It wasn't until I was 25, squatting in my compact and charming pre-war New York apartment in Washington Heights, that I tried weed for the first time. I don't remember anything groundbreaking other than we laughed a lot, and one of my friends seemed to have finally relaxed.
This preemie's lungs cry in a high pitch fashion every time I smoke anything, which means I rarely do it. This is why and how, while trapped in a one-bedroom apartment in Oakland, California, back in March 2020, I made my way to a blue gummy with 10mg of THC —ehem, the compound from marihuana that makes you high— gelatin and sugar, while trying to suffocate the intense dread from early quarantine. Albeit they are legal here, I am pretty sure the FDA has not tested these gummies, but can you imagine how much fun the focus groups would have trying them?
I want to say about thirty minutes later, even though who knows what time is in confinement anymore, I found myself hysterically laughing at the background actors in Gilmore Girls. The town's absurdity, the food choices, and everything that surrounds the main two characters (and! the! outfits!) made me laugh until I cried. And wow, we all needed a good laugh back then.
What happened after I managed to put the iPad down is a blur. There was more laughter, and I think even dancing, in our cramped living room. The remaining kid-friendly (but really, parent-friendly) part of the evening worth documenting was the unbelievable memories that came upright as I tried to fall asleep. The cacophony of colors, textures, and memories that bubbled haunt me to this day, but in a good way. I mean, I assume that is possible? To be haunted by something good?
With a slow blink, I was in my childhood room. I could make up the orange quilt pattern in vivid detail — the black lines and the punchy orange that would come later on graduate to decorate my walls. Yes, I made my parents paint my entire room bright orange. I guess when you are a teen, you can sleep anywhere. Only to, eventually, get older and read countless articles on 'sleep hygiene' and melatonin, even when your room is a sad beige. You are not alone.
But honestly, these memories were so sharp and tender that I genuinely wonder what else I could remember if I ever muster the courage to try psychedelic mushrooms.
Don't worry, mami. I haven't.
That one night was not the only time I dabbed in the sweet refuge of an edible. Since the pandemic started, I have enjoyed (socially distanced!) happy hours with our neighbors. It was summer, and a friend brought down some of her favorite hybrids —with less THC— in a small tin decorated with colors that tickled my millennial sensibilities. Two gummies in, washed down with good California wine, my ears were burning, and I was flying higher than a chichigua en el monumento. No wild memories were unlocked this time. I blame Dry Creek Vineyard for that.
This issue could read like a love letter to edibles, and maybe deep down, it is, but the truth is they mess me up. I always wake up groggy and confused — more than usual, so I also don't do these often. And yet, if the FDA called me for a focus group, I'll put aside my disdain for lines and wait for one hell of a time.
We can find a little escape via an edible or a good laugh, but we still gotta do the work.
In this episode of Radio Caña Negra, the hosts break down what the heck is “white-passing”. The conversation is tough, thought-provoking, and a must-listen, especially for those of us who are called “blanquitxs” where we are from.
Carmen Candelario, Founder
Before capitalism made us feel guilty, and the internet, WhatsApp or Instagram took over our days, what was your favorite way to ‘waste time’?
