The Wrath of Rafa

Random, truly meaningless thoughts, reflections, stories, and other stuff from a really strange 25-year-old. Basically, word vomit.    

[rafaswrath]

Sunday Spoiler: Sense8

I confess that life has been crazy; between work, my new workout routine, studying for the GRE, researching master's programs, and trying to maintain a decent level of social activity, I haven't had the time to keep up with some of my hobbies (ie: writing for my blog). Nonetheless, after taking a little break from my hectic schedule to binge-watch Netflix's latest show, Sense8, I knew I had to make room for a new Sunday review—yes, it's so good that I am skipping yoga to write about it... consider yourselves very special! So, let's see... where do I begin? Oh, yes.

What’s it all about?

From what I have been reading on different news sites, there seems to be a lot of confusion as to what Sense8 is really about. After watching all 12 episodes, I am not at all confused—this is a show about humanity at its core. The premise of the show is this: eight strangers—Will, Riley, Capheus, Sun, Lito, Kala, Wolfgang and Nomi—each from a different part of the world, leading extremely different lives, suddenly have the same vision of a Woman—Angelica—killing herself; the vision bonds them as Sensates, which means that they all basically become the same person (although they don't start to understand that until later in the show). 

When one Sensate feels something (pain, anger, pleasure, fear, etc), all other Sensates can feel it as well; not only that, they can communicate telepathically, tap onto each other's knowledge and skills, and even take over each other's bodies in order to overcome any obstacle they might encounter. 

Together, the Sensates are superhuman in the best possible way; the only trouble is that a similarly powerful man, Whispers, knows of their existence and is actively hunting them to break into their psychic link and capture them; therefore, while discovering their new abilities, the Sensates also have to watch out for each other and keep the members of their "cluster" safe and away from Whispers.

What’s so great about it?

Psh, everything!

Okay, I'll expand on that a bit. There are literally so many great things about this show that I am unsure as to where I should begin. Firstly, the cinematography is simply brilliant. The show was directed by the Wachowski siblings, the same people who directed The Matrix, V for Vendetta, and Cloud Atlas. I didn't know it was possible to visually communicate the meeting of two people in two different locations interacting with each other as one, without looking and sounding cheesy or weird; yet, that's exactly what you get—the beauty of intertwined souls experiencing things through each other. It's so cool that you actually have to see it to understand it.

Secondly, there are so many great messages embedded into these characters, the most prominent one being that people should be accepted and accept themselves for who they truly are. Two of the Sensates are LBGTQ —Nomi, a transgender hacktivist played by (real-life) transgender actress Jamie Clayton, and Lito, a homosexual Mexican actor struggling to come out of the closet. Throughout the show, there are very moving messages about finding your true self, and overcoming the obstacles of discrimination and self-hatred. As a strong supporter of the LBGTQ, seeing this much emphasis on this subject being broadcasted in a major television production is something to be celebrated in itself. In fact, according NewNowNext, this is the “Queerest show (not) on television.”

However, in my opinion, the best thing about this show is that it literally has something for everyone: beautiful visuals from around the world, culture, adventure, action, suspense, romance, very steamy sex scenes, and even comedy. I mean, seriously, what more could you ask from a show? I might be biased, though—as a Third Culture Kids (TCK), having grown up between five countries and speaking multiple languages, discovering a show where eight very different people from completely different parts of the world become one is basically a dream come true.

Is it for me?

I am not going to lie and say that everyone will enjoy this show. Hell, it's probably not for most people. First and foremost, it has a lot of LBGTQ motifs, including a lot of gay sex and "orgies"; that in itself will probably make a lot of people reconsider watching Sense8 (in which case, boo, you homophobic asshole). The other deterrent is some of the more violent scenes—I'm ok with watching most things and even I cringed at some parts of the show. Lastly, what seems to be putting a lot of people off is the overall pace of the show; the first episode is very long and slow, and the following episodes all vary in time (from 45mins to over an hour) and pacing (some scenes are faster, some slower). Overall I would say the show does a good job at balancing violence, romance, action and comedy scenes so that none overpowers, which makes watching it fun and intriguing. If you ask me, this is probably the best show ever produced by Netflix and, in my opinion, one of the best storylines I have ever encountered. To sum up, if you really want to know if this is for you, log into your Netflix account and take a stab at it. 

[rafaswrath]

Sunday Spoiler: Broad City

Ok, I realize I have been out of the scene for a little bit, but hey, I have a life too. Now that we are past the criticism portion of this post, I would like to proceed with another amazing edition of Sunday Spoiler which features one of my newest favorite shows: Broad City.

I had heard about this show from numerous people but hadn’t felt the urge to check it out until very recently; I was hosting a person with a wonderful sense of humor (a.k.a.: the same as mine) and couldn’t find anything decent for us to watch on Netflix. We ended up switching to Hulu and binging on six episodes of Broad City together, which we only paused due to a more pressing need to nap. So what makes this show so addictive? Well, let’s get to it.

What’s it all about?

The show follows two best friends in their 20s living and trying to make their dreams happen in the Big Apple. Abbi (26) is a struggling artist who works as a cleaning lady at a boujie fitness center called Soulstice. Alana (23) is a pothead and “works” at a sales company where she mostly sleeps, takes breaks, browses the internet, and bullies her boss into not firing her. Together they get into the most hilarious situations one can possibly imagine—from Skype conversation while one of them is having sex, to being locked inside the food storage room at a boat party, and breaking into their neighbor’s house in an attempt to get rid of a perverted locksmith. 

In addition to the hysterical protagonists, we also have some pretty funny secondary characters—like Ilana’s lover, Lincoln, who is a (very unprofessional) dentist, and Abbi’s roommate’s boyfriend, Beaver, who basically lives with her, although we never get to meet the actual roommate.

What’s so great about it?

For starters, it covers a lot of very current topics of discussion: both of the self-proclaimed jewish girls are very progressive feminists who are sexually liberated, Ilana is bisexual, and everyone seems to be experimenting with something (or someone). 

The script is actually cowritten by former UCB students Ilana Glazer and Abbi Jacobson (yes, those are their real names) and produced by Amy Poehler. The two real-life friends started Broad City as a web series on YouTube in 2009; they filmed the short episodes loosely based on their own lives as a way to be productive and gain some exposure. It wasn’t until 2014 that they debuted Broad City (the sitcom) on Comedy Central. 

However, in my opinion, one of the coolest parts about the show is that the intro animation is always different. Before becoming a fan, I read an article about the artist who creates the animations and how he takes inspiration from the themes of each episode.

That one’s called Acid Trip ;)

Is it for me?

This is a very peculiar show because it does not seem forced or scripted; when you are watching it, it legitimately feels like you are following the lives of two very lost, ridiculously funny, broke 20-something girls in New York City. However, this also means you are definitely going to witness a lot of crazy stuff, including foul language, slang that you might have to look up on urban dictionary (or ask your kids about), nudity, a lot of TMI moments, and some things that you might actually wish you could un-see (or unlearn). 

Being the genuine person that I am, I appreciate when writers can be honest and discuss issues and situations that are very much real to their generation without having to keep it PG or try to make it politically correct; if you feel the same way, get ready to get hooked.

Broad City is a Comedy Central series. You can watch the first and second season on Comedy Central or on Hulu Plus. 

[rafaswrath]

The Laughing Cow

Food is a big part of life; we need it to survive, of course, but it is also a way of bringing people together. Whether we like it or not, most social gatherings and rituals revolve around food: brunch, thanksgiving, birthday parties, family reunions; even networking events advertise “we’ll provide snacks and refreshments.” We love to eat, and we love to be around other people, so mixing the two basically kills two birds with one stone. What makes this fact slightly problematic, however, is having or living with someone who has a dietary restriction.

It is easy to laugh at the hippy vegans and complain about the sudden gluten-free fad, but the reality is that some people have no other choice but to be picky. In fact, in the US alone, about 15 million people suffer from food allergies and at least 30% will deal with a type of food sensitivity during their lifetime; and although some allergies might not make you suffocate and die, they can lead to issues that deeply affect your quality of life.

I wasn’t born with my food allergies; in fact, they kind of crept up on me. If I really had to pinpoint when my symptoms started, I would say it was at the age of seven. I remember waking up in the middle of the night sweating, with sharp stomach pains; my mom would lay next to me massaging my belly until I finally passed out on her bed. When I was in high school I realized that anything with milk really upset my digestive tract, so I decided I must be lactose intolerant. Going lactose-free worked for a while, I guess, but then I left for college; and that, my friends, is when the shit really hit the fan.

By the time I was a sophomore, I started having to go to the ER almost every month. I experienced a variety of internal infections that would take weeks to go away, only to come back weeks later, or worse, start somewhere else entirely. Finally, after a series of inconclusive tests, I was sent me to a nutritionist under the suspicion that my infections were being caused by a reaction to something I was eating. Shortly thereafter, I was diagnosed with a severe allergy to casein—a protein found in milk (not to be confused with lactose)—and egg yolks.

“Oh, that sucks—no milk or eggs?!” my friends said.

But my newfound challenge was much more complex than that. It turns out that practically anything baked, fried, or delicious has dairy and/or eggs in it—even things you would not expect; some examples of hidden dairy foods include: bread, anything battered, cereal, crackers, deli meats, almost every frozen food, candy, canned stuff, protein bars, and even vegetarian “meats” and “cheeses.” I quickly realized my days of eating anything that looked good were over. Within a couple of months I became a pro at reading labels at the supermarket, spotting weird terms for dairy (butter fat, casein, milk powder, whey powder, etc), and being the irritating restaurant customer who asks a million questions and follows them with a million demands.

“Can I have that sandwich without the cheese and the aioli? Also, is the bread vegan? No? Ok, can I replace the baguette with a ciabatta bun?”

It was not easy transitioning from a diet that consisted mainly of pizza and cheese platters to one where my only dessert option at any given establishment is sorbet.

Dear restaurant owners, just thought I should let you know that nobody in the entire planet has ever gotten excited about the thought of eating sorbet for dessert. It’s just mashed fruit that has been frozen and turned into something that could taste amazing if it had dairy in it.

Slowly, though, I learned to appreciate vegan treats, crave dark chocolate, and even enjoy drinking plant-based milk. I realized that pretty much anything can be replaced with avocado, and happily indulged in vegan creativity: fake grated parmesan, anyone? How about a cashew cheesecake?

Pro tip: if you ever want to see me at my happiest, take me to a good vegan restaurant and watch me as I browse through the dessert menu and realize I can have everything. Priceless.

Unfortunately, on top of the food limitations, I also had to adjust to people who are completely oblivious to what it is like to live with food allergies. There is usually an initial state of confusion: “Oh, so you are lactose intolerant? So is my cousin!” or, “wait, but I thought you were vegan, this has chicken in it;” which is followed by attempts to console me: “Well at least you eat a lot of veggies, I am terrible at eating veggies!" And of course, the oh-so-common misunderstandings: “They have some gluten-free cookies in the kitchen, you can have those, right?!”

By the way, let me set the record straight: gluten, peanuts, soy, dairy… these are all different things. Just because something’s labeled "gluten-free” doesn’t mean it is also dairy-free (or vegan). Hello?!

The biggest thing I had to overcome, though, was the feeling of being left out. Nobody likes having to pack their own food to a party, eating salad when everyone is having waffles, or snacking on a fruit while watching everyone enjoy those donuts your coworker so kindly brought in. It’s like being on a diet, except for the rest of your life.

Nonetheless, discovering about my food allergies did bring out some positive things. For one, my days of being in and out of hospitals are over and the only times I fall sick are when I get accidentally “poisoned” when eating out. I have since become much more aware of the foods that I put into my body and how important it is to know about what is in them and where they came from. I also live a much healthier life—apparently, when you can’t have 99.9% of junk food, your diet becomes much more balanced; who knew, huh? Ultimately, this has taught me that I can overcome my own challenges, and that when life gives me lemons, I can always turn them into decadent vegan pies.

[rafaswrath]

Passion Fruit

I got to the classroom way too early; the workshop wasn’t starting for another 20 minutes and I was starving since I hadn’t had time to grab dinner after rushing out from work. Now it was too late for me to pick up food, yet too early to do anything else, so I just sat there looking around awkwardly. “Damn it,” I thought, “why do I always do this?” 

Brazilians (and South Americans in general) are notorious for always being late, but apparently, I did not inherit that particular gene.

I found a box filled with SunChips, which I hate, and decided it was that or nothing for another two hours. I grabbed a pack and nibbled while browsing on my phone. Little by little people started to come in and choose their seats in the circular format in which they had been arranged. I hate circular arrangements, it usually means that I will eventually have to talk to a room full of strangers about something I am probably uncomfortable sharing with, well, a room full of strangers.

As the classroom filled up, I began to notice that everyone there was at least a decade older than me, and while not entirely unnerving, it did make me wonder how I had gotten there so much more prematurely than everyone else. See, I wasn’t there to learn how to pickle vegetables, or make jewelry out of used materials, I was there to discover my purpose in life. The workshop was called “Career Shift: Finding the Work You Love” and that was exactly what I intended to get out of it—finding work that was meaningful, fulfilling, and that hopefully also payed the bills.

Before I get into any more details, let me explain where this all started. I have always been a very introspective person, even as a kid. It may come to a surprise to most people who have met me as an adult, but I was a very shy little girl. I was so timid, that until the age of 10, when I went out for dinner with my family, I would whisper my order into my mother’s ear so she could tell the waiter. When you are as introverted as I was, two things happen: you usually don’t have too many friends, and you end up spending a lot of time in your own world. Hence, I learned very early on about my likes and dislikes, my values, my personality traits, my strengths and my weaknesses. I didn’t know what to do with that information, and mostly I just used it to convince myself that I was a weirdo, but it was already there.

In high school, I took a few psychology classes, which suddenly gave me the ability to analyze everything and everyone around me. Coincidentally, I was also going to therapy pretty regularly—my parents are huge advocates of therapy, so it was just another “natural” part of my life. I spent most of my sessions talking to my therapist about articles I had read on Psychology Today, which was probably a waste of a therapy session, though it kept me very entertained. How I ended up pursuing design instead of psychology as a career is another story completely—all you need to know for now is that I did.

As I started to work in my field, I very quickly became aware that while I was quite good at it, and even took pleasure in it, there was something about the work environment or structure that didn’t quite fit me. I don’t know about you, but when I realize something is off, my first instinct is to try to fix it. I began exploring different types of companies, work environments, and design areas. Eventually, when all failed, I realized that what was really missing was internal, not external; and thus began a two-year journey of self-exploration.

I took classes in everything and anything; went to random workshops that claim to help with "finding your passion" and "discovering your true self;" started doing yoga; discovered my inner goddess while rock climbing; learned how to practice meditation without falling asleep; had countless in-depth conversations with the homeless… What?! The homeless can teach you things! There was even that one time I attended a practice involving a strange social experiment where I had to interact with other people while not saying anything at all. The point is, during this phase of my life, I did all kinds of unusual things. These were all small steps to something bigger, but I didn’t know it yet.

I admit that by the time I got to that empty classroom, I wasn’t expecting much, other than wasting two hours with a bunch of equally lost souls, when instead, I could be sitting at home watching some TV and sipping on cheap wine; but suddenly, it happened. I listened to the workshop giver share her experiences as if she was talking about my own struggles and frustrations; her words resonated so deeply that I couldn’t help them from echoing over and over inside my head. I left that room a changed person and for the next week I was so excited to implement the techniques I had learned that I couldn’t sleep. By the end of that week, I had found what I was looking for all along: my passion.

If you are curious as to what it is, unfortunately I will not share it here; not yet at least. Instead, I will leave you with a piece of advice: don’t hesitate to listen to that little voice that tells you that there is something missing. Look for what completes you, fight for it. Don’t be afraid to experiment with the unfamiliar, follow your intuition, and most importantly, don’t forget to show up early to class... but maybe remember to bring a snack.

[rafaswrath]

Sunday Spoiler: Daredevil

I must confess that I was never a huge fan of comic books, or anything related to comic books for that matter. If you are wondering how someone can possibly not enjoy comic books, superheroes, or comic-inspired stuff, I can explain. I dislike violence. I really really hate it. I am the kind of person who thinks giving flowers to terrorists and sending presidents to see the Earth from space might actually lead to world peace. Is that silly? Maybe; but you can’t change who you are.

Now, of course I have watched all (or most) of the Batman and Spiderman movies. I forced myself to watch the Avengers and I even kind of digged the X-Men series… Alright, you got me, I have watched every comic book film there is to watch, but mostly out of fear of missing out, not because I love the genre so much.

So, when Netflix’s Daredevil came out, I was a little bit skeptical. Nonetheless, knowing how good Netflix shows are in general, I decided to give it a try. Well, dear readers, I successfully binge-watched the entire thing over the weekend and I am now here to spoil it for all of you who have not yet pressed ‘play’.

Let the fun begin!

*tun tun tun!*

What’s it all about?

If you are familiar with the comic book, you can skip this. If not, here’s the deal: The story takes place in Hell’s Kitchen, a crime-stricken neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City. Matt Murdock (The Daredevil) is a lawyer who was blinded as a kid after saving someone from a car crash and getting his eyes covered in some sort of chemical substance. However, there’s more to Murdock than meets the eye (see what I did there?). Turns out that becoming blind has given him the gift of superhero enhanced senses, which he plans on using for fighting crime and saving the city from evil. 

On the opposite spectrum we have Wilson Fisk, the supervillain who controls the city—and Hell’s Kitchen in particular. The mob boss has so much money that he has pretty much everyone on his payroll. His ultimate goal is not to destroy New York City, but to “save it.” I guess in his supervillain mind, saving also involves bombing old ladies’ homes. Anyway, Murdock spends a good amount of time searching for the person responsible for all the bad things happening in the city, and when he finds out it’s Fisk, he spends another good amount of time tracking him down.

What’s so great about it?

I don’t know about you, but when I watch a superhero movie, I often feel like I don’t know enough about the superhero to understand his motivations and goals. Since this is a series, not a film, the viewer gets to really dig deep into the characters, particularly with the Daredevil; throughout the show you get great insights into Murdock’s backstory and all the events that have led him to become this obsessive vigilante. I enjoyed that even though the show is filled with epic battles, explosions, chases, and everything else you’d expect from a superhero show, the script also provides an interesting narrative and the opportunity to find out about each character individually. Also, did I mention that the intro animation is super cool?

Is it for me?

I will be the first one to admit that I am not the show’s target audience; and yet, I absolutely loved watching the first season of Daredevil. How often do you read that? It is a fresh take on the superhero storyline, which is usually centered on the main character; instead it allows for you to see the connections between each of the characters and dive into the more unknown parts of the hero’s life. I also love the witty dialogues and all the romance that happens in between. Ultimate spoiler: I kind of want Vanessa and Fisk to live happily ever after. Is that horrible? Regardless, this one gets my stamp of approval. So what are you waiting for? Get some popcorn, huddle under your blanket, and prepare to be very entertained.

[rafaswrath]

Failure to Launch

Roughly eight million people fly every day. That’s nearly three billion people flying each year, which is about 40% of the world’s population. When I first found this information, I thought “whoa, that’s pretty crazy!” Then, it occurred to me how many times I have air-traveled, and I realized that data is slightly crazier.

I don’t even recall the first time I hopped on a plane. I am pretty sure I was a newborn and had no idea of what was going on. I probably cried due to the pressure (both emotional and auditory) from takeoff, had some milk, and then passed out on top of my mom for the next several hours.

My first memory of being on a plane, though, was when I moved from Rio to Geneva. I was five years old and I remember looking over the window during the landing and seeing endless miniature buildings and cars; at the time I didn’t understand perspective that well, or maybe at all, and so the first thing that popped into my mind was “[insert five year old curse word], this place is made out of toys!” I am not sure what happened next, but it is entirely possible that I forgot all about it or got too enticed by the omnipresent smell of pain au chocolat to even care. Regardless, it was a magical moment.

Flying as a kid was super fun—for both me and my sister, at least. My grandmother used to make us these flying goodie bags that we were only allowed to open at the airport, past security, of course. It was usually comprised of candy, coloring books, random toys, and a squishy balloon animal with googly eyes filled with flour (instead of air). Honestly, if I were my mother, I would have thrown out all the balloon animals before the bags even got into our hands; I cannot even count how many times they ended up bursting and covering something (or someone) in flour, but boy was it fun to squeeze! Believe it or not, we also had child leashes, before they were even popular! My mom had this not-so-irrational fear that we would both run in different directions, get lost, subsequently get abducted by an european human trafficking mafia, thus disappearing forever… or something like that. I guess some parents fantasize about that happening, at least for a brief moment, but my mother was very intent on keeping us within five feet of her at all times. In the end, we survived airports just fine, and in style! Way to make that trend happen, mom!

It wasn’t until I was about 10 that I started really dreading plane rides. It wasn’t the constant smell of farts, the amount of germs around, the babies crying, nor the horrible tasting food that threw me off.

*Cue in the violins*

I guess at that point, all the moving around had started to become less of an excitement and more of a traumatizing experience. I began to associate flying with forever losing all my friends and leaving everything I knew behind. I would drag my bags along the terminal as if I was carrying a life sentence, looking around for Jesus, Muhammad, Shiva, Morgan Freeman, or pretty much anyone who could grant me the miracle of a canceled flight.

By the age of 13, I was convinced that living in Brazil was the most amazing thing ever, and living in the US was pretty much like having a metaphorical ankle bracelet (the prison kind, not the one with bedazzled charms). I’ll admit that being a teenager in Rio is way more enjoyable than in Potomac, MD, but as any adolescent would, I turned it into a much bigger deal than I should have; thus began a 3-year-long ritual of hysterically crying on return flights from my 3-month-long summer vacations in my parents’ hometown. At some point after my 16th birthday—probably shortly after the embarrassing time the old lady sitting next to me asked to switch seats—I realized that my behavior was slightly dramatic and decreased the tears by about 90%.

I have since flown a good deal of times and I am pleased to say that I have regained my gusto for flying. I now walk confidently around airports, knowing that they are a bridge between me and my loved ones; I even find myself marveling at the concept of hopping on a vehicle and hopping off in a distant city, country, or continent. I suppose all there is to hate now is the constant smell of farts, the amount of germs around, the babies crying, the horrible tasting food, and the fact that there are eight million people sharing the sky with me.

[rafaswrath]

The TCK Problem

“Where are you from?” has always been a difficult question for me to answer. Do I tell them I am Brazilian and leave it at that? Or do I explain my entire life story and then wait for the series of questions and confusion that will inevitably occur? And what if I say I am Brazilian and they are really puzzled by my accent (or lack thereof)? At the end, while a great conversation starter, it is something I never particularly enjoyed expanding upon. I used to think that I hated it because of how long it took to unravel, but the truth is that revealing my “atypical” childhood story made me feel paradoxically “cool" and melancholic.

Don’t worry, I didn't grow up in a circus, I wasn’t adopted by a monkey, and I certainly was not abducted by an alien spaceship on the 13th of February of 1994; I just happened to move a lot.

See, before I was born, my (Brazilian) parents moved to London for my dad’s PhD and that’s where I was born.

"So are you British?” “Nope, I was just born there, but my passport is from Brazil” “Uh… what?"

Wait, it gets more complicated.

After three years, we all moved back to Rio (where my family is from) and we stayed for another two years. Then my dad got a job at the United Nations (UNCTAD) in Geneva, Switzerland, where we stayed for little over a year. We then moved back to Rio for another three years and in 2000 (isn’t that an odd year to read?), we moved to Santiago, Chile where my dad held a position at another regional commission of the United Nations. Our final move as a family happened in 2002, when we left Santiago for Maryland, USA.

I remember my first day in America like it was yesterday. When my dad said we were moving to the States, I literally pictured us moving to Disney World. I was 12 years old and the only thing I knew about the US was from MTV clips and the faint memory of a trip we took to Orlando in 1998. Imagine my shock when we landed in Virginia in the middle of February, after a massive snow storm, and then proceeded to drive to an apartment complex in Rockville, MD, where we miserably subsisted for the next six months. Not cool, dad!

But back to my story...

The first reaction I get from people after I finish the seemingly fascinating account of my upbringing is pure awe. Seriously, people find it just amazing that someone did not live in the same house/town/state/country for the first 18 years of their lives.

“Wow, that must have been incredible! Seeing all these places, learning so many languages, experiencing different cultures, you are so lucky!” “Thank you, complete stranger...”

Then I get the (annoying) questions:

“What was your favorite place to live?”

“What language do you think in?”

“Where is home?”

And for the sake of pleasing my readers, I will answer them:

I don’t have a favorite place, they all include wonderful childhood memories, so I cherish each place I lived as you probably cherish your childhood home.

I think in Portuguese, Spanish, French and English; it just depends on who I’m talking to.

Home is nowhere and everywhere; it’s not a place, it’s a state of mind.

For the longest time, I did not feel lucky to have grown up in so many places. I craved what “normal” people had—roots, childhood friends, being able to visit family members by hopping on a car (or a bus, or a quick flight), a sense of belonging; I wanted to be good at trivia (what?! It’s hard when you grew up in so many places!), to be loyal to a sports team, to have family traditions, to point on a map and say “this is where I’m from, these are my people" instead of feeling like a weird patchwork of cultures, a global hybrid. I didn’t want to feel different; I was lost…

But then I was found.

In 2010, a High school friend shared a link with me on TCKs. TCKs or Third Culture Kids are people who, like me, have spent a significant part of their developmental years outside of their parents cultures. They are highly mobile, and have been subjected to multicultural adaptations from a very early age. Reading the characteristics of a TCK was like reading a description of myself. All the issues with personal development and identity that I had faced were spelled out, explained, and even shared by others—I suddenly belonged.

Today, I still dread answering the question of where I am from—mostly because it takes so long!—but I am also proud to do it. I know that all of my childhood experiences have shaped me into the person that I am... and let’s face it, regardless of my early life adventures, I am pretty damn awesome.

[rafaswrath]

Sunday Spoiler: Empire

It was a cold, cloudy night, when my friend decided to cook me dinner at her own tiny studio. She handed me a glass of Merlot and cheerfully proposed, “let’s watch Empire!” I wasn’t too happy with the suggestion, since I was hoping to just play music and have some girl talk, but as a good guest, I conceded.

My first thought while watching the pilot was, “great, another black show that propagates bad stereotypes of black people, just what the world needs.” 

I refused to follow the rest of the show, even as my friend protested, telling me how great it was; and then, several weeks later, it happened: I had decided to stay home all weekend to “recharge” and realized I had absolutely nothing to watch. Browsing through my Hulu account, I couldn’t escape Taraji Henson’s piercing stare begging me to give the show another try… and so I did, and it did not disappoint.

Don’t get too excited yet. Before you embark on your own Empire journey, I will give you the scoop, the pros and the cons and you can decide whether or not it is for you.

Shall we get started?

What’s it all about?

It all starts with Lucious Lyon (Terrence Howard), a hip-hop artist and the CEO of Empire Entertainment, discovering that he has ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). Lucious has three sons: Hakeem (Bryshere Gray), Jamal (Jussie Smollett), and Andre (Trai Bryers). Hakeem is the youngest and Lucious’ favorite—he’s a rapper, a ladies man, and always getting himself in trouble (much like a young Lucious). Jamal is a shy, yet incredibly talented singer who also happens to be gay, which leads to a series of commentaries on homosexuality in the black community; needless to say that Jamal is not one of Lucious’ favorite people. Andre is the eldest and a business man; his goal is to eventually take over the company, which does not make Lucious happy. We are also introduced to my personal favorite character—Cookie (Taraji Henson)—Lucious’ baby mama and ex-partner in crime. Lucious and Cookie are pretty much a modern-day, ghetto Bonnie & Clyde. They go around making crazy drug deals, while raising their three small kids, until one day, Cookie falls for a bust. The result of that bust is a huge sum of money that Lucious uses to start his own record label. Seventeen years later, estranged from her husband and kids, Cookie is finally out of jail and ready to get what’s hers, with interest!

What’s so great about it?

Well, first there’s the fact that the entire soundtrack is original and performed by the cast of Empire. I guess you can’t have a show centrally based around a record label without making your own music. The soundtrack is a mix of hip-hop, rap, R&B, and soul; it features famous black artists such as Snoop Dog, Estelle, Jennifer Hudson, and Juicy J and the quality is nothing short of amazing. The Empire Soundtrack is actually the #1 R&B Album at the moment, and it’s available on iTunes, Google Play, Spotify, and Amazon.

Here are a few of my favorites:

V Bozeman - “What Is Love”

Empire Cast - “Drip Drop” (feat. Yazz and Serayah McNeill)

Empire Cast - “You’re So Beautiful” (feat. Jussie Smollett)

There also some other interesting celebrity appearances, i.e.: Courtney Love, Naomi Campbell, Gladys Knight, Fabolous, Anthony Hamilton, Cuba Gooding, Jr., and Judd Nelson.

Overall, the main selling point is the addicting storyline, filled with drama, tension, entertainment, music and secrets that just keep you playing episode after episode in the hopes of finding a little bit more about these mysterious, complex characters.

Is it for me?

Well, as I said in the beginning, there are some unavoidable black stereotypes: the drug dealing couple, the spoiled hip-hop kids, the hood rat family members, the occasional ass whooping (Cookie even beats Hakeem with a broom at one point), and lots of women fighting/competing over men. There are also some great themes that try to educate the black community and shift some of the negative mindsets regarding black people; i.e.: Jamal being gay and later being accepted by his family and friends, Andre being an educated bi-polar black man married to a white woman, and Lucious having an extremely successful business that at the end of the day, he works really hard for. Most of the central characters are also very eloquent, which adds to a more realistic perception of black people. If you hate hip-hop, R&B, and its culture this will probably not be your cup of tea. Otherwise, go to a friend’s house, open a bottle of Merlot, put on your twerking pants, and see for yourself.

Empire is a Fox series. You can watch the first season on Fox or on Hulu Plus. 

Happy Easter Sunday everyone!

[rafaswrath]

University of Dating

I once chatted with a guy on Tinder who suggested we go on a 15 minute date. The logic behind it was that you can usually tell within the first 15 minutes whether or not you and your date have chemistry. I was amused by the idea but also intrigued as to how the rejection process would occur. “Well, I could say something along the lines of ‘how are you feeling about this?’ and you could just be honest, then we could both decide whether or not we wanted the date to keep going,” he said.

I immediately imagined the scene: we meet at a hip new bar in the Mission; I get there early; he shows up late (because it’s San Francisco); we order drinks and awkwardly attempt to make small talk. I laugh at his jokes out of politeness and keep checking the time on my phone; he thinks I’m flirting. He’s confident about a date extension and at the end of our 15 minutes asks, “so, Rafaella, what are your thoughts about this?” and I calmly reply, “I think you’re a pretentious douchebag, your blinking nervous tick is annoying, and you’re definitely not 6’2”... but if you pay for another round I could go on for another... [checks time again] half hour.”

I couldn’t help but to laugh at the idea of such an absurd way to end a (speed) date. The truth is that, in the game of dating, nobody’s ever that honest. We all just want to be accepted and liked, and really, there is no right or wrong way to do something; everyone is different and the behaviors you find weird (or creepy, or rude) might be a huge turn on to a weirdo somewhere out there. 

While Tinder guy’s suggestion did not lead to a 15 minute date, it did get me thinking about what the world would be like if we followed a set of learned dating rules and methodologies; that’s when I came up with the University of Dating. 

If I was the Dean of DU (see what I did there?), this is what it would look like:

Acceptance Letter:

Curriculum:

Swag:

Or you could always rebel against the education system and read the past 100 issues of Cosmo. They pretty much cover the same things.

[rafaswrath]

Tinder Tuesday: Sand Storm

The beginning of my work week has been surprisingly busy and, unfortunately, I did not have time to write an amazing story for Tinder Tuesday. Nonetheless, for the sake of honoring my commitment, I will post this week's "you were so close, dude":

If you are not yet familiar with the expression, here's a fun Urban Dictionary definition.

#ByeFelicia

[rafaswrath]

Frame of Thrones

I don’t distinctly remember the first time I used a bidet, but the faint memory of sitting on one, lingering as the warm water splashed on my rear-end, still remains to this day. Growing up in Rio, it was fairly common to see bidets in bathrooms; particularly in older apartments. They looked kind of like a toilet bowl—without a toilet seat, of course—placed unceremoniously next to the actual crap box.

I have a particular memory of using the bidet at my grandmother’s house in Petrópolis—the imperial city, hidden in the mountains, about an hour away from the bustling metropolis of Rio de Janeiro.

It gets cold in Petrópolis. Unlike the all-year-round hot and humid “Marvelous City,” during the winter Petrópolis can reach temperatures in the very low 30’s; and given that Brazilian homes and businesses have no heating systems (because it’s a tropical country and who needs more heat, duh!), going to the bathroom under such weather conditions can be, well, a rather chilling experience.

Imagine waking up in the middle of the night with a terrible urge to urinate; it’s a balmy 40 degrees inside the house, you are wearing two pants, three socks, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a fleece jacket; you somehow find the courage to get out from under the five layers of blankets that are currently keeping you from freezing to death in your sleep, and you run to the bathroom in an attempt to make the process a little bit less awful. Then, you finally reach your destination and you have to sit down in a painfully frigid porcelain toilet seat and then wash your hands with freezing cold water. My seven-year-old self just wasn’t having it.

One particular night I crawled my way into the bathroom, and instead of sitting in the toilet, I turned on the hot water in the bidet. See, the bathroom sinks, for whatever reason, did not sport hot water knobs, but the bidets—these magical, wonderful, devices constructed by unicorns, leprechauns, and the Powerpuff Girls—surely did. I made sure the pressure was just right, sat down and delighted in my behind’s warmth. I know what you’re thinking: “Did she pee in the bidet?! That’s not what it’s meant for!” I was seven, ok?! Seven! I also picked my nose and ate my boogers at that age.

Fast-forward almost a decade and I had completely forgotten about the concept of bidets. After moving between six countries, and having lived in over 30 different “homes,” my bread and butter of potty time had been reduced to toilet paper and, on a good day, baby wipes. That was until I joined Google.

See, everyone tells you about all the wonderful and totally insane Google perks; like the unlimited free food, the on-site massage therapist, the on-campus bowling alley, and even the Google bikes (which in my opinion kind of suck). The one thing nobody ever told me about is that almost every Google toilet comes with a Toto Washlet. If you’re not familiar with the Toto Washlet, it’s basically a super high-tech bidet. It is connected to the toilet and comes with several settings, including (but not limited to): back washing, front washing, seat heating, and even a deodorizer for those who chose to eat asparagus and garlic, or stinky tofu for lunch.

At first, staring at the multitude of settings, I felt a little uneasy at the thought of sharing a bidet that multiple strangers make use of every day. “Is it hygienic?” I wondered; I spent about three months contemplating giving my perk a try and finally, one day, I decided it was time to ignore my fears and dive into what seemed (from what I could hear in other stalls) like a pretty common practice.

At the very moment I pressed the back wash button, the memory of my childhood bidet experience was awakened and I suddenly realized that I had been doing to my derrière, the equivalent of brushing my teeth with a tree branch. "Why had I deprived myself of this simple pleasure for so long?" I wondered in awe.

That afternoon, I Googled (which by the way is so much more fun when you actually work at Google) “Toto Washlet” hoping to order one right away. Alas, it turns out cleansing your back door in style comes at a price—and a hefty one at that. Sure, you could get the fake version with terrible pressure for $50… but the real deal sells for anything between $500 and $2k on Amazon. Will I be saving to purchase one? Absolutely. Until then, I will be enjoying going like a queen at work and cherishing the idea that one day, I will be able to revive the same pleasurable childhood memories from the comfort of my own toilet seat.

[rafaswrath]

A Streaming Situation

As we have already established on my first post, Netflix is my boyfriend. Well, actually… Netflix is the boyfriend I’ve been cheating on. The truth is, I’m kind of addicted to online streaming. I subscribe to Hulu, I rent too many movies on Vudu, I occasionally stream stuff on my dad’s amazon prime account (sorry, dad!), and sadly, I even got an internet/cable package solely for the advantage of getting free HBO. Name a film or TV show that you’ve recently enjoyed and chances are, I am also a fan. 

If you don’t know me, by now you are probably picturing this sad, lonely, overweight woman, who still lives in her mom’s basement, is addicted to Cheetos, and works at Home Depot for ten hours a week. That would be partially wrong—nobody’s perfect, OK?! I have admittedly been trying to lose ten pounds since the age of five and Cheetos are pretty tasty, but I do in fact have a life: I have a job that makes people spam me on LinkedIn; I live in a ridiculously expensive shoebox—I mean, studio—in San Francisco; I torture myself at the gym five times a week; and my weekends are usually so filled with social interactions that I have started selectively ignoring people’s text messages in order to get some fucking sleep.

So how do I maintain this unhealthy habit? Let me backtrack this for you; It all started in college.

You might not know this already, but I went to art school; more specifically I went to art school and majored in Graphic Design. Now, any art student attending a half-decent institution will confirm that while art school is a shitload of work (think 72 hours straight all-nighters), a lot of times, most of what we’re doing is grueling, busy work. I once spent 48 sleepless hours trying to get a packaging I designed to fold just right. That consisted of me sitting next to my printer, printing a die line*, cutting it, folding it manually, checking to see if it folded correctly, changing the die line, and repeating the whole thing over and over again (whew, I’m out of breath from reading this!). And then I had to figure out how to print the artwork just right so that the front and back aligned perfectly—that took another 20 years. And yes, while it required a little bit of math, superpowers, and some level of attention, it was also extremely boring. And that, friends, is when my TV multitasking problem started.

While rearranging the layout of a magazine, creating sculptures out of wire, trying to make a paint mixture match a pantone swatch, or whatever other bullshit assignment I had to complete, I was also binge watching AHS** and going through all of Netflix’s collection of foreign films. It became such a strong habit, that once I started working (like, in the real world), I realized that playing shows and films while designing actually made me about 80%*** more productive. On days that I binged on a show while working on my tasks, instead of spending several hours watching funny videos on YouTube and browsing Facebook, I usually finished everything and even got started on stuff that wasn’t due yet…

Wait, why am I telling you this?

Oh, um, yes…

The most common advice a writer gets is to “write what you know” and clearly, I know a lot about film and television. So much so, that I have enough content in my head to fill a lifetime (ok, that’s a little ambitious, maybe a decade) worth of Sundays with summaries and analyses solely with what I have already watched. Therefore, I will be dedicating my Sunday posts to what I have cleverly named “Sunday Spoiler.” Every other Sunday I will write about a TV show or film of my choosing, because it’s my blog and I can write about whatever I want, damn it! I guess I could have kept that introduction a bit shorter… but wasn’t that a fun story?!

No?

Well, your face isn’t fun either.

See you next week guys (aka: tomorrow)!

* Die Line: A, die line serves as a package template that ensures proper layout for a printed product. It is a diagram that shows all the cut lines and folds of a package in flattened form. ** AHS: American Horror Story *** I made that number up, but it sounds about right.

[rafaswrath]

Bulbilicious

I like to start the day by saying totally false statements to my reflection in the mirror. For instance, today I woke up and told myself:

“You are a perfectly normal, good-looking, talented, warm-hearted person and you WILL eventually find someone on Tinder who wants to take you out on a nice dinner date and then offer to pay for your meal as a sign of chivalry.”

I repeated that complicated sentence three times, then burst out laughing, snorted, accidentally dropped my toothbrush (with toothpaste) onto my shirt and then returned to my dark closet (the light bulb burned out weeks ago and has yet to be replaced) to change into another somewhat clean shirt (because laundry day is like 5 days away, don’t judge me).

At that moment, a light bulb went on… in my head, not the closet. I decided that my tumblr page needs some structure—I mean, how else will my current following of 1 know when to check for new content? With that in mind, I present to you one of my ongoing threads: Tinder Tuesdays.

Tinder Tuesdays will cover everything from Tinder exchanges and encounters, to any other failed and desperate attempt (on his or my part) to find love on and offline.

So without further ado, I give you this gem:

Happy Tuesday, everyone (aka: my mom)!

PS: Stay tuned for a brand new thread starting Sunday.

[rafaswrath]

A Kiss, Goodbye.

Writing has always been a part of my life, whether I wanted it to be or not. I grew up in five different countries, and as a kid, the only method of keeping in touch with long-lost-across-continents friends was to, well, write letters—yes, I am a decrepit old lady who was exposed to snail mail and cursive. More incredibly so, is that before I could even write, my mother used to write letters for me. I don’t necessarily recall dictating said letters to my mother, but I do in fact have the written proof. I also have proof that even at an early age, I was already pretty hilarious. At five, I “wrote" the following letter to my cousin Nina:

“Dear cousin Nina, I like you. I am going to send you a little note that says ‘Nina' with a little doll. I know I miss you. I would like to play with you but I can’t, because I’m here in Geneva. It’s very far. What are you doing in Petrópolis? Are you on vacation? It’s very cold here. I went to play in the snow. A boy hit me with a snow sled and then I hurt my tummy, I got kicked in the tummy, I swirled in the air! It was dangerous. I like it here. I’m already in school. Write to me. A kiss, goodbye. RAFA”

Here’s the original (in Portuguese):

I know what you’re thinking: “ADORABLE! Bravo, five-year-old Rafaella.” I wholeheartedly agree.

After managing to learn cursive—it’s not that hard, people!—I started writing my own lines of pure genius. As a true misunderstood artist, I experimented with everything from poetry, to screenplays, to music; I also kept several unfinished diaries, but I digress. Since then, I have often been told that I’m a good writer; and by often I mean the few times I wrote a paper or play for school, and another handful after posting some very passionate Facebook status rants.

To be quite honest, I never really thought of myself as a good writer. I believe that in order to truly be one, you have to be able to just write and put your work out there, and for me it has always been a very slow process. I am such a perfectionist that I have, on several occasions, stared at my computer screen for several hours, going over the one line I managed to squeeze out of my brain, praying for the writing Gods to shine their light of wisdom onto me; this scenario usually ended with me deciding that I needed some coffee/sleep/food and then coming back to it several days later in utter panic only to finish everything in 12 excruciating hours.

The point is, I never thought I could do this professionally, and I still don’t.

"So... why are you writing this brilliant, clever, touching story?” you might be wondering (or not). Well friends, it has recently been brought to my attention that I have no hobbies. None. Unless you count watching Netflix as a hobby. I mean yes... I unwillingly go to yoga, and I enjoy rock climbing, I like creating Spotify playlists, I doodle incessantly (mostly out of boredom), and I even dabble in cooking; but doing a handful of post-work activities on a weekly basis without any sense of commitment is not a hobby—it’s called being a grownup. Wait, can sex be a hobby? Ok, fuck writing! I’m just kidding… or am I?*

Anyhow, a coworker recently told me, “hey, you’re pretty hilarious and you have great stories to tell, you should start a blog.”** I put two and two together and decided writing should be my new [actual] thing. So here I am, with a new hobby that, due to my perfectionism, will probably take up way too much time to even be functional. 

What level of commitment should you expect from this “project”? I don’t know. I have already considered giving up on it a couple of times while writing this. It might even become part of my hobby-less series of mindless activities. Regardless, enjoy the ride.

A kiss, goodbye.

* Mom, if you’re reading this, I am truly sorry… or am I? No, I really am. ** It might not have happened exactly like this. Ok, it was my friend, Becky***. *** If you didn’t get that reference, just get out.