a wife and a daughter who just recently got married to yes a nice young man.  His daughter is having lunch with his wife after they speak about the fact that she is pregnant.  The daughter wants to speak to her mother about how her parents met.  Which is so sugary sweet you just want to love all over the both of them LOL, When the wife says something that really touched me. 

The conversation went something like this:

Daughter: Mom, you and Dad have been together a long time.
Mother: yes 25 years now.
Daughter:  Wow.
Mother: Me and your father have been together longer than we have been apart. 

   And there it is... They have been together longer than they have been apart.  When you think about that... out there in this world, people have been together, married, in love, through the good and bad, longer than they have been without each other.  The math behind that… to count your years on earth, and have spent most of them with your partner.

     I was in love with the idea, in love with the reality of it, in love with the fact that I know it is true.  Right now there are couples all over the USA all over the WORLD who have that.  Then I think... I might have already missed my chance at having that.  Chances are I will never have that

     You see... I’m almost 38 years old now, a widow for 11 years, and if you do the math.  If I met someone today that I ended up marrying, I would have to be with them at least 39 years to be able to say I have been with them longer than I have been without them. Which means; I would have to live until I was at least 77 years old.  Is it possible?  Yes it is completely possible, though with accidental death and health problems more and more people are dying younger.  Plus one more thing I don’t have a man in my life that fits marriage material.  I don’t have prospects currently which means every day and year that pass comes the reality that I might not ever be able to say, I have been with someone longer than I have been apart from them.

     That fact kind of crushes me a bit. For a moment I thought how amazing it would be, how I wished I could say that.  Isn’t that the true test of love?  Long term, forever love, for better or worse, in sickness and health until the day you die?  Isn’t that what people seek, love that is strong enough to stand the test of time.  When you have been together so long you don’t know nor want to know what it is like to be apart.

      I say to myself, that this type of love isn’t superior to another love.  It is just different.  Just because you were together longer doest meant that another situation cannot have just as much love and care involved.  Being a widow first hand I know this is true.  I had my husband in my life for 3 years in total 1 year dating then engaged and 2 years married.  It also made me relate even more to the movie.

     So back to the story our nice family now includes, A great husband, talented wife, loving daughter who is now married to a nice young man with a baby just born and man's best friend ever faithful companion.  With a dare I say a special soulful connection to his master.    

     The husband and his furry friend walk everyday to the train station where man and beast part ways.  The man off to work the dog taking a tour of the neighborhood then home, before returning to meet his master again by the train.  As they are happily living life the unspeakable happens.  The man dies and on that day dog waits and waits ever faithful yet confused, Until family comes to retrieve him.  All attempts at keeping and relocating him failed.  He escapes again and again to wait for his best friend and owner who will never return.  For ten long years he waits everyday he waits until his dying breath.  With dreams and memories flooding into this kind creatures mind.  His last moments of life, were filled with fleeting moments in time of him and his master running, walking, meeting at the train where they walked home.  Is that not love? a Loyal pure love, though they are owner and pet still you can’t help but see that it is a undeniable showcase of love.

It makes me think about how I related to the movie:

I can relate to the wife whose whole life was devastated at the loss of her mate a good man one who she spent most of her life with,  More years together than apart.

I related to the daughter who tried to keep her father’s dog to love him and to care for him but finally understood she had to let him go to do what he needed to do,  wait for his best friend.
I related also to the dog, to the loyalty of love, to knowing what it is like to love someone so much that you want to wait for them, even though you know in your heart you will never see them again.  To find comfort in the act of remembering and giving honor to what you had.  To still be waiting after all those years.
     Isn’t this love just as amazing as the love of those who have been together longer than they have been apart?

     I even started to think about how many widows (wives who lost husbands) and widowers (husbands who lost wives) never marry again, some just can’t seem to get past the loss, others cannot put another into the position that will always belong to their mate who passed.  Being a widow myself I understand the feeling at a point in time I could never see myself marrying again.  Sometimes even though I am still young I wonder will I ever find someone who I am compatible with in that way again.  Others may  see it as you trying to replace your love with another and that just won’t do.

     Some feel like our canine friend in the movie, who went off on his own, he could have stayed with his master’s daughter in their home, with the nice husband and new son.  But he left never returning almost as though no other person could replace and be his owner now.  He rather wait until they can be reunited.  Loyalty and love is a powerful thing.

     Still yet when it comes to love you can’t say one love is better than another.  That you cannot know what love is unless you have been together longer than apart, unless your willing to spend the rest of your life alone. I know that is not a reality, that doesn’t mean I don’t dream about it.  Wish I could say that sentence and have felt what its like.  To be with someone longer than I have been apart from them.  

     Maybe I won’t be gifted this experience in my life.    If I marry again it won’t be because I want to replace my husband.  He has his own place in my heart.  It will be because someone else was able to capture a piece of my heart. I don’t feel it is a dishonor to him.  If I don’t marry again it isn’t because I need to punish myself, It is not to honor his memory it is because the map of my life didn’t have that detour printed.  Maybe a bit because my husband treated me so well, I won’t accept someone who won’t treat me equally as good. 
     Either way… I know love is something that seems like a simple word, but with strong connections and I respect all versions of this connection, including those between man and beast.  Still when times are quiet and I have only my own thoughts I think about loving someone and being with someone longer than I have been apart from them.  We all can dream can’t we?





Hachi: A Dog's Tale  2009

When his master dies, a loyal pooch named Hachiko keeps a regular vigil -- for more than a decade -- at the train station where he once greeted his owner every day in this touching drama based on a true story.