Happy Place

Commuter's Corner
Julio Salgado

The water is getting through my slip-on Gap shoes. I don’t necessarily love The Gap, but these shoes only cost me $10. Had I known that The Gap made such crappy shoes, I would have opted for two trash bags instead. I disobey the law at the Artesia station and cross the train tracks before the Metro heading to Downtown Long Beach beats me first. I barely make it to the sliding doors as they’re closing. I hate taking the Metro when is raining. Not because I hate the rain, but because of the obvious inconvenience. Your backpack seems to gain some extra weight and your crappy slip-on Gap shoes fill with water.

I discreetly remove my shoes to try and dry my wet feet with the air. It’s useless so I take out a book and try to fade out the noise behind me.

"Ernesto, stop it already!" a sorta angry, sorta flirtatious female voice behind me screams.

I put my book down and turn my head to try and catch this Ernesto in the act. A young woman wearing a huge men’s jacket and a short skirt is trying to push Ernesto off from her. At first, I wonder if I should come to her rescue. But I can tell that theirs is the kind of love therapists and our mothers warn us about: sick. As Ernesto tries to grab one of her breasts, this woman begins to laugh hysterically. She’s in her early 20s and he’s probably in his late 30s. Her curly brown hair is damp from the rain and it’s sticking to her face.

She looks like the kind of girl who has been waiting for someone to whisk her off from her home, where she was either abused or taken care of. Ernesto has the look of the cholo veterano. Baggy pants with a pair of white Nike Cortezes. I begin to feel like a chismoso so I turn back to my book.

It’s useless. I can’t concentrate because of their constant bickering and loud kisses. I wonder how long they’ve been together and if other Metro riders are wondering the same thing. They don’t look like they’re on drugs. But they sure look like they’ve had a tough life. The young woman’s sad eyes confess the need to be touched. The need to be held. Shit, I want to hug her. He embraces her with the kind of passion you see in the movies.

Despite the cold weather and the rain, the woman is wearing sandals. Maybe they are on drugs after all. They finally get off at Anaheim station. I notice that the man is carrying a sports bag. Probably filled with all of their belongings. I wonder if they’re running away. I remember that there’s a Greyhound station around Long Beach Blvd. but I can’t remember exactly where.
There they are again, arguing over which direction to walk. As the train takes off, the couple becomes smaller and smaller. I secretly wish them good luck and hope that they find the happy place they’re desperately looking for.

Postpartum Collegian

Maria Ventura


As I sit here at my desk in my cramped bedroom, I still have not come to realize that my days as a collegian are over. I have been fresh out of college for no more than a month and already I have been given stern lectures, like demands from my parents to find a job other than Target:

"You need to act like an adult, not a college student."

"Your priorities are not straight."

"You have a degree, now go use it."

Not only that, but now I have to pay rent and to let go of my life at CSULB. I made life-long friends and joined some amazing student organizations as a student. I never realized that it would be so difficult for me to transition out of college. I understand where my parents are coming from in a way. Yes, I do have to transition from being a student to an adult and enter the realm of the real world, but I also feel that once I have left school, the friends I made will no longer be there. Maybe it’s all in my head. Who knows.

I never thought that looking for a job would be difficult. I have an idea what I want to do for a career but I decided not to pursue grad school right away and am left finding a job unrelated to my degree in sociology. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t major in business management or marketing because maybe then I would be better qualified for jobs. I feel that having a Liberal Arts degree limits me to jobs that I am not eligible for. A variety of jobs require 2-3 years of office experience and in some cases, a certification of typing speed? My typing is inadequate. It’s a Catch-22: how am I supposed to get an entry-level job in an office if I don’t have experience?
During the first week that I spent looking for jobs, I was completely unmotivated; I didn’t want to look. I had the stubborn and naïve mentality that a job would just fall on my plate. Well, another week passed, I got motivated and checked out some openings for social workers at some hospitals. I found that a bachelor’s degree in sociology did not make me eligible for the positions. On a given day, I spent about five hours on the computer searching for jobs. Damn.

Then I realized that if I want to find a job, then I need outside resources. I decided to go to the Career Development Center on campus. The counselors there were helpful and their Beach Link job search-engine helped me find a list of potential jobs. Here’s a word of advice to those seniors who plan to go straight to work after graduation: plan ahead at least six months, create a resumé, and practice writing cover letters. Take advantage of the Career Development Center at Brotman Hall. There are a variety of helpful tools to assist a student searching for a job, from mock interviews to scheduled on-site interviews with campus-sponsored companies like Target. They also have workshops that show students how to write resumés and search for fellowships and scholarships. Alumni are granted one full year of free services.

With luck, I was finally called in for an interview at a vocational nursing school. At first I thought "How can I work here? This school is unknown to most people." It was tiny and family-run. The first interview went great and I was called in for a second interview; I have yet to be notified if I have the admissions representative job. I was just happy that I had an interview after two weeks of searching.

The following day I was called for another interview at a life insurance company located by the Long Beach Airport. Supposedly the employer found my resumé on Monster.com. It sounded like a good opportunity and I thought I would probably make bank. I went to the interview and it was going rather well until the interviewer asked if I owned a car. He said I would need a car because I would be visiting clients at their homes. Well, there went another great opportunity down the drain.

Now I am back at square one and hoping that any replies are nearby and that it will not require a driver’s license. I know I need one, I mean, it’s long overdue. I have been practicing but need to let go of that fear of driving or I’ll never get it, hold back my career and limit myself from great opportunities.

This might be the most challenging year of my life.

La desilusión por mis "compañer@s"

Jocelyn Gómez

Hello my friends, I am speaking to you all as Jocelyn Gomez, member of La Raza Student Association. So my opinions are pretty biased, I’ll admit.

Last semester Jim Gilchrist was invited to CSULB by our archenemies at the Conservative Student Union. The reason for his unpleasant visit was to talk about La Raza (Student Association) and Racism, as in Raza is racist.

When this happened, we La Raza Student Association, got support from the Women’s Studies Student Association, the Center for Peace and Social Justice, people from UNITE HERE, the other individuals who came to us to show support. But what happened to my Latin@ organizations? What happened to our Latin@ support and unity that supposedly exists?

I thought brown and very light brown faces from different Chican@, Latin@ and Hispanic groups would come out and say, "La Raza Student Association is not racists."

Not that we need this type of defense, especially against clowns like Gilchrist and Haydes, but at least for show and support. To show that no mater the problems that exists in our small community here at CSULB, we will always be united when someone attacks any of us.

All this time I had the hope that no matter what the petty differences we have, the tensions that exist, (yet some refuse to accept) we would still come together and protect each other. But it didn’t happen.

When real problems come. When a conference such as "La Raza and Racism" comes along, with Gilcrhist as the main speaker, no support was there. We have been a target of the Conservative Student Union ever since its creation and no one seems to say, "don’t mess with our people," just to show some loyalty, I say.

Maybe these other organizations didn’t get the memo. They missed the news, twice. Or is it that they thought it was nothing important to get all rowdy about.

But come on, people give support even when they know it’s not necessary just to let the others know they got their backs.

Think of it this way, like when you go to your aunt’s or other family member’s house and you ask, "How can I help you" just to be polite and helpful, but you really don’t want to help and hope he/she says, "Nada. Sientate a comer."

But you still showed some interest in helping.

But I can help but to think that they chose to ignore it and let us take the attacks on our own.

If there is no real, concrete unity between some of us, we should at least be united in moments like these, when we have, what I think is, one common enemy.

I guess what I am asking for is for hypocrisy. Kind of the one we have now, where we talk to each other, expressed our desire to want to collaborate.

No, maybe not.

I want people to actually get mad when some piece of crap comes to our campus and calls our fellow classmates racists, because we are suppose to go through the same experiences and somewhat of the same hardships. Most of us are from the working or low-income class, and maybe we have experienced some sort of racists attacks.

So if an events hurts one of our own, we should all be like "what gives? Don’t mess with our people!" or something.

And I know people talk shenanigans about us.

I sure as hell have done my share of trash talking, but because I don’t like people talking about us!

I know, it still doesn’t make it right. Tsk tsk Gomez, tsk tsk.

And I don’t like the people say about us:
That when we go to certain meetings (LSU) we are demanding and like to go against other groups, that we take ownership of places (Raza Resource Center) that are not ours, that our men are sexist and childish, and other accusations I don’t know about but I can guess are out there.

In my knowledge, they are not true. We just like to be assertive. We like to make our opinions known. Well other Raza members do, I just like writing about them and hiding behind these letters.

The men we have in Raza are the most progressive men I have met, and all of them are open-minded and respect other people. Our women are also the most progressive and really active. Neither men nor women fit the stereotypes and don’t try to conform to gender roles.

This is who we are. We want people to progress; that is our whole deal.

Well that’s what I think. I just hope we can all count on each other like I heard it was in the old days.

I am no longer expecting much from anyone. I just hope things clear up in the future.

So this is how I feel. Maybe others don’t share the same ideas and concerns I do, not even my fellow Raza members. Maybe I am being dramatic.

But it doesn’t matter, at least you read the article.

A Story in My Mind

Alejandra Villalobos

A story echoes in my mind
And as it does it leaves a legend behind
It slowly cradles in my mouth
And as soon as it begins to come out
My mouth trembles in and out
And as it touches my lips
It disappears into the sky like the rain
into the sea

Ellos

Daniel Romo

I was in third grade when my mom bought me
A pair of denim pants the color of throw up.
And I told her they looked like throw up.
And she told me that’s what "they" are wearing.
Though she never did say who "they" were.
But I’ve grown up Mom,
And I finally know who "they" are.
— They are young Latino mothers
Who drag their children ‘cross town
From garage sale to garage sale
And then on to Sears
Every Saturday morning,
And push Graco strollers every Halloween
-Sans costumes-
With those Sears bags tied to them
Unabashedly expecting candy
For six month old babies.
And maybe it is for their six month old babies,
And their costumes are simply
Young Latino mothers.
— They are awkward poets,
In the good awkward way,
Quirky educated hipsters who think too much
Ands sport Melton wool caps
Spending hours in bookstores
Talking to themselves under their breaths
In dialects only other good awkward people
Appreciate and understand,
Who take occasional breaks reading published peers
Properly reshelving those peers despite knowing
They’re more accomplished,
Just less connected.
—They are silly girls
Who dress silly, and act silly, and kiss silly,
And smile silly,
Who like serious things
Like good film, good literature, good music,
And good men,
And listen to R.E.M. when they can’t sleep
Contemplating nightswimming
In his too honest not honest enough eyes
And surmise sometimes incorrectly,
They are silly girls who left me.
They are overworked inner city teachers
Going and making the proverbial distance
And difference.
They are suburban white boys nodding
Trust fund heads up and down to Tupac
Who think they have a free pass
To use the "n" word in their wannabe existence.
They are devoted Target consumers.
They are stronger people for being
Victims of unfounded rumors.
They are tenement single mothers.
They are medal of valor brothers,
Crude casualties of mistaken identity.
They are nomadic spirits who spend
Christmas Eve in fast food joints
Fading into Santa Ana sunsets
Like buffalo nickels in wishing wells.
They are Rwandan rebels just growing
Pubic hair unaware that Call of Duty
Is just a video game.
They are biracial presidents.
They are legal and illegal residents.
They are sad stories put to pretty music.
They are the Indians and the Calvary.
They are whoever you want them to be.
They are so fuckin’ stupid.
They are so fuckin’ beautiful.
They are the ones who finally did
Grow up.
And Mom,
They did look like throw up.

Chorizo and Eggs

Daniel Romo

Surrounded by people of pigmentation
Predominantly lighter than mine,
It’s a must my cultural preservation,
The Latino way I dine.
It’s what keeps me grounded
Like an Incan Fortress
Cemented to my roots.
Deep with heritage
Glowing with pride
A fact I can’t refute.
And despite the quiche and espresso walls
And the variety for which Vanillaland begs,
I prefer to forgo Spinach soufflés,
Opting for my chorizo
And eggs.

Like an Ambulance Chaser

Daniel Romo

I merge on to light speed boulevards
And become intimate with busy streets.
Stealing stories and collecting one-liners
That repeat without permission.
Listen to what they say,
Day to day existence inside a white picket fence
Or black security bars on windows
Both make for a majestic muse.
Not to be confused with envy.
I do long to stroll on sidewalks
In front of the large houses whose lawns
My immigrant grandfather used to mow,
And look through their renovated bay windows
To see what their dreams are made of
But I’ll never know,
Because my mother taught me,
Sunsets over treetops look the same,
And the grass only looks greener,
Because we’re the ones who watered it.
Free to see and be,
A simple nomad I am.

Renaissance Man

Daniel Romo

I’m a Renaissance man.
A modern day beatnik who finds
Romance in grey skies
And bewilderment
In why the suicide rate
Stays so high
In Seattle.
Who shuns laptops
And text messaging,
Preferring to write
With wooden pencils
Confessing
They keep me closer to
Nirvana.
Product of an early 90’s
Northwest revolution
Dressed in apathy
Bathed in flannel.
I’ve not watched Vh-1 in years
And changed the channel long ago
Only to become obsessed
With reality TV,
Watching top, anorexic, wannabe models
Flaunt their sexuality,
And fallen hip-hop heroes
Diminished to the depths
Of actually
Dating
Their groupies.
Who YouTubes
"Kimbo Slice" and "backyard fights"
And Googles
"Saul Williams" and "Open Mic readings"
Transforming proper nouns to verbs
Seeing
Through the superficiality,
And vicarious reality—
It is written and spoken word
That keeps me honest.
For I decode
Keenly folded dreams
Written in shorthand
On the second floor of bookstores
Ignoring
And bucking the system
That comes with
Being a male poet.
My proud pectorals protruding,
Alluding
To the fact
My manhood’s intact,
And I’m sensitive enough
To feel.
I reject coffee houses
And commercialism,
Yet wonder if it’s a contradiction
To be a devoted
Target consumer.
It’s no coincidence
I’m slow to dispel the rumor—
I find flaws in rainbows
Keeping quiet
Letting Mother Nature know
I can keep a secret.
In a perfect world,
There’d be no secrets.
There’d be no secrets,
No stereotypes
Misogyny,
Pollution
Book burning
Poverty,
High gas prices
American Idol
Dog fighting
Communism
Eating disorders
Rosie O’ Donnell
And WAR.
Isn’t that what artists
Strive for?
And while I’m on the subject,
I’ll add cutting funding for the arts
In high schools to the list,
Because billions of dollars spent
On space exploration
Fueled by egos and speculation
Is
Bullsssssshhhhh…..

I’m a Renaissance man.
A modern day beatnik
Who simply wants to
Be,
One step closer,
To a more forgiving world…

The Itch

Yadira Arroyo

i got an itch
on my lower back
on my neck

come scratch it
like i have no soul
fuck it

my nipples tingle
and my eyes narrow,
lock on to a moving target

i am blind and forget
that i am me -
i glide to your throat

with unstoppable
momentum -
i slide to your feet

pushed to feather ice
melting at the mercy of
the steaming flesh

soaring through
accelerated air
i land

so you can
rather easily
bend over

and scratch.

'El Reflejo' Featured in CSULB's Daily 49er

El Reflejo was featured on the front page of Cal State Long Beach’s Daily 49er on February 4, 2009. Read article here.

Pictured here are some of the staff members, from top to bottom, left to right: Julio Salgado, Maria Ventura, Fernando Romero, Claudia Ramirez, Pablo Ildefonso, and Yadira Arroyo.

(Photo credit: Tiffany Rider.)