Superman February 27, 2006

Throughout my entire life I was expected to be Superman. I was expected to be the strongest one. The toughest one. The smartest one. The prettiest one. The one that solves all problems. The one that rescues everyone else.
It happened at home and at school. At home I had to be perfect. I was expected to be the best in all my classes, I was expected to play piano like Mozart, and horseback ride like an Olympian, and to be almost as pretty as my mom. (Problem is my mom could stop traffic with her beauty in her time, and I grew up listening to this: “YOU are Christina’s daughter. Oh my god. Your mother was the most beautiful woman. Those eyes. She was stunning. She is still stunning. Wow. Your mom…) So, in the looks department I was not expected to be equal to my mother but I was expected to work the BEST I COULD with what god had given me. I grew up in a house where nothing was talked about. We created the ‘ilusion’ of perfect. Best schools. Best cars. Best clothes. Best trips. Best of everything. So I was NOT allowed to complain about ANYTHING, or cry, or even be sad. If I did, I would hear this: “Do you know how many people would KILL to have what you have?” And so I believed that I had to be perfect to make everyone happy. My friends also needed me to be the best in all my classes so that I could help them study. I was expected to know all the answers. It fell upon my shoulders that all my friends passed their tests. I felt that if they didn’t pass a test, it wasn’t because they didn’t study during the entire semester, it was because I didn’t prepare them well enough. I always had to be ready with the best advice. I had to be a psychologist. I had to be a handwriting EXPERT so that I could copy the signatures of my friend’s parents. I had to be perfect at everything. Superman could not let anyone down. If I did, I was miserable for days. I remember when my father left us, and took all his money with him, my mother tried to blame me for not doing enough to stop him. “Other kids wouldn’t let their father leave!” As she lay their, kneeling on the bathroom floor, all I wanted to say was “the best thing that has ever happened to me is not having him here, so even if I could, I would not do anything to convince him to come back. I don’t need his money. I don’t need anything from him. I’m glad the monster is gone.” But I didn’t say anything to her. I just stood there and promised myself I would never be in her position.
After he left, I was expected to be Superman again. I was expected to find a way for us to continue leading our extravagant lifestyle even without him. I was expected to smile, to be happy, to laugh. I was expected to never complain about my circumstances. I was expected to be able to make everything better. None of my friends even mentioned the abandonment because they simply assumed: “She’s Superman, she can take anything life throws at her.”
Well, you know what: I can’t. I do not have a red cape, I can not fly, and I am not perfect. I am not perfect. I am not perfect. I’m only human and I will never be anything more than that.  

There is a song by “Five for Fighting” called SUPERMAN. The first time I ever heard it, I cried. I felt it was about ME. Even now when I listen to it I get goosebumps and I get very nostalgic. Imagine I’m Superman and I’m singing this song:

I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me

I’m more than a bird, I’m more than a plane
I’m more than some pretty face beside a train
And it’s not easy to be me

I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I’ll never see

It may sound absurd, but don’t be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed, but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me

I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
Men weren’t meant to ride
With clouds between their knees

I’m only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me
I’m only a man
In a funny red sheet
I’m only a man
Looking for a dream

Its not easy to be me.

 

The Unfortunate Life Fiasco February 23, 2006

I was thinking, (don’t be surprised, I often do) that there are so many things I want to do and I never do, so I must make a schedule. This is something I thought of atleast 2 weeks ago, and I still haven’t made a schedule… But, if I did eventually make a schedule, HIGH on the priority list would be to finish my book of short stories AND choose enough poems (I have hundreds) for a book. Also, I’d like to submit some songs that I’ve written to Record Labels.  I’d like to work on my singing (with a teacher), and my French (it’s sort of been stuck in the same phase for years), and I’d like to paint more, and produce a play, and start doing yoga again,  I’d like to learn how to play the guitar (not just the 3 songs I know how to play now), and I’d like to buy a piano so I can practice (I used to be quite good!), I’d like to finish the novel I started writing, and the screenplay, and REALLY learn about photography, and soooooooooo many more things.
The list is so overwhelming that I get easily frustrated and don’t do any of it.
For now I think I am going to TRY to come up with a new short story within the next month. That should be an easy enough goal. (Mmmmmmmm, maybe not, but I’ll try.) Or atleast finish the two that I have sitting there half-finished. So far I have finished two: one is called “The Unfortunate Life Fiasco” and one is called: “A Little, Too Little, Too Late” and I have two  incomplete ones: the working titles are- “Anastasia Alexandrovna” and “Theseus”.  I need 10 in total. Or 13 which is my favorite number. That way it’s actually a BOOK of short stories (and not a pamphlet.)

Ohhh, and another thing I really want to do is start horseback riding again! I used to jump and I was also quite good! This week my mom sent me, from Colombia, my riding boots and gloves as an incentive to see if I’ll start again…

Anyway, all these things are my Everest. (And there are more things I’d like to do, but I won’t bore you with more details about my frustrations…)

That is all for today, still not 100% health-wise, but much better…Hopefully I’ll be better by Sunday since I have a stupid little photoshoot. Oooh la la.  

CD-4 Cells February 21, 2006

I’m sick. I’ve had the flu for almost 5 days now and I thought I would start getting better, but NO. Last night was the worst night so far. I had been avoiding having to take an antibiotic, but last night I cracked and downed my first dose of Zytromax. We keep a small stash of Zytromax at home for emergency situations, like this, and generally I’m the only one that uses them. I have an immune deficiency. It’s nothing serious, but I don’t have the regular immune system that other people have. I have a defficiency of CD-4 cells also known as T-cells. My defficiency isn’t caused by some other disease (as is the case with Aids patients, or people with other serious illnesses who tend to have a very low count of CD-4 cells), I was just born with it. Genetics. It really isn’t a big deal in my regular life. The only time it affects me is when I do get sick because my body doesn’t have enough defenses to combat the illness so it takes me longer to get better. Also, I get sick easier than most people. But other than that, it doesn’t interfere with my life on a daily basis. (Hallelujah! I already have too many things to worry about on a daily basis!)

So I’ve been stuck inside my house for the past few days, going mildly insane, and with way too much time on my hands. Thank goodness for the Winter Olympics or I would have pulled out my hair in boredom…

Mom Update: Mom is doing better. Obviously not 100%, which she will never be again even IF she did get the transplant, but she is having a good week. We have hired a nurse that stays there with her and my grandmother, and after initial resistance she is apparently liking the idea. (Even though she’d NEVER admit it.) The nurse is really nice, and sweet, and rubs her feet, and gives her massages, and helps her with whatever she may need,  and more importantly administers her medication (!!!!!). She’s there to make my mom’s life easier and  MORE importantly to give my grandmother some well deserved peace of mind. The nurse’s presence has not, however, improved my mom’s relationship with my grandmother. Now that she is feeling a little better she is back to being her old self and arguing with Nena (grandma) about EVERYTHING. But, in this twisted life we lead, THAT is a good sign. It was VERY worrisome when she didn’t even have the energy to fight and complain! Life always has a way of being slyly ironic…

(R)EVOLUTION February 16, 2006

I am amidst an inner storm. I am struggling to look for refuge, but I am weak, and it seems so far away. I am seeking the warmth of the sun and the dryness of the shade; yet I need the power of the storm. Without the storm how will I ever fully appreciate the calm?  Without the bitter cold how will I know how wonderful the crisp sun is? If I haven’t cried, can my eyes ever truly be beautiful? If my heart never breaks, will I ever recognize true love?

I am a soldier in my own army. Marching along to conquer life. Conquer my fears. Conquer my insecurites. Conquer the world. But not the geographic world, MY WORLD. The world according to me.  “I am an army of one” and I will take no prisoners and I will not lose this war. This inner war. My war. It may be the longest struggle in recorded history, but I am the ALLIED FORCES, I am Churchill, I will be triumphant. Success is my only option, failure is not.

There is a massive storm inside me, an inner revolution, an  inner evolution. Internal Darwinism.
And like this massive storm with all its fury, I too am able to change the winds that blow inside me.
I am the (R)EVOLUTION.

Sleeping With The Enemy February 13, 2006

I am reading a book called “Delirio”, it’s about this man who goes away on a business trip for a few days and comes home only to realize his wife has gone insane. Desperate to find out what happened to his wife and what led her to this insanity, he begins to find out there is actually very little he knows about the woman he loves and married.
It is very well written and reminds me a little of Joyce in that in can be at times quite “stream of conciousness” in it’s style.
I mention this because I’ve been thinking about the fact, due to recent events in my own life, that we never REALLY know someone. We think we know, we assume we know, but do we actually know them? How many husbands kill their wives and children? How many mothers beat their children? In millions of cases around the world it is literally “Sleeping with the Enemy.” And when you ask the people closest to them they all say: “Impossible. She/He is not that type of person. They could never do something so horrible.” And yet, they did. No one marries someone expecting to be killed by them down the line, but it happens, more often than you can possibly imagine.

Everybody has little secrets, that they don’t tell anyone. (Or in some cases, only a selected few.) Some people are quiet and reserved and don’t talk about anything personal. Others just tell you what they want you to know, the sugar-coated versions, and meanwhile you have no idea that they are in Chapter 11, or going through a divorce, or haven’t seen their mother in 10 years. Humans are mysterious beings. And it is true that there is no need to tell the world our inner most thoughts feelings and life story, but when someone is very close to you, part of your life every day, they do have a right to know what is going on in your life. (I believe that anyway.)

I also feel that if you are in someone’s life, and they do priviledge you by telling you private information, you must treasure it like a jewel. Because giving and receiving trust is a far BIGGER gift than anything you can buy at Cartier. And when you break someone’s trust, it is more painful than a slap in the face. Once trust is broken it is very hard, if not impossible, to reconstruct it. You are hurt. You are disappointed. And most importantly, you have probably lost all interest in ever trusting this person again, so why even try?  So be careful, if someone trusts you, feel fortuante, you are probably among the few.

My trust was broken very recently and all I could think was: “What? I never thought this person could sink so low.”
And I realized, I thought I knew XX, but I don’t. And if XX is capable of this, what else could XX be capable of?? And it really tormented me to think that I had allowed myself to trust and care for someone that obviously does not value my friendship. I can be very blind and naive at times. I sometimes care too much, I sometimes trust too much, I sometimes give too much. And only I end up hurt.

So, remember: how well do you know that person next to you? Probably a lot less than you think. A LOT LESS.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. (If for nothing else, atleast you’ll be the first to hear the vicious things they may say about you.)

My Favorite Threesomes February 10, 2006

I saw something cute on someone else’s blog and I thought I’d try it out. I modified it A LOT.

I like to call it my favorite threesomes. They ARE NOT in any particular order. #1 is NOT the MOST #3 is NOT the least.

Three Cities I’ve lived in:                   
1. Bogota                                           
2. New York City                         
3. Miami                                              

Three Cities I’d like to live in:
1. Los Angeles
2. Mexico City
3. New York City (yes, again.)

Three Jobs I’ve had:                         
1. Actress               
2. Journalist                                       
3. Translator          

Three Jobs I could NEVER have:
1. Politician (They lie and OVER promise and UNDER deliver)
2. Nun (For obvious reasons)
3. Submarine Pilot (I’m highly claustrophobic)

Three People I’d like to meet:    
1. Michael Schumacher                   
2. Lance Armstrong                            
3.StephenSpielberg                                                                                    

Three People I wouldn’t like to meet:
1. Manuel Marulanda alias Tiro Fijo (Leader of the FARC)
2. Osama Bin Laden
3. Fidel Castro

Three Foods I love:                                                 
1. Steak                                                                                  
2. Pizza                                                                                
3. Tacos                                              

Three Desserts I love: 
1. Cheesecake  
2. Crème Brûlée  
3. Arequipe (Colombian Dulce de Leche)

Three Drinks I love:
1. Champagne
2. Diet Sprite
3. Water

Three things a man HAS to have:
1. He must KEEP his word
2. Be Faithful
3. Be Generous (with his time, with his love, with his kisses, with his patience, with EVERYTHING)

Three Favorite Sexual Positions:
1. That
2. Was
3. A Joke  :-)

If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to let me know!
 

The World Is Mine February 5, 2006

The world is mine
and I don’t care about time
or being ‘just fine.’
I want it all.
I want to dance
and sing songs
and scream at the top of my lungs
and walk in the rain
and be a little insane
and laugh
and jump
and soar into the sky
so I can fly high.

The world is mine
so I can do what I please
I can love or I can tease
I control what I do
it’s the only thing that’s true
so I can remember or I can forget
I can relax or I can fret
I can smile or I can cry
or I can lay down and die.

The world is mine
so failure will not come near
so only I can erase my fear
only I chose what’s best
only I will grade my test
I am a part of this joyous strife
that we call life
and I won’t get off this ride
for I have ME by MY side
and that is all I need
to feel at ease.
I know I’m destined to shine
because THE WORLD IS MINE.

Sex and Drugs and Rock n’ Roll February 1, 2006

I had this fantasy today as I was on the tread-mill at the gym (yes, I’m still going to the gym thank you very much), it involved just letting go of every inhibition I have, throwing caution to the wind, and becoming a wild child.  To live the Rock Star life: Sex, Drugs and Rock n’ Roll. Not care about consequences, not care about my future, erase my past, drop this cross I’m forced to carry, and just be a free soul wandering the earth without a set path.  It would be fantastic! The female Jim Morrison. “Hello my name is Morrison. Jane Morrison.” “Why HELLO Ms. Morisson, are you any relation of the late, great, Jim Morrison of The Doors” “Yes, yes I am, he was IS my inspiration.”

I could get drunk whenever I want, get naked wherever I want, get high on whatever I want, fuck whoever I want, and more importantly: not give a damn about ANYTHING.
That would truly be breaking through to the other side…
As I was on that tread-mill, sweating, I thought to myself, why be a good girl? Where has that gotten me? What will I be able to say when the end comes: Oh, I was such a nice, sweet, girl. So caring and good. So patient and pure. Oh yes, but above all, so very smart.
SO UTTERLY UN-COOL if you ask me. THAT’S NOT ME. I’m passionate, I’m fun, I’m slightly crazy (in a good way), I’m funny, I’m one hell of a kisser, I AM WILD.

Despite always belonging to the popular group during middle-school and high school, (we were known as La Mafia),  I always felt like the very popular, very cool-nerd. I was the one that took Advanced Placement classes, I was the one that went to the Math Olympics, the Model United Nations, The Literature Fair, I was in Leadership, in all the school plays, took piano lesson, horseback riding lessons, tennis lessons, even for a short time BULL-FIGHTING lessons. (YES, BULLFIGHTING!) I was the one that read every book that fell into my hands. I adored philosophy, and physics, and foreign affairs. I was insanely passionate about sports and race cars. I was the one that everyone came to for help with school projects, for help with homework, for tutoring for a test. I was the one that everyone wanted to have in their group project assignments because they KNEW that I wouldn’t trust anyone to do anything and would end up doing the entire project myself. I was the one that people cheated off of during tests and that every teacher (with few exceptions) liked.  I was the one that loved to paint and write and sing and dance and I was the one that all the boys in my grade resented because I dated the ‘older guys’.

I never really liked to drink, I never did drugs, and to this day I smoke cigarettes rarely so some people are surprised when they see me with a cigarette in my hand, because they feel like it doesn’t fit my image. (That is, the image of me THEY have created.) So I feel like I have to smoke in hiding even though I only smoke about a pack PER MONTH. (Sometimes LESS, and I smoke these skinny girly menthol cigarettes that are really quite pathetic.) Miss goody-two-shoes.
“Don’t drink, Don’t Smoke, WHAT DO YOU DO?”  That’s it, WHAT DO I DO????

But as I ran on that tread-mill this morning all I could think about was letting down my hair and just being wild. WHO CARES WHAT ANYONE THINKS OR SAYS, I’M YOUNG, LIFE IS SHORT, and we’re all going to die anyway. SO WHY NOT SEIZE THE DAY! “Carpe Diem lads, seize the day, make your lives extraordinary!”
And I thought, I’m done with all convensional wisdom, from now on I ONLY PRAY TO THE GODS OF SEX AND DRUGS AND ROCK N’ ROLL.

(…and then i got off the tread-mill.)