Journaling
Hoi An, Viet Nam 02/21/2020
Ladies, what is your relationship with your monthly cycle?
About a month and a half ago I found online a girl from Bogota who’s Instagram feed was both disturbing and englithening. Her feed was all about her being a woman. She not only spoke about it but was also quite graphic with her images.
I was shocked and impressed. Why was this girl, she looks not older than 23, posting a video of her first period, proud of the darkness in colour, its thickness and commenting on how she would keep her first menstrual cycle of the new decade for a ritual at the end of the year. That, to be honest I found appalling.
She went on and on about how we (women) should allow ourselves to get stained by our femininity. I was curious. This is something that not in a million years had I heard anyone say they wanted. Having to deal with the mess and/or embarrassment if in public. I couldn't think of anything more dreadful.
I agreed with one of her posts where she explained the type of relationship she was hoping to find in her future sexual encounters. One where her partner would love every little bit of her. Including of course her monthly fluids. How she expects her partner to approach her with complete love for her vulva almost as if surrendering to it. I was hooked. Yes, I said out loud, this is exactly right. I caught the attention of my husband and read him the post.
In his sweet nature he of course listened. Looked a bit confused. We proceeded to have an agitated conversation about it for about 20 minutes and then put it to rest.
One of my biggest concerns when I thought about long and full time travel was dealing with, well being a woman. Will I be able to get the usual female necessities everywhere I go? The answer to that, my dear is N O. I am used to tampons with plastic applicators and this is rarely found in more parts of the world that I can account for.
Yes, I am aware of the environmental issues it presents but please let's leave that discussion for another time.
Imagining being in a bus for several hours and getting stained was my definition of a proper nightmare. Yet today, in the midst of my second cycle of “the new decade” I think to myself why? Why is it that we have such an aberration towards this. I can only imagine anyone reading this cringing at the screen. But honestly, why do we treat this perfectly natural situation with such dismay.
I grew up thinking it was gross, it was embarrassing, it was a problem. Basically hating myself every single time when this time of the month occurred. Thinking about what a mayor inconvenience it is. And this is something that came from generations of women in my family.
My lovely grandmother, whom I’ve mentioned in earlier posts thought of it as such an inconvenience that she went to the extent of removing her matrix at a fairly early age, after she gave birth to my Mum.
When I asked her about, she simply answered, Well, who’d want to deal with that every month? Gee, I don’t know Abuelita, perhaps someone that chooses to embrace herself with everything that represents?
Today I wonder how dare I expect my husband to embrace all of me if I can’t do that for myself. And this is a question I raise to all of us women. Could it be that our menstrual cycle is here every month to teach us something new about ourselves.
Could it be that I can be so stoic as to face a world that would shame me for period stains with a smile and the kindness to educate them as I have been educated by this new age Colombian hero?
I hope that if the time ever comes I will raise my head up high and do so. For now, I’ll reestablish my relationship with the menstrual cycle raising a cup for all of us women and embrace this new energy that will bring younger and why not all generations of women to emancipate ourselves, loving ourselves to very last drop.
P.S. Don’t worry Babes, I won't take it as far as to freezing substances for end of the year rituals.
Chiang Mai, Thailand 12/12/2019
GRV's Last Goodbye
Before 2019 finishes, giving way to a new decade, I take a moment to reflect and honour my Dad. He passed away this year on the twelfth of February. To many this was a hard time; an inconsolable time.
To me, this was a moment of introspection and mostly a time to celebrate this amazing man’s life. Until now, I hadn’t published anything about it because it took me this long to process it all.
My Dad suffered for a little more than 7 years of a the degenerative alzheimer’s disease. Ironically, he told me once, that was his biggest nightmare. Towards the end of his days, the progression of his illness restricted him of even the simplest pleasures in life. One of his all time favorites was enjoying a chocolate bar.
It was not easy watching him fade in this way. That’s why when the news of his death arrived on a chilly night at an Emsworth’s pub, I was nothing but relieved.
I was also grateful to receive the news surrounded by my partner’s family, who kindly made a toast in his name. I’m also incredibly relieved he didn’t pass away a week before on the fourth of February. This is my birth date you see, and unfortunately, I wouldn’t have felt comfortable sharing it with his death anniversary.
My dad, Guillermo Rodolfo Valdes, was born the twenty-fourth of November in 1924, in Panama city, in a house in the old town neighbourhood of Santa Ana. Last time I checked the house was still there crumbling to pieces. When I was born he was old! 60 years old to be exact.
I quickly learned he was somewhat of a celebrity in my country. I was always in shock by how many people would shout out his name, or his acronym GRV, when walking down the streets. They would frequently shant one of the many frases he popularized throughout his various TV and Radio shows with his distinguishable voice.
Some of my favorites are: 'La gota horada la roca' - by latin Poet Ovidio. Meaning that a drop of water can make a hole in a rock, not by its force but with perseverance. This frase made him nationwide popular because he used it to right wrongs in the socio-political and economical endeavours of the country.
And the second one: 'Bares, los tiene acorralados'. Translated in English to: Bares, has them cornered. This one I like for its PR effectiveness despite its simplicity. Back in the early 2000, Panama city suffered a hefty crime wave yet the police’s head chief came out regularly on the Tv, blunty lying about how everything was under control.
My Dad in his fearless nature, would discredit him on his daily radio show. Stating a lineup of the crimes committed the day before and ending with the catchy phrase ‘ Bares los tiene acorralados’. This is one of the many times he gave a voice to the popular opinion.
He voiced a sagacious accuracy. Known as a master of writing, a true opinion leader.
Distinguished by the publication Who’s Who in PR. At one point, the Editor-in-Chief of 3 newspapers at the same time. The first person to use a Teleprompter in Panama (he was quite proud of that one) and the first one to have a late-night show, which ratings skyrocketed. Much to the surprise of the networks executives that challenged him giving him a dead hour. Author of many radio miniseries.
He earned each of his merits by relentlessly waking up to work at 4am since he was 17 years old. My dad was not one to piggyback on my grandfather’s journalism royalty status nor would the so called ‘People’s Journalist’ allow it.
He was, nonetheless, very proud to be the son of the man that coined the famous frase “Panama Puente del Mundo, Corazón del Universo”.
A forgotten truth by my generation; same as the last part of Panama’s most famous tagline - “Espejo de las Américas’. My grandfather decided to eliminate it in an epiphany of the country’s future filled with an unprecedented corruption.
The complete line reads in English - "Panama bridge of the world, heart of the universe, mirror of the Americas”
My dad wasn’t a perfect man. Therefore he was both adored and hated. To me, he was an absolute hero! My heart holds no regrets for we cherished and enjoyed each others company as much as we could.
I had the honour of saying a few words at his funeral which I will post below. Unfortunately, if you don’t speak Spanish you will not be able to read them. I have deliberately chosen not to translate them for they would be stripped of all character and meaning.
To those of you who do read Spanish, it will be a small peek into the life an illustrious man.
...
Guillermo Rodolfo Valdés, ha pasado a mejor vida. Abandonando su vestidura física, su alma trasciende a la luz eterna del amor infinito.
Su esposa Flora, mis hermanos, demás familiares y yo agradecemos que nos acompañen hoy en esta misa celebrando su vida.
Mi papá excedió todas las expectativas como profesional. Se destacó en innumerables cargos tanto aquí, en su patria que tanto amaba, como en el extranjero.
Fue el maestro de muchos profesionales. Guiándonos al éxito. Orgulloso de empujar aún más el periodismo, profesión que impulsó con todo su ser.
Pero más allá de esto, en su vida personal fue siempre más allá de lo excepcional. Fue el amigo que siempre querías tener a tu lado. Ese que te defendería a capa y espada.
Una persona generosa, amable y siempre el alma de la fiesta.
Respetuoso y eterno admirador de su padre, Nacho. Siempre pendiente de su madre, Doña Helena, de quien cuidó hasta su último dia. Y de sus hermanos, Jorge y Mireya, quien se encuentra hoy con nosotros.
Así como Griselda, Hernando y Rolando que en paz descansen.
Un hombre dedicado a su hogar y a su esposa Flori, como le decía con mucho cariño. Pendiente siempre de todos y cada uno de sus hijos. Orgulloso de sus nietos.
.... anecdóticamente les comparto, que mi Papá y yo siempre tuvimos una complicidad única e irrepetible. Nos entendíamos con solo mirarnos. Siempre, sin importar lo ocupado que estuviera, tenía un cachito de tiempo para mi; paciencia, una palabra de aliento y sobretodo muchísimo amor.
GRV, ese era su apodo predilecto… Su sello.
A GRV lo recordamos por su inigualable y distintiva voz. Una que hacía estremecer a un país cuando lanzaba sus atinados comentarios o que enamoraba con sus elogios y extenso dominio de la palabra. Lo recordamos por su personalidad cautivadora y envolvente.
En un recuento de su vida, que me regaló una tarde a sus 90 años, mi Papá se confesó una persona sencilla y amante de las cosas positivas.
Es imposible para mi escribir estas palabras sin sentir esa nostalgia que embriaga al saber que uno de los grandes se ha ido.
Mezclada entre sentimientos de orgullo por estar delante de todos ustedes hablando de esa persona dueña de mi admiración. Y completo sobrecogimiento ya que es imposible igualar su dominio de la pluma.
Pero lejos de la felicidad está el perfeccionismo. Es por eso que hoy sólo pretendo darles un pedacito de su vida. Recordando su eterno positivismo, sus inmensas ganas de vivir y su encantadora energía.
Se que sus deseos, para cada uno de nosotros, que lo conocimos íntimamente y que fuimos su cómplice de aventuras e incontables momentos llenos de alegrías…
… Sus deseos para cada uno de nosotros fueron siempre los mismos:
Que encontremos la felicidad, que demos lo mejor de nosotros haciendo lo que nos gusta y haciéndolo bien y sobretodo que disfrutemos de esta vida y de todas esas cosas lindas que tiene para ofrecer.
Gracias por permitirme compartir estas palabras. Este momento quedará registrado en mi memoria como uno de los más grandes honores.
En nombre de mi familia y el mío propio, agradecemos a todas las organizaciones, medios de comunicación y colegas de la profesión, que nos han extendido sus mensajes y han dedicado espacios a mantener viva la memoria de mi Padre.
...GRV, descansa en paz y su alma rebosa de alegría al sentir nuestras oraciones y el cariño que le damos hoy y siempre.
Chiang Mai, Thailand 12/10/2019
Bourdain's Legacy
My husband and I have been obsessing over Anthony Bourdain’s work, specifically the earlier No Reservations. We go through at least 2 episodes a night and are committed to watch his whole take on Southeast Asia. Given that we are here, obviously, we might as well get this passionate lover of the East, take on it.
Last night we watched the episode where he goes to Laos for the very first time. And I can’t stop reflecting on how he said that as travellers we help kill that which we love by sharing it with the rest of the world through our photographs and videos.
This hit me hard. Like a punch right to my chest. It’s evident now looking at his work and how it all ended, that this was a man that carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. An attitude I can relate to.
The first time I understood this was back when I was half time living in an ashram. We had a buddhist teacher that brought this to my attention. He later set me free by gently letting me know it was not my job to carry around such heavy load.
The world is the way it is for a reason. One that is still unknown to me. What I did later learn is that our number one reason for being here is to overcome our own suffering. Make that shift from living in fear to living from love and compassion.
Once we do this we enable ourselves to be happy, productive; our most creative selves. And by doing so we are changing the world. But it certainly starts with us.
So, as much as it hurts to know that there is very little left untouched, I also know now that it is important to let life flow like the beautiful rivers in Laos. Because, at the end of the day it will do so with or without your struggle, fear or anger.
I no longer panic thinking how it will all pan out. I have full confidence that things are the way they should be and with however much chaos our human race creates, nature will take care of the balance one way or another.
I’ll keep from Bourdain’s legacy his ability to connect with communities that are miles apart from what I’m used. His fearlessness when trying unknown cuisine such as tiny little crunchy birds and a boar’s al dente annus.
And most importantly portraying in his work the locals true lifestyle and how they feel about us coming to visit them; as opposed to this new agey form of travel vlogging, where is more about our amazing life and our experience, tainted by our background.
KL, Malaysia 11/29/2019
Bad Environmentalist
Travelling through the Balkans and Southeast Asia put our trash problem front row and center. It is easy to point the finger at the little guys saying underdeveloped countries aren’t doing enough but don’t be fooled by recycling campaigns found in the first world metropolis. This countries ship their waste across seas to the countries they so vehemently point the finger at.
The documentary “Drowning in Plastic” shows the inevitable truth: there is no escaping our garbage. Watching it will leave you overwhelmed with the amount of plastic we go through every single day.
As a traveler, I know I am nowhere near being part of a solution like the Zero Waste Movement. Practices like this are just not sustainable for nomads unless I were to seriously reconsider and limit the places I visit. Making sure everywhere I go has refill supermarkets and adequate separation and collection practices. Not to mention giving up toiletries as a whole.
I mean, how am I supposed to make my own shampoo when I don’t have a base to go to every 2 weeks when the supply in my backpack runs out?
When I think about my first visit to France one of my fondest memories is going to supermarkets, they are huge, they have such an epic selection of EVERYTHING, they’re cheap and I obviously have a thing about supermarkets.
2 years ago I visited Budapest and one of the funniest memories was actually not being able to buy much at the supermarket because I just couldn’t figure out what anything was. Israel was a reverse scenario; I didn’t know what anything was but I just ventured out buying everything that caught my attention to later google how to cook with it.
As much as I would like to support this type of movements, we have to be honest and realize that we have to meet people where they are at. Therefore, inspired by Roxane Gay’s "Bad Feminist" here goes my intent of the small changes this Bad Environmentalist can make:
Frequently look for local farmers market. Trying to buy as local as I can.
Changing my diet to 80/20 plant based. To achieve this I cook mostly veg at home and limit meat intake to eating out treats.
(Global warming’s new manifesto decreeds that we should all go vegan or, basically, we are all going to die. I honestly can’t fully commit to this either)
Avoid as much plastic as I can. Putting into place baby steps such as carrying my own utensils, a water bottle and not taking 20 little plastic bags for fruits and vegs everytime I go to the supermarket.
I understand this can come across as not the best practices for trash reduction, however, this can be a starting point not just for me but also for those of you who feel incredibly overwhelmed by trash, plastic and the extreme, high commitment certain movements promote.
KL, Malaysia - 11/25/2019
Allowing Myself a Reintroduction
I always defined myself as a journalist yet keeping a journal wasn’t me. The idea of writing as a daily practice was a pot for anguish. Here is why...
When I was about 14 or 15 yrs old, my Mom went through my stuff; as a Mom would do. She found a notebook where I jotted ideas as they came into my head. No filters applied.
She learned through the pages she painfully turned, that I had the most bizzare first marijuana high. Rest assured she was hysterical. I now reflect on the interpretation I gave this episode and realize how thrown back she must have felt.
Around the same time, my Dad gave me and advise passed onto him by my grandfather: never publish anything you don’t want your kids to read.
Opening my eyes to the collective hysteria we’re living in has broaden my introspection to question deeply what is truly worth sharing. Am I sharing light through my work or cooperating with the global chaos?
This question forced me to stop what I was doing. To look inwards.
In paralysis I found myself trying to connect. I acknowledged the fear in me. I let it go.
Embraced the love and appreciation for my quest to practice journalism in its purest form. Going back to the origins… Channeling the work’s mystique. A creative energy I learned from my Dad. One I am sure he learned from his.
So, now in this new season of reviewed.press I promise dedication.
A committed heart in what I believe is the true essence of journalism: exploring the world and sharing in the most unbiased form what’s found.
Looking back on those two influential episodes in my life, allowed me to free my work from shame. The shame of thinking it’s not good enough or it’s too out there and wacky. Creating not from a place of ‘I hope someone reads this’ but from a heart filled with joy.
The joy of doing what I only dreamt of when finishing university: going off to see every corner of the world and reporting what I found.
Back then I wanted it so badly because I was hoping to escape a suffering I wasn’t sure where it came from. A deep sadness. I know understand we live in duality and we choose where we stand.
I’ve been traveling since my early twenties. Searching as a way to escape the longing and sadness I felt in my heart. Searching for answers that never came. I kept going back to my hometown broken and defeated.
2 month ago I committed to a month of introspection. The selected period turned into more time. I allowed it.
By doing so I understood that the search is inwards. Ending the need to escape. Starting the era of embracing. Embracing jumping from country to country. Now with an observant heart. Sharpened daily to truly honour this beautiful profesion.
This can’t be done without questioning - what type of journalist am I going to be?
I can tell u that I wanted to be the glamorous type. The one that only wanted to show you the really pretty and that only showed the ugly when she got annoyed and wanted to judge it.
Now, I will allow curiosity to lead me. Lower the volume on judgement and thereafter guilt. Guided by my instincts and infinite love to get to learn as much as I can from as many cultures as I can.
Thank you for being part of this passion project!
Love,
Montsi