R.I.P Paul Dana March 28, 2006

This past weekend I experienced the highs and lows of life. And I saw how you can go from one to the other in an instant.
All of us have dreams. Some dreams are unrealistic, some are attainable, some fall into our lap, some we have to fight for. Such was the case of Paul Dana, a motorsport journalist who turned his passion into reality and decided to start racing cars. After climbing up the ranks in the lower series, he had finally reached one of the elite forms of racing in the world, the IRL (Indy Racing League). He was beyond excited about the path his career was taking and at the chance he had been given to drive in this series. Friday he took his first laps of practice, Saturday he qualifyed, and Sunday before his first IRL race for the Rahal-Letterman team, when he got on the track for the warm-up, Paul suffered a horrific accident and lost his life. In an instant everything changed. He went from living his dream to dying because of it, in a heartbeat. His wife, who wasn't at the track, was at church praying for her husband to have a safe race, when she got the shattering phone call. Again, in an instant, worlds are turned upside down.

Many say: he died a happy man. Doing what he loves. Others will question the safety of the sport. (In this specific series there have been 3 deaths in the past 10 years. It's up to you to decide whether that is a low or high number.) What is true is that the show must go on, (as well as life), and despite the tragedy, they did race Sunday afternoon. A race that proved to be tough, exciting, and full of surprises…Everything Paul Dana would have wanted his first race in the IRL to be. I personally was very shaken by the accident and by the resiliance of the other drivers in lieu of the tragedy. They have courage of steel but they have warm hearts. And as Dan Wheldon (who actually won the race) said to me:  "If I even thought about the consequences for a moment, I wouldn't be able to get into the car. So I don't. I'm not an idiot, I know it's a dangerous sport. But I simply drive as safely as I can, as fast as I can, and don't let those 'other' thoughts enter my mind."  And let me tell you, this is what 100% of the race cars drivers on the planet think. I compare it to a plane pilot. If she/he thought the plane was going to crash every time they got into it, they wouldn't be able to fly it.

In life we all do this, we KNOW so much, yet we decide to ignore most of it. (And we each have our own personal reasons for that.) We know smoking can cause our own death, but we strategically decide not to think of that, or we wouldn't be able to enjoy that relaxing cigarette. We know that the sun can give us melanoma, but we wouldn't even DARE to think of this as we lie in the sun in Saint Tropez. And like this, there are a  million mundane examples.

It is in our nature, to ignore anything that might hamper our lifestyle in anyway. We know, but we turn a blind eye to anything that isn't convenient in our lives…. Oh the bliss of the blind……..

Mysterious Stranger (Part I) March 22, 2006

(This is something I wrote yesterday during lunch. It’s a short story. I’ve finished it, but will post it in parts.)

I watched him from a table across the room, sitting alone, seemingly lost in thought. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but there was a certain je ne sais quoi that captured my attention and I could not take my eyes off this mysterious stranger. The waitress brought over a glass of wine that he apparently ordered before I caught sight of him. He let the glass sit on the table for atleast a minute, just staring at it, his eyes completely absorbed by the deep burgundy color. Eventually he picked it up and swirled it nonchalantly. Not so much as to bring out the aromas or to appear a wine conoisseur, it was rather a very mechanical movement, like a force of habit. He didn’t even look at the glass as he swirled, his eyes had apparently been distracted by the menu sitting infront of him. I decided to try and guess what he might order…Perhaps the steak au poivre, or the bouillabaisse, or the poulet cordon bleu. But eventually I decided that the mysterious stranger would probably just have something simple,like a goat cheese salad. I saw him talking to the waitress, she was probably naming each of the specialités de la maison and the soup du jour, without knowing that the mysterious stranger was just going to order a salad. I, on the other hand, ordered a steak frites with bernaise sauce on the side.

I wondered if he and I had ever coincided before at this same place, perhaps on some occassion where I was too lost in my read of the moment to have noticed him. I also wondered why in the entire time I had watched him, he hadn’t smiled. Not even when he was talking to the attractive waitress. A bus boy walked by and apparently recognized him (ha! he was a regular!) and stopped by his table and said hello. But even then my mysterious stranger didn’t smile, he simply nodded in acknowledgment. I found it odd but decided that the only plausible explanation was that he had ugly teeth. Simple yet precise. I prefered that explanation than to imagine him as a bitter celibateur who wouldn’t smile if his life depended on it.

As I sat I analyzed every part of him that was visible from my angle of positioning. He had dark hair that I’m guessing had not been combed  prior to leaving his home (or wherever he was before coming here). His eyes were small and almond shaped and from the distance I was sitting, I couldn’t distinguish the color. He had a fair complexion, as if he hadn’t been in the sun for quite some time. His ears were a bit too big for his face and he hadn’t shaved in atleast two days. But what really absorbed me were his lips. He had fantastic lips. They were a dark flesh tone, and his upper lip curved perfectly all the way until the end where it met his lower lip. His lower lip was not particularly plump toward the ends, but in the middle it plumped-up like a glorious piece of candy. The kind of lip I just had to bite gently if ever I were to kiss him. I was staring at his lips so intently that I didn’t realize my own waiter asking if I wanted another diet coke.

(To Be Continued.)

Dynamite March 21, 2006

I feel the dynamite
ignite
inside me.
I feel the wick burn slowly,
announcing the imminent
explosion.

The Attack Of Chemotherapy March 16, 2006

My aunt’s hair started falling out 3 days ago. She went to bed with all her hair and woke up with a pillow that looked rather like a rug. It had been over 2 weeks since the first chemo and we were hoping that since her hair hadn’t fallen out by now, that she would be lucky and it wouldn’t. The chemo lulled her into a false sense of security, and then, like a sniper, attacked silently during the night. I’ve been amazed at how fast it goes once it starts falling out. They are everywhere. Her clothing is tattooed in hair, so are the floors. This morning she had to throw out her cereal because as she ate so much hair fell into it that she couldn’t continue eating it. It’s so sad. She has a big bald spot in the front of her head that makes her look so different and so sick and I just keep wishing that it was me and not her who was going through this ordeal.

Yesterday when she got home (she had gone to look at wigs) I could tell she had been crying. I asked her, and she simply ignored the question. She feels she has to be brave for all of us. She feels she can’t be sad or depressed or pessimistic because it is her job to keep us all calm. I know she does it particularly for me. She knows that it’s been very hard to have her AND my mother both seriously ill at the same time. She knows that I have nightmares about both of them dying. She knows that for me she is my OTHER mother and that if it weren’t for her I’d be lost in life…So, for my sake, she pretends that she’s fine with what’s happening to her and that c’est la vie… but I know she must be drowning in sorrow on the inside. I wish I could make her externalize her feelings. I wish she’d tell me she’s scared. I wish she didn’t think she has to be the family hero. I wish she’d just let herself be human for a while. I also wish I could tell her all this, but I can’t. I just sit by the sidelines and watch her internalize everything and drown inside this inner pool she has created.

I haven’t seen her today but I know that she went to the hair salon to get her hair cut very very short so that the shock of being completely bald isn’t so terrible. She says she looks like a little boy. Except that she is already mostly bald. I will have to dissimulate my shock and tell her that it’s the best thing she could have done and that once she starts wearing a wig everything will be better.

But will it? A wig doesn’t mean her cancer is gone. A wig doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to go to chemotherapy again TOMORROW. And then again in 3 weeks, and then again and again and again…. A wig won’t change anything. She will still be bald, she will still have cancer. A wig will change nothing…

Barefoot In My Dreams March 13, 2006

I have a recurring dream that appears consistently in my very busy dream life. The entire dream is never the same, only one particular situation: I have left the house and have forgotten to put on my shoes. So in my dream, as I’m walking around, I suddenly realize that I’m barefoot and I think: “I’m such an idiot, I forgot to put on my shoes AGAIN.” And most of the time the dream continues,  but throughout it I’m always barefoot and always upset with myself for ONCE AGAIN forgetting to put on my shoes. Two nights ago I had a variation on the dream. I was walking down a street (a street I don’t know) with a male companion and we were headed toward a CVS Pharmacy, when all of a sudden I realize I have once again left the house with no shoes. The pavement is starting to hurt my feet so I say to my friend that I’ll meet him in a little while because I am going back home to put on shoes. I actually run all the way home (to an apartment and a building that I have never seen before) and as I exit back outside and start walking, I realize that I have only put on socks and have ONCE AGAIN forgotten to put on my shoes. This makes me even more upset because they only reason I went home was to PUT ON SHOES. Then the dream continues and I’m in my socks…

The socks variation is new, but the other part, realizing I have left the house with no shoes and getting upset at myself (in the dream) for doing it AGAIN, I dream about A LOT. In the last 5 years I’ve probably dreamt it about 30 times.

I once asked a psychiatrist about this dream. His explanation was:
“Our feet are like a tree’s roots. Maybe you feel like you have no roots. Maybe you are afraid to set roots somewhere because you think there is something better for you somewhere else. Your feet are also what give you stability, they hold you up (just as a tree’s roots), maybe you think you don’t have stability in your life. Also, in the dream you always get upset at yourself for forgetting  ‘again’, maybe that means that in your real life you are upset about committing the same mistake over and over again. Maybe your naked feet signify a longing to go back to the basics.”

I don’t remember what else he said. But I have to admit his interpretation made sense.

I do feel I lack roots. I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. I am Colombian and I LOVE LOVE LOVE my country, but I don’t think I could live there again, I feel like I don’t belong there anymore; I ADORE New York City and I had the most amazing 7 years of my life there, but for now, that stage of my life has closed and I don’t belong there right now either; I’m in Miami now, but I DEFINITELY don’t belong here. So perhaps, I do feel like I lack roots.  He also said that I might feel like I lack stability- this is also somewhat true. There is SOME stability in my life. But, for instance, I do lack some sentimental stability. When he mentioned the part about me being upset at myself for making the same mistake over and over it was VERY easy for me to realize what mistake this is: I pick the wrong men. That is really the ONLY mistake that I repeat in my life and it is one that I really wish I could change. (And I am working on it!) And the last thing I remeber him saying was about longing to go back to the basics: this is also true. I wish sometimes that everything in my life was simpler and that I could just do whatever I want to do… but something inside me holds me back.

My theory about the dream has become the same as this psychiatrist’s, because I have no new ideas about it. And I will obviously never truly know what it means or why it continues to torment me in my dreams. Maybe it means nothing….who knows….
All I know is that more likely than not, I shall be once again, barefoot in my dreams…

ONE (LOVE) March 8, 2006

Is it getting better, or do you feel the same? Will it make it easier on you, now you’ve got someone to blame.
You say: ”One love, One life.” When it’s one need, in the night.
It’s one love, we get to share it. It leaves you baby if you don’t care for it.

Did I disappoint you? Or leave a bad taste in your mouth? You act like you never had love and you want me to go without.

Well it’s too late tonight, to drag the past out into the light.
We’re one, but we’re not the same. We get to carry each other, carry each other…One.

Have you come here for forgiveness? Have you come to raise the dead? Have you come here to play Jesus to the lepers in your head?
Did I ask too much? More than a lot? You gave me nothing, now it’s all I’ve got.
We’re one, but we’re not the same. We hurt each other, then we do it again.

You say: “Love is a temple, love a higher law.”
You ask me to enter, but then you make me crawl, and I can’t be holding on to what you’ve got, when all you’ve got is hurt.

One love, One blood, One life, You’ve got to do what you should.
One life with each other…Sisters, Brothers…

One life, but we’re not the same, we get to carry each other, carry each other…One.

U2

I Feel So Lonely, I Could Cry March 6, 2006

I sat on the floor of my bathroom last night and cried. The door was locked.  I couldn’t be too loud, I didn’t want anyone to hear. I don’t know why I cried. For everything, I suppose. I didn’t turn on the light. I was crying in that bathroom in the absolute dark, for absolutely no specific reason…

I hadn’t cried in a long time. I don’t have time to cry. I’m almost never alone. And even yesterday, as I sat on that cold floor, trying to empty the tears from my heart, I knew that I had to be brief, that at any moment someone could hear me…And how would I explain my pain? How could I say that I had no idea why I was crying so passionately?

As I cried, locked in my bathroom like an adolescent who is up to no good, I missed New York so much. I missed my beautiful apartment with it’s amazing hard wood floors. I missed feeling the crisp cold on my face as I went to buy coffee on certain mornings. I missed being able to cry whenever and wherever I wanted, without having to lock myself in a bathroom and be forced to cry silent tears.

I am constantly surrounded by people, and yet I feel lonely… I feel like my body is physically here, but my mind and soul are roaming the Earth searching for a magic potion that will cure my sadness and end this loneliness that has taken over my heart… I am in search of something…I’m in a desperate search…I just simply don’t know what it is I’m looking for…I pray that whatever it is that I can’t seem to find, will actually find me instead…

Fantasy VS. Reality March 4, 2006

A fantasy is an imagined situation which does not correspond with reality but expresses certain desires or aims of its creator. Fantasies typically involve situations which are impossible or highly unlikely. A fantasy can be created by one person (or two) or a large group of people (like those who believe world peace is a real possibility).

Reality is everything that is not imagined. Everything that is real and is not merely an idea. Reality is everything that exists and is a fact.  

Having defined these two terms to  my best knowledge and understanding, I am able to proceed…

Many of us, I include my humble self in this illustrious group, live in a somewhat dilluded fantasy world. Not entirely fantastic, not entirely realistic, simply a happy-medium place that we have discovered and where we feel safe. In my soul searching I have insisted to myself that I must leave this zone of existence and concentrate fully on Reality. Because, as I have learned through the constant brawls I have with life, Fantasies merely tend to disappoint me. So if I make the effort to live in this unknown land baptised by many as “REALITY” I will, essentially, never be disappointed. (Of course, this is not something I truly believe. There is disappointment in all realms of life. It abounds in this mediocre world of ours.) Yet, despite this obvious glitch in my plan, I have, for the past few months, lived my life completely in this REAL WORLD that I am so fearful of. My day-to-day life is quite simple: I don’t expect anything from anyone and by having no expecations I am somehow preserving myself. (From what? I don’t know. But it has been working very well for me.) 

In recent days I have found myself, slowly at first, and then more rapidly, drifting back toward my behavior of old. To that familiar terrain that I feel so passionate about, to that fantasy land where I am a princess, I am beautiful, I will be eternally young, where my problems all disappear and where I am everything I ever envisioned myself to be. I felt myself slip and I felt weak. Old habits die oh so hard. And I felt the seductive pull of fantasy and I felt my heart race and I felt how delicious life can be.
And when I tried to race away from this land, glorious land, I was questioned: “Why?”
And my only answer to this ‘why?’, and the only answer that exists to this ‘why?’, is: Because the reality of life, never lives up to the fantasy. The fantasy is always better. Reality, as they say, bites. And I was questioned yet again: “Perhaps it is not always that way.”  But sadly, it has been my experience, that yes, it is always that way. Fantasy will beat Reality any time, any place. To put it in mundane terms: ’Fantasy’ is Mohammad Ali and/ or Napoleon (discounting, of course, Waterloo) and ‘Reality’ is every single one of their pathetic (disillusioned) opponents. In Ali’s famous words “Float like a butterfly, Sting like a bee” a simple metaphor can be found for this Fantasy Vs. Reality argument- Fantasy makes you float like a butterfly, but inevitably Reality will sting you like a bee.
Perhaps there are some that will disagree, but in my life, this is the only truth I know. I was forced out of the clouds some time ago, and after a terrible fall, I learned my lesson well. (If we do not learn from our own mistakes, then we have no right to complain if we are once again scorn by life.)

I see I am going nowhere with this debate and I myself have grown tired of it already…
So I will conclude: 

Fantasy is a far-off magical land where my heart flies free as a bird and devours life with every beat.
Reality is a little ugly town, on the outskirts of my mind, where facts, over-analysis and conscience swarm the air.

March Is Here! March 2, 2006

Little children wait all year. They wait for Christmas, they wait for their birthdays, they wait for the first day of school, they wait for the last day of school, they wait to grow up so they can do other things. They wait wait wait.
In this respect, I too am like a child. I wait every year for March. The happiest month of my year. The month where my anticipation is finally fulfilled, where my Sundays are finally complete, and where my adrenaline begins to flow through my veins like gasoline through an engine. WHY? Because it is the beginning of RACING SEASON! The happiest time of the year! Formula 1, ChampCar & IndyCar- the 3 things that make my life a happier place. And, Formula 1 has the unique quality of being the ONLY thing in life that will make me wake up at 5am! (In fact, if I go out on Saturday night, I will simply not sleep. I will go straight from the party to my tv. And the tired feeling simply disappears the moment I hear those engines fire.) With Indy Car and Champ Car it’s easier because the races are at ‘normal’ hours. Except for the few exceptions when they race in Japan, Australia, or Europe- other than that, they are at civilized times.

During Racing Season I qualify my Sundays the following way:
Good Sunday: 1 race
Great Sunday: 2 races
SUPER SUNDAY: 3 races (These magical days when I have all 3 series that I love, racing on the SAME day, is heaven for me!)

It’s almost time! F1 starts on March 12th  with the Grand Prix of Bahrain, Indy Car starts on March 26th with the Grand Prix of Miami (Yes, I am of course going, with my press credentials I can practically SIT inside the cars if I like!!) & lastly Champ Car begins April 9th with the Grand Prix of Long Beach (another race that I am going to! It is a great great race, so close to L.A. so the ambiance is fantastic!) The excitement is already starting to make my head spin, I am literally counting the days. This is Lali’s Christmas and Birthday and New Year’s Eve all wrapped into one…but BETTER.
It is hard to explain this passion of mine. I truly believe motor oil, and not blood, runs through my veins. Racing is the love of my life. A passion beyond passions. When I am at a race track I finally feel at home. I am among others like myself and I don’t usually feel that in my regular life. In my life I feel different. At the track I am one of the boys, and I love it. All the girls run after the drivers, I don’t. Many of the drivers are actually my real life friends, so I don’t have to stalk them like a desperate vulture, I can see them whenever I like, so I prefer to spend my time with the engineers learning more about the cars.

What I really want to say is that after a long winter (literally and metaphorically) March is HERE! And that, my dear friends, is PRICELESS!