El mundo de la aberración


Su presencia es perturbadora, invasiva y quebranta la melodía y personalidad característica de este barrio santurcino. Incluso antes de entrar al edificio, ya de inmediato, percibes esa mala vibra. Una capa de pintura color crema arropa la fachada. El azul del cartel que lleva el nombre, se nota en la distancia. LA PARADA WALMART. Como si no bastara ya con la cantidad de pequeños negocios que se han ido a la quiebra por no poder competir con los precios tan bajos de este nuevo vecino- al otro lado de la calle, como en cada cuadra de esta metrópolis- han sembrado otro Walgreens. Estos dos gigantes han desgarrado las empresas boricuas y han hipnotizado a este pueblo a creer que tienen un sinnúmero de necesidades artificiales que solo podrán satisfacer si compran aquí. Estos dos gigantes han desbaratado la belleza de nuestra arquitectura, de nuestros paisajes, de nuestro carácter caribeño tan característico para imponerse con su presencia usurpadora. Y con todo el daño que han causado y continúan causando, los seguimos recibiendo con bandeja de oro.

Vamos a entrar hoy por primera vez. El estacionamiento es de esos enormes multi-pisos que tanto detesto por ser un laberinto sin principio ni fin. El techo es demasiado bajo para la cantidad de carros enormes que guarida dentro. El tamaño de los estacionamientos también es equivocadamente estrecho. Para encontrar uno vacío, es necesario dar al menos tres vueltas al parking, y, si es día de cobro- como hoy- posiblemente, más de cinco. Una vez logras encontrar un espacio para dejar el carro, la próxima misión es penetrar en la megatienda. El primer problema es que no hay escaleras abiertas al público, “más que en caso de emergencia”, cómo explicó el guardia de turno encargado de estar delante de los cuatro enormes ascensores monitoreando la entrada y salida de personas.

Como uno de los ascensores estaba fuera de servicio, había que esperar al menos diez minutos para lograr un huequito dentro de los otros tres. Entre todo ese tumulto de personas, no había ni una sola que no estuviera obesa. Hablaban alto, todos a la vez- se veían desalineados, mal vestidos. Muchos empujaban carritos de compra vacíos dentro del ascensor y en lugar de esperar, como se hace en los países CIVILIZADOS, para que la gente salga primero y así luego poder entrar en orden- todos formaban una barrera.


Una vez dentro del ascensor subimos y bajamos un par de veces. Pensé durante un momento que era porque el ascensor tenía que hacer un esfuerzo sobrehumano para cargar todo ese montón de libras de más. Una vez finalmente abrieron las puertas, el mundo de la aberración nos dio la bienvenida. Igualito que en un capítulo de South Park, noté el abrumador impacto del sonido de carritos de compra chocándose entre sí,  las enormes cantidades de comida empaquetada, muchas personas- aún desconozco si eran inválidas o simplemente demasiado gordas para moverse sobre sus propias piernas- que tenían que recurrir a las sillas de ruedas eléctricas esas que llevan una canasta enfrente para trasladarse por la tienda. Cuatro mesas enormes con productos 100% americanos de motivo de Thanksgiving yacían en una esquina. Pies de cherry, de manzana, de limón, con frosting, sin frosting, bizcochos de red velvet, cupcakes de mil colores artificiales, quesitos en paquetes enormes, cinnamon buns, bueno de todo lo que conduce directamente a una diabetes tipo dos. 

Me giré a otro lado y una empleada senior citizen gritaba al tope de sus pulmones las ofertas del shopper. QUE DISFRUTES TU EXPERIENCIA EN WALMART. Tuve que contenerme para no vomitar.


Salí de ese lugar casi volando. Qué experiencia tan desagradable, Dios mío. Una vez más, tuve que enfrentarme a la situación con los ascensores, pero esta vez aún peor, ya que la cantidad de carritos de compra llenos hasta el tope, era mucho mayor. Una pareja de americanos que vive en la isla criticaba el desorden para subir y bajar de los ascensores. Otro de Ohio a su lado, se reía de mis compatriotas de una forma muy burlona. Sentí una vergüenza ajena que se me hacía difícil contener. Consideré por un momento que esos americanos eran mis enemigos por criticar a mi país y que debía intervenir de algún modo. Sin embargo, antes de contestarles, me detuve un minuto y me di cuenta de que… tienen razón. Esto da lástima. 

Doy un paso fuera del ascensor y decido que jamás volveré a pisar ese lugar ni presenciar eso que acabo de dejar atrás. 

Zen-less Yoga


Everyone talks about the incredibly positive effects that yoga has on the mind and body. There are hundreds of books, magazines, blogs and columns out there that focus on how this practice has transformed lives through discipline, awareness, compassion, and strength- both inner and outer. However, have you ever ended your practice feeling unfocused, unsatisfied, or even pissed off? Have you ever felt as though you were unwelcome in your own studio?

Recently, a friend of mine who used to practice yoga with me several years ago told me she wanted to join me at the studio I have been attending frequently for the past four months or so. She has a small child and her new busy mommy schedule prevents her from taking as much time out as she'd like to practice yoga. However, yesterday she finally agreed to meet me for a morning session. I was so excited and had told her so many positive things about this new studio, so I awaited anxiously for her arrival.

After a couple of minutes of waiting for her at the studio, I noticed the practice was starting, so I stepped inside the room, where I had already set a mat for her and I- and hoped she would make it in soon. I kept one eye open during the first five minutes of our breathing exercises until I noticed she had just walked in shortly after. Because it was her first time, she failed to see the mat I had set for her in the middle of the class and was a bit disoriented. She pulled out a blanket from the back closet thinking it was a mat and then had to change it. The teacher, from a distance, saw this (it was quite obvious!) and never once made an effort to help her out. Instead, she looked the other way and ignored her as though she was a nuisance.

My friend, all the way at the end of the room, was quite lost at times. This is totally normal, as every studio usually has their own style and every teacher incorporates his or her own techniques into the practice. This is precisely why there is a teacher at the front of the class, for it is the teacher's duty to be a facilitator and guide everyone through their practice, align students' bodies, and aid them along this wonderful spiritual journey of asanas. This was evidently not the case. My friend had to stop every couple of minutes just to look at everyone else and see what was going on and how to do the postures. No notice was given to her whatsoever during the whole hour and fifteen minutes. I understand she was a couple of minutes late, however, what prevented the teacher from approaching her during the class and helping her out- I have no idea. It seemed as though she was punishing her for some odd reason.

Throughout the rest of the practice the teacher made inappropriate remarks often. She kept repeating how she hated the new decoration of the studio. At one point she even pretended to scratch the stencil off the wall with her fingernail. All of these out of place comments stood out like a sore thumb and as much as I tried, it was impossible to block them out. I couldn't focus on my body and much less so, on my breathing, and just became more and more annoyed as the teacher walked up and down the room with a long face and ignoring there was anyone else in the class.

At the first yoga studio I ever went to about eight years ago, I was taught that yoga is an individual practice. That the teacher is there to guide you, teach you, and adjust you in order to take advantage of your maximum potential. We were frequently touched, pushed, challenged, and thanks to those lessons, I learned a lot about this practice. Yoga without a teacher to me is quite pointless, but with "teachers" like these, even more so. It makes me sad to think that the West has, on many occasions, adopted and transformed yoga into something it is not.

That day I left the studio doubting if I would ever return. I was disappointed, embarrassed, and even sad about the experience. I thought about writing an anonymous letter of complaint to the owner, because if I were her, I'd want to know about this. Yoga had never ever left me with a sour taste before. And even though my friend and I were soon to realize that we both felt the same way and even ended up making jokes and laughing about our "zen-less" yoga experience, the truth is- it was quite a downer!

Don't hate, MEDITATE! And if you're pissed off Ms. Yoga Teacher, maybe it's time to practice yourself or take a break from it all and not transmit your bad vibes to your pupils, because in the end of the day, it's not our fault, and the least thing we want from our practice is to exit the room feeling zen-less... 

Una mirada al mundo