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I think I last felt like I had a daily, or weekly, routine back in February. The day would start with me waking up between 8-9 AM, depending on whether it was a “free” day or a class/meeting day, having my coffee and breakfast, reading, writing, getting ready for class or work, attending said meetings, dinner back at my apartment, more work, emails, maybe a movie depending on how I felt, sleep. Chores and personal matters also nestled throughout. It was a cycle that repeated itself each morning, even if the new days dictated how the flow of it would look like and how different or how similar would they be. I’m not someone who likes planning out their days/weeks like so either, but the feeling of having some activities under control, being able to start and complete the tasks engaged in, was something I liked. It’s not every day I get to feel productive or like I accomplished much, but at least back then, 5/7 days I could feel like I got things started and done. Now? Not so much, if at all.

            My friends send me Instagram posts in which the sentence “It’s okay if the only thing you accomplished today was getting out of bed” is written with cute art accompanying it. The Twitter and Instagram algorithms have caught on and also fill my feeds with encouraging messages about “taking it one day at a time” and not being defined by what you’re able to accomplish today or what has been neglected for the moment because of how one is feeling. Other friends have validated the lack of motivation, the change in academic performance, and the overwhelming feeling permeating over me each day when I tell myself to get out of bed and do something, anything, only to fall back under the covers, 2 or 3 hours later, sometimes even less.

            Currently, I don’t have a routine, not even bits and pieces of one. A day in the life looks more like waking up between 1-4PM, brushing teeth, showering, “breakfast” or “lunch” which just means coffee and whatever processed snack I have on hand, emails, reality tv in the background, attending class/meeting, and homework for a few hours, if my brain and body allow it. Other days, i.e., weekends and “free” days, are pretty much the same, except for the going to class/doing work which are switched for either staying in or meeting a friend for hopeful productive work sessions or just catching up over food and drinks. 

At this point of the semester, it’s scary to think that this is how most of my days go by. It’s like my brain hit the snooze button and it sporadically goes off, only to find its way back on a sleep mode shortly after. With finals coming up, it’s nerve-wracking to think how this change will continue to affect my performance, my grades/GPA, progress, and yeah, I guess my health. Usually during this time, I can get my stuff together and set myself to be on full productive mode—waking up early, reading, writing, participating in class, doing most things with sufficient time to revise as I go, but lately it’s all thrown to the side. Of course, I think and tell myself that I have to do it, and I do, but is it the best thing I produce? Not really. Am I proud of it? Absolutely not. Can I do better? Hell yeah. Will I do better? I don’t know. I want to, but it’s hard to tell when you’re just trying to get things done for the sake of doing them and being responsible. I reflect back on these 2 months and I just feel like, at first, I could handle it. Get it done, do the work, it’s a productive distraction. But once that distraction isn’t even making you feel like you’re producing things that are worth it, it stops making sense, being a motivator, a task to scratch off ASAP.

It’s weird. I know I’ll do my work and finish it in due time. And I know that this doesn’t define me as a student, academic, a person. They’re just some obstacles in the path, one that I’ve been told can be lonely/isolating/challenging/draining but hadn’t really experienced it as such until now. I’m not looking to excuse my lack of motivation, participation, and not-too-good academic performance just because I’m going through it and its rough out there. It’s part of life and, eventually, I’ll do better again. This is just to vent in other ways that aren’t just in my head, to myself, and/or to my friends occasionally. To put it into words I can read and go back to as a way to (try) understanding the process and work myself up from there. It’s a way to really display the shifts in a routine to a lack of one and build one once again. Baby steps.

            How does one fully recover from a loss? I’m not talking death, which is inevitable, bound to happen, and everyone will get to experience at different stages in their lives. What I mean is a loss so personal, significant, sudden. One that may seem reparable if there’s patience, communication, care, and a willingness to overcome the past from all parties involved. But just as it seems like so, that’s not always the case. More often than not this idea, or hope, of reparation and reconciliation are just that—hopeful and hopeless longings for something that may never happen. So, again, how does one fully recover from this? How does on get to move on as if this situation were no longer an obstacle in the day-to-day journey that is life and getting on with it?

            For a while I’ve not been well. Everyone who knows me, has interacted with me prior to and afterwards, has noticed if I can’t seem to hide it. Answers to “how are you” questions are always “okay”, answers to “what’s going on?” are always “nothing”. Some people know in detail, others don’t know at all, and a few know scattered parts of a whole story, divided in many parts. I tend to keep to myself—I don’t like bothering people with my problems, I say; they’re busy with their own lives, I reason; this is not something I should be making a big deal of anyways, I conclude. It all leads to an endless cycle, or spiral, that meets no end.

            As human beings, often in a state of change, movement, and growth, we are prone to experience loss. Sometimes we expect it and sometimes we don’t. We lose family members, pets, friends, colleagues, lovers, enemies. We also lose interest, drive, motivation. Loss is part of the experiences that we go through in our lives, it’s inevitable, and a process difficult to get pass, overcome, and heal from. 

            I will not give details here, but I will say that experiencing a recent loss has been the hardest thing I’ve experienced thus far. I know I’m only 25, more losses are sure to come, and other hard(er) moments will also arise but, for the time being, this definitely takes the cake. It’s hard to concentrate, find joy in the things you once used to love doing, getting out of bed, and focusing on something else, anything. Sleeping excessively to avoid thinking and feeling have become staples in my daily routine. Terrible, I know, but at least it helps in its own twisted way. 

            When one experiences a loss so personal, sudden, unexpected, it leaves behind a fresh wound that seems to take forever to heal. It eats away at your motivation, confidence, happiness, and overall well-being. Sometimes you don’t fully know what was/is the reason behind it and that just adds another layer of hurt, more agony to the process of getting better, and loads of self-doubt, guilt, and overthinking to try to find an answer that you may never know.

            Clearly, I have no answer to the initial question on this post. I’m still navigating the waters of such an experience and it’s by no means easy. There are so many emotions and too many things to say, but this is not the space to unpack it all. 

During the first week of March, I attended a conference in my alma mater in Puerto Rico. To go back to the institution that helped start shaping the student and academic-in-the-making (or “baby” academic as I’ve called myself among conversations with friends) as a PhD student and present the early stages of some of felt surreal-at-best. I was nervous, regretting every bit of the decisions to 1) submit a proposal for a paper I had conceptualized, but not yet written, 2) confirm my attendance and participation once I was accepted, and 3) bought a last-minute plane ticket to Puerto Rico to present in-person and attend as many events and panels during the 3 days of the conference. Looking back, I don’t necessarily regret it, just the fact that I’m still here instead of Michigan while Spring Break is over is something I’m still racking my brain over—not my best decision, to be quite honest, but that’s an issue for some other time. For this post, I will be reflecting back on some of the things I learned and/or have thought about during the span of the 3 days attending this event.

1. Do not leave out your positionality.

It’s hard for me to insert myself in my work. I don’t like discussing much of who I am and why is it that I’m doing the work I engage with, aside from saying “I’m a young Puerto Rican woman who appreciates the role of art in moments of resistance”. I don’t mention that I’ve been in protests and strikes myself, that I’ve engaged in the performance arts, or any other detail that may align with my research interests and situate me within it. I don’t yet know where and how to do it, especially through writing—if I have to say it in front of an audience it just becomes more nerve-wracking and confusing. But even though I struggle with this, I need to find a way to do it; carefully, mindfully, and succinctly. 

• Attend as many panels/events as you can… and take notes.

The conference was a 3-day affair. Initially, I was going to virtually attend and present during my assigned panel and call it done. For various reasons I decided against it and flew over to PR, drove to Mayagüez, and attended different scheduled events. Out of the 3 days, I attended 2 of them in-person, and zoomed into a couple others on the last day. It was a bit of a hassle trying to decide which panels/events/sessions to attend, but in the end, I felt like the decisions I took were worth it. I also tried to take some notes during some of the panels attended because you never know whose work, you’ll come across with that will really spark/resonate/align with yours. The people/works they engage with, as well as their own projects can be illuminating for one’s own and, also, building connections with them can be enriching.

• It’s okay if your work is not done yet.

I used to think that I had to always have a completed research project to present at a conference. The more put-together it is, the better. And, yes, I still think this is quite true. However, that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t present the early stages/ruminations of a project. That’s exactly what I did for this conference and, while I must say I do not feel like it’s been my best work, it wasn’t bad either. Could I have been a bit more prepared? Yes, absolutely. But being 100% prepared isn’t synonymous with having a completed piece that has been drafted and revised more than 5 times and includes all the literature on the subject. There are MANY books, articles, and other pieces I haven’t been exposed to yet, have only skimmed, or just haven’t fully grasped in order to confidently engage with them. What I’m exposing, is the early stage of a work-in-progress that just started to materialize in writing, and that’s definitely okay.

• Don’t overthink the Q+A session.

This part is nerve-wracking at best for me. I always get anxious when it comes to answering questions from the audience, because I never know what they’ll ask and how will I answer a question I may not know the answer to? I learned that it’s definitely okay to say, “I hadn’t considered this before, but thank you for the observation, and I’ll keep it in mind for future work”. Plain, simple, and acceptable. Sometimes you will have an answer that directly addresses the question’s main concern/point, sometimes you won’t. Whatever the case, it’s fine, and not something to lose your head over.

• Your support system is important.

The last point on what I learned is that having a support system throughout this process is completely important and significant. I don’t think I would’ve gone through with the proposing, writing, and delivering of my work for the conference had it not been for the support of my friends, colleagues, and professors. Their encouragement, willingness to read drafts, give feedback, presence, and good wishes are a huge part of what makes this worthwhile and to not give up during moments of extreme stress, self-doubt, and other forms of insecurity.

I’m going to be honest here, thinking about where life leads to next after obtaining the doctoral degree scares me. Actually, it is terrifying to try to grasp and wrap my head around it. It’s only my second year, so I try not to give it too much thought, but when readings like the one we were assigned for this week’s class are what my brain’s being exposed to, then it’s obviously inevitable to completely brush off.

While my time for venturing the application process for academic job positions hasn’t come yet, I have had my share of semesters applying for paid research assistantships, doctoral fellowships based on research and other academic progress and standing, internships, and the like. I’ve experienced many emotions throughout these processes and have received any answers imaginable: “Congrats! You’ve been accepted”; “I regret to inform you that your application has been denied”; “You’ve been waitlisted”, etc. Rejections, acceptances, ambiguities that later on get cleared; it’s all a process that is taxing at best. A process that I wish were over right after that email is received but ends up on an endless cycle due to the common advice, and dare I say rule, you always have to try again. And again.

            Reading about applying to postdoctoral fellowships in Keisha N. Blain’s article brought back memories of applying to the Ford Predoctoral Fellowship last year. The process she described was reminiscent of that time period of drafting, editing, scrapping, starting over, finishing application materials about 1) my journey to/in grad school, 2) my previous and current research/academic endeavors, and 3) what I would like my overarching doctoral project to be. Let me tell you it was HARD. For a student in her first year, constantly second guessing and changing the possible trajectory of her dissertation, this was a task that helped me narrow the big picture, but also that brought with it overwhelming anxiety as I worked with my statements. 

            From Blain’s article, what stuck out the most was her advice on strategically choosing one’s letter writers when applying for fellowships (and advice that I guess extends to various other applications/positions). It is so important to make sure that your recommenders know you and your work well enough so that they can craft authentic and compelling letters to the admission committees. These are the people who are amplifying your statements, goals, and advocate for your skills, work ethic, and commitment/responsibility and their letters should restate that in a way that can really grasp the committees reading your applications.

            In Hannah Alpert-Adams’ article, she doesn’t sugarcoat the fact that, as of 2021, the “job market in the humanities is as worst as ever”. I’m calling it a fact, because with how the pandemic has changed life as we once knew it, academic jobs, and other positions as well, have seen negative effects. Budget cuts, closing of positions/spaces, shrinking of teams, letting go of people, etc. Yet, this doesn’t stop her from sharing some insights into applying to the academic job market. Eventually some openings will take place. I think that her advice on building a support network, taking to people who have been, or are, in your shoes, and also think about your own goals and dreams as you prepare for the application is important. Maybe is because I barely seek information on this, but it’s the first time that I see “think about your dreams” as an element in that list of preparations. The dreams include where you see yourself (department, institution, job, etc.) so naturally it’s something we should always keep in mind, but I also think about the importance of dreams on a personal note and how those come into play with the professional/career-led aspirations. 

            Both articles and the materials that were shared in the Humanities Commons site are such an essential part of the support everyone needs when applying for different positions and/or fellowships. We need to share our insights and, if possible, materials that have worked along the way. Sharing the knowledge helps others but also ourselves as we can realize what has to be revisited, tossed out, kept, revamped. While still very much overwhelmed and wanting to wash my brain out of all this information for the moment—some stress I really don’t need to be adding to my already chaotic state of mind as the semester progresses—I’m glad these resources exist and that I’m being made aware of early on, rather than later. 

            When I hear and/or read the word “manifesto”, the first thing that comes to mind is Karl Marx’s and Friedrich Engel’s The Communist Manifesto. To be honest, I’ve never read the whole thing, I tried once and couldn’t get pass the first few pages. Not because I wasn’t interested in their philosophy, but because I felt that it was some kind of unwritten rule to read such a text and I wasn’t interested in following through. 

            There’s something about concise writing that I truly appreciate—it’s short, precise/straight to the point, and I find it to be accessible for an array of audiences. It’s a way of writing that is not the easiest to master, but those who do possess a precious and valuable skill. That’s why I think I appreciated reading some of the manifesto pieces for today’s class. I mean, to say that I only value the conciseness and skill of the writing is an understatement, there’s definitely more than that, but I guess it’s a start.

            The piece that stuck out for me the most was Audre Lorde’s essay “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”. I first read this piece for my queer studies seminar last semester, and I remember it being so powerful as I read through its passages, even for it being only four pages long. I don’t think I ever considered it to be a manifesto of sorts, just an essay in which Lorde advocated for women, especially BIPOC women, to engage in the craft of writing poetry as well as to read it. According to Lorde, poetry is a 

Every time I read these lines, I’m compelled to think hard about what they mean both in the surface and on a much deeper level. Perhaps my interpretation may be off, but the way that I read this is that Lorde is encouraging us to truly embrace the beauty, rawness, and depth of poetry. Poetry becomes a way by which we are able to feel, express ourselves, allow each of us to release the inhibitions that have held us back at times. It is how we are able to materialize certain things that only live within our imagination and set them free or, at least, out of the confines of our mind and into the material space of a page.

            Moreover, Lorde goes on to state that poetry is “the skeleton architecture of our lives. It lays the foundations for a future of change, a bridge across our fears of what has never been before” (38). Thus, poetry allows us to start putting together those things that tend to constitute a sort of meaning for us and our lives. It connects us, our feelings, thoughts, and even our fears, with other parts of ourselves that we hadn’t bridged over to before. Poetry allows us to be free in a way that no other form of art, of expressing ourselves, could. 

            I think there is such power in these words and the advocacy/favor of experiencing poetry, not taking it for granted, and acknowledge that it is not, in fact, a luxury. It is work, sentiment, experience, liberation, and even empowerment. In this labor of embracing and fully experiencing poetry, to allow our deepest longings and thoughts to roam free, we are given “the strength and courage to see, to feel, to speak, and to dare” (Lorde 39). 

            I’m not sure what my aim was with this writing specifically. Initially I wanted to compare and contrast the manifestoes we read to one another, but instead I decided to focus my energy and time here on Lorde’s piece and unpacking what some of its parts mean to me. I deeply admire the essay/manifesto in ways I don’t think I’ve admired a piece of writing before. That is mainly because it advocates for something I’ve struggled to do. To write and immerse myself in poetry as a means to liberate myself and what I keep within me is enormously hard for me—I’m reserved in many ways and tend to bottle up. I understand the value of poetry and the freedom it may allow me if I dedicate the time to it, reading, writing, and fully experiencing it. I’m glad there’s a piece out there that brings this calling to the fore and has inspired many women, especially BIPOCs, to sink their feet in it. While I may still be hesitant to try, I still see, acknowledge, and value its importance and the care it demands and gives back.

I’ve seldom given much thought about the significance/influence/importance of blogs in recent years. When I was younger, I was much into the creation and curation of web spaces in which one could let their creativity roam free through the aesthetic choices made for the space, content development (whether written, photographed, or both), and the overall sharing a piece of one’s own minds with complete strangers and, sometimes, friends. However, this type of activity is one left in the past, as it shaped the early-to-mid years of my adolescence and, not surprisingly, contributed to the ever-growing teen angst of the times that was displayed in webpages decorated with pastels, bookworm quotes, and the shared desire of escape (looking at you, Tumblr). As influential that might’ve been for 13 to 16-year-old me, those are not the blogs I’ll be pondering on today, but on the ones I’ve been introduced to throughout recent years.

Puerto Rican journalist Andrea González Ramírez started the blog/project Los Que Se Fueron in 2016. The website includes numerous blog posts, each being an interview she conducted with Puerto Ricans in the diaspora, with the goal of knowing, and showing, what it means “to be a young Puerto Rican living in the U.S.” (“About LQSF”). Her blog(posts) trace bits of the interviewees’ personal anecdotes, decisions on moving out of the archipelago, and longings to return. I consider her blog significant and influential because, as a young Puerto Rican in the diaspora myself, it provides a sense of comfort, empathy, and understanding. The stories/interviews shown in the posts can be relatable at times, but at the same time some of them feel alien to me because our reasons for moving, our feelings on returning, the whole of the experience, etc. differ. González Ramírez’s blog accentuates the “sacrifices, resilience, heartbreaks, loss, love and hope among young Puerto Ricans in the diaspora” (“About LQSF”), each with its own flair and takeaway. I find it influential because, like she put it in her About page, there’s one thing in common—the collective image of “always be[ing] seen as LOS QUE SE FUERON, the ones who left” (emphasis in original). In this short sentence, González Ramírez underscores the common link between these different stories which resonate with feelings of many other young (and old) Puerto Ricans outside of our homeland. Creating such a blog, for me, is influential and important because it amplifies voices often left unheard and acknowledges the experiences and anecdotes of people who have been displaced, forced with the decision of leaving what they consider home. It is a way to also construct an online community of people and find ways in which we can build relations/link among each other from a distance.

Another blog that I consider influential and significant is Taller Electric Marronage, a project started by Dr. Yomaira Figueroa (MSU) and Dr. Jessica Marie Johnson (Johns Hopkins). In this blog, they invite their team of writers/contributors/editors (dubbed Electricians) to share their research, connections between the academic and the personal, through blog posts/submissions; a practice that has extended to writers and academics outside of the team as well. The blog, and the overarching project/taller, focuses on theory and praxis of Black Feminism and kinship, and “Inspired by the petit marronage of our ancestors[,] we steal away on this electric platform, share our journeys + offer what we find along the way” (“About”). Through the submissions/entries on the blog, writers, thinkers, creatives, and academics come together through their writing on topics that relate to their subjectivity, interests, practices, and experiences. Much like González Ramírez’s blog, I find that Taller Electric Marronage’s also strives to create a community with links through both the similarities and, perhaps even the differences, that each contributor and audience member (re: reader) share. This blog is also significant because it brings to the fore the important work Black, Brown, Cuir/Queer people engage in and produce; thus, highlighting and acknowledging the material and knowledge they hold. I think it’s a valuable contribution to an (non)academic, creative, and exploratory channels. The blog allows for junior academics to sink their feet in peer-reviewed publishing and for creatives to reach audiences that go beyond their respective set of followers through their personal platforms. It is a significant and influential space for learning, growing, teaching, and building bridges among individuals and community.

Lastly, there is my favorite project and blog—Hasta ‘Bajo Project (HBP for short). HBP was founded by two Caribbean women Patricia M. Velázquez and Ashley Oliva Mayor, with backgrounds in history and culture, who’s mission revolves on creating and preserving an archive of the Puerto Rican urban music genre reggaetón. Moreover, they seek to educate and expose the genre’s value and importance in Puerto Rican culture (“Sobre el Proyecto”, translation my own). As one of the ways to expose and educate on reggaetón’s history, cultural and social value, the website runs a blog in which members of the team (now comprised of 7 women non-binary folx), as well as outside contributors, share essays/articles/posts that center on the genre, its artists, songs, performances, critique, etc. Through this blog, people are encouraged to learn more about reggaetón as part of Puerto Rican culture and begin a deconstruction of the stereotypical image that’s been created, which labels the genre as hypermasculine, sexist, violent, and misogynist. I consider the blog influential because it reaches both (non)academic masses, showing the importance of the genre to the larger narrative of Puerto Rican, and Caribbean, history, culture, and politics. Like Taller Electric Marronage’s, I see HBP as another way to create links between academics, writers, creatives, and other audiences that may reach the blog through the shared interest of reggaetón. As a student whose interests revolve around the sociopolitical implications of art, music, and performance, this blog (and overall project) is extremely important and valuable for me; something I think it is much needed both inside and outside the spaces of the academy.

I’m not sure if I quite connected/linked these blogs like intended, but it did help me reflect on the importance of these, and why is it that I consider them to be valuable and perused. It’s interesting to consider how these sites and styles of writing can influence different people, either by igniting a desire to write and contribute, to learn more about the topics discussed/shown, and/or to slowly bring people together through a share of common interests, experiences, and appreciation.