"What's Next?"

(I love the duck face pictured above. Just an FYI to the world.)

This is just one of those things I haven’t spoken about.

I have mentioned it briefly on facebook, but one of my best friends, my beloved Carolina, is becoming a nun at the end of August. She’ll be joining the Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist. The group has been featured in the NYT, a few times and on Oprah if you’d like to know more about them. I’ve posted on facebook about it because my friend needs to payoff her (very expensive) USC student loans to be able to enter, which (as you can imagine) is a bit of struggle. Please, consider doing all you can to help her out and watch this video.

That was a ton of exposition, I know, mostly because it’s not particularly what this post is about. It’s about “soulmates,” and what that means to me. I don’t know where this post is going, so excuse me while I wax poetic for a second.

When I’ve mentioned Carolina (as many of my CA friends can tell you, I do quite a bit), there’s now normally a little storm of questions I have to answer:

You’re best friend is becoming a nun, isn’t she? That’s so weird! Are you okay with that? Do you think it’s what she really wants? Why do you think she’s becoming a nun? Is that still even done?

I want to clear something up immediately: I do not mind being asked this. Seriously, it’s probably what I would ask someone if I heard that their best friend was becoming a nun. In fact, those questions are things I asked myself when Carolina told me she was planning on applying for the Dominican Sisters.

On Women and Friendships, and Soulmates

I have often referred to Carolina as “my soulmate” or “mah boo,” and while I have used those terms jokingly, I’ve never meant them lightly. I don’t have a lot of girlfriends— I have a few now, and I adore them, I really do. Still, it’s always been a huge struggle to find women that are willing to put up with me, that I trust, and that I feel actually want to be my friend (I’m not particularly lovable). I’ve just always been better at crafting relationships with men. I could delve into the sexual-gender-politics of why I think I am like that, but that is another entire and probably hackneyed-before-I-even-write-it post on its own.

The thing with most of my girlfriends is that they are, for the most part, really different than me— which, again, I love. Many of the women I tend to be around are a LOT more rational than I am. Few wear their hearts on their sleeve quite as easily as I do. They also probably don’t over-analyze everyone actions and reactions like I do, which comes from my own special brand of crazy. In many ways, their differences are what keep ME sane. Why they are my friends, I really don’t know.

The thing with Carolina and I, though, is that we’re pretty much two peas in a pod about 95% of the time. She IS more rational than me, but she quickly and easily understands where my irrationality stems from. We have similar values and, often, similar beliefs about things, places, culture and people. She is also often more able to keep her emotions in check, but we established pretty early on in our friendship that we were there to hear each other vent it out when we were sad, frustrated, or confused. I also rarely have to re-explain more over-analyzations of people; she just seems to understand me.

Carolina knows when to push my buttons, and when to just give me unending love. She knows how my (again, crazy) brain works, and can often pinpoint what I’m dealing with or feeling before I do. She taught me what it was to be a strong woman, as I often saw her refuse to sit back and allow someone to keep her down or disrespect her. When I would have debilitating panic attacks that left me sobbing on the floor of my apartment, Carolina was the one that answered the phone and, hearing my hyperventilating, told me to “breathe. Remember, nothing that is happening is bigger than your strength.” And, when I went through a really traumatic experience my sophomore year of college, it was Carolina that looked at all my wounds, all the bleeding places on me and said “It’s okay. We’re going to beat this.”

In fact, as the person brought me to the entertainment community that got me into blogging to begin with, we even speak a our own little language; it’s a colloquial-online-speak that consists mostly of acronyms. That few people get. And when they do, they rarely find it as funny as we do.

I don’t have a genetic sister (I have a brother that I love very much), but given our quick ability to understand each other and communicate as well as our shared last name (we don’t THINK we’re actually related, as she is Dominican and I am Mexican-Filipina), Carolina eventually became my sister. She is the first woman outside my blood-line that I ever really loved. Like, really, loved.

On Changing

As you also may know, I myself have struggled quite a bit with my Catholic upbringing. I still consider myself culturally Catholic in a number of ways, however I am often in disagreement with much of the church’s social policy (the link above goes into this more in depth, should you care to read).

So, yes, seeing this fiercely independent and liberal woman that I love delve into a religion I did not fully agree with was incredibly difficult and a bit strange for me at first. On the one hand, I did not always politically agree with Carolina or what she was supporting. On the other, she was my sister, and I still loved her fiercely and with a full heart. Since she was now located in New York and I was (literally) on the other side of the country in Los Angeles, it felt like we could not have grown farther apart for a few months.

Still, when I went through struggles in my relationship, the consequences of the numerous bad choices I have made in my life, or even the frustrations of being a teacher, Caro listened. She listened, she challenged me, and (most of all) she loved me unconditionally. While she has asked me about church occasionally, she did not chastise or force me to consider any religious side of the argument; she has always come to me as my sister and my friend, full of love.

When she (again) counseled me through a difficult moment I was having, I realized that I probably (often) do or say things she does not approve of (I definitely need to stop saying “godd*mn” in front of her— sorry boo <3). For reasons that I can’t fully understand, this woman who is devoting her life to a set of beliefs still allows me to grow and bloom in my own way— without passing judgment, without forcing her beliefs on me. Even though I may be much different than her now, she never points out or makes those differences the forefront of her love for me. And I think that’s pretty darn fantastic.

I wish nothing but the best for Carolina. If being a Sister brings her true happiness and satisfaction, I want nothing less for her. I want her to have what she wants. While it was not what we planned in college, life can be a little ridiculous that way. If it makes her happy, than I could not ask for anything else. Sometimes, being part of someone’s family and loving someone means they do things we don’t fully understand. We love them anyway. Also, quite frankly, it’s not like she’s doing something I RADICALLY disagree with, or think is morally abhorrent. She’s becoming a nun. It’s a bit unusual in this day and age, but she’s devoting her life to love and service. How do you fault someone for that?

Yes, I will miss having Carolina in the way I have had her before. When I go through the big or difficult moments in my life and I can’t call or message her or reach her in some instant capacity, it will break my heart a little. When I have important news to share and I won’t be able to hear her voice when she squeals in joy with me over the phone, I will be sad. When I get married some day and she may not be there in the capacity we once planned, part of me will mourn the dreams you have in your youth. These things are hard. These things are sad. However none of these things are nearly as important to me as the happiness and love I have for her.

When Carolina left Los Angeles to move back to New York, I was devastated. She had been my roommate for the past semester, and the only person I had really loved living with. The idea of her no longer being there to sit with me and watch bad TV or make nachos or hold me when I cried was hard to deal with. At one point, when she was packing, I started crying for what was probably the millionth time that week. She wrapped her arms around me, and said something that I still hold on to:

“It’s not the end of it. It’s just changing.”