The culmination of 2008… of my whole entire life came down to these words….
“Now that Alex and Monica have given themselves to each other by
solemn vows, with the joining of hands and the giving and
receiving of a ring, I pronounce that they are husband and wife,
in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Those whom God has joined together let no one put asunder.”
Amen.
As everyone knows, on July 4th 2008 I, a simple man, sweating and chocking, with a heart that pounded like an ancient war drum, under the eyes of God, in front of close friends and family, gave my life to my beloved Monica. I gave her my heart and my solemn vow to love her through it all, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish her, until we are parted by death…
My 2008 was defined by those words, those vows that have changed our lives forever. This was the year of dreams, at least for me. “Good guy in love is blessed by marrying precious girl.” That’s my headline for 2008. But it was not all honey, all year. The start of the 2008 was actually quite the opposite. I started the year faced with the adversity of debt, no job and broke. I was feeling very unfulfilled. I had left the mortgage industry after a long run that had gradually slowed down until it took a nasty dive. I decided that since I was going to get married I needed to find a job that was salary, something I had never had before since all my previous jobs where either 100% commission or with a bare salary plus commission, with commission being the bread maker. Problem was that I couldn’t find anything. No door was opening for me… until I got on my knees and prayed and prayed. I prayed earnestly, asking God to open that door for that job that he wanted me to go to. And behold, through a conversation with my boy Dan “The White Man,” he told me there was an opening. I went to an interview and got a job. Whoohoo!
So now I had a job and slowly but surely we started paying down most of our debt. Monica put me on a strict Sadam Hussein style regimen budget of just $10 a week to spend on food and entertainment. I am not exaggerating. Since we had to save for the wedding, she cooked and therefore I had no excuse to go to any restaurant or fast food joint for lunch. Through this readjustment process we started taking a budget course and premarital counseling with my mentor, and cool Deacon Jerry Brown and Kathy, his wife of 43 years. We had some awkward moments at times, especially when he talked about sex. It was like having the talk about the birds and the bees all over again, but from a spiritual perspective. Awkward and funny nonetheless.
So this was our ritual for the first 6 months of the year. Come home, I worked on the wedding website, Monica cooked or worked on the wedding planning, we worked out for the honeymoon, went to counseling or soccer, repeat the next day. I actually lost weight and was down to 141lbs. No worries though, I am back to 155 pounds of fury. So yeah, other than the daily ritual of work and wedding planning, nothing exciting happened. We hardly went out, only for birthdays. Oh! We got our Open Water Certification in preparation to our honeymoon. I will write about this later.
Then came the wedding day. Oh boy, it was perfect. Almost. We had an outdoor wedding at the Glenview Mansion in Rockville Maryland. There were warnings of rain and scattered thunderstorms but we remained hopeful that it was going to stay away from our location. It didn’t. We were scheduled to get married at 6PM and it was raining hard for periods of time. Upstairs in the Groom’s room, we were all having a good old time reminiscing about the younger days of infamy and notoriety and I was constantly being asked “Are you sure man? This is it, there’s no backing out! We can still help you make a run for it!” (Thank you guys for holding me down when I did take you on that offer and tried to jump out the window and make a run for it! Just kidding Beautiful, that never happened… really!) In the bride’s room however, I heard that chaos was going on. Women were fighting each other for mirror space to put on their make up on, elbows flying, bridesmaids were fainting, moms were crying, rumors of a runaway groom were circulating. Ok, so none of that was actually going on, but there was a constant “What do you want us to do? What do you want us to do???” from people regarding moving the ceremony inside because of the rain. The beautiful bride sent a messenger to the groom’s room that she wanted to have it outside but if it was really bad we could move it inside. I then decided to take action and went outside to investigate. The rain hadn’t ceased. However, I said to myself, “If the bride wants an outside wedding, she’ll get an outside wedding even if it means that the best man and the maid of honor will be holding umbrellas over us!”
So the plans continued as they were. Except that at 6PM, the skies cleared. God turned off the faucet in the heavens. So we all hurried into position. And at 615 or so, that woman, who was a blessing to my life, walked down the aisle towards this man, who was awaiting her since forever. I took her hand and melted. I looked at her eyes and I loved her more than all the days combined. And then we became whole. Thanks to God, we had enough time to go through with the ceremony, take a nice carriage ride and take plenty of pictures. Once we were done with all that, it started raining again…
Click the image below to see some of the pictures from the wedding:
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Today we left paradise. But I shall not write of the boring plane ride, or how I dreaded going back to “Reality.” No. Instead I shall write of Paradise one last time… And it is with an indistinct sadness or nostalgia, but more appreciation that I say “Farewell, my homeland.” Goodbye my paradise. Of you, we take a piece with us. A piece of your romance inspiring sunsets, of your furious rain storms, of the deep thunder that shook our lovers’ hut when your heavens spoke. Thanks for the memories. I leave you now, with a heart as heavy as your sudden sea winds. On your soft carpet made of wild green moss we ran like children, laughing, chasing each other, hiding behind the palm trees that stood like sleeping towers. Hand in hand, she and I walked your white sands, losing our bare feet in the foam of your endless waves. How can we forget? How can we not remember the straw hut where we, man and woman, laid entwined like roots, linking our bodies and souls.
Thanks for the memories, oh Little Corn Island. May your people prosper. May your sands, your bodies of translucent water, your delicate huts keep the hearts of lovers aflame and the Marriott at bay. May your beauty remain a secret, like the hidden caverns of your seas, and only found by those seeking the honey of your moon… and may you still remain a virgin paradise…
And so I close this chapter of this small island, whose moon nourished us with honey and the type of feverish love newlyweds endure. I leave with this poem written by the poets of poets, Pablo Neruda (English translation at bottom):
La noche en la isla
Toda la noche he dormido contigo
junto al mar, en la isla.
Salvaje y dulce eras entre el placer y el sueño,
entre el fuego y el agua.
Tal vez muy tarde
nuestros sueños se unieron
en lo alto o en el fondo,
arriba como ramas que un mismo viento mueve,
abajo como rojas raíces que se tocan.
Tal vez tu sueño
se separó del mío
y por el mar oscuro
me buscaba
como antes
cuando aún no existías,
cuando sin divisarte
navegué por tu lado,
y tus ojos buscaban
lo que ahora
pan, vino, amor y cólera
te doy a manos llenas
porque tú eres la copa
que esperaba los dones de mi vida.
He dormido contigo
toda la noche mientras
la oscura tierra gira
con vivos y con muertos,
y al despertar de pronto
en medio de la sombra
mi brazo rodeaba tu cintura.
Ni la noche, ni el sueño
pudieron separarnos.
He dormido contigo
y al despertar tu boca
salida de tu sueño
me dio el sabor de tierra,
de agua marina, de algas,
del fondo de tu vida,
y recibí tu beso
mojado por la aurora
como si me llegara
del mar que nos rodea.
The Night on the Island
All night I have slept with you
next to the sea, on the island.
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep,
between fire and water.
Perhaps very late
our dreams joined
at the top or at the bottom,
Up above like branches moved by a common wind,
down below like red roots that touch.
Perhaps your dream
drifted from mine
and through the dark sea
was seeking me
as before,
when you did not yet exist,
when without sighting you
I sailed by your side,
and your eyes sought
what now-
bread, wine, love, and anger-
I heap upon you
because you are the cup
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.
I have slept with you
all night long while
the dark earth spins
with the living and the dead,
and on waking suddenly
in the midst of the shadow
my arm encircled your waist.
Neither night nor sleep
could separate us.
I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.
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Today was our final day in Little Corn, Paradise. We woke up exhausted, feeling a bit sick and with a thick humid air from all the wet clothes, that made me feel claustrophobic. I looked outside our very tiny window and it was raining. It was the kind of slow, cold rain that silenced the birds and would have been perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon somewhere in the US; but not today, not for our last morning in paradise. I had read previously on the internet that when it rains, the Pangas (the little boats) that carry us over to Big Corn don’t operate. This is a lie. From what I heard from the locals, there has to be a Hurricane in order for them to not operate. We hurried to get ready and ran to the Panga that was already boarding. And just like that, we left Paradise. In reality, we were sad to leave, but ready. The trips across the jungle and the diving really took a toll on us, physically. We were tired and burnt out.
Here’s a brief recap of our experience in Paradise, by the numbers:
• 7: trips taken across the mosquito battlefields of the jungle
• 4: times getting lost(always on the way back to Derek’s Place)
• 5: total hours lost.
• 2: Impromptu sunset walks along the beach (While lost)
• 9: Combined dives we took.
• 7: Sharks seen
• 407: minutes total time underwater (combined)
• 1: (and first) underwater fight with the wife
• 1: very unsuccessful “fishing expedition from hell” where I almost threw up my entire stomach
• 8”: size of biggest fish caught during above mentioned failed expedition
• 3: Beaches visited
• 1/2: Population of Island that has Downs as last name.
• 0 Regrets!
When we got to Big Corn Island, we took a taxi directly to Casa Canada. There we were greeted by Don once again. We took a room and man, it was sooooo nice! It looked even nicer since we were used to our humble love shack made of straw and wood. We were back to civilization! Satellite TV! A refrigerator! King sized bed! A/C!!! Woohoo! And even some leather couches! The first thing we did was take a HOT shower and then pass out like we hadn’t slept in days. If little corn had these types of accommodations, it would be perfect; but then again, it wouldn’t feel like that raw, virgin island that it is. Casa Canada is possibly the best place to stay at in Big Corn Island. It has plenty of beautiful details that make it a pleasant stay. It’s very clean and very well kept.
One of the many little statues that adorned Casa Canada
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Although it was not always the case, rain had a peculiar way of changing my mood. It would bring a certain melancholy mixed with a hint of nostalgia and it would bring upon me an indistinct sadness that I carried with me like a rotten bag of potatoes over my shoulders. At times, this sadness, this vague loneliness would seep into my being like drops falling into an empty jar, somewhere in the darkness echoing regrets and past wounds. It was raining in paradise tonight. It was raining hard, with drops that hurt and were like small relentless darts piercing the ground. But tonight, oh tonight that jar that was hidden in the depths of my private solitude, that jar that was always thirsty for the melancholy and sadness was filled with the love of her breath, the warmth of her body and with each kiss, each splendid “I love you” sadness packed up and took it’s cold torturous hands, once used to chilling even my bones, and left. This was our first rainy night as a married couple and I, for the first time, felt whole when it rained.
It was a night tempered by furious winds from the sea and lighting streaks across the dark sky. The sound of the rain was fighting a losing battle with the sound of thunder rolling from one side of the punished island to the other. If the clouds were God’s wooden floors, then that night He was moving furniture around; that’s how the stern, harsh sound of rolling thunder sounded. We would be awakened by the recurring thunderclap that sounded like shattering crystals across the infinite sky. We could hear objects of all kinds flapping, pieces banging into the thinning palm trees which were fighting the heavy winds. I was more at peace than Monica. She was freaking out. Any major roar in the sky from thunder and she would twitch in her sleep.
In case you didn’t notice on the previous video I posted earlier, our love shack doesn’t have any lock, so essentially any one could at any point walk right in. As we were sleeping, Monica whimpered silently with fear. She made that sound that a frightened child would make. Her breathing increased exponentially, it felt as raging as the wind outside, but instead of the furious breathing of the sea, it was a breathing that cried of desperation. And then she made that sound: It was a genuine, gut-filled, blood rushing, breath-taking, my-life-is-flashing-before-my-eyes type of panicked shriek! She was wide awake, almost crying. “What’s wrong,” I urgently asked. “Someone is grabbing my feet!” she exclaimed panic-stricken. I searched in the darkness of the night for a silhouette of a perpetrator. And with all the wind that was angrily blowing through our love shack, the waves hammering the sand, the flapping of the leaves from the palm trees, the thunderclap, the lightning and the torrential rains this was a perfect setting for a horror movie. I narrowed my eyes and saw no movement by the door, no shadows among the shadows. Then a flash of lightning revealed nothing. I asked Monica if she wanted me to turn the light on. She whimpered again. My hand reached slowly towards the light and I felt Monica hold her breath in suspense, as if waiting to scream in terror. If this was a movie, there would have been that ominous sound of a violin or Psycho theme soundtrack as the camera focused on my hand slowly turning the light on and then it would have focus on her fear-gripped eyes as she hid her lower face behind the covers waiting to see the midnight foot masseuse at her feet.
And as you might have guessed it, it was nothing. I explained to her that the chances that a man was going to cross the jungle in the middle of the night, during a raging storm, only to come and give her a foot massage was very rare, almost next to impossible, and that that man would only be me. I must admit that she does have nice feet, but c’mon. As it turns out, luckily for her, her midnight foot masseuse happen to be me anyways. Well, sort of. You see, every time there was a loud thunderclap, Monica would twitch. It was like an automatic reaction or reflex. So, I thought she was having a nightmare, and like any loving husband, I moved closer to her and with my lonely feet caressed her tiny feet. I was only seeking to comfort her, to shield her from her own dreams. Little did I know this simple action of love was going to make us feel as if we were about to star in our own (very fake) horror movie sketch. After laughing about it, we went back to sleep with the soundtrack of nature’s rage.
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After another black starless night of running to the throne (read previous post), this time under tempered winds and thick drops of rain, we woke up late. We were supposed to be at Dolphin’s Dive Shop at 830 for the first dive. The sun and the chickens were already out, Derek’s two kids were playing and somewhere nearby someone was chopping coconuts with a machete. The waves were breaking and the ocean was breathing a mellow breeze. Ahhh, the soundtrack of paradise made you feel lazy and getting out of bed became tough. I was feeling much better. It was 815 in the morning and we weren’t going to make it to the dive shop on time; crossing that jungle was going to take at least a half hour, walking at regular speed but I was in no shape to walk at regular speed. Since we knew we were not going to make it to the first dive trip, we sat down and ate toast, pineapples, passion fruit juice and scrambled eggs. After hanging out and making small talk with Derek and Anna, we got ready to our trek across the jungle. We applied bug repellent lotion like it was moisturizing or sun tan lotion because we didn’t want to be shredded to pieces again.
We started on the trail yet again, and yet again we walked by the shacks and saw kids working the land. The poverty of the island took from this paradise that feeling that life is easy going here. It set in the harsh realities of the indigenous of the land, those that have inherited a paradise for tourists, those with the dollar, the euro, but not for their own children. They live in rusty tin shacks that are the size of two cubicles put together. Others live in rotten-wood homes. Most of the local, however, live in decent and very modest homes. I still cannot understand why there are more foreign business owners than native born. It’s as if the natives are being robbed out of their own land. Acre by acre, the land and businesses are going to more and more blue-eyed blondes paying 30 silver dollars at a time. But that’s capitalism and it’s fine, I just wish that I had seen more local business owners.
Anyways, when we reached the dive shop, the first divers had just returned from the first trip. “We saw dolphins!” they exclaimed. Ouch! The heartache! “They were playing, coming back and forth, about 10 feet from us!” they said in jubilance. They kept on talking about how fantastic it was and with each sentence, with each laughter, they were adding weight to my already sinking optimism that I would have the same chance. I knew that we weren’t going to go diving at the same spot. Talk about disappointment. Talk about regret! “I shouldn’t have eaten that fruit,” is all I kept thinking.
We got suited and climbed the boat. The bumping of the sea was making sick again. This was going to be our first dive in the open ocean so we were filled with excitement and anticipation. When we got to our destination spot, we sat on the edge of the boat and leaped backwards. And there, we went under listening to the Darth Vader breathing, wide eyed, watching hands signals and looking out for whatever may be lurking, camouflaged in the sand. The dive master that certified us always told us to be careful when going to the bottom of the sea, as there are creatures that use sand for cover, so stepping in the sand could be dangerous. Sure enough, as soon as we got to the bottom, some 35 feet below, the dive master was giving us the hand signal to watch out below, as there was a sting ray hidden in the sand. All you could see were two eyes and a menacing barb. Monica was paranoid of getting too close because she remembered Steve Irwin, the crocodile hunter who got killed when a stingray’s barb pierced his heart.
As soon as we dropped in the water, we were about to step on this stingray.
I got very close to this stingray and then reality shivered down my spine as I realize that this animal could kill me. We established buoyancy at another spot in the sand once we made sure there was no other danger of getting killed. Well, let me rephrase that, I established buoyancy. Monica, well, let’s just say that Michael, the dive master who certified us, wouldn’t have been proud. Actually, he would have cringe at how Monica was all over the place. She was floating up and down, swimming like a mermaid in distress, swinging her arms like a drowning man. I don’t know what happened, but there was no grace in her diving abilities. She was like an octopus fleeing from a vicious prey. Most of the time she was doing the “Running man” underwater rather than swimming horizontally.
One of the few moments when Monica was diving as she should, horizontally.
About five minutes into the dive, the dive master took us into a coral reef that was populated with an assortment of fish. And then I saw a shark. Then another. The dive master pointed it out to us and it swam by us and away from us. I scrambled for my camera, but couldn’t get it to work properly so I was only able to take the picture below. I tried to follow it, but it was too fast.
Our first Shark sighting. It swam away from us quickly.
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