Page 3 of 20 pages, from 20 years of living in the USA

The stories about living in San Francisco, my beloved San Francisco are about my living in the United States for the past 20 years, and here I am continuing to tell you how I have survived, and made it.

In 1992, I started volunteering at Project Open Hand. This wonderful organization provides meals (dinner) and groceries for people living with HIV and Aids. It was the perfect opportunity to give to my community, not only the gay community, but the San Francisco community of men, women and children living with HIV and Aids.

After a few months of driving, actually of being the co-pilot for the driver, many of whom I became friends with, I landed my first good job in the States, there, at Project Open Hand as a driver. I was going to drive and deliver meals 4 days a week. I was going to drive one of its vans, and I had to go and get my driver’s license.  There wasn’t much time since they need a driver.

We had volunteers, but there were days when we did not have enough of them, and we still had to deliver the hot meal to our clients.

Well, here I was landing a job that provided me a decent salary, and health insurance, but most importantly, it provided with an experience that helped me to love San Francisco, to work with talented people, to meet wonderful human beings, and to discover every shortcut and street of city by the Bay.

By then, there was not GPS, so I had to carry with me the Thomas Moore roadmaps, and learn the one way streets, the 2 ways streets and the major intersections of San Francisco. It taught me to locate the Tenderloin, the Mission, Golden Gate Park, Hunters Point, Pacific Heights and the Marina. I learned where to park, I learned where not to park. The hills of Potrero Hill and Nob hill, the long avenues in the outer Sunset and the Richmond area. And, of course, many of the Projects.  I couldn’t ask for a better way to learn about San Francisco, but by driving around, delivering meals, and meeting some peculiar and interesting human beings.

Coming from Maracaibo, Venezuela, I had never been before a neighborhood like the tenderloin and its hotels. Trust me, in Maracaibo, we have singular neighborhoods, full with characters of their own, but nothing like the tenderloin in San Francisco. In the hotels –those that carry sign saying daily, weekly and monthly rates- I experienced a lot of things. Most of them made me laugh and appreciate life for what it is, a present moment teaching you something about people, things, and yourself.

Each visit to those hotels involved meeting new people every time I went there, but also seeing familiar faces that learned and remembered my name quickly. I got compliments (hello handsome!!!) from many clients, but once in a while, I went through scary moments and situation. The typical fights, the exchange of “things” I did not expect to see, the tragedy happening to an individual.

In these hotels, I saw for the first time the type of elevator you have to close the door yourself. I don’t know how you call it, but the ride was always an experience. A wondering experience, thinking if I was going to make it to my destination. Oh, those old days in San Francisco.

I worked from 1 to 9, Friday through Monday. My days off right in the middle of the week, but it didn’t matter to me. I was happy, and really for the first couple of years it fulfilled with the security I needed, especially the financial security, so I could pay my rent, food, tuition since I was enrolled in San Francisco City College to learn English as second language. I was 24 and eager to learn. Learning was a great motive for me to wake up every morning and tell myself, “You can make it. Just keep doing what you’re doing”.

I worked at Project Open Hand for 2 and half years. Project Open Hand meant to me my first San Francisco Gay Pride Parade, my first Thanksgiving celebration, Halloween, Christmas. The names of Hilda, Fernando, Nestor, Kathleen, David, Chuck, Paul were part of the family. They gave a hand when I needed, and they helped me to enjoy every minute working there. There, I met an especial friend Richard Rapoza, a brilliant and very talented man from Nicaragua. So many laughs, chats and great moments with him.

Two and half years driving the streets of San Francisco, delivering meals, that for so many, it meant the only meal they had every day.

From July 1992 until December 1994 I was part of the team at Project Open Hand. My first good job in San Francisco and one the most important learning experiences I have had in this country. I never would have imagined that I was going to drive a big van and deliver meals for people living with HIV and Aids in San Francisco, California 6 months earlier when I was running the Los Angeles Marathon.  Never.

Page 1 of 20 pages from 20 years living in the USA

My best friend in this world Maryalejandra Montiel, Zuliana de Aviacion, American Airlines, LAX, the City of Los Angeles, the mountains of the Sierra in California, Greyhound buses, the Muni buses in San Francisco, Market Street, the Castro neighborhood, they are all part of my first living year in the states.

My friend Maryalejandra drove me to the Aeropuerto Internacional de La Chinita in Maracaibo, where I am from. Our way to the airport was filled with talk about dreams, and the intense desire of going for something that I wasn't sure what it was. She was the only one knowing I wanted to stay in the USA, and I didn't know exactly how to do it.

Flying to a new country and going for my dream meant, literally, to take an airplane. Between Maracaibo and Miami I flew with Zuliana de Aviacion, an old airline that went out of business in Venezuela. But, from Miami to Los Angeles was the big dealfor me. I was flying on an American Airlines flight across the country on a fly longer than 4 hours, a big aircraft, and people I had never seen before in my life.

Sitting on a window seat, and flying to run 26.2 miles. As I am getting closer to my destination, I saw the mountains of the Sierra full with snow, something I had never seen before in my life. I kept looking through the window wondering, just wondering. I can't remember about what, but my eyes kept staring at the magnificent sightseeing. "WOW", I said to myself, "WOW".

Then we landed. Then, getting through Los Angeles International airport (LAX), and to follow instructions I had written on how to get to Buena Park, CA to the place I was going to stay, the relatives of a friend of mine back in Maracaibo, from Bolivia.

I was welcomed in the beginning, but eventually not welcomed after a week being there. I ended up staying in a Motel near the area where I was in Buena Park, close the Knott's Berry Farm amusement park. Within a couple of days, the time was set up to go to San Francisco. A city I always wanted to visit, to be, to experience, and, I did it. I got my Greyhound bus ticket, and I was on my way for a 5 days visit to the city by the Bay.

I can't recall many things about the first time I went to San Francisco. Still, I left most of my stuff in Buena Park, because I had to get back there if I was going to go back to Venezuela. I took enough clothes for those 5 days. The bus left at Midnight, and I was in San Francisco by early morning.

I can resume my memories from that first visit to San Francisco by walking around the Civic Center area where the beautiful City Hall is, walking Market street, staying in a hotel on Mission street and 8th street, going to the Castro, and meeting Michael and Randy, my first friends in the city, and who opened their home for me to stay a little longer. I made a good connection and developed a great friendship with Michael, because he was Latino from San Juan, Puerto Rico, he played volleyball, and loved to dance salsa, and we had that in common. Michael died of AIDS a year later. He was my first friend who died of AIDS, and the second person close to me of dying of this awful disease. The first one was my brother Leandro 3 years earlier.

I eventually went back to Buena Park to pick up the rest of my belongings, and come back to San Francisco, via the Greyhound buses, of course, and one thing I remember from those days is listening to Phil Collins, Billy Ocean and Roxette. Their music accompanied me everywhere. I had a Sony Walkman and tapes (cassettes) which I kept playing on the bus rides between San Francisco and Los Angeles.

Back in Buena Park, I picked my stuff and left, but not without first, spending almost a full day in a park waiting for the night when the time to go and take the bus was set, and second, getting a ticket for crossing a street not at the pedestrian cross area, but instead, in the middle the street. I got "pulled" over by this police officer, who called me, I was not understanding anything, but I remember, he asked me for my ID, I gave him my passport and he wrote a ticket for the violation. I felt violated, but then, I was just a tourist who didn't know anything, or any better.

Eventually, I arrived again back to San Francisco. I took the Muni bus for the first time, carrying a huge piece of luggage with me, which people on the bus couldn't care less, and stayed with Michael and Randy in the Castro area. I was not sure what was going to happen next, but I was enjoying the time being, and all the experiences I was living.

24 years old, "alone" in San Francisco, barely speaking English, but happy. Afraid, but happy. Without a plan, but happy. Very little money, but happy. Not knowing, but happy. And this first "page" is more than a page, but I am happy sharing it with you.

Already celebrating 20 years in the USA

Yesterday, as I walked Chipotle to get late lunch I noticed a manager interviewing a potential employee. They seemed to have a nice conversation, but ultimately what it is making write this is the fact that next Tuesday February 28th, 2012 I will be celebrating 20 years of living in the United States of America, and I saw myself in the same seat so many times in the beginning of this journey.

Working in restaurants as dishwasher, busboy or waiter (my friend Ramon would say, “Waitress.”) was part of my life in the beginning. My English was limited, although I was already going to San Francisco City College, and I couldn’t or didn’t feel comfortable to apply for any other job.

I wouldn’t change a thing from those years. They made me who I am right now and it will be part of challenge I have to myself: Write at least 20 pages of significant things that happened to me through the 20 years of living in the USA.

Back to Chipotle, and getting my lunch, and the interview session I saw, silently I wish him luck. Although, he might not needed (He was a blond, well put together and English speaking young man), I still wish him luck on his journey.

I am now an actor. Well, I have always been an actor. I am a Project Manager at a very lovely and professional company, Illuminate, Inc. In some extent, I have accomplished part of my “American Dream”.

I do speak and write English much better than in 1992. I have learned how this country and society is different than the Venezuelan society where I came from. Not by much, I think. Ultimately, I continue to learn on a daily basis how to live in this country, keeping my Latino roots alive and intact, and it is working fine. I still have a heavy accent which sometimes opens doors, and others, closes them forever. Ok, they lose.

You will hear about those 20 pages of 20 years living in the United States of America. As my very dear friend Tom says, you will hear about the “Monito” (little monkey) who came to the states to have a new life, and I have.