Pi Phi's Foundations, as Hard as Big Hearts

Pi Beta Phi Sorority sits in the middle of fraternity row on Piedmont Avenue in Berkeley, California. In a certain given week, passersby may hear high-pitched shouts coming from inside chanting, "Who are WE? PI PHI! ..." during recruitment week. Girls come and go throughout their college experience, and some boys even slip in. The house is kept up by the National Pi Beta Phi Foundation, but there are a few individuals that often go unseen and are arguably more of a foundation to the house than anyone else.

Juana, Tomas, and their son Victor have worked in the Pi Phi house for over a decade now; they have seen thousands of girls live in the house and have worked with a handful of house moms through the years. Humbly working the kitchen, they not only feed the bellies of hungry college girls, but they fed my soul with their kind hearts.

Juana and Tomas looking good for their nephew's wedding

Juana and Tomas are from Mexico and are some of the hardest workers I know, enduring so much and making a livelihood for their next generation in the family, always with a smile. Paths crossed in the kitchen corridor as I learned more about their family, and as I was invited to Juana's birthday party, and her nephew's wedding. I learned something different from my time with them than my education at Berkeley. The people I meet are my education, and these two were my Berkeley parents. After a long day at work, I would come home late for dinner, look around for some leftovers, and chat with my favorite company.

It's amazing what kind of impressions can be broken when you talk to someone, when you listen to someone. At first glance, these two were the Pi Phi workers, and that defined them in this house. They are more to me than that now; our encounters at Pi Phi were just a way of getting to know what they were all about- beyond the facade of a sorority house. 

These two are exemplary figures in their family of strength and hard work. They have built a beautiful life for their family in Berkeley and that feeling resonated to my friends that went to the nephew's wedding. It resonated when we went over to their house for Juana's birthday celebration. It resonated again when I recently visited them a year after graduation. They welcomed me with open arms at Ashby Bart station. A dinner out, a visit to Victor's family's house, and a cozy night's sleep- my mind swirling with the rusty Spanish I used all day- and I could not have felt more love and friendship.

I wish I had the talent to draw this feeling of coming back from a long school day to my Pi Phi parents, sitting on the stool in the kitchen eating my dinner, chatting with the lovely pair, and feeling at home. You will just have to imagine it yourself. 

The Grammar of Music: Out in Space

I am taking a group beginning piano class, with the first priority being an excuse to see my good college friend; the piano comes second. The class is a hoot, with frequent snack breaks and chatty cathys. Nevertheless, we always get to the piano part. As the students attentively listen to each other perform our pieces, I get to thinking.

We learn about notation as the grammar of music, everything that makes and creates a coherent piece of music. The accidentals, pauses, time scale, chords, all contribute to something that would sound like a well-formulated, educated...sentence? Indeed it is true, as a faulty note makes you cringe just as a conjugation error might. A wrong chord makes you as unsure as a misused word. Pauses make for a dramatic effect; the speed and strength of playing also add drama, just as they would in speech. And then there's the spaces between notes, as important as the spacebar on your keyboard.

One question from a fellow student got me thinking about what's in a space. "Why do they even divide the notes like that?" Our teacher Ms. Rodriguez responds, "Spaces, Kathy, it's all about spaces!"

About a year ago, I was writing a paper on a few poems and I was heading in the direction of describing how black ink makes words on a page, but the contrasting white paper defines it. Without the contrast we couldn't understand a thing. As annoyingly metapoetic as this is, I see the white page now as SPACE. Just as the space within the lines of a measure in music. Without those spaces, we don't have music- no harmony or melody or symphony or song.

Yet very often we disregard those white spaces- the simple tap of the space bar, the simple break in a line, the simple indent on a page. And yet, they are the structure, the foundation, and the creation of music and literature alike.

Certainly psychedelic is the idea of space, just as it is in our daily lives. To ask for some space or time alone sounds antisocial, odd, and kind of offensive. Yet, really, how are we to live without just a little bit of space to be an individual note on the measure, word on the page, and individual in this grand world? The grammar of music has shown me how to be an individual, and also a member of a chord. Both versions (individual or member) have unique attributes; either one depends on the time and place.

I guess all I'm really saying is that we all need some space to make ourselves individuals, but it doesn't hurt having someone else close by.