Holidays

Utica, Cundinamarca

Continuing with nostalgic topics, I must say I had amazing holidays growing up. Of course I did not know that then and I used to complain about what I was missing out far away from the city.

Utica, on the way from Bogota to Medellin, was a paradise for me. The weather was always hot, but breezy. I used to go horse back riding by myself, galloping at high speed. Oh the freedom!!

There was a pool in which I spent countless hours, and a river nearby with family-made ponds, for hours of non-stop fun. I think what I remember most vividly were the hundreds of hours reading in hammocks around the house and playing cards and other games with my aunties and grandmother.

On Sundays, the town square would fill up with vegetables and fruits, clothes and Tchotchkes. It was a 30 minute walk from the house, totally worth it. We would start early and after shopping we would have decadent fruit salads and shaved ice with condensed milk. My mouth waters as I write this.

There were downsides too, don’t get me wrong. Little bats lived in the house and used to take stabs at scaring me in the middle of the night. There were also millions of mosquitos and scorpions around. But those memories have faded away and all that matters now is the warmth of well spent family time.

I must say that I have always been a very urban sort of person. Writing this from a suburban house in Piermont NY I feel the strong need to be back to the noise and messiness of a big city.

Yet, I would give anything to be back at that house that no longer belongs to our family, to that river, to that pool, to those moments of absolute bliss now gone forever.

My parents still go out of the city every weekend. Right now they are by the ocean in an idilic place with barely electricity, paradise for their rustic taste. I miss them and my brother and his beautiful family. This year I was able to spend roughly 20 days with them and it was exhilarating. I wish 2024 brings more of that and I wish them a year of adventures and love.

What are your wishes for the New Year?

Mine are writing and reading!! I want to read 13 books and write the first draft of my book on commodities. Let’s see how that goes…

Teddie and Marigold

After Juana I wasn’t sure I would want another dog. But life had something else in the line for me.

First came Marigold, when my daughter was around 5-years old. My husband really wanted a dog and we thought it would be good for Silkie to bond with a doggie. Marigold is a very sweet wheaten terrier. She is kind and calm.

A year and a half ago my daughter decided she wanted a dog that would sleep with her. That is how Teddie came to our lives. She is a force of life. A tiny Bichon-Poodle with the energy of thousand batteries.

My daughter slept with Teddie for a month. She didn’t want the doggie to get attached to me. After a month she asked for help. She felt isolated and was having trouble sleeping. It was not worth trying to do it by herself. I brought Teddie with me and the rest is history.

Teddie and Marigold follow me around and sleep by me. I love them. They play together all the time. They get anxious when they are not together.

They have enriched my life and they force me to get up and about on those days where all I want to do is to disappear in TV and card games.

New York’s weather has changed since I came 20 years ago. It doesn’t seem to snow as much as it did when Juana and I arrived. I also don’t run anymore and I moved to a different neighborhood, farther away from a park. I miss Central Park West more than I miss Chile or Colombia for that matter.

As an aside, I should mention that in Chile I went a bit dog crazy. I had a big house with a garden so I became a temporary puppy parent. I also rescued Romina, a tremendously beautiful dog, pregnant with puppies. Helping her give birth was wonderful. Rosario was another rescue. At some point I had 13 dogs of all sizes in the house…

When I moved to New York I had to find homes for them all. I wish I knew where all of them ended up. I hope they had a nice life.

What a lucky life to be accompanied by sweet souls like Juana, Rosario, Marigold, Romina, Teddie, Yuta, Milou, Hella, Sebastian, and many more!

How do you feel about dogs?

Are you more of a cat person? I love it. Tell me more!!

Dogs and writing

Motivation to write is to me a big enigma. I have been meaning to resume my blog with discipline as the necessary water I know I need to give my thirsty brain. Yet, only corny images like these come to mind. What to do?

Maybe focusing on something completely different from what I know I need to write about is the answer. So here it comes.

I love dogs. My grandfather used to have german Sheppards. They were outside the house and always a bit muddy and distant. But I always loved them. For some strange reason they were all called “Yuta”.

My parents also had german Sheppards and kept the name tradition. At some point they had the terrible idea of getting me a bunny. Long story short, the dog killed the bunny and I got to see that up close. To think about it, I didn’t have good luck with pets growing up. I got a tiny chick at a bazaar, and he died when he moved to my bed in the middle of the night. I got a dog, and someone opened the door to the street and that was it. Another one was a gift from a friend and her mother changed her mind and took it back.

None of that did diminish my love for dogs. For birds, yes, but not for dogs.

When I moved to Chile many years ago, I was walking to work with a friend when 2 hairless dogs came around. They must have been thrown out to die by the river but somehow found us. I promised I would adopt them if they came back to our path that night. And they did.

I only remember Juana as I had to find a home for the other one before they both ate the furniture and walls of my rental. Juana stayed with me until she died in 2013. She lived in 2 other houses in Chile and 2 apartments in New York. She was destined to have a good life. I loved her so much. She still has a facebook page: Juana the Dog. Check it out. She was a gorgeous latin american stray dog.

She walked with me through the Gates exhibit in Central Park. She ran with me by the East River. She enjoyed the snow and the heat.

She was one hell of a dog. I miss her. A toast to her and you all for a wonderful 2024!

 

A different market is possible…

It has been a pandemic since last time I wrote. A pandemic. We lived through the unthinkable. And it is officially over, although people are still getting covid-19 here and there.

The unthinkable has also happened with my PhD dissertation. It may have real world by-products. And this is because my obsession has landed in a radical proposal: to reimagine commodity markets. This is my first attempt to put it on paper, so please bear with me if it is all over the place.

Commodity markets (coffee, cocoa, metals, etc..) have functioned almost the same way since the late 1800s. Commodity exchanges, privately-owned, intermediate the bulk of primary commodities. Prices are determined in this, maybe the only “perfect competition” market, and producer countries are price takers. Producers are now even more removed from prices due to financialization. And the consequences are brutal in terms of growth, booms and busts impossible to predict, and only benefiting asset owners that trade in the market.

While in the 1950s it was impossible to conceive a different way of trading primary products, but in bulk and without differentiation, today technology and changes in consumer preferences towards variety and specificity, have changed the way that many countries conceive their primary products. Many countries (and companies) are now promoting their coffee or cacao (artisanal chocolate) as luxury goods and they are selling big time.

As no change in those markets was conceivable, the only way for countries to escape deteriorating terms of trade was to diversify into manufactures. Primary products were destined to be a curse that countries had to deal with.

Yet, after 75 years of the same policy recommendation, 100 countries are still commodity dependent. Many have even deindustrialized prematurely. This requires a change in policy guidance that acknowledges and better uses the primary products that fuel the world economy.

This is especially true in a world of global value chains in manufactures. While a consumer may be willing to pay a $1000 for a phone, the producers in developing countries are price takers in a system that ensures that the “cost” of production is the lowest. To put it bluntly, global value chains commodified the production of manufactures in developing countries.

So it seems only reasonable to imagine a transformation in which developing countries actually achieve structural change through using what only they can produce. Processing at the source, using marketing to reach out to consumers that are willing to pay, and slowly fix the biggest market failure ever imagined. It is the only market with quasi perfect competition. Only the consumers (and intermediaries) benefit. The externalities are poverty and inequality. This screams for change.

The moment of a radical change in the way of thinking about these markets may be closer than we think.

First of all, we need to remind ourselves that the structure of the commodities markets is not set in stone. It is a human creation. It is something that could change.

Second, climate change is being affected by the traditional division of labor that send the raw materials to advanced economies, only to be sent back again to be sold at the source. Reducing this in half would certainly contribute to fight climate change. Technologies to make it happen in a sustainable way are not unattainable.

Third, consumers of the future, including my daughter’s generation are not conditioned by a preconception that only products from developed countries are desirable. She prefers a chocolate with a history and a connection, to a European chocolate. This opens the door to private investment in developing countries. It is the market of the future.

Fourth, producers are also starting to realize that the negotiation power can shift. We need countries that see the value of the products and sit at the table with pride and purpose, not to passively wish that their products are bought, in bulk, with close to zero value added.

Fifth, the global situation is leaving little space to donors to contribute in traditional ways. Yet, as the Financing for Development process at the UN calls for, the best way is for countries to rely on themselves in a sustainable way. If primary commodities become processed goods, this may be closer than we think.

This will not be easy. It is a dream, but I am willing to believe that, by dreaming, we can change reality.

Hair

Just as NY was the first to succumb to the pandemic, it seems we are the first hopefully seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

This morning I am getting my hair done at my favorite salon. After 2 weeks of my second shot I was supposed to be highly immune to the worst of COVID-19 and the first thing I wanted to do was my hair. Not see old friends, go to a restaurant, party or concert, but do one of the things that I definitely cannot do well myself. Color and cut my hair!!! I diligently colored the gray regularly, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t let myself go, at least not completely, in the comfort of hiding at home. I even got one of those plastic guides to cut hair, especially for my daughter whose hair had grown so long it was literally uncomfortable for her. Yet, today when I arrived to the salon my favorite stylist couldn’t help herself in laughing with me about how bad the situation was.

She is still diligently making sure my color is pristine while I write on my phone, but I already feel like 10 years younger, if not more. The reflection in the mirror in recent weeks was making me feel sad. It was a clear contrast with pictures of my younger self that my phone widgets randomly pic to entertain me with. Gray, uneven, frizzy hair. The horror. I know that after she is done my hair will be again one of the things I have always liked about myself.

My mother has long, luscious hair. She spends a considerable amount of time styling it every day. I guess I got my love for hair from her. I am much more laid back but I still enjoy a good hair day. And today will be one!!! I am excited as you can feel. I am also grateful. My favorite salon didn’t close forever, and while my favorite restaurants are gone, it gives me a sense of comfort and normality I really needed.

There are other aspects of going back to normality that are giving me stress. I am not ready to go back to how things were, at least not 5 days a week. Just as the world economy needs to recover better and not just back to business as usual, I hope offices, schools, routine also return better, healthier. What are you looking forward to when this nightmare is finally over?

What is in a name?

I have had many names. When I was inside my mother’s belly, my grandfather decided my name was Angela Maria, a combination of my parents names. Then, as an act of rebellion, they decided to legally call me Maria Angela.

Then came my difficulty at pronouncing my long composite name. Jamaria was the best I could do. Since then for my family I have always been Jamaria, Jamala, Jama, Jamarin, Jamarincito.

To be honest I never liked Angela Maria so much and Jama was not an acceptable alternative out in the world. My friends at school called me Angela. My foes made fun of Maria, the girl with long braids. I didn’t really mind much. My dream was to be Heidi, the girl of the prairie.

Then came my own rebellion. In college, I decided I was Mariangela. Not Maria Angela or Angela Maria or Angela, but Mariangela. This was and still is how I see myself.

After I moved to the US my name morphed again into Maria, Marie, Mary, Mari-Angele and other versions and pronunciations. By now, I am so used to the fluidity of it that I just invite people to call me the way it feels better for them. And I mean it.

This includes names I really love, like Angeline, Angelita, Angie, mi Angels, MA, Mangela and the best, of course: Mama.

I know how important a name is for a person. According to Carnegie, in his still relevant classic book about human nature, the name is one of the most cherished things a person has. It is recognition. It is identity and value.

Since reading that book I have been thinking a lot about names and actually started to try to be better at remembering then. It is not easy for me, but it feels good to try. Relating names to stories, writing down details, like the pros do.

But please forgive if I momentarily blank when I run into you in the corridor. Oh, wait, that doesn’t happen anymore. We now have video calls…

So what is in a name? Is it part of you? Is it a reflection of yourself? How can it become so important when it is your parents’ decision when you are born?How do you feel about your name? Did you wish your name was Margaret Tatcher? I did as a little girl…

Until the end of the world

Movies and music used to be an important part of my life. I used to hang out with cool friends that could speak for hours about Win Wenders and obscure soundtracks. I never knew too much about those myself but I guess I brought other things to the conversation. Fascination for example, and endless curiosity.

Courtesy of the pandemic we now have access to all streaming channels available. This includes Criterion. And yes, I finally got to watch the movie with such a great title and amazing soundtrack. It turns out that the soundtrack was more successful than the movie. I can see how excruciating it would have been to watch it at the movie theater. At home, with pauses for life and sleep, it is a 5-hour masterpiece of imagination and travel.

It got me thinking about art and artsy people that spend their lives following their passion and making a name for themselves. I admire their courage and dedication. So much to say about their time and understanding of the world. I am not sure much will be left to reminisce about in 50 years. Maybe I am already too old to appreciate new trends, but somehow I doubt tiktok will pass the test of time.

That takes me to reading. For years I have felt guilty and sad about only reading for work. I reminisce of the summers at my grandparents farm, laying in a hammock and devouring book after book. It is difficult to replicate that sense of eternity and lack of urgency that allows you to just embody the story the characters are going through. It also takes good writing. And that is as precious as gold.

I am very partial to certain authors and styles. I guess coming from the country of Macondo I was destined to enjoy the so-called Literatura Fantastica. Cien años de soledad and La casa de los espiritus are my all time favorites. I think it is also about timeless families and stories. I couldn’t get enough from Guadalcanal and now from Largo Petalo de mar.

I am not sure any of those will be the same in English. Each language has its own music and very rarely have I enjoyed a literary translation. Yet, I guess if you don’t know the original language it doesn’t matter. So if you have a chance I encourage you to try some Isabel Allende, Garcia Marquez, Benedetti, William Ospina, and let yourself go.

Homebound

Groundhog months

Ms. Pac-Man mini arcade has arrived today; the latest addition to our private sanctuary. Home has become everything for most of us and adding little things that would be otherwise inexcusable extravagances is now possible. After 50 years, it continues to be a delightful experience for all ages. Our tween has spent uncountable hours in her room playing with her phone and today she is with us in the living room and cannot get enough of it.

I may be the last one on earth, but recently I rediscovered lounging. I remember timeless hours with friends just doing nothing but being together and it was awesome. Adult life is regimented. You have stress, a daily agenda, so much so that you start including time with your family as part of your obligations.

Lounging is different. It is just relaxing but not alone. Decompressing by watching something together, having a beer or coffee without a set agenda or time limits. No tension. It is awesome. I get into the best conversation with my daughter and days seem kinder for all of us.

I guess one reason I am only rediscovering it now is that burnout forced me to reconsider my relationship with work. I still work hard and many hours but I mostly don’t stress over it. I know that I am doing my best at all times so when something goes wrong, as it always will because that is life, I can honestly just acknowledge, learn and move on.

Learning has been unavoidable this past year. Just a different kind of learning than the one that gives you diplomas. Learning how to build good routines for yourself, to be more self reliable and organized, to accept your idiosyncrasies and those of your life companions. Learn to accept bad days and weeks in which you do none of the above and know that the next day you can try again.

I haven’t learnt to play piano or ice sculpting or how to be less obnoxious, like Phil Connors did while awaiting Punxsutawney Phil’s predictions, but I think I have profited from the few upsides of this 2020 nightmarish Groundhog Day that we have had to collectively endure around the world.

I celebrate the little things. Like connecting with you again. Writing was impossible at the levels of stress I was enduring until recently. How are you doing? What have you learned? Lounging anyone?

Burnout

We have all lost so much in 2020. We lost the certainty of life as usual. We lost friends and moments. We lost hugs and coffee breaks. We will never get those back. How can we then face the idea of welcoming a new year? I thought these were the roaring twenties for godsake!. I am afraid of having high hopes again. I am afraid of wishing a return to normal. I may jinx it.

At the same time I would be lying if I didnt acknowledge what I have gained this year. I have had enough time with myself to definitvely have to come to terms with my idiosincracies. At the start of the pandemic all I could do not to drive myself crazy was to work non-stop. Adrenaline filled the void that a foregone daily life left in me.

I was unstoppable. I could work day in day out and was seriously enjoying it. I barely saw my family, stranded in the next room, left to their own devices in this the loneliest ever world. I think things went well until the summer. Six months straight of pure unadultered workoholic pleasure. Even when I was on a break I was only focused on recovering to start again with even more tenacity.

And then came the unavoidable burnout. I guess I had heard of it happening, but It wasn’t until I was not even able to read a few lines straight that I realized it was happening to me. It was brutal. Every email filled me with anxiety. Every little task that I had done many times before became a struggle. I started wondering how I had suddenly become useless if only few weeks before I was doing everything and enjoying it.

The thing is that my body couldn’t take it anymore. My nerves were shot. I had even forgotten to eat, and while I was enjoying the number on the scale, the situation was untenable. I was not living. I was escaping. But from what exactly? Boredom?

I have since recovered and forced myself to slowdown, proritizing and asking for help. Those are the life skills that the pandemic has given me. I have gained perspective. I now know that I don’t need to be always busy. That I can stand my own company and can fill my time with enjoyable passtimes. And I am extremely thankful for that.

I am back

As for most of you, I imagine, this has not been the easiest time. Definitely not the roaring Twenties I was celebrating in my first post this year. More like a strange and exhausting thriller or horror movie. Life obviously is much more creative than any script.

Who would have thought that the whole world would be facing unthinkable loses? That meeting anyone in person, at work or for fun, would be something we would be strongly discouraged to do? That the movie Five Feet Apart would be our common future? That going to the park or to walk the dog without a mask would be a nice memory of privileges we cannot afford anymore?

At home we took quarantine very seriously. During the peak we even decided not to take our dog out. It was not a good picture but it was better than risking going out for any reason. And even now that things are opening in the city, we remain isolated. Every day I feel more at ease and may end up trying one of the little outdoor restaurants that have flourished on side walks and streets around the city very soon. But life may never be the same again.

Working from home has been exhausting. I started a new assignment in March and all of the sudden it became clear that my portfolio was central. Development became, for the first time, a global emergency. So many people have lost their jobs, their loved ones, their routines. It became clear to me that having a job was a privilege and that trying to contribute in any way possible was, and is, my obligation. Everything else lost urgency.

After almost getting completely burned out, to the point of lowering my defenses, I took a break. It is almost over and I will be back to work on Monday but I feel I have regained a certain balance. I know life will never be the same but I have certain confirmation that as a family we can even handle a months long cabin fever. I did not kill anybody or got killed. In fact we are closer. And that is priceless.

I also know that now I am ready to live again. I know that while everything has changed and it is an unthinkable tragedy we have no alternative but adapting and going forward. It is not going to be easy but, together, we can do it. We have to.