Being invisibly visibly disabled may seem like a contradiction. On the one hand, you’re just like everyone else—normal to all appearances, fully functioning, unimpeded by the physical landscape. On the other hand, you can’t form a fist because your fingers don’t have the ability to bend or move in any dexterously significant way.
I am a disabled woman—a visibly disabled woman, but more often than not, an invisibly disabled woman. I was born under strange circumstances where the entire right half of my body was significantly weak, much like what may happen if you suffer a stroke and one side of your body loses function or becomes paralyzed. Indeed, most doctors I have seen theorize it was a stroke that caused my disability, though no one can say for certain. It’s a mystery that will never be solved, only named: hemiparesis, or more generally, cerebral palsy.
At first glance, you likely wouldn’t be able to tell I have a disability. I’ve learned from my experience that most people aren’t especially observant, based on how many people are shocked to learn the presence and extent of my disability. “I never noticed!” is a common refrain. However, I’ve also learned that those few people who are observant are remarkably so. These people have a fascinatingly heightened awareness of others, if not of someone’s subtle physical differences, then of someone’s behavior in, as has often been the case for me growing up, trying to hide that difference.
On a second glance—or fourth, or twentieth, or when my disability is on full display (such as when I’m typing, or when I have my arm resting comfortably in a twisted, contorted manner, you would definitely be able to tell I’m not your average able-bodied lass. My arm appears thin to a worrisome degree and because my triceps are particularly weak, I have a permanent bend at my elbow that can’t be fully straightened. My palm is very flat, and my fingers are splayed out in a near calcified state. For whatever reason, I am only able to bend my ring finger slightly, which has been extraordinarily useful – nearly making up for all my other deficiencies (I can’t tell you how many things are possible with one “functional” hand and a bendy ring finger)!
My right leg is thinner than my left leg and a touch shorter. My face has a vague asymmetry and I definitely have a crooked smile. On the whole, I am physically and visibly disabled. But I am also invisibly disabled, because it’s often not obvious, and this has been tricky when navigating the waters of relationships and identity.
Because my body is in a sense cleaved into two differing halves, I have struggled with a cleaved sense of self – am I able bodied? Am I disabled? Am I disabled enough to warrant the term? Should I tell people about it or keep it hidden? For the majority of my life, I’ve opted for the latter. Since my disability is most often invisible, I tried not to bring attention to it, and by extension, to myself. I kept it out of the way, an inconvenience to ignore if not actively hide, and if someone noticed or brought it up, I minimized it.
But somewhere in my personal bildungsroman, I started not to care as much. Maybe, as my fellow peers matured, and grade school cruelty began to wane, I began to feel safer being seen, and when asked, to divulge a little bit more about myself rather than quickly explaining myself away. Somewhere along the way, I woke up and felt sick to death of hiding.
Thanks as well to an amazing Disability in Literature college course taught by a professor who was herself disabled, my own preconceptions of disability — and the shame that so often goes with it — were challenged. I learned that disability is not so much a “lack” of ability as it is a lack in the physical environment to accommodate people of all kinds of abilities. For instance, most people can use two hands, so it stands to reason that most restaurants will supply you with a fork and knife with which to eat your food. But if you can’t, then you’re in a bit of a bind — not because of your own abilities, but because most restaurants simply don’t provide an adapted one-handed rocking knife, for example. Cars were designed with the thought that everyone has adequate strength in their right leg, so the gas pedal is positioned for use on the right. Even something as banal as opening a bottle of soda requires two-handed coordination and strength that I certainly don’t have. Does this mean that none of these tasks can be accomplished and that there’s something defective with the person who can’t? Heavens no! The design of our social landscape is just unimaginative, limited, and limiting for a great number of people termed “disabled”.
With a little bit of knowledge and pride under my wings, I have come a long way from the shy, awkward girl I once was. However, I’m still pretty awkward and shy, and I still have a long way to go. Sometimes the prevailing narrative that disability is something inherently negative creeps up and colors my own thinking. I’ve started to accept that this will likely be a lifelong battle, and I will need to constantly remind myself of the very basic and objective fact that there is nothing wrong or lacking in me.
I am undeniably, and on the path to proudly, a disabled woman. If other people cannot see this, I will let them notice on their own terms. I don’t believe I owe an unprompted explanation or demonstration of the simple reality of my being to everyone I come across. Just as you have no need to shout “I am able-bodied!” when you enter a room, I have no desire to clue everyone in to my disability wherever I go. I accept the fact that my disability will be invisible to some. Sometimes it becomes invisible to myself, simply because it is the only thing I’ve ever known, and it’s my normal experience. In other words, it’s nothing special or different to me. But if you happen to notice and ask about it? I will happily tell you. Thanks for your interest.
Publish Date: August 13 2017 Categories: Life
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Ignore the fact that this article would have been wildly relevant a month ago. Despite the holiday cheer I thought it appropriate to count down the 5 creepiest horror film moments (according to me). Some of these are classics that appear on a lot of people’s lists, and a couple are just scenes that creeped me out as a kid.
5. Jeepers Creepers
Honestly, this film freaked me out as a kid. When it first came out it was all over TV trailers and advertisements to the point that you knew the premise of it without even having seen it. At some point, TV networks started showing this movie constantly, and as a kid I could only watch bits and pieces at a time.
Rewatching it now as an adult, it really is a terrible, cheesy movie, but there’s still a subtle nostalgic creepy feeling I get when thinking about it. The overall storyline could have been pretty good—two siblings travel by car on a deserted road only to be besieged by a monster that stalks in the cornfields masquerading as a scarecrow.
A scene that sticks out is one that was flashed in the trailers, with the two main characters driving by a dilapidated house on the deserted road, and seeing a strange figure dumping suspicious looking bags (bodies!) from a truck. The figure spots the car and stares down the two characters as they drive by. Of course, a chase ensues, but that brief moment of witnessing something dark from a distance, and then being spotted, was rather creepy.
See what I mean
4. I Am Legend
While not a horror movie per se, I thought this sci-fi blockbuster was brilliant and incredibly suspenseful. There’s inherent horror in the trope of “the last man alive”, but throw in some ravenous zombie creatures in the mix and you have something even better.
In the film, scientist Robert Neville must try to find resources and investigate a cure for the virus that has turned most of New York into infected flesh-eating monsters. The infected only come out at night, and hide away in dark places during the day. This is when things can get dicey.
During one scene, Neville’s dog bolts into the entrance of a darkened, abandoned building where there’s a 99.9% chance of the zombies lurking. Being a much more magnanimous pet owner than I would have been, Neville follows him into the pitch black building with only the narrow light from his gun to guide him. It’s the kind of slow-moving, hold-your-breath kind of scene where Neville ascends stairs and turns corners in the oppressive stillness and darkness. And then finally he comes upon a huddle of zombie bodies swaying and writhing in the dark.
Hold your breath and watch
3. The Blair Witch Project
The ending to this movie is one that is endlessly debated, not only about what exactly happens, but also on its merits. It’s another of the movies where there are two staunch camps and very little in between—either you think the movie was creepy and really good, or you thought it was boring and overrated. Admittedly I fell into the latter camp for most of the movie, but the ending changed things for me and really made the horror settle in.
The premise of the move is simple—three film students get lost in the woods while investigating the urban legend of the Blair Witch. One of the students goes missing as increasingly ominous events occur, building up to the sinister, enigmatic ending. The brilliance of the movie lies in everything it leaves out, as we’re never confronted with a cheesy depiction of an actual witch or scenes of direct violence, which leaves all the horrors up to our own anxieties and imagination.
In the last scene, the students Heather and Mike are in a creepy abandoned house desperately looking for their missing friend who seems to be calling out for them. The two get separated, and Heather begins screaming hysterically as she goes down into the cellar after Mike. For a brief moment we catch a glimpse of Mike facing away from us in a corner, before Heather presumably gets knocked down as the camera she was holding falls to the ground and cuts out.
There’s something deeply unsettling about not knowing what exactly happened here. Was it the witch luring Heather and Mike into the house and putting Mike under some spell? Was it the murderer who claimed to be controlled by the witch, who would kill children one at a time by putting one in the corner while he hacked the other to pieces? Was it Josh put under the spell of the witch to murder his friends? Your mind can turn over the possibilities long after the scene is over, ruminating and stewing over the horror of it all.
Creep yourself out
2. The Ring
This is a classic—a classic for my generation, anyway. The image of a girl in a dingy white dress with her long black hair obscuring her face is a searing one we can all recognize. When this movie was out what middle-school aged child (and beyond) didn’t eye their television set a little more suspiciously or, if they were lucky enough to have a TV in their room, spend a sleepless night or several worried that Samara would be climbing out of the screen?
The atmosphere and the slow onslaught of impending doom as Samara the ghost girl staggers closer and closer to the screen are what really make the scene horrifying. It starts with a darkened, grainy picture of an old well, and the sudden appearance of sickly, rotted arms as this creepy little girl pulls herself out of it. She then makes her way towards you, getting larger and larger on screen—but you’re safe right, it’s all just a video? Not until the girl pushes through the screen and crawls onto your living room floor, sopping wet, decaying flesh and all. And then you die.
Watch Samara yourself
1. Friday the 13th
This was the worst (which is why it’s also the best). This is such a brief scene at the end of this movie, and a mere jump scare to boot, but it’s one that startled me so severely I’m pretty sure my soul left my body.
The horrible and twisted thing is that it occurs when you think everything is okay, and the movie is about to end. You’re lulled into a false sense of security—the murderous Mrs. Voorhees is dead and gone, the main character has escaped danger and now we can all breathe.
The main character Alice is drifting placidly on a boat in the middle of a lake—safe, away from all harm, unreachable by anyone or anything that could do her harm. She’s half asleep but begins to awaken, and as she starts to casually sit up the most terrifying thing imaginable happens. Jason—Mrs. Voorhees’ son who had supposedly died years before, emerges from the lake behind the boat and clotheslines Alice, pulling her down back into the lake. It happens in the blink of an eye, but the complete suddenness of it all combined with the gruesome image of Jason’s decaying body attacking Alice is one that will shake even the staunchest of horror fans.
Terror in its purest, most reactionary form.
Terrify yourself
Publish Date: November 26 2015 Categories: Movies
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Two weeks ago I attended a concert for Mexican pop-rock band Camila, who were touring in the US as an opening act for Marco Antonio Solis, a fellow compatriot and hugely popular artist in the Latino community. While Camila are themselves very well-known and successful in Latin America, they probably would not have been able to tour on a stadium level in the US without another giant act like Solis. I had been waiting for them to perform in northern California for years, but they mainly tour in Latin America and a handful of places in the US like New York or Miami. After awhile I stopped checking their tour dates, and figured I may never get to see them live.
By a stroke of luck that has seemed to grace me lately (thank you concert gods), a song of theirs popped up while listening to iTunes and I decided to on a whim check their tour dates. Lo and behold, they were actually on tour in the US, already in progress, and they were coming to San Jose in less than a month! Tickets were at a fairly high price at this point, and continuously rising, but it was a splurge well worth the stomach punch to my bank account. Being the eminently wonderful and favored daughter and granddaughter that I am (kidding…), I invited along my grandmother, a fan of Solis, and my mother, a casual fan of both.
So, three generations of Nicaraguan women made their way to the SAP Center on a Saturday night. I had never seen the place so packed and swarming with people. Granted, I had only been there once before for another concert, but the crowd was nowhere near the size as this one. And what’s more, the giant crowd was composed as far as I could see, and as I would unflinchingly wager, entirely of Latinos. This is an obvious and simplistic observation certainly, but something about the size of the crowd surprised me.
Living in the Bay Area, you’re used to seeing a diverse mix of people everywhere, and in certain parts, a great majority of Latinos. It’s not uncommon to find neighborhoods where you can speak Spanish to anyone, and where it may even be primarily spoken. It’s also a pretty well known fact that Latinos are one of the fastest growing minority populations in the US (currently only second to Asians).
Nevertheless, Latinos are still a “minority” population, and this fact comes with ongoing challenges and political issues of all varieties. It’s a fact I’ve always acutely felt throughout my years of school being one of a couple, if any Latinos in my classes. After spending the bulk of my life in this environment, from 12 years of primary education to 4 years of college, it has become more strange and distinctive to me when I am not a minority in a crowd. I can’t speak for everyone in this regard, and not everyone has the same experience, but I have gotten used to being “other,” to being one of a few, or the only Latino in a space.
Even the spaces I have come to know as majority Latino are changing. The Mission district where I grew up is still known as a Latino neighborhood, but the population of actual Latinos there is waning. It’s a discussion for another time and place, but forces such as gentrification have changed the landscape of the Mission enough that I can walk into a restaurant or shop there and feel the familiar sensation of otherness and uniqueness.
So you can imagine my shock at the size of nearly 20,000 Latinos strong descended upon one central location. Spanish could be heard left and right. There were children, adults and seniors. There were people in the garb and style of Mexican rancheros, and people in typical American fashions. It was a sold out show. After the concert ended and the sea of people came pouring out of the stadium, the streets came to a standstill because of all the bodies exiting.
I don’t think my mind had fully wrapped around how large the Latino presence is in this country until I experienced such numbers for such a niche entertainment event, in one corner of California. There is power and great potential in this. This is only a tiny slice of the far reaches of Latino influence. Musicians little known to the great majority of America can quietly, if not without disruption, sell out an arena in a way that many famed American acts cannot. Keep in mind that though these Mexican musicians are quite popular, they’re not internationally well known. Even amongst Latinos they’re not the biggest names, and their biggest appeal lies in large part with the Mexican community. Their fanbase is therefore but a fraction of the Latino presence in the Bay Area alone. Moreover, the strong support left me pondering–if Latinos can show in such numbers for a cultural event like this, imagine the totality of their political power, and their economic power. Though I may often feel singular, and Latinos (along with other people of color) sparsely represented in the media, in government, in the boardrooms, the fact is that Latinos have been, currently are and will continue to be a sizeable force to be reckoned with.
Though not always visible, we’re there. We’re here in great (and political) numbers. Though Latinos don’t comprise an ideological monolith that thinks the same and agrees on all issues, it probably isn’t a good idea to make monolithic, racist statements about Latinos as a whole. I can’t imagine, after this presidential election, that any serious candidate will be able to stand in front of the nation and label as “criminals” an entire growing and vital subset of the population without it being a form of political suicide. Latinos were an important force of President Obama’s 2012 presidential bid, with 71% of the Latino vote swaying in his favor. At this point in time there are over 25 million eligible Latino voters, and that number is only growing.
Latinos are a minority group, but an influential economic and political one. In numbers we can sell out major stadium shows, as well as make an impact on national elections, and politicians would do well not to discount or underestimate that leverage.
The concert was amazing by the way. If you want to see a great show filled with powerful vocals, pianos and violin solos, look no further than Camila.
Publish Date: October 18 2015 Categories: Culture, Politics
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Fall is here, and naturally the most important aspect of this fact is the return of our TV show lineup, namely, brand new seasons of Scandal, How to Get Away with Murder and American Horror Story. I’ll be briefly reviewing new episodes each week, so stay tuned and as always, watch out for spoilers.
Read more >>
Publish Date: October 15 2015 Categories: Reviews, Television
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Melanie Martinez’s debut album Crybaby is an infectious foray into her storybook world of catchy hooks and childlike horror. Underneath the slick beats and beyond the sugary lyrics involving playthings such as dollhouses, teddy bears and carnivals lies a fascinating and darkly imagined world of murder, madness and warped relationships.
Martinez, now a mere 20 years old, initially made a name for herself by appearing on The Voice. She generated much excitement for her album with early singles accompanied by visually striking, at times macabre music videos that she developed and directed herself. On top of this, the theme song of American Horror Story Story: Freak Show was based off one of these songs, “Carousel.” Often compared to other alternative pop artists such as Lana del Ray or fellow newcomer Halsey, her songs consist of sultry vocals and incorporate a variety of sounds, from electronic to 1950s to hip-hop elements.
But in most respects Martinez is singular to other artists. Carnival music and wind up toy melodies weave through many of her songs in keeping with their lyrical content. She has a unique voice that is at once sweet and throaty, sultry and childlike that plays well into her affinity for the trappings of childhood. That certainly follows when she sings of toys and candy but unsettles (in a good way) when she sings of corpses and being chased through a parking lot.
The album itself is highly conceptual and follows the story of “Crybaby”, a highly sensitive girlish figure who must navigate through a twisted family life, complicated relationships, and even assault. Each song adds another incident in Crybaby’s journey to ultimate self-acceptance, complete with the emotional, even unhinged part of herself (“all the best people are crazy”).
Most interesting of all is the focused nature of her songs around one seemingly innocent object or figure that turns into an extended metaphor for darker subjects. Take for instance the song “Mrs. Potato Head” that seemingly addresses the popular toy that can have its face rearranged, but is really a clever rumination on plastic surgery and the link between pain and beauty. The song “Soap” abounds with figurative language surrounding bathing and running faucets as a way of representing the fear of “spilling” one’s inner feelings to someone else and stifling expression by “washing one’s mouth out with soap”.
The idea of horrors cleaned, covered or ornamented in pretty, innocent things pervades the album. One of the more morbid examples of this—and one of my favorites—is “Sippy Cup,” a tale of an alcoholic, insecure mother who murders her cheating husband. Despite the mother’s efforts to keep up appearances and smooth over the horror of the situation, Martinez calmly croons that “kids are still depressed when you dress them up / syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup.”
Aside from the clever lyrical content, Martinez’s songs are downright catchy. These are songs that were designed to get stuck in your head. She has discovered a formula for irresistible choruses that will have you singing along within a listen or two. She rarely colors outside the lines of this polished, structured formula but she does it so well that you can forgive the slightly repetitive nature of the album, and the shortfall of variation within each song.
However, it will be interesting going forward to see if she can branch out a little and really let her creative forces run wild. If anyone can shake things up in the world of catchy, infectious pop I’d put my money on Martinez.
Publish Date: September 7 2015 Categories: Music, Reviews
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