Paradise for the holidays December 19, 2007

I’m off to paradise for three weeks with my love…. I’m such a lucky chick.

Happy Holidays!

I hope 2008 is a rockin’ year for all of you.

;o)

broken October 7, 2007

Where is your love when I need it the most?
Where are your promises when all trust is lost?
Where are you tonight
When nothing seems right
and I don’t know how to go on…

It’s not easy to be me. May 30, 2007

It seems that I’ve positioned myself in my world, and in the world of those around me, as some sort of super hero. I’ve done this since I was a young girl. I help solve other people’s problems. I am everyone’s shoulder to cry on. I love unconditionally. I give unconditionally. I care. I’m always happy. Always smiling. Always positive. I’m never truly ill. Never truly hurt. Always well dressed. Well groomed. Well spoken. I’m the girl who’s always pleasant, charming, charismatic. People view me as smart, talented, unique. Men are attracted to me. Women are a bit envious. Without drugs or alcohol, I still seem to be the life of the party. I make others laugh, I love surprising those I love with gifts and grand gestures. I always try to make other people feel good about themselves and proud of what they do.

But I can’t help but ask myself: What about me? I don’t do anything in life expecting something in return, but this rhetorical question has been surfacing more and more in recent months. Who’s shoulder can I cry on? Who loves me unconditionally? Who has surprise grand gestures with me? Is there anyone around me who is constantly trying to make me feel good about myself? Who tells me how proud they are of me? Who always has a smile on their face when they see me? Who would drop everything if I needed them?  The answer is quite simple (and sad): No one. 

I can’t always be the super hero. It’s too much work. I’m really just a girl. And in any case, even heroes have the right to bleed…

I’m mad as hell April 19, 2007

I’m mad as hell that some post-adolescent psychopath named Cho Seung-Hui killed 32 people. I wish the police would have shot him, so he could have bled slowly to death, like the animal that he was. But, in the end, like most psychotic monsters, he was a coward and  took his own life. Imagine what his parents are feeling? Imagine turning on the TV and realizing that your son is the most hated monster in America. A boy who you created, who came out of you, who you nurtured and fed and clothed. A boy for whom you slaved the hours away at a Laundry, so he could attend an expensive, high profile University. And one day, this boy turns into a man who turns into a mass murderer… and somehow you’ve become Satan’s parents, when a couple of days ago all you were was a hard-working immigrant couple from South Korea… like so many others in this country.

This guy was an egotistic, self-serving, delusional sociopath who in his twisted mind thought he was some kind of  a martyr! I haven’t been able to sleep for two days thinking about this tragedy. I just don’t seem to understand how this is possible. How can someone be so inherently EVIL? FOR NO REASON. I can’t seem to get over the fear that this could happen anywhere at anytime. Myself or someone I love could be a victim of some random nut-case who is able to buy a gun in this United States of Arm-erica, where it’s easier to buy a gun than to buy allergy medication! To buy my allergy medicine I need to first go to my doctor, have blood tests done, have those tests analyzed by my doctor, he then needs to decide whether I need medication or not. After he deems it necessary he has to decide WHICH medication is best suited for me. After that he needs to write me a prescription on a special piece of paper which he must sign. Without this, no pharmacy will sell me the medicine that I NEED to live a normal, healthy life. Even though I could become VERY ILL without my medicine, I still need “permission” from my doctor, in the form of a script, or I will not be able to purchase my medicine. But it turns out, that if I want to buy A GUN,  a weapon that KILLS people, all I need to do is show up at a gun shop with my driver’s license. That’s it. EXPLAIN THAT TO ME!!!!!!!!! SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN THAT MORONIC CONCEPT TO ME!!!!!!!!! The right to bear arms MY ASS! No matter what these idiotic Gun Loving Republicans say, it is NOT LOGICAL that we live in a country where it’s easier to buy a gun than to buy medicine. Maybe if this man would have been able to buy some anti-depressant or anti-psychotic medication he would have been in a much better place emotionally and wouldn’t have killed 32 people, but since it’s impossible to buy medicine without going through this lengthy process (even more so for mental illness medication) but it’s VERY EASY to buy weapons,  Mr. Cho went the easy route and bought two guns and committed the worst mass murder in the history of this nation.

And still some ignorant fools have the gaul to say that there isn’t a gun problem in this country! It’s worse than a problem, it’s a plague! And no matter what the red necks, the Christian Right, those in the Middle States, and all the howdy-doody Republicans say: Guns kill people. A psycho who wants to kill 32 people will NOT be able to do so by throwing tomatoes at them. Now, get down from your confederate cloud and THINK. Maybe if one of the dead kids were YOUR KID, you’d feel different about how easy it is to buy a gun in this country.WAKE UP AND SMELL THE AMMO YOU BLIND, IGNORANT FOOLS!

Sorry for the possibly incoherent ramblings….I’m mad as hell. Can you tell?

Just the way I am March 6, 2007

I am who I am.
I aspire to be neither more nor less.
I don’t wish to be the most beautiful girl on Earth, nor the skinniest, nor the blondest, nor the most brunette. I don’t want to have the biggest breasts, the smallest behind, the longest legs. I don’t wish I looked like a swimsuit model. I don’t want to sing like Celine or dance like Madonna. I don’t wish I was smarter, I don’t wish I was funnier, I don’t wish I was less sensitive.  I’m not as concerned with looking good on the outside as I am with feeling great on the inside. I rather have strength of heart than be physically strong.
I am who I am. And that should be good enough for those who love me.

I’m not the best in the world at anything, and that’s ok. I don’t have to be.
I like my artistic sense. I like what I have to say. I like that I’m passionate. I like the woman I’ve become. I like how caring, dedicated and loyal I am to the person I love.
And whoever loves me, should love me just the way I am.
Just the way I am.

The Cardinal Sin of Relationships January 30, 2007

Xx, 

I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t thought about you. I remember those enormous sunglasses you were wearing the first time I saw you; you thought you looked so sophisticated and I couldn’t help but fall in love with you and your naivety. And I fell instantly. I was enthralled by your goodness. And from the moment I started loving you, I couldn’t imagine a life without you in it. I know sometimes you doubted, you were unsure of my love, but I want you to know now that it was always real. I can say it now because I have nothing to gain: I always loved you. And for what it’s worth (probably nothing to you): I still love you.

I realize now how hard-headed I was. I realize now that I made so many mistakes with you. I also realize it was my own fault that your love for me ended. I drained it. I remember you use to say: “love is like a plant, you have to water it every day”. And I didn’t. And I know that now. I pushed you away so many times. I took you for granted. You were right to leave me. I just wish you had given me a second chance. I did beg. I did promise you I would be a better man. Why didn’t you take me back? Did I really destroy all the love you had for me? Was there not even an ounce left for us to try to rebuild our life together? Or was it pride?  

I hated you for not giving ”us” another try. I hated that you were so cold. Isn’t that ironic? I managed to tarnish our relationship and drain your love for me by being cold myself, and in the end I was cursing you for treating me exactly how I treated you. One of my life’s many ironies.

I don’t know why I decided today of all days to write you. I don’t know why today I miss you more than ever. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to love anyone since you’ve been gone. Today, I feel like I have to try one more time to get you back. Please Xx, come back. It’s never too late to be happy. Let’s try to be happy together. Lets live out all those dreams we had. Please come back. Please come back. I’m tired of crying, I’m tired of being sad, I’m tired of missing you. I’m tire of being half the man I know I can be.

Please, after all this time, forgive this foolish man and come back to me.

Yours Always, 

Xy.

I don’t want to be them January 26, 2007

I saw my father kiss another woman when I was six years old. An inappropriate, passionate kiss. He knew my younger sister and I were only a few feet away and still he decided to risk destroying his family, his image in our eyes and traumatizing his little girls, for a sloppy kiss on a boat. I didn’t let my little sister see him. I was just a little girl, just a sweet, innocent little girl but I knew, I knew what he was doing was wrong and I didn’t want her to feel what I was feeling as my father’s image was shattered beyond repair. I still remember that feeling, I still remember worrying for weeks if I had done the right thing by not telling my mother. I was so afraid. I was so afraid she would not believe me and then hate me forever. I was so afraid if she did believe me, she would hate me anyway for giving her such terrible news. I realized years later that my father’s infidelity was probably no secret to my mother. He had a particular penchant for his secretaries and my mother suffered in silence. I cried at night wishing he would just disappear from our lives. He was aggressive toward my mother, he hit me, he kept his money from us, he was a liar, a cheater and a sorry excuse for a human being. And one day, my wish came true, he was gone. And it nearly killed my mother. She was devastated beyond repair. He left us without a dollar to our name, left my mother on the street and started her on a horrible path toward illness, chronic depression and near death.

I never want to be my father. I never want to hurt someone who loves me. I never want to cheat. I never want to destroy something so precious in life as love, family and a child’s innocence. I never want to be my mother. I never want to feel the devastation of infidelity. I never want to worry, wondering whether my husband will be coming home at night. I never want to be taken for a fool.  

It was a sad day when I realized that I didn’t want to grow up to be like either of my parents. I will not make their same mistakes. I will not follow in their footsteps. I will live my life my way. I will never be taken for granted. I will never wallow in self pity. I will never hurt the man who loves me.
I will not repeat their mistakes, I will learn from them.

Re:solutions…A cynic’s guide to New Year’s resolutions. January 11, 2007

As we can not find solutions to our problems, we resolve to make resolutions. Promises made on a drunk December eve that barely make it through the first month of the year. (If even the first week.)
The most popular?

To lose weight.
To quit smoking.
To be a better person.
To spend more time with family.
To get out of debt.
Etc. etc. etc.

People promise these things to themselves year after year, and year after year they fail. And yet they feel obliged to begin the first day of every year, full of half-hearted enthusiasm and lack luster will.

Is it really possible to get out of debt in one year? Probably not. The average US household has $9,000 in credit card debt alone, add a mortgage to that and you are insane if you think you can get out of debt in one year. Especially since most of us are underpaid.

If you need to lose weight then you are probably over weight, which means you are not a big fan of the gym and ARE a big fan of McDonalds; so your chances of really losing any significant amount of weight during this year are slim. (jejeje.) 

Quit smoking? Why? Smoking is cool. We all have to die of something, right? So you might as well just die a slow, painful death from Emphysema, gasping until your last breath.

Now, let’s see, “Spending more time with your family,” I imagine that if you don’t spend time with them now it’s because you probably don’t like them too much and therefore prefer to spend every single moment you can at your office. So let’s be honest, that resolution is really a throw away. Who needs family when you’ve got Excel spreadsheets!

And lastly: Be a better person. HA! The lazy-man’s resolution. You really can’t think of anything else you’re willing to commit to do, so you decide to just announce to the world that you will be a better person. Again, if you need to resolve to be a better person it’s because you are a bad person. And if you’re a bad person then you’re probably lying about wanting to be a better person. BUSTED!

Don’t make resolutions. Find SOLUTIONS. Fix what you can, learn to live with what you can’t.

Dawning of a brand new day January 5, 2007

A new year dawned on me a top the crater of a 10,000 foot volcano in paradise. The bitter cold and harsh wind only added to the epic experience of being completely surrounded, as far as the eye could see,  by altostratus clouds. Before the spherical sun danced on to the stage of a new year, it made its presence known by invading the horizon with a deeply vibrant array of colors.  After making the crowd wait for hours, once it was ready, the king of the sky thrust into morning and announced the arrival of a brand new day.

Location: The crater of Haleakala volcano. Maui, Hawaii
Date: Sunrise, January 1, 2007

  

The colors of my world December 9, 2006

Sometimes I feel gray…a complete lack of feeling.
Sometimes I feel blue…a need to start healing.
Sometimes I feel red…passionate and alive.
Sometimes I feel yellow…full of energy and drive.
Sometimes I feel white…like I’ve found my way home.
Sometimes I feel black…empty and alone.

Lack of Inspiration November 17, 2006

I don’t think I’ve ever had writer’s block, but all of a sudden I’m suffering from a complete and total lack of inspiration. I can’t seem to stream two words together. It’s quite frustrating.
I also haven’t taken any photos in almost three weeks.  My eyes see nothing worth photographing.

I’m artistically blocked.
It’s quite sad.

simple lust October 17, 2006

“Looking at her over my whisky I thought how odd it was that I felt no desire for her at all. It was as if quite suddenly, after all the promiscuous years, I had grown up. My passion for Sarah had killed simple lust for ever. Never again would I be able to enjoy a woman without love.”
 
The End of the Affair – Graham Greene

I believe that when you fall in true, deep love and you physically and emotionally desire the person you love, you reach a new level of passion, a heightened state of intimacy, and it becomes almost impossible to ever be fully satisfied by simple, mundane, un-intimate sex.

Loneliness October 2, 2006

He came home that night to his dull, middle class apartment; located in his dull bourgeois neighborhood; with a very dull brunette he had met at a rather dull party.

He felt so little importance toward the situation, that he was not embarrassed in the slightest that his apartment was messy, that his kitchen was dirty, or that his bed wasn’t made. He would never see this woman again after tonight, so there was no need for romantic frivolities.He undressed her quickly, mechanically, not really enjoying the process, but rather in a rush to get it done; like a task one must complete in order to move on to the following one.He didn’t bother to undress himself; he simply pushed her onto the bed and unbuttoned his pants. It was five minutes of dull mechanical sex, and it was over. His physiological need met, he had no other interest in this woman. Now came the real problem: how to get her out of his apartment? He had no intention of sharing his bed with this stranger. (The mere idea of having to make awkward conversation with her in the morning seemed a torture far worse than any he could fathom.)He gathered her clothes from the floor and placed them next to her on the bed. He told her he remembered he had to leave very early in the morning to a business meeting and that he needed to get his sleep. She was so drunk and disconnected that she simply nodded and said she understood. She got dressed slowly, which annoyed him to death, yet despite his disinterest, once she was ready, he walked her downstairs, hailed her a taxi and gave the driver some money to take her home.

He watched the cab drive off and felt nothing. He turned toward his building and walked back inside. He was relieved he’d managed to get rid of her, some nights it wasn’t this easy. Some girls were more complicated, more easily offended and less drunk.

He climbed up the stairs to the 4^th floor and reached his apartment door. As he opened it,  he felt a wave of emotion. He walked into his bedroom, sat in his chair by the window, looked out at the streetlights, and began crying. He hadn’t cried in years and once he began, it was hours before he was able to stop. Sadness, anger, frustration.

Loneliness… such deep deep loneliness.

A Life Less Ordinary September 15, 2006

I often wonder why the world is like it is. Why we harbor so much evil, why we live among such hate, why we use our free will to cage our souls… It’s easy to see why so many have lost hope, why so many have stopped fighting, why it seems so much easier to give up and let ourselves go with the flow of permanent insatisfaction.

I was on the verge of giving up the fight. I thought I was jaded beyond repair. I had no energy left to navigate the rough sea that life always placed in front of me.

And then there was light. Happiness stormed into my life and took over my being. And I realized that our lives can change in an instant. Our journey here can be re-routed from one moment to the next. The story of our lives isn’t written for us, we write our own story as we go. And that is the beauty of this life we have been given, it is ours to do with it what we please.

So if you don’t give up, if you keep your heart open, if you are ready to seize the day, then those life changing opportunities won’t pass you by. You will grab them. You will take them and run and never look back. And you will always be grateful, because you know how sad you were, how lonely, how close to the verge you came; but that ounce of desire in your heart that refused to dissipate, that refused to let go, allowed you to see the light shining down.

I have been to the end of the world, I have been at the bottom of the sorrow-filled pit, I’ve been to hell and back… And I have come out stronger, braver, a better woman and a better human being. And I still live in a world full of hatred, full of anger, full of intolerance and envy and greed. I can’t change that. I am one in 7 billion. But I can change the winds that blow inside me. I choose to live. I choose to be happy. I choose to share my journey with the man I love. I choose to lead my life my way because I couldn’t live any other way… I am, after all, nothing more than a reflection of the choices I make. And I choose to live a life less ordinary…

“Carpe Diem, lads! Seize the day! Make your lives Extraordinary!”

It’s been a while September 7, 2006

It’s been a while since I felt the sweet taste of desire tickle my tongue and invade my mouth.
It’s been a while since one look, one momentary glance, could stop my heart for a moment, only to make it start pounding with fury an instant later.
It’s been a while since a smile could melt every icey pore in my body.
It’s been a while since the touch of my skin sent me rocketing to pleasures which words could only fail to describe.
It’s been a while since I felt so whole, so complete, so utterly me.
It’s been a while, but now you’re here, and the wait is finally over.

…And August 16, 2006

…And I muster up my strength, so I can talk to you as I know best, without holding back, with my heart in my hand.
…And I’ve decided to do everything I’ve never done before, to open all doors, to have no regrets.
…And I hope you’ve started hearing that quiet voice that screams at you, in a silent attempt to make you understand: you make me feel so good that the whole world tends to disappear…
                                                                                      …to disappear… 
                                                                                                            …along with my fear…

Slaughter House 5 August 11, 2006

It is astonishing how disgusting some people can be. I can not yet understand how a person, conceived in an act of love, can grow up to be a hate-filled, evil demon. I do not believe in hell, yet sometimes I wish there was a hell, so that these terrorist pigs could pay for what they do. (And I’ll add, a hell like Dante’s Inferno, NOT like Sartre’s, even that hideous hell portrayed in “No Exit” is far too good for these bottom feeders.)
But alas, I do not truly believe in hell, I believe in Karma, I believe that what you do in this life, you pay in this life. But my theory is hurt severely by suicide bombers because they die before ever having to pay for their sins.These despicable men commit mass murder for no other reason than the fact that they are rage-filled, irrational maniacs, and yet they suffer no consequences for their acts. It’s baffling.  When I think of this, I try to find solace in the hope that perhaps their is another life after death (not in heaven, but rather on this same Earth) and that they will reincarnate in the form of the pigs that they are and be slaughtered for bacon as they deserve. And if there is no hell, and no reincarnation, and these men genuinely are never made to pay for their sins, then I must tell you that there is something very wrong with this world of ours. 

Cynicism August 5, 2006

Cynical:  1. Skeptical of the motives of others.
               2. Negative or pessimistic
               3. Expressing jaded or scornful skepticism or negativity.

Cynic:     (Modern definition) A person who belives all people are motivated by selfishness.

In ancient Greek times, a Cynic was a member of a sect of Philosophers who believed virtue to be the only good and self-control to be the only means of achieving said virtue. The meaning of the word and its association with a somewhat negative concept came from a belief that in their pursuit of virute, cynics pointed out the flaws in others. This idea of ‘fault finding’ could easily lead to the belief held by cynics of today that selfishness determines human behavior. (In other words, that everyone is out for themselves.)

I have become somewhat of a cynic. (My own personalized version.) I am skeptical of the motives of others, I can be pessimistic, I am jaded. But this cynicism is not in my DNA. It is a feeling that has sprouted inside me due to the circumstances life has thrown my way. It is a feeling I dislike, a feeling I am trying to eliminate from my life. I want to believe that life is not out to get me. I want to believe that there ARE people out there who really do care. I want to be able to take people at their word and not be disappointed.

It’s a process:
Melting this frozen heart.
Breaking down this armor I’ve put up around myself.
Tearing down these walls.
It is a process I have decided to embark on and I can see the pale glimmer of a lighthouse in the distance.

I will not be cynical. (But I will not be naive.) I will be open but alert. And perhaps I will find a way to unjade this troubled heart and believe in magic once more.

Heart of Darkness August 1, 2006

You’ve been dancing in my mind
     As if you’re trying to find
          A way to invade every part of me,
               Every single space that is still free,
                    Every centimeter of my skin
                        Who I am and where I’ve been.
Can you find your way in the dark?
     Can you possibly erase the mark
          left by those who came before
               those who began this terrible war
                    inside my cold cold heart…

Today I am brave July 24, 2006

I am, after all, only human.
If you cut me, I bleed. If you hit me, I bruise. If you hurt me, I cry.
And I have bled. And I have bruised. And I have cried a river over you.
But today I start a new life.
Healed.
Finally ready to believe in magic once more.
Finally ready to let myself hope.
I have weathered the storm. I have been at the edge. And I have come back re-born.
Today I am conscious of my power within.
Today I have love to give.
Today I will fight for what I want, what I believe in; no matter the price, no matter the struggle.
There is no such place as faraway.
Today I have vision.
Today I am brave.
TODAY I AM BRAVE.

Rendez-vous July 15, 2006

It was on a gray, rainy day like this that I had seen him last. It was the end of December and the beginning of winter and I finally had the courage to leave.  And now, in the middle of summer, on another gray, rainy day I found myself accepting his invitation to dinner. We hadn’t seen each other since that sad December day and I was overwhelmed with anticipation and nerves.  I made him wait half an hour and didn’t apologize for my tardiness. I had given him almost two years of my life, he could give me thirty minutes. He smiled when he saw me, stood up from his chair and kissed my cheek. His moist lips burned my skin. For a moment I left on a quick voyage into the past, a past filled with moist kisses and moist bodies and endless nights. I sat down and our eyes locked for a moment in a pleasantly uncomfortable silence. There was nothing about him I didn’t know, there wasn’t an inch of me he hadn’t explored, and yet we sat there like two distant acquaintances trying to think of something to say. My right hand was lying on the table, and sensing my nerves, he reached out and placed his own hand on top of mine; his touch instantly sent a vibration throughout my entire body. At that moment I couldn’t remember a single miserable thing about our 700 days together, I couldn’t remember why I had left, all I could think about was how no one could ever make me feel the way he did, just by touching my hand.  I wasn’t over him, I wasn’t over that touch, those eyes, that voice. For the past few months I was simply fooling myself, drowning myself in work and meaningless frivolities, all in an attempt to eliminate him from my life. It had all been in vain. For now, sitting across from him, I still loved him. Despite the tears, the pain, the ups, the downs, despite my intense effort to forget him, I knew, with that kiss on the cheek, with that touch of my hand, with that look in his eyes, that I still loved him. And there was nothing I could do about it…

Zizou, What did you do? July 9, 2006

I’m at a loss for words. I find it impossible to comprehend that Zidane would take such an unnecessary risk during the last match of his career (at the WORLD CUP final!) He must know that every single camera is on him, that all eyes are on him, that he’s a marked man… There were only ten minutes left when Zidane unexpectedly turned around and butted Materazzi in the chest with his head. Surely the Italian must have insulted Zizou, but Zinedine should have had the maturity and the composure to ignore all such insults and deal with them OFF THE FIELD. 

It was nice to see French coach Raymond Domenech applaud Zidane as he left the field and to see his teammates decline to take the captain’s armband from him as he left the stadium. (In the end Barthez was made to wear it as it is a FIFA regulation.)

The image of Zidane, arguably the greatest player of his generation, walking out of that stadium with his head bowed down after being thrown out of the last match of his career, (with the gold world cup in the foreground), is perhaps one of the most disappointing moments in sports.

I’m still in shock. I need a few days to process this. And I really need to find out what Materazzi said to him, I need to know what offended Zidane so much as to do something of this nature, on such an important day, with only minutes left until the end… (of his career, of the match, of the World Cup Final.)
Zizou, I love you, but WHAT DID YOU DO????

*Above:  1. Video of the moment when Zidane butts Materazzi in the chest with his head. 
              2. Still frame of the moment of contact.
              3. Elizondo gives Zizou the unthinkable Red Card in his last professional match.
              4. Zinendine leaves Olympiastadion with his head down, we see the world cup in the foreground. 
              5. Zizou’s head bowed in frustration, anger, and sadness.

You Invade Me July 5, 2006

Sometimes I think I should distance myself from you.  I use the word ‘think’ and not ‘feel’. For I don’t feel I should. I feel I should love you forever, surrender to you…but sometimes I think I should stop. I should separate. I should dettach… from you, oh intoxicating you, running through my veins, making your presence known throughout every inch of my body. You’re everywhere and you’re nowhere. Like the air. Like the transparent air that I need to live but that I can neither see nor touch.  I breathe you in and you invade me. Like a soldier, like a rebel, like the savage that you are.  And I let you conquer me, slowly, reluctantly, trying my hardest to fight you off, but deciding, in the end, that it is futile; so I give in,  give in to you, give in to the fantasty, the reality, the sweet agony of the unknown, the butterflies in my stomach, the pounding in my heart, the smile on my face… I give in to you, for you, because of you… for I need air to breathe.

Zizou Bienvenue!! July 1, 2006

Zizou, you’re back!!! Did you read my words? Were you upset that I reproached your poor play? Monsieur Zinedine Zidane you were without a doubt the MVP of the game today against Brazil and you showed us why you are the king. You were unstoppable (and quite irresistable) mon cher.

(PS. Loved to see Brazil lose with grace and style and dignity; unlike the Argentines who embarrassed themselves and their country with their poor attitude and terrible sportsmanship.)

Guests of the Ayatollah June 30, 2006

On November 4, 1979, a group of radical Islamic students stormed the U.S. Embassy in Tehran, Iran. Inspired by the revolutionary Iranian leader Ayatollah Khomeini, their original plan was to hold a three day protest of the American decision to allow exiled Iranian leader Shah Mohammed Reza to enter the U.S. to seek medical treatment. The hope of something small and peaceful turned into something much more severe and dangerous when the students took all of the sixty-six people inside the Embassy hostage, and kept most of them for 444 days.  After the Shah died the hostages were released, the date was January 20, 1981, which happened to coincide with Ronald Reagan’s inauguration as president of the United States. Coincidence? Hmmmmmm…

Ruhollah Mousavi was born in 1901 or 1902 (this will depend on where you are getting your information from) in the town of Khomeyn. He was a very serious, unpleasant, unjoyous man who once told Time Magazine, “There is no room to play in Islam. It is deadly serious about everything.” And it was with this fervor that he threw himself into his studies of Islamic theology, eventually reaching the rank of Ayatollah, a religious title for advanced scholars that carries no political significance.

In 1962 the Shah passed a bill that allowed officials in the country to take their oath to office with their hand on whatever Holy scripture they preferred. Although this might sound like a trivial, insignificant issue to some, the bill offended Khomeini and other Islamic fundamentalists who viewed the Koran as the only appropriate book on which to swear by. It was then that the Ayatollah started making trouble throughout Iran.

The Ayatollah was exiled but that did not stop him. He began a vicious campaign against the Shah. He didn’t keep his attacks to the Shah’s religious views, he also accused the Shah of pro-Israeli and pro-U.S. sympathies which further inflamed his followers and further destroyed the Shah’s image. Eventually the Shah was forced to flee into U.S. protection and Khomeini seized power.

Khomeini instituted a strict regime of Islamic Law, ordering women to wear veils and suspending the criminal justice system in favor of religious courts. He did put a democratic apparatus into place, but this was obviously for appearances only.

And thus arrived November 4, 1979, the day known as the beginning of the Iran Hostage Crisis. 444 days later, the hostages are released, the US has a new president, and someone is going to pay for this injustice committed against innocent people. What do the Americans, led by former actor Ronald Reagan do? They arm Saddam Hussein with conventional, chemical and biological weapons so that he can fight their enemy. Muaaaa haaaa haaaaa. It was a brilliant plan. What could go wrong? Khomeini was the enemy, Hussein hated Khomeini, Hussein was willing to fight Khomeini with his U.S. sponsored weapons, everyone was happy. So, in 1980, Iraq invaded Iran. The war was long and tiring and deflated the economies and resources of both countries. The Soviets, who had no particular vested interest in this conflict, (but much like the United States they seem to enjoy going to war) sided with Iran.

Finally, in 1988, the U.N. was able to lead a peace agreement between both nations and the war ended. Now the Ayatollah had grown into an evil villain master-mind who actively supported international terrorism. What was the next trick up the Ayatollah’s sleeve? He decided to issue a fatwa (religious edict) calling on Muslims to kill Salman Rushdie for writing his surreal and magnificent FICTION novel ”The Satanic Verses”.

“The author of The Satanic Verses book, which is against Islam, the Prophet and the Koran, and all those involved in its publication who were aware of its content, are sentenced to death. I ask all Muslims to execute them wherever they find them.”

The proclamation was horrifically inconsistant with any intelligent, reasonable interpretation of Islamic Law and it essentially ruined Rushdie’s life. Khomeini had just secured his position as the devil-incarnate du jour. For years he continued to manipulate and distort the concept of the fatwa. (A trend later used by Osama Bin Laden, who also issued religious edicts to give the force of Islamic morality to his politically motivated attacks on the United States.)  But, sadly for Khomeini, and gladly for millions around the world, a few months after sentencing Rushdie to death, the Ayatollah died of prostate cancer in June 1989.

Conclusion (A message to all wannabe Evil Mad-Men): If you are a hideous human being that kills, tortures and abuses other people and/or situations for your own benefit, the U.S. forces will not kill you. So, don’t worry… I cite as examples: Bin Laden, Castro, Hitler, Kim Jong-Il, Bush, and The Ayatollah himself. In the end you should worry more about genetics, because Cancer might kill you before G.I. Joe does.

I don’t love you, and yet I do… June 28, 2006

I received a marvelous present. A present filled with meaning and depth and beauty.
It’s a silver bracelet with the words of one of my favorite Pablo Neruda poems inscribed onto it… Fantastic fantastic present…  Nothing can turn a girl’s day around as quickly as a Neruda sonnet engraved on a silver bracelet.

On the bracelet, the poem is in it’s original Spanish version.

(From his book “Cien Sonetos de Amor”)

Sonnet XLIV

I don’t love you, and yet I do
for life itself is of two minds,
words are a ripple of silence,
fire is half cold

I love you in order to begin loving you,
to journey towad infinity
and to not stop loving you ever:
that is why I do not love you yet.

I love you and yet I do not,
as if I had in my hands the reins of destiny
and an uncertain, unfortunate destiny.
My love has two lives to love you.
That is why I love you when I do not and that is why I love you when I do.

***

Sabrás que no te amo y que te amo
puesto que de dos modos es la vida,
la palabra es un ala del silencio
el fuego tiene mitad de frío.

Yo te amo para comenzar a amarte,
para recomenzar el infinito
y para no dejar de amarte nunca:
por eso no te amo todavía.

Te amo y no te amo,
como si tuviera en mis manos las llaves del destino
y un incierto destino desdichado.
Mi amor tiene dos vidas para amarte.
Por eso te amo cuando no te amo y por eso te amo cuando te amo..

Open Letter to Ronaldo (A Semi-Apology) June 23, 2006

Dearest Ronaldo,
First off, I am a huge fan. Second, I'm sorry I mentioned you were fat in my previous entry.
Thanks for the two goals yesterday, now you don't have to feel bad about your Real Madrid salary or your astronomic endorsement deals. Yesterday we saw why you are who you are and I'm assuming after you read my blog entry it really made you think and that is why you decided to bring your "A" game to the match against Japan.
I'm so delighted to have somehow infulenced this change in you, very flattered. I promise, if I was 14, I would put a poster of you on my wall, that's how cool I think you are. So, keep up the good work, and any tips or advice you need, let me know. I'm here for you. (And I can lend you the Atkins or South Beach Diet books if you want them.) 

Um Beijo pra voce,

Lalinha

PS. Is there any way you can give my buddy Zinedine some last minute pointers?

World Cup (Zinedine Zi-DONE) June 20, 2006

How much is marketing worth in 2006?

It's enough to let the Brazilians keep a less than spectacular Ronaldo in a match when he is not at his best; and it is enough to let the French keep an old, tired (and irritable) Zidane in a match when he was not only playing poorly, but making mistakes.

In a sport of uber-sized endorsement deals, it's hard to believe, after their performances so far in this year's World Cup, that these two men are the sports SECOND AND THIRD BIGGEST ENDORSERS! (Number One is, of course, British hunk, David Beckham, who earns $24 million dollars in endorsements on top of his $8 million dollar Real Madrid salary PER YEAR.) But, Ronaldo and Zidane have little to complain about, their Real Madrid teammate may have beat them, but not by much. Last year, Ronaldo took over second place from Zidane, and raked in over $20 million dollars in endorsement deals alone. Zidane can't be too sad about his third place in endorsement earnings (DESPITE his lack of personality and marketability), as he has the honor of earning a larger paycheck than both Beckham and Ronaldo.  But alas, perhaps that is fair, as he is arguably the finest player of his generation. (And no, we are NOT in his generation anymore!) Zinedine Zidane also has the highest transfer fee ever paid in football, $84 million dollars, when he went from Juventus to Real Madrid on July 9th, 2001. In conclusion, these are expensive guys that are making A LOT of money. But, in this Coupe Du Monde, they have disappointed their fans. Big Time. And in Zidane's case, this is his last chance to play wearing his country's jersey, so I'm assuming he's disappointed himself as well. They both look tired and run down. Zinedine looks old. Age has caught up with him. And Ronaldo is slow and over-weight. 

But I guess if NIKE(Ronaldo) and ADIDAS(Zidane) are paying MILLIONS of dollars, they want to see their players ON THE FIELD. If not, how else will they sell those over-priced jerseys?

(The only advantage, other than marketing, of having them on the field with how poorly they are playing, THAT I FIND, would be that in doing so, you eliminate 1 or 2 of your opponents players as they are on the field SOULY to 'guard' these famous stars, leaving your other 'lesser known' players, a bit more free. )

Zinedine, is retiring at the end of the World Cup, which is good, he has been a remarkable player, but for now he is Zine-DONE. Ronaldo, I HOPE, plans on going on a diet after the World Cup, but I have not been able to reach the Confederação Brasileira de Futebol or Real Madrid for confirmation on this. ;-P
(If he needs a personal trainer/dietician he can call me, I'd be glad to help. Out of pure love for the sport, of course…)

*Personal Clarification: I LOVE Ronaldo. He's always been my favorite Brasilian player. Same with Zidane. That's not to say I can not view their play objectively.

I’m Confessing… June 10, 2006

He awoke that morning, like every other morning, to the annoying Beep-Beep of his alarm clock. The instant he regained consciousness, after his brief 4 hour sleep, he remembered she was gone. After this realization, he delayed opening his eyes, in an effort to avoid looking at the empty space next to him on his bed. The space that for countless nights had been filled by her. By her smell. By her skin. By her love.

He rolled over on to his back and finally opened his eyes, staring straight-up at the ceiling. He was able to wait at least an entire minute before turning his head to the side to look at the empty half. But it wasn't only half of his bed, it seemed like half of himself was now empty too. She had taken it with her, and he wasn't quite sure how to continue his life without her in it. Did he actually have a life before her? Was there ever a smile, a laugh, a kiss, a breath, a touch, that didn't originate with her? Was there ever any pleasure that didn't begin and end with her?
He couldn't remember.

The January sun was streaming in through his window. Teasing him. Making its bright presence all the more obvious in contrast to the darkness in his heart. It should be raining, he thought. It should be gray, and cloudy, and raining.

He looked at the white pillow where her head had rested. She had shyly admitted to him that at night, when she couldn't sleep, she would lay awake just staring at him. Watching him sleep. Smiling to herself in the dark. What she didn't know, because he had been too proud to admit it (even after her sweet confession) was that in the mornings, when he woke up, he too would stare at her. He loved seeing the morning light hit her naked body while she slept. He, like her, smiled coyly while he gazed.

Why didn't I tell her I'd never been happier? Why didn't I beg her not to go? Why didn't I try to stop her. It was too late. He hadn't stopped her. She had gotten on the plane. If she wants to stay, she will stay, he had thought at the time, too arrogant to try and stop her.  Never realizing that she too had thought, If he wants me to stay, he will ask me to stay. Words left unsaid can cause more pain than those spoken.

Something caught his attention. On the night stand by 'her' side, was the ring she always wore. Somehow he hadn't noticed it the night before. He leaned across the bed and picked it up. The silver was so broad that he could see his sad distorted reflection. He liked having the ring. He was glad she had forgotten it. As he twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, he realized it was engraved on the inside. I'm Confessing, is all it said. He instantly knew it was a message for him. "I'm Confessin' (that I love you)"  was a song by Louis Armstrong that they both loved. The first two lines of the song were: "I’m confessin’ that I love you. Tell me, do you love me too?" She had left the ring there on purpose. Why didn't I stop her?! he screamed, as he slapped himself on the forehead.

His doorbell rang. He froze. Could it be…? His heart began pounding. A hurricane of emotion came over him. He jumped out of bed, ran out of his bedroom, and opened the front door with fury. Standing in front of him, staring at him intently, was his downstairs neighbor. You're bathroom is leaking. And the water is coming down into my apartment, said the grumpy elderly lady from apartment 2C. He stared at her in disbelief. When he opened his mouth to answer her, all he could say was, I should have never let her go.

Reverberations June 1, 2006

There is an exquisite pleasure that reverberates through my spine when I put pen to paper and manage to string along a few words that please me. I write for myself, to fill a void, to express the stormy ocean of feelings that dwell inside my often melancholic soul. It is a catharsis like no other. I often find the world we live in lacking, tainted, full to the brim with everything that I don't want to be. And when I write, I escape this often lack luster world and focus on a thought, a feeling, a breath… anything that has meaning to me at that particular moment. And for that instant, for that moment in time when those words fly out of my head, they are my only reality and I am more alive than ever.

I'd like to share this passage with you:

"Dissatisfied with everything, dissatisfied with myself, I long to redeem myself and to restore my pride in the silence and solitude of the night. Souls of those whom I have loved, souls of those whom I have sung, strengthen me, sustain me, keep me from the vanities of the world and its contaminating fumes; and You, dear God! grant me grace to produce a few beautiful verses to prove to myself that I am not the lowest of men, that I am not inferior to those whom I despise."

C.Baudelaire, Excerpt from "One O'Clock in the Morning"

Mendacity May 27, 2006

men·dac·i·ty   

1. The tendency to be untruthful
2. A lie; a falsehood
3. Deception; misleading
4. Hypocrisy; insincerity
5. The practice of lying

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955)

• BIG DADDY: What’s that smell in this room? Didn’t you notice it Brick? Didn’t you notice a powerful and obnoxious odor of mendacity in this room?…There ain’t nothin’ more powerful than the odor of mendacity…You can smell it. It smells like death.

• BRICK: You said it yourself Big Daddy, mendacity is a system we live in.

The Lovers May 23, 2006

In your eyes I see the sins I long to commit (with you).

In your touch I feel the life I never knew I had and never dreamed I could.

In your lips I find the answer to all my questions.

And that answer is 'you'…

-Lali

Cash is KING (Not Cassius Clay) May 20, 2006

A few months ago I interviewed the president of the Cuban-American National Council, Mr. Guarione Diaz, for an Immigration Issues magazine. The article was a big hit and meeting Mr. Diaz, and now being able to count him as a friend, has been a big treat. I know the situation in Cuba semi-first hand because I have been to Cuba, I have talked to the people, I have experienced their plight… But, speaking to Mr. Diaz and having more light shed on the Cuba situation, Castro himself, and the American involvement in Cuba, opened my eyes even more to the precarious situation of the Cuban people and to the atrocities and innumerable human rights violations that take place in Cuba every day. (This is not to say that human rights violations only occur in Cuba, far from it, my own country, Colombia, has a long and tangled history of human rights violations committed by the guerrilla and other armed organizations. The key difference is that the people of my country are free to leave Colombia whenever they like if they have the means.) This lack of freedom suffered by Cubans immediately brings to mind the words of the late Patrick Henry: “Give me liberty or Give me Death!” It is true that we are creatures of habit and that if we live a certain way for enough time we will eventually get used to our circumstances. But is it right, in the 21^st century, to be accustomed to not having freedom?

I will NOT go into a personalized essay of my views on Castro (devil incarnate) or his Regime (2^nd worse after Hitler’s); what I will do is tell a story:

Yesterday I sat and talked to a woman who arrived from Cuba exactly one year ago. We had a wonderful conversation as she told be about this magical island and all the beauty it encompassed. Then suddenly something she said sent me into a state of shock beyond anything I could have ever imagined. This beautiful, thirty-something woman looked me in the eye and said that if she knew then, what she knows now, she would have never left Cuba. I nearly fell off my chair! “Why?” I asked in shock. “Because in Cuba I had a better life than I do here.”  Her words hit me on the face like a sledgehammer. “How is this possible?” I asked. “Well, when I was in Cuba, my father who is here in the U.S.A. would send me money every month. So, I had more money than anyone else I knew. I owned my own house, which I was able to furnish with nice things.  I had my friends and my family and a life and I had my father’s dollars. It was good. Nobody ever told me that when I came here I would have to pay rent, and phone, and electricity and water and cable and cell phone and a car and petrol for the car and insurance and tolls… Here I don’t have my father’s dollars anymore, I don’t have friends or family (her father lives in the Bronx) and all I really have are bills and more bills. If I go back to Cuba for vacation, I might stay.” I was DUMB-FOUND.  Then she confused me. She proceeded to tell me about the terrible situation in Cuba. An average Cuban makes 135 Pesos per month. That is FIVE DOLLARS. A gallon of milk is 10 pesos. A pound of cheese is 15 pesos. Sneakers are 150 pesos. So, essentially, if your child needs shoes, you will not have money for the rest of the month to eat and survive, unless you steal or are helped by someone else who is just as poor as you are.  She told me that stealing is an art in Cuba. If you don't steal, in many cases, you don't survive. She told me that Cubans aren't allowed into any of the hotels or nice restaurants even if they go with their Americanized relatives who are visiting from Miami. She told me how her husband is in jail indefinitely because he was stopped on the street at night and was not carrying his proper identification papers. She started crying when she told me about his capture and how she didn't know where he was for one week. She told me of the agony of thinking he’d been killed and that despite the injustice she was relieved to know he was alive, even if he was in jail. I also learned that Cubans are not allowed into certain touristy areas of the Island, this includes being on the streets or beaches in places like Varadero. We spoke for hours. I was fascintated by her strength of character, her unabashed account of her life,  her honesty, and the gritty details of her existance in Cuba. Overall, it was one negative atrocious story after another… Yet, at the same time, she was telling me that if she could do it over, she wouldn’t have come to Miami. Imagine that!! I must conclude that the gist of it was MONEY. If she had the same money (proportionally) in the United States that she had in Cuba, her life would be better. In Cuba she was rich (thanks to her father’s AMERICAN DOLLARS and Western Union.) In the US she is poor and works as a maid at The Four Seasons. Isn’t that the story in any country? Isn’t it better to be rich than to be poor any place on this planet of ours? I would unequivocally answer my obvious rhetorical question with an emphatic: YES. In the U.S., in Cuba, or in Kathmandu CASH IS KING.

(Not Cassius Clay.)

I am like you. May 16, 2006

I feel, like you, AFRAID.
I have, like you, SUFFERED.
I am, like you, LOST.
I fear, like you, FAILURE.
I want, like you, PASSION.
I need, like you, LOVE.

I Don’t Believe ANYTHING Anymore May 11, 2006

After a shadow of doubt has been cast, there is no certainty.
There is no trust.
Everything is tainted.
Nothing is clear.

The shadow has been cast…

Mamma Mia Figaro, Magnifico o o o May 6, 2006

I’ve realized that I have not written anything about my mamita in a very long time and I actually recieved an e-mail inquiring about her health. (Which was very sweet, as VERY FEW people take the time to inquire about her.) Oh, this complex wonderful mother of mine is doing MUCH BETTER! I am ecstatic to report this news to you. Now, when I talk to her, I am talking to MY MOM, not a zombie from the ‘other side’. Having the nurse living with her has been just what she needed. She has become very close friends with the nurse (who is young and sweet and I might add, VERY easy to like as she is always wanting to please everyone in the family!) They talk, watch tv, sometimes they go out, and the nurse comforts her and accompanies her and makes her feel special. She is not only feeling better, she looks a lot better and her attitude is a harsh juxtaposition of what it was only  a few months ago. Even my grandmother is in awe. Funny story: My grandmother SWEARS that we owe this miracle to the late Pope John Paul II. She is convinced it was HIM that managed this change in my mother. So, she has given every member of the family a picture frame with a photo of John Paul II so we can pray directly to HIM and every month she pays to have mass said in his memory and to speed-up his cannonization as a saint. My Nena is simply toooooo much. It is true that faith can move mountains. In any case, I am more realistic. Her liver is NOT cured. It is the only organ that CAN NOT regenerate. But, for now, it is magnificooo to see her so well. I missed you mamita linda, I missed you. I’m glad you’re back.

What if…? May 3, 2006

I watched an air plane circulate Houston airport today burning off all its fuel in the attempt to make a safe emergency landing. Upon take-off, it's two left tires exploded and the chaos ensued. The run-way was filled with members of the fire department, the police and emergency services. At first I was somewhat oblivious to the story as I was putting some stickers into my World Cup Sticker Album, but then the story began registering with my brain and I realized that I might be witnessing a tragedy, live. I set the Album aside and for atleast half an hour stared intently at my television as that plane circled and circled the cloudy sky. I was concerned primarily with the logisitcs of the landing and what would happen immediately after it hit since it was missing the left tires and it seemed to be quite windy. My thoughts on the logisitcs and physics of the landing quickly faded when I looked into a window of the plane and saw what I think was a person. (I must clarify, it may not have been, but at the moment I thought it was.) And immediately I realized: there are 50 people inside that plane. 50 human beings who all think they might be dying in a few minutes. I was terrorized by this concept. Terrorized at how horribly wrong a simple flight from Houston to Milwaukee can go. Terrorized by this feeling of impotence that there is absolutely nothing on this planet that I could do to ensure them a safe landing. But mainly I was terrorized by the thought that NO ONE HAS TOMORROW GUARANTEED. We only have now. This moment. This breath. And each one of us must decide how he or she lives this "now". I, in my new found 'freedom', am attempting to live my life with absolutely no regrets. And, TRYING to live it with no fears. Or atleast trying to ignore/over come my fears. My past. My pain.  Not letting any of that interfere with my life. I am the pilot of my life, not fear, not my past, not my pain, and certainly not regret. I'm trying to say what I think, and do what I want, and LIVE. I'm really trying. I am terrified at the idea of being 80 years old and asking myself the most dreaded of questions: "What if…?"   "What if" means: "I had the opportunity and I let it slip through my fingers."  And I don't want to live a life of "What ifs", I don't want to live a life where stones are left un-turned, offers are left on the table, and paths are left un-travelled. I want to make mistakes. I want to fall down, and get back up. I want to know that I seized life, took it by the horns, and ran with it.

…And I watched that plane get closer and closer to its emergency landing, and now all I could think about was those poor people and what they must be thinking. "Why didn't I spend more time with my kids?" "Why didn't I tell my husband I loved him?" "What was I so angry about?" "What if I hadn't done this/said that?" "I should have worked less." "Why didn't I fight for her?" "Why didn't I take more chances?" "I should have laughed more."

All regrets. That's all I could imagine going through their minds.  Regrets. And it had an impact on me. It shook me. I don't want regrets. I don't want to be afraid. I want to feel and laugh and sing and dance and be happy.  And if the plane's going down or the ship is sinking, I want to be thinking: "I'm at peace with myself and with my life, because I did it my way."

BTW, the plane landed (miraculously) safely. Slow, steady, and smooth. And a smile of relief crept on my face knowing that I had just witnessed a miracle.

DESIRE April 28, 2006

What makes desire grow?
Is it having who we desire near us, yet not being able to actually HAVE him/her?
OR
Is it having who we desire far away and only being able to painfully imagine the exquisite deliciousness of actually having him/her near?
OR
Is it getting who we want, realizing we were right in wanting them, and needing to have them again and again?
Or is it all three?
Or neither?

Such a sensual word, desire. Deseo, désir, desiderio…
Such a difficult feeling to explain.
A burning in the stomach. A need. A want. A yearning. Everything.
A word that so easily evaporates, and then, often, reappears when you least expect it to.

Dynamic Duo Separated April 20, 2006

So, I have essentially lost the best thing about living in Miami, my friend Claudia. I didn't lose her per se, I introduced her to my friend Diego, they fell madly in love and decided 1 month after meeting (2 weeks after dating) to get married, and now she has moved away to Los Angeles where he lives. It all happened so quickly. It is no secret that it has not been easy for me to adjust to life in Miami. So many variables come into this equation, that I will not try to sit and identify the main cause of this difficulty. It is simply not what I expected. Period. End of story. Yet, the one absolutely positively best thing about it (other than being near my family) has been my friend Claudia. We have taken this town by storm. We have the best of times every weekend, whether partying or doing nothing in particular, there is never a dull moment…We understand eachother, we complete eachother, we are non-identical twins separated at birth. (She's short, I'm tall, she's a brunette, I'm a blonde, yet somehow we share the same vision, the same fears, the same phobias, the same loves, it is really quite remarkable.)

And now the other half of the Dynamic Duo has gone away. Saying goodbye Friday night was as hard as I had imagined. In fact, my entire natural defense system started dettaching myself from her about two weeks before she left. In my twisted mind I probably subconciously thought that if I began the rupture NOW it wouldn't be so hard LATER. Well, I was fooling myself, it was as hard or HARDER, and I essentially missed out on spending the last two weeks with my friend. Terrible planning by my subconcious. But that is how things transpired and that is what I somehow felt I needed to do.

I have a very hard time allowing people to get close to me. I have trouble trusting. I'm very particular about who I allow to enter my life and become a part of it. So, the people that I actually have near me, that are a part of my life, I really love. I really cherish. I really respect. I have tried letting my guard down a little, but every time I do, 9 out of 10 times, I am disappointed, so it's getting harder and harder to do so. People just never turn out to be what they seem. They sell me this 'ideal' of themselves and then they never live up to it. Maybe it's because I am, in essence, an idealist, that I idealize people. (Or let them sell me on this "ideal" of themselves).  I give them more credit than they deserve, and hence I am unequivocally setting them up for failure. (And myself for disappointment.) So what to do? Old habits do die terribly hard and I can't magically change who circumnstances have turned me into.

In any case, this isn't really meant to be an exploratory tour into my psyche, all I really want to say is that life in Miami as I know it, will never be the same, and that, my friends, is a very sad reality. Ma vie est une grande réalité.

They Shine Bright April 12, 2006

They shine bright,
your eyes,
like a lighthouse
leading the way to unknown lands.

They outshine the others,
with their unspoken promise
and delicious malice.

They make me wonder
what thoughts are dancing in your mind…
They make me smile, shyly…
They warm me…

They shine bright,
your eyes,
everytime you look at me…
And that makes me
infinitely
happy.

Be Delicate April 5, 2006

Be delicate,
and wait…
give me time 
and I will give you
everything I have.

Sitting On The Verge April 1, 2006

Sitting on the verge. Of what? I'm not sure. I just organically know that I am on the verge. On the ledge. Close to my breaking point. Yesterday, as I sat all day infront of a computer, writing writing writing the hours away, in a place surrounded by people so different than me, so foreign to what I am or aspire to be, I decided not to talk to anyone. I thought if anyone talked to me, anyone at all, I would cry. So I had a mean and uninviting look on my face all day so that no one would dare to approach me. At one point I had to get up and do a few things, and when I came back to my desk, there was a cup of hot chocolate sitting right by my mouse. I looked at it and smiled for the first time all day. I knew instantly who had left me this wonderful little surprise, and I thanked him for it. I was probably much less enthusiastic than he would have liked, but as I've said, it wasn't a day to talk. I sipped the hot chocolate slowly, savoring every drop, it was delicious. I wish I could have told him how nice I thought his little gesture was, or how delicious it tasted, or how this was the only smile I'd had on my face all day. But I couldn't. I simply couldn't. And then the moment passed. Like so many others in my life. Moments that I wish I'd seized but that in the end I did nothing about. As I finished the hot chocolate my smile ran away and I once again attempted to concentrate. It was nearly impossible. Hot Chocolate Man came into my office: Are you ok? Is something wrong? "Yes, I am ok. No, nothing is wrong."  Are you sure? You seem different. "Yes, I'm sure. Nothing is wrong. I'm not different. I'm just busy." Lies.Lies.Lies. Never believe a woman when she says 'nothing is wrong'. What was I going to say to him? Tell him my life story? Tell him that I feel empty. N'est pas possible. Besides, despite his obvious crush, there is nothing that leads me to believe that he actually cares. Nothing. So I tell him my little lie and he walks away. Seemingly unconvinced but nodding his head and saying: "Ok.Ok."
And I watch him walk away, begging him with my eyes not to go. But he can't see me, his back is turned. And I feel bad that I've lied to him despite his concern, and happy that I've managed to talk to him without having any sort of emotional out-burst. And I sit there and write the hours away. Tempted to just grab my purse, get into my car, turn up the music and drive to nowhere, fast.

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!

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.)

Two Sisters, Two Hospital Beds January 28, 2006

I’m writing this as I lay on the floor of my aunt’s Hospital Room. I have a sleeping bag, pillow, and most importantly my teddy bear. My aunt is sleeping but she is bound to wake up at any minute because every 1/2 hour they come in to take her temperature, blood pressure or give her more medication.  If she has to go to the bathroom, it is like a 10 minute process because I have to get her out of bed which is tough, then I have to unplugg all the machines (which scares me to death) and then she has to walk the 10 steps to the bathroom which is very hard for her to do. But I wouldn’t change it for the world, it makes me feel at ease to be able to be here with her; last night at home I was very stressed out and could not sleep with anxiety. If it weren’t for my friend Pablo who called from L.A. to distract me for over an hour, I don’t know what I would have done.

Once again today was a devastating day. Across the Atlantic, in Colombia, my mother is lying in another Hospital bed. She was once again hospitalized today. Last night she fell and cracked her skull and today she was probably at the worst I’d ever heard her. She had to go to the Emergency Room and was admitted into the hospital because of her precarious condition. She sounded so gone when we talked. She could not say more than 5 words. So weak and so cold. I wish I could’ve talked more to her but she didn’t want to talk, she is so weak that I imagine it actually hurst to speak. I also don’t think she wants me to ‘realize’ how sick she is. (AS IF I DIDN’T KNOW!) Typical of my family: trying to block-out the sun with her finger.  

How sad is it that my mom and my aunt, two sisters, are lying in hospital beds in two different parts of the world… 2/3 of my Holy Trinity (my grandmother is the remaining 1/3) is hospitalized and there is nothing I can do.  Nena (grandma) still doesn’t know that my aunt is hospitalized and also quite ill. And now, with the delicate condition my mom is in and the fact that she had to be hospitalized again today, we are definitely NOT going to tell her.

So now I’m lying on this sad floor, in this sad hospital, with my sad teddy bear, wanting nothing more than for my two moms to get better and for some happy times to come my way. Yesterday I said that things could not possibly get worse, but unfortunately I spoke too soon, TODAY they got much worse with my mother’s hospitalization.  My eyes are beyond swollen from the tears, my heart is bleeding in pain, and I’m so tired. Is there no justice in the world?

Let It Be Me January 27, 2006

My day started out fine. I went to pick up Diego, we went to the beach, he taught me the ‘theoritcal’ part of kite-boarding, I then watched him actually kite-board to see exactly how it works. I then had a treat: I got to take pictures of him kite-boarding using his amazing camera which I love. We had such a nice, soothing, calm day at the beach. In the afternoon we had a great lunch and then walked around and spent some wonderfully bonding quality time together.

Cut to: Interior. Day. My House.
My aunt, (who I live with and has been like a mother to me my entire life and more so now since we live together and treats me just like a daughter), left at 7am with my uncle to go to the hospital because she was going to have a rutine exploratory laparoscopy to check something out.

Cut to: Exterior. Day. Beach.
I call the hospital at 12pm to ask how the procedure is going. Turns out the procedure is delayed and hasn’t even started. I am told it will begin shortly and she’ll be done in an hour.

Cut to: Exterior.Day. Beach.
I call the hospital at 2pm and ask how the procedure went. My uncle tells me the procedure is still taking place. I say I will call back and just assume that they took longer to start.

Cut to: Exterior. Day. Restaurant.
At 5pm when Diego and I finish lunch, I call the hospital again. My uncle tells me that she is STILL in the O.R. and that there has been some complication.

Cut to: Interior/Exterior. Evening. Car.
At 6pm I call again. I’m told she is finally in the recuperation area. Still ‘out’ from the general anesthesia. I’m told that she had a histerectomy, but sense that my uncle is worried. I decide to drop Diego off and go to the hospital.

Cut to: Interior. Night. Hospital.
At 7:45pm I arrive at the hospital and meet my cousin (aunt’s daugher) outside of the recuperation area. She tells me that while they were doing the exploratory laparoscopy, they discovered Cancer in my aunts female organs (Falopian Tubes,Uterus,Cervix & Ovaries) and that they had to be taken ALL OUT. They don’t know if the cancer has spread and we won’t know until Monday when they finish running all the tests.  I felt as if she had run-over me with a bulldozer. My eyes swelled up with tears and before I could say anything my cousin said: “She doesn’t know anything yet so you have to be strong and act normal.” I went in to see my aunt and I was overwhelmed with emotion at seeing her lying on the bed, hooked up to so many machines, and so feeble and weak looking. This woman has taken care of me during my most miserable times, she used to FEDEX me medicine when I lived in NYC and I got sick, She would send me an entire special Birthday Cake each year on my birthday, She opened the doors of her home to me and has me living in her house as her daughter. This woman who even though my mother hates her (for no reason) is ALWAYS involved in my mother’s recuperation process and helps any and every way she can. She is my ROCK. MY STRENGTH. My role-model. It was too devastating for me to see her. I had to step out of the room and just cry alone for a while.

They let us stay with her until around 9:30pm and then my cousin Felipe (my aunt’s son) and I came home; my uncle decided to sleep at the hospital with her.

FADE TO BLACK. 

***
This is NOT about me. This is about HER. But it is happening in MY WORLD. It is parallel to my life and because of it I asked myself on the drive home: WHAT MORE CAN HAPPEN TO MAKE MY LIFE JUST A LITTLE WORSE? She is a SAINT. She doesn’t deserve this. Please let it be me. I’ll take her place. I’ll have cancer. I’ll be in the hospital. Just let her be ok. I can not DEAL with her being sick. She is my north. She is the only person I can lean on right now. Let me be sick. My grandmother can’t have her two daughter’s sick. She won’t be able to deal with it. She already lost a son to cancer when he was 10. She already has to live with my mom’s terrible illness every day, she will not be able to cope with knowing her other daughter has cancer. My grandomther won’t even say the WORD cancer, she calls it “the zodiac illness”, or “that horrible illness”, she is supersticious about even saying it because she’s already lost SO many family members to it. PLEASE, LET ME HAVE CANCER AND NOT MY AUNT.  She has two kids, a husband, a great career, a beautiful house, a life… I don’t have anything. Let it be me and not her. Please please please please please…

Cupid Must Remain Neutral January 25, 2006

I’ve created two monsters. Yes, I am like Dr. Frankenstein and I’ve created two monsters. Curious? Ok, I’ll go back to the beginning. I have written in the past about my best friend Diego. Who I love and adore and who is just the ultimate magnificent guy. I have also written about my friend Claudia who is my closest dearest friend here and who I absolutely adore as well. (She’s more like a sister than a friend, that’s how close we’ve become.) Now you know the characters of the story so I’ll begin with the plot line. Diego arrived in Miami to spend a few weeks here for Christmas and New Year’s and the first day we were going to meet up, I brought Claudia along. KNOWING VERY WELL that Diego was going to like Claudia. I just KNEW IT. (I know HIM very very well.) What I didn’t kow was if Claudia was going to like him.  Diego quickly realized that this was a woman not to be taken lightly and that this wasn’t some little stupid vacation romance, and that she was amazing, so what did he do? He got scared. (He is, afterall, a man.) He THOUGHT he didn’t want anything serious with anyone and that he just wanted to be alone and date different people, so he simply backed off. I was a bit confused by the act, but I can read him like a book, so I talked to him about it. I told him that FEAR doesn’t get you anywhere. I told him that something that involves the biggest risk, usually gives you the biggest reward. I told him that if he didn’t atleast TRY (and let go of his fear) he would NEVER know if maybe this was the woman of his dreams. I told him that there was a 50/50 chance that she would not be interested, but that wasn’t it better to try atleast and KNOW for sure, rather than keep the “what if….” for LIFE. I told him that when someone this incredible walks into your life you have to LET GO of your issues, your fears, and your  “I don’t want anything serious”, and GO AFTER HER because if not, you will lose her and possibly a chance to be with someone that will make you immensely happy.  And furthermore, who cares about geography (aka DISTANCE) anyway???!!! Love doesn’t care. Romance doesn’t care. Passion doesn’t care. And the heart and mind certainly don’t care. So, why should he. Many other things came up in our conversation, but the synopsis is: fight against your fears, give it a try, go after the woman you think is amazing, or you will regret it later…
AND GUESS WHAT? Only 2 weeks later and they are FANTASTICALLY HAPPY AND IN LOVE. And they’re not worried about the past, or the future, or who lives where or does what. They are just enjoying life together (and sometimes apart- although still together)!!  It feels so good to see two people I love so much so happy together. (I of course would be just as happy if they were happy with OTHER people, but this way I’ll probably get a chance to see them more!!) It’s wonderful the power love has, it can completely change your life. Change the way you see things. Change YOU. I must admit that it is still a bit surreal, seeing them together. Not in a bad way, just different. I think it’s because I saw them just hang out like friends for a few weeks and interract with eachother as friends, and suddenly cut to the next scene: they’re holding hands and kissing. So it’s like going from one extreme to the next, that’s all. One thing that does concern my a little bit, is that my relationship with them individually, changes. I really hope not. I also hope I’m never put in the middle of anything if they EVER have a problem or argument (I don’t think they will.) Because in this sort of situation, I must remain neutral, because I love them both, and I would never ever take sides. Cupid must remain neutral at all times just like Switzerland. HE! I’m suddenly a mythological figure AND a European country all in one! We’ll see how things go, it’ll be fun to see them figure things out and see them so happy, and I must say, I’m already being contaminated by there lovey-ness,  it’s very contagious! ENEMIES OF LOVE BEWARE: Don’t hang around two people that are crazy about eachother if you do not wish to become contaminated, it is HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS and exposure to them for prelonged periods of time WILL CAUSE A REACTION!

Experiencing Life As A Whale January 22, 2006

I started going to the gym again. (Feel free to take bets on how long I’ll keep going.) I went once, on Friday, and two days later, my muscles are in serious agony. My thighs and arms are dying…I’m always doing cardio, so that part doesn’t hurt me, what kills me is the weights. When I start going to the gym, I start doing weights, and my muscles HATE ME for it. For the past two days I have not been able to go back to the gym because I can not fathom making the pain worse. Tomorrow I’ll go for sure. I don’t know why I suddenly got the inspiration to work out again… It just suddenly appeared. Maybe having more free time on my hands had something to do with it. You see, after breaking up with my ex-boyfriend (after 2 1/2 years of a very TORMENTED relationship where I was very unhappy, and gave EVERYTHING, and received very little in return) I gained like 25 pounds. (11 kilos!!!) Even though this man was not worthy of me, I was so in love, that losing him sent me on downward spiral. And I started eating like a pig! Donuts, cookies, Pound-Cake, Pizza, Chinese food, (And in NYC you can get any of these things delivered to your house 24hours a day, so I didn’t even have to leave my house!) After experiencing life as a whale, and hating it, and hating that none of my clothes fit, and hating how I felt about myself, and what I saw in the mirror, I decided that I wanted my old,comfy,nice body. So I started dieting, but GUESS WHAT? You can gain 25 pounds in 6 weeks, but it’s VERY VERY HARD to lose 25 pounds in 6 weeks! So I lost a lot of the weight at first, and then stopped dieting because I somehow didn’t care anymore, and then I would get serious again and lose a little more, and so on… And now, I would say I’m only like 5 pounds (2.2 kilos) away from my ideal weight. So the gym has nothing to do with losing weight, it’s more about getting healthy, toning up, and not having so much leisure time. I remeber thinking, at the top end of the infamous 25 pounds, “why can’t I be one of those girls that starves herself when she’s depressed?” It was like the last unforgiveable act my ex performed: he made me gain 25 pounds. If your curious why I stayed with him for so long, all I can say is, I’m somewhat crazy and perhaps a bit of a masochist. I loved him. And when he made me happy, he made me the happiest I’ve ever been. But when he made me miserable, he made me more miserable than anything I’ve experienced before or since. I guess I could live off the happy moments and sort of ignore the miserable ones. I did break up with him many times, and actually had another boyfriend that was absolutely in love with me, but it was no use, completely futile, I was blocking out the sun with my finger.  He was like a weed, he would ALWAYS come back. Always crying, begging, imploring that I take him back and that things would be different and that I would never be able to escape him because we were made for eachother. And of course, silly girl that I am, I would believe him and give him yet another chance to prove himself. For a few days, even weeks sometimes, things were amazing. And then everything would start to change, and I’d feel him slipping through my fingers…  This went on WAY too long and in the end, to get out of this vicious cycle of happiness and doom, I left NYC (so now he doesn’t have my address or my home phone-number), changed my cell phone number, and blocked him from my e-mail. I don’t want you to think he was a psycho or that he hurt me physically. He never did. We had simply become a drug to eachother, a crutch that we could not escape and neither of us was EVER going to be able to move on. And I desperately needed to move on… So I disappeared from his life. I knew it was the only way that I would be able to get out of this ‘mess’. I erased his phone numbers from my cell phone (it took a bit longer to erase them from my memory, but if you don’t dial a number long enough, it does start to fade), I deleted text messages, emails, put old photos in a box, and forbade my close friends from even mentioning his name. I was trying to make him not exist. Because if he existed, I wanted him, no matter how bad things could get. It’s because I’m a romantic, so I always truly believed that he would change, that things would be amazing, that he wouldn’t disappoint me. And I was always wrong. He always proved me wrong. But I did learn with him everything I don’t want in a man, which is always a good lesson. I don’t want a man that’s cold. (I like to be kissed and hugged and cuddled and touched and hold hands and just be ga-ga.) I don’t want a man that lies (no matter how small the lie is). I don’t want someone who can’t keep their word and who promises things and doesn’t deliver. That only leads to disappointment, and I don’t want to be with someone that disappointms me, it’s too sad, frustrating and empty of a feeling. I also don’t want to give and give and not receive. I want things to be 50/50. It’s the only way they’ll work.
So, even in this tormented relationship, there were lessons to learn, and some nice memories remain. But now I take them for what they are, a remembrance of things past.

I Shall Overcome January 19, 2006

I’m transitioning between two jobs, so I finally have a little time to do all the things I never have time for, yet I’m somewhat overwhelmed with so many things I want to do that I quickly realize it might me easier to do nothing. But of course, I don’t want to do ‘Nothing’, I want to do EVERYTHING. I met with a talent manager a few days ago. She seemed to like me. We’ll see what happens.  I want to try and meet with a few more managers because I don’t like putting all my eggs in one basket. There is a  pathetic part to the story of meeting with the manager: about an hour before going to meet this woman, I almost chickened out. I thought to myself  ”I’m too ugly, too fat, too un-interesting, she’ll be so disappointed when she meets me…”  And I almost didn’t go! CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT! How sad. How utterly sad. I forced myself to go because I didn’t want to let down the people around me and because I’m a big girl and I can’t be so stupid all the time. But I assure you, that horrible insecurity started creeping in and it was very hard to ignore it. I just didn’t want to face rejection. Not in the state I am right now. Not with my world slowly crumbling around me. But in the end it was ok, I lived through it, the woman was very nice. Maybe a little focused on one area of the business and my interests are a LOT broader, but at this point, I’m not picky. I can still focus on my writing and music and other areas if I set my mind to it and if I make the time. I just have to start believing that I am good enough, I am talented enough, I am WORTHY. And I don’t have to be perfect, and I don’t have to measure up to anyone’s expectaions, or set obnoxiously high expectations for myself, because it’s not worth it and that only leads to more insecurity and more stress. I will overcome this insecurity issue. I must. I Shall Overcome.

Mom Update: Mom is not well at all. She can not leave the house. She can not shower on her own. She has fallen down a few times. All she does is lay on my grandmother’s bed and do nothing. (Apparently she does not even have the energy to fight with my grandmother.) She is VERY drugged. So much so that it’s heart breaking to hear her. She is extremely confused and can’t keep track of time well, and forgets everything, and has trouble finding the right words to express what she wants to say, and is obsessed about the phones not working, and is just over all very depressed and weak. She also is mad at my sister for some reason. She said she doesn’t want to talk to her and that all WE do is make her stressed out and ruin her day. (Both of us.) She says that to me and it’s like she’s stabbing a knife in my heart. Ruining her day? The stress and anxiety and severe sadness this situation is causing me is ruining my LIFE! She is not following any of the doctor’s orders, is not eating well, is not getting fresh air and sun, and is OBVIOUSLY abusing her medication. So at this rate she will NEVER qualify for a transplant and she is going to die. So our new plan is to get her to a medical institution where they will detox her completely and start building her immune system so that she will be able to survive a transplant. (Right now she has 0 defenses so she would not survive the transplant.) Of course it’s easier said than done. A. We are still finding the money for it.  B. How will we convince her to go?
Even if we had the money the convincing her to go is the biggest mountain we have faced to date. But it is CLEAR to us that she is not going to get well at home, that she will not do ANYTHING to help in her own recuperation and that at this rate she will NEVER qualify for a transplant and will die at home. (And the over medication is making everything worse.)

So, ain’t no sunshine in Lali-land yet, but soon. SOON. I’ll look back at all this and laugh and sing and dance and say: “Ha! I got through it all!” Because I SHALL OVERCOME.

I Had A Dream January 18, 2006

I had a dream last night. It was one of those long dreams that even when I woke up in the middle of the dream to go to the bathroom or drink water, I could still go back to sleep and go back into the dream. (This is a rare occurrence in my dream life, but it does happen.) The dream started out and I was in bed with someone. (I don’t know if I can use his name, so I’ll call him XYZ.) In the dream we were just in bed, doing NOTHING and I had obviously made it clear to him that NOTHING was going to happen and that he should not even try. But as I was laying there, on my side of the bed, all I wanted was for XYZ to turn around and put his arms around me… and just hold me. But I assume I had made it so clear that he shouldn’t do it, that he didn’t. So I just lay there awake, just imaging what his arms would feel like wrapped around me, holding me tight. Suddenly, he rolled over in his sleep, and now rather than laying back to back, we were laying face to back. After he rolled over he was closer, and because he was facing my back I could actually grab his right arm and wrap it around myself, WHICH I DID. I just couldn’t resist anymore. This woke him up. But he said nothing. He just got closer to me, adjusted his body to mine, held me tighter, kissed my kneck, and either went back to sleep, or pretended to. It was a magnificent silence! There was no need to say anything. (It is a well known fact that I can not sleep with anyone hugging me or embracing me in any way, but in my dream I slept peacefully all night wrapped in his arms.) The dream went on and on…  going out with friends was involved, and I remember something about a parking lot, and at one point I lost my wallet (although I realized it was in my purse the whole time). It was a very long dream, but the highlight of the dream was my wanting to feel those arms around me, (even though I had said I didn’t) and feeling that sweet agony of having him so close and yet so far away. And then, to end up as I wanted (even though I thought I didn’t), wrapped in those arms so tight, with that delicious kiss on my kneck, was simply amazing. That was the best part of the dream. And probably the best part of any dream I’ve had in a while. It was SO real. I could actually feel the butterflies, feel the arms, and a smile appeared on my face as he kissed my kneck so marvelously. It was so painfully real.
And now I’m awake. I didn’t want the dream to end. There was a glimmer of happinness in that dream, and because of it, I didn’t want to wake up. And there was something else in that dream, a feeling so alien to me that it was hard to identify at first, peace. In those arms I had peace. And I really don’t think I’ve ever had peace in my own life. Even for an instant. Real, genuine, peace. And I realize now, that is what I want, what I yearn for, someone who will give me peace.  

The Lies People Tell January 17, 2006

There are many lies people tell themselves. They may tell themselves they are skinny, or tall, or good-looking, or smart, or funny, or a good friend, a good parent, a good teacher; they may tell themselves they’re great athletes, good artists, generous, punctual, good cooks, great drivers, and an infinite number more, EVERYDAY. They may even tell themselves, and others, that they are happy… But the biggest lie people tell themselves (men in particular) is that they want to be alone. It just makes me laugh. Who in their right mind WANTS to be alone? On a late Sunday afternoon when it’s raining and cold, do you REALLY REALLY REALLY want to be alone? Or would you prefer to be snuggled in bed with the woman you love watching a movie, having some snacks, maybe some hot chocolate, and then, perhaps, NOT watching the movie anymore…
I hear this all the time: “This guy doesn’t want anything serious, he wants to be alone, so he’s just dating different girls.” The real issue here is that ‘this guy’ is SCARED. He was probably hurt or unhappy in his past relationships and he is now just scared to give his heart to someone else. He is also playing a little psychology: his current circumstance is that he is alone, so isn’t it better if he announces to the world that he LOVES being alone. That he wants to be alone. That he wants to date every girl that crosses his path??? That way, he can convince himself (and others) that his current circumstance is his CHOICE. (Not that he can’t find someone amazing to take seriously, not that no one amazing will give him the time of day, not that he is so scared to really fall in love with some that he has completely blocked himself.)
NO ONE WANTS TO BE ALONE. It’s that simple. Humans are raised to be in couples. It’s in our DNA. And if there’s something we can’t fight, it’s genetics. (I have my Latin-curves to PROVE that.)
So that part I understand, I understand the lie people tell themselves as a way to protect their hearts and as a way to make being alone seem a little less sad. (No matter how unfortunate a circumstance, if we CHOOSE it (or make other believe we have chosen it), it does seem more dignified.) But, the part I don’t understand is the WHY. Why be so afraid as to let someone that is perfect for you slip through your fingers? Why put up a wall? Why pretend you are happy having sex with idiotic girls when you can be making love to a woman? Why not fight for someone if you have nothing to lose and the world to gain? What leads someone to say: “I want to be alone, I don’t want anything serious” ? I wonder how empty it must feel to have nothing but meaningless encounters (sexual or otherwise). How sad it must be to constantly remind yourself that ‘you want to be alone, you want to be alone…’
I’ve been hurt. I’ve been hurt terribly. I’ve had my heart destroyed. And, to be fair, I’ve broken some hearts as well, but I think I’ve only completely destroyed two. But, I don’t think I’ve ever thought to myself: “I want to be alone, and have no serious relationships, and just fuck every guy that thinks I’m cute.” NEVER. Because: A. That’s not me. I just don’t believe in being promiscuous.  AND B. What would I get out of that?  And then even if someone fantastic came along, someone that shook my world, that made me open my eyes, that made me stop and think and sees thing in a different light,  I’d be TOO AFRAID to realize that this man, this wonderfully perfect (for me) man was what I’d been searching for my entire life. ALL BECAUSE I WAS TOO AFRAID & SCARED & IMMATURE… AND SOOOOO CONVINCED THAT WHAT I REALLY WANTED WAS TO BE ALONE.

Don’t fool yourself. Don’t fool others. Don’t let yourself be fooled. No man or woman wants to be alone. Every normal human being PREFERS to make love than to have casual sex.  Everyone wants someone in their life that they admire, that they can talk to, that makes them think, that turns them on, that makes them laugh, that puts a smile on their face for no reason (just because they’re in our world), Everyone wants someone special in their lives, EVERYONE wants love (for a month or for life)…  And whoever says they DON’T is such a liar that they don’t deserve it anyway…

Lapses of Existentialism January 14, 2006

I have entered the twilight zone. A strange place made up of over-emotional moments and lapses of existentialism where I don’t give a fuck about anything. As of yesterday, I no longer have a job which means I will have a lot of free time on my hands. Which means I will have MANY more economic worries. (WONDERFUL, JUST WONDERFUL ISN’T IT? 2006 IS STARTING OUT GREAT ALREADY.)  Which means I have one more rain storm over me, even though I’m already soaking wet. My little black cloud. It never leaves me. Everyone else in life can leave me. But my little black cloud will always be there. Always making things just a little worse for me just when I think it couldn’t POSSIBLY be worse.  It never gives up. It follows me everywhere I go, right over my head, teasing me, daring me to be happy. It says: “Just try, just give it a try baby, and as soon as I see a glimmer of anything good I will rain on your parade like there was no tomorrow.” And at times I say: “NO. I will not let ANYONE rain on my parade. I have worked so very hard to be where I am, to become who I am. I will get an umbrella and I will not let myself get wet.” These are the times when I feel over-emotional and sensitive and when there is some feeling left in my body. Other times, when I’m amidst an existential lapse, all I can manage to say is: “Go ahead and ruin my parade. I don’t give a damn. I don’t give a damn about anything. DO YOU HEAR ME? I don’t care. I’m used to it. It’s no surprise. So go ahead and rain on my stupid parade. It wasn’t even that good of a parade anyway. I don’t care.”
And this is how I feel about almost everything nowadays. I’m trapped in this cycle of caring and not caring. About the SAME THINGS. I might care this instant that my ex wants to get back together with me, and then in an hour I will have no feeling whatsoever about the entire situation. I will simply not care. Could not care less. And then later I might start thinking about it and having some emotions on the matter good or bad, happy or sad. And then suddenly I’ll just think: whatever. I don’t care. I couldn’t careless about him or any other guy. It’s like I’m trying to numb myself and I’m only half succeeding. I want to master it. I want to be the queen of numb. The ice princess. I want to not care and not feel and not give a fuck about anything because I just simply can not take it anymore. I simply can’t. So if I am succesful at numbing myself, then I’ll be able to take ANYTHING life throws my way because I just won’t care. Isn’t indifference one of the most hideous human emotions… They say it’s what hurts the most, more than anything else.  People HATE indifference.  Well I guess I  want to be hated and hideous then. I want to be the most hideous person on the planet.
If only there was a way to change who you are inside… My struggle toward indifference will end, as so many other things in my life, in absolute frustration. The emotional side of me, the side that feels, that loves, that desires, is too powerful. So my lapses will probably never turn into an existential life style, but for now, I DON’T CARE.

Return of Innocence January 12, 2006

Yesterday I realized, once again, that as hard as I may try to convince myself to be a realist and to be tough minded and to not let anything ‘get to me’, it’s quite hard. The main obstacle in achieving this is a very big flaw I have: I believe what people tell me. I take people at their word. (I think someone’s word is THEIR MOST IMPORTANT POSSESSION AND I TREAT IT AS SUCH.) So I believe what people tell me. And then, I’m often disappointed. So I tell myself, NO MORE. YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE ANYTHING YOU HEAR. You will not trust your ears ever again. You will only trust your eyes. Don’t believe something when someone tells it to you, believe it when they SHOW IT to you. And I repeat this in my head and I somehow to an auto-brainwash. With my brain freshly washed I am ready to face the world and all the broken promises it has to offer. And I do ok for a few days. Comfortably numb as so many of us are. Trying to believe that all men are innately bad. But I don’t really want to believe that. I’m just shielding myself. And I don’t want to shield myself. I want to FEEL. But, I also don’t want to get hurt or disappointed. So I’m caught in this horrible middle ground between protecting myself and wanting to trust another human being. What should I do? And then EVEN IF I TRY not to believe in someone else, as much as I brainwash myself, I ended up doing it anyway, so I ended up disappointed regardless of what I do. Which means I actually have TWO FLAWS: I’m too naive (because I believe what people say and I still believe that people value their ‘word’ ) and I SUCK at protecting myself. Well, don’t get me wrong I have MANY MANY MANY Flaws. An infinite number. And some I’m working on changing, some I have changed, some I have surrendered to, some I haven’t realized I have, some I actually like, some I detest, but all of them make me who I am. And someday I hope to find someone who will love me NOT despite my flaws, but BECAUSE of them. Until then, I shall continue on my vicious cycle of auto-brainwash and return to innocence. And maybe just maybe, someday soon, someone will give me a wonderful surprise: they will be honest & they will keep their word, and a slow, silent smile will appear on my face as if to say: “I knew it!”

Please Mommy Please January 11, 2006

Last night I woke up at 1:37am and as hard as I tried I couldn’t get back to sleep. Last time I looked at the clock on my nightstand it was almost 4am and I was still wide awake. Nothing in particular woke me up. There wasn’t a loud noise, I didn’t have a nightmare, I wasn’t hot or cold or hungry, I didn’t feel sick, I didn’t have to pee. My heart was, however, racing. Even as I write this, hours later, my pulse still has not regularized. It’s like a locomotive. I believe it’s anxiety. I wrote about it before: I firmly believe I’m amidst a mild anxiety attack. And how could I not be? There is only so much a girl can take… I wish I could swap my life with someone else’s if only for a day. So I could know what it’s like for one day to not have to worry about everything around me. It would be like a mini-vacation from my life. The problem would be that when the day was over I’d have to go back to my life and once I’d have seen the ‘other side’ going back to ‘my side’ would be infinitely harder.

Yesterday, when my mother once again blamed my grandmother for something (she said that she’s depressed and that it’s my grandmother’s fault because she won’t buy her an anti-depressant. NO DOCTOR HAS PRESCRIBED HER AN ANTI-DEPRESSANT. IF MY MOTHER TAKES ONE MORE PILL SHE WILL OFFICIALLY BECOME A WALKING PHARMACY! So it is VERY GOOD that my grandmother DOES NOT buy her an anti-depressant!!!!!!!!!) I told her that she had to STOP blaming her mother for everything. I told her I was pretty fucked-up and I didn’t blame HER for everything so why should she blame HER mother?! I told her that we had to start trying to be normal. I told her that I too was traumatized by HER but that I had to GET OVER IT or else I couldn’t lead a semi-normal (I’ll never be normal) life. I pleaded. I begged. I implored. Mommy please let’s try to be normal. Let’s try to be happy. Let’s try to have regular mom-daughter conversations about regular things. Please don’t cry every time I call you. Please don’t complain about everything every time I call you. Please don’t blame your mother for everything every time I call you. Please don’t speak to me in a voice like you just came back from a funeral every time I call you. Please smile. Please go out. Please see friends. Please try to be healthy. Please don’t be a zombie. Please put in the effort to save your own life. Please don’t die because you’re the only mom I’ve got. PLEASE MOMMY PLEASE I BEG YOU LET’S TRY TO BE HAPPY.

Magic & Hope January 9, 2006

I had a great weekend. My friend Diego (I already asked if I could use his name) invited my friend Claudia and I to Orlando and all we did was have fuuuun for 2 days. It was so nice to disconnect from my own personal reality and just let go and act like a 12 year old. And Diego of course, as always, was a prince. We road on all the rides, had wonderful meals, amazing talks, took great photos, laughed, and just bonded. He topped off the trip by grabbing a little sort of jewelry bag and saying to me: “I asked my inner self what would be the best gift I could give you” (And he opened the little bag and handed me a metal rock with the word ‘MAGIC’ written on it) and then I asked a greater power what you really need and that is some: (And he handed me a metal rock with the word ‘HOPE’ written on it). I immediately burst into tears. I was so moved by the situation. I was moved by how well he knows me, I was moved by how he can read me, I was moved by him. In fact, a few hours later when I was showing them to Claudia and explaining their meaning, I once again began to cry. But they were good tears. They were calm tears. They were ’somebody loves me’ tears. They were: I’m so incredibly fortunate to have a friend like him tears. They were also: I do really need some hope and magic tears. I really really do. Because I’m shutting down. I feel myself slowly shutting down. I HAVE lost hope. I’ve lost faith in so many things, I’ve lost hope that things can change, I’ve lost hope that my dreams can come true, that I can be happy, that I will find love, that I will find peace. And I’ve stopped believing in magic. And that is just tragic. It’s just that when I’ve had hope, I’ve been disappointed. When I have belived in magic I’ve seen the smoke and mirrors. But I guess it’s much sadder to go throughout life without believing… So I’m going to carry Magic and Hope with me every day, wherever I go, and hopefully some day soon I’ll become infected.

My Own Personal Buddhist Monk January 6, 2006

I’m having trouble breathing at night. It’s like I can’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. It’s very strange. I find myself taking very deep breaths through my mouth in order to inhale enough oxygen. I wake up and the problem continues and them it sort of fades away. (It only happens sporadically throughout the day.) And then it comes back at night. It seems like every day it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. I hope it’s just anxiety. (Is it funny that I ‘HOPE’ it’s anxiety? What I mean is: I prefert it to be anxiety than something more serious.) If it’s anxiety, I’m having a serious anxiety attack because the breathing situation at times gets scary.

I’m going to Orlando for a few days. I told my friend D—- (Sorry, I haven’t asked him if I can use his name in my blog) that I couldn’t go because I was quite broke after having to send so much money to Colombia to cover SOME of my mom’s medical costs and he said that it was his birthday in a few days and that he wanted to be with the people he loved. In other words, that I should LET HIM invite me as MY birthday gift to him. Is he for real? Is that not the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard? (Read?) I simply adore him. He has the purest most honest sincere heart of anyone I know. He is good to the bone and that is why everybody loves him and that is why life shines on him and that is why he makes friends everywhere he goes. That is also why I have grown so attached to him, why he is one of the few people I confide in about the medical details of my mom’s illness, and why I consider him my own personal Buddhist monk. He is my daily dose of GOOD VIBRATIONS! He encompasses peace. Just being in his presence makes you feel tranquil and relaxed. In life you come across few people like him and I am so very blessed that our two paths crossed and that he is a part of my life. A few times people have asked me: “Have you and D—- ever dated?” And I give them a huge smile and happily answer: “NO.” Because if we had (despite the fact that he doesn’t like blondes…jejeje) he would probably NOT be a part of my life anymore and that would be a TRAGIC loss. Plus, it was never really something either one of us was interested in. We just immediately had this cosmic friendship connection. There are times when we don’t speak for months and still I know that our friendship is so strong and intact and pure that no matter what happens I can count on him and he can count on me. No matter where I am in the world I know he would come and rescue me if I was in trouble. And I’m not sure I can say that about ANYONE else who is not a member of my family. (And even there the options are VERY LIMITED.) So it’s impossible for me not to love and adore this giant among men who is almost super-human in his ways and who’s strength of heart and character I admire every day. Never did I imagine I would be so lucky as to count, among my closest of friends, with a very own living angel.

Heroine for the Soul January 5, 2006

I was reading a comment a faithful reader wrote about my entry from yesterday and it got me thinking again about writing and words. And the power of words. I’ve been know to say that words are like ‘heroine for the soul’. Words can give you the highest of highs. Sometimes when words are absent (words you desperately need to hear) you can reach the lowest of lows. (The same as with heroine. Not that I know from personal experience, this is just general knowledge )
Words are so powerful that they maintain their power even when NOT SAID.
An ‘I love you’ can send you to the moon. But NOT hearing an ‘I love you’ can send you into disppair. THE POWER OF THE ALMIGHTY WORD. That is why we must watch what we say. Words are indelible. Many of us NEVER forget what we hear. Many of us take people at their word and trust that what the other person is saying is true because ‘why should it not be?’ Words are weapons, words are gifts, words are joy, words are sorrow, words are everything and nothing. And maybe the world would be a better place if more of us learned how to use them better….
Silence is also AMAZINGLY POWEFURL. The power of silence is directly related to the power of words because it is the absence of words. And silence can be one of the most powerful weapons in a person’s arsenal.

Subject Change:
Mom is still not well. I believe (I don’t have proof but I have many supporters for my theory) that she is abusing her medication in a MAJOR way. She is, as we say in Spanish, constantly ‘dopada’. (Sort of drugged out). I assume she’s doing it to numb the pain, both emotional and physical and to try to cope and be strong. The problem is if I so much as MENTION it, she goes on a tirade and yells and then immediately blames my grandmother for telling lies about her. (When I in fact have not even spoken to my grandmother yet that day.) I cried yesterday when I talked to her for 90% of the conversation. I had to hold the mouth piece of the phone toward the ceiling so she wouldn’t hear me. I see her slipping through my hands and I don’t know what to do… I just don’t want to lose my mom. I couldn’t deal with it. My mommy is everything. I just want her to get well emotionally so she can dedicate herself to getting well physically….

I never pity myself. EVER. But I do sometimes wish I could have a normal life. With a normal family and a regular mom and a father and a brother to take care of me and a dog. I think that’s one of the reasons I’m so happy living with my aunt and uncle in Miami because they are NORMAL. I now live in a normal house, with normal people, who have no problems and when they do, they are NORMAL problems. And we have normal family dinners. And normal conversations. And no one is crying, or depressed, or complaining, or yelling. But, even though I live with them, I am not one of them. I am tainted. I am scarred. I am different. I am not normal. I don’t have a regular mom, I have a father who abandoned me, I don’t have a brother to take care of me, I have an older sister I never see and a younger sister who hates me, and I had 2 dogs I LOVED and both times (on separate occassions), when they were STILL puppies, I came home from school and my mom had gotten rid of them. I couldn’t even say goodbye to them. They were just gone from my life forever.
Anyway, my life is far from picket-fence material. And yet, I find myself living with my aunt & uncle & cousin in their picket-fence house and life and I love it because it’s how I always wanted to grow up. But I’ve already grown up (techincally) and I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong anywhere. Not in their perfect world. Not in my own messed up world. Nowhere. I left NYC for so many reasons including the fact that bankruptcy was knocking at my door. But also because it had sucked me in SO MUCH that I knew if I didn’t leave NOW I’d never leave. NY is like a drug. You get hooked. And now I’m in Miami and I feel I don’t belong here. But I also don’t belong in Colombia anymore. And I couldn’t go back to NYC right now. So my heart is a nomad even if I am not. It’s searching for something, I don’t know what…. But I desperatley need to find it because I’m tired of being tired, I’m tired of being sad, I’m tired of not belonging, I’m tired of ‘trying’ to be happy, I’m tired of waking up and not looking forward to anything, I’m tired of crying myself to sleep. I’m tired, just so very very tired…

i’m afraid to tell you January 4, 2006

One of my loves in life is writing. You might have realized that by now just by the fact that I have decided to dedicate time to writing and maintaining a blog. I love to write all kinds of things.
I write Short Stories, I write Plays, I write Screenplays, I write news articles, I write interviews, I write about Race Cars, I write in my journal, I’m even working on a novel that I will finish before I die (if I die many many years from now), I also write poetry. I love poetry. Some of my poetry rhymes, some doesn’t. Some is silly, some is simple, some is serious, some is complex. But all of it is very personal. It’s a slice of my life. Some of the poems I wrote years ago still ring true today, and some that I write today, I very well could have written years ago. I imagine if I am ever able to publish a book of my poetry every man I ever dated will stand up and shout: “this is DEFINITELY about me” and they’ll probably be wrong. Because it’s really not about them. It’s about me. And some men have inspired 0 poems, and some have inspired 1000. But one of the poems from Mr. 1000 could very well have been written for Mr.0. My poems are derived from inspiration so I guess they are my poems, but ultimately they are not my own. They have been inspired by someone, something, a moment, a feeling, a look, a touch, a kiss. In my own version of Khalil Gibran I could say that: my poems are not MY poems, they are the manifestation of inspiration’s longing to be put into words…

i’m afraid to tell you

i’m afraid to tell you that i’m not brave
that i need to be saved
that what you see in my eyes is sorrow
that i don’t believe in tomorrow
that i can’t take any more pain
that i love to walk in the rain
that i adore a nice suprise
that i hate unnecessary lies
that i’ve broken more than one heart
that i tore them apart
that i destroyed their hope
that i just couldn’t cope
that i want to forget my past
that i want to erase it at last
that i love to sing in the shower
that i do have some inner power
that i love fast cars
that i have so many scars
that i wake up with thoughts of you
that i really don’t know what to do
that i’m just a scared girl
whose world has been given a twirl.

Ms. Espejo has Deceased January 3, 2006

I had a nightmare the other night. I rarerly have nightmares. It’s very hard to explain it without using props, but it involved dying of suffocation in my own car. A vacuum was being created and there was no air to breathe inside my car and I couldn’t yell to my friend Claudia for help because I was already dying. It was horrible. (One of my biggest fears is suffocating. I have a moderate case of clinical claustrophobia.) I was in such a state of panic, that I woke up hyperventilating. I never got to actually ‘die’ in the dream because the hyperventilating woke me up. As I said, I’m not a person that has nightmares often, so this one caused a double impact: the fact that I actually HAD a nightmare, and the fact that it was of dying in such a horrible way. (Is there ANYTHING worse than not being able to breathe!!!??????) It’s the stress I suppose. It’s all the changes in my life. It’s all the drama. It’s all the uncertainty. I have been trying to relax and enjoy myself but it has been some what impossible as every time I arrive home my aunt welcomes me with more bad news, and more trauma, and more reasons why I should be worried.
Also, something very strange happened: On October 20th early in the morning I was involved in a car accident. I looked through my rearview mirror and I noticed an enormous white Dodge pick-up Truck heading toward me FULL SPEED AHEAD during rush hour traffic when EVERYONE ELSE was doing 25mph. (This guy was going ATLEAST 60mph if not more) And I kept thinking, “he’s going to hit me, he’s going to hit me, he’s not stopping, he’s going to hit me” and the guy NEVER slowed down and when he was about 3 meters behind I FREAKED OUT and accelerated my own car and swerved to the left in order to avoid beign hit. (SURVIVAL INSTINCT) Well, upon doing this I hit a girl, who hit another girl. (3 car pile up!) And the guy in the white Pick Up sort of scraped by me, realized what he’d done and fled the scene! I was LIVID. The girl that I hit directly saw everything and even tried to write down the guy’s license plate number and only got 2 numbers. Since she saw everything she was not upset. And neither was the third woman involved. I was furious. Thankfully no one was injured, we moved our cars out of the way and waited for about 30 minutes until the police got there. Then the whole process with the police took another 30 minutes and then to add insult to injury I got my FIRST TICKET EVER for causing the accident. Anyway, it was all quite pleasant (for this type of situation) and the girls were very nice and we told eachother all about our lives and got to know a little about eachother.
Then two bad things happened: 1. My insurance DID NOT cover the damages to my car. So I had to wait like 2 weeks to fix it because I couldn’t afford to fix it.
2. The third girl in the pile-up (not the one I hit directly, but the other one) Started a $20,000 law suit against me for Medical damages.
I was once again FURIOUS. This was, of course, a false, frivolous, shameful, law suit. She was trying to take advantage of the situation and of an innocent person. I was so mad and very worried because I of course don’t have $20,000 and even if I sold my car which is the only thing I own, I would still not have $20,000. (In fact if I sold my car, I’d OWE money on it.)
So, on top of all the other drama in my life, this is something else that I’ve been dealing with- THIS FAKE LAW SUIT AGAINST ME.
Well…. Friday I get a phone call as I’m driving to meet some friends. “Do you have a moment to talk? It seems there has been some strange events during the past few weeks and we’d like to talk to you. First of all, we’d like to tell you, we’ve gotten a letter from Attorney XXXX, the law suit against you has been DROPPED.” Lali: “What? YEY! WOW. That’s Great! Why?” (I’m thinking: The woman FINALLY had an attack of guilty concious and decide NOT to ruin my life!) And the woman on the other line says: “Well Miss, Ms. Espejo has DECEASED.” WHAT??????????!!!!!! NO. You have to be kidding. She couldn’t have. HOW? When? (I’m thinking: Please don’t be dead. You can sue me. Just don’t be dead.) “Well, all we know is that she passed away on December 6th and we still don’t know how.” I had to pull over and stop my car. I was in SHOCK. And then she said: “But the investigation isn’t closed yet. We still haven’t discarded that she might have died from the accident.” WHAT!!!!!!!??????????? The accident 8 weeks earlier?? Where there was NO BLOOD or broken bones, or bruises, impact, or ANYTHING. Where we talked and walked around and told eachother jokes and our life stories? NO WAY. Once again SHOCKING how the American Beaurocratic Insurance System works. That’s why they’re so damn expensive.
SHIT. I just realized something. FUCK FUCK FUCKER. This was Friday. And Sunday I had the nightmare where I was dying of suffocation in my car!!!! COULD IT BE A SIGN?????? NO! YES? Oh GOD. I will absolutely freak out. If there’s something I’m scared of it’s the ‘beyond’ or however you call it. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. Ok, must stop writing before I come up with some strange conspiracy theory………..

My Little Black Cloud January 2, 2006

2006. Wow. I remember when 2000 was a big deal. Y2k and all the hoopla surrounding it. And now it’s 6 years later and it seems like we’re all the same. The world is still the same place. Wars are still being fought, hunger still prevails, natural disasters abound, and we are all still as clueless…
Some days ago I wrote about what I learned in 2005, so I thought it might be appropriate to write some New Year Resolutions for 2006 and leave them here as written proof. (Sort of as a testimony to my mediocrity in case I don’t complete them.) I honestly haven’t given this much thought but as I’m sitting here writing there are a few things that pop into my mind, for instance:
I want to learn about photography.
I want to finally pick 20 of my poems in Spanish and put together a book.
I want to be happier. (Is this something I have control over?)
I want to FINALLY open my heart/mind to new love. (There IS life after…!!)
I want to sing in public.
I want to relax a little more. And breathe a little more. And smell the flowers a little more.
I want to start pursuing my dreams harder.
I want to get out of debt.
I want to learn a new sport.
I want to be more healthy.
I want to have MORE FUN.
I want to produce a play.
I want to find a way to save my mother’s life.
I want to be a better person.

That sounds about right. There’s nothing more I can think of right off the top of my head. Every once in a while I can look back at this entry and see how well I’m doing (or failing miserably). 

In any case, 2006 is finally here and since it can not possibly be worse than 2005, I’m somewhat happy. My New Year’s Eve was fun. I partied with friends until 5:30am with friends, had a lot of champagne and wine, and danced like a ballerina. It was GREAT. I didn’t have an official plan until around 5pm on the 31st and it ended up being a fantastic night.
I called my mom at around 10pm because she had told me not to call her at midnight because she’d be sleeping. I was so sad to hear her. She seemed so spaced out and incoherent. I hate her doctor. We all hate him. She is obviously not getting better and after a brief period (2 days) where he decided to include me via e-mail in my mother’s recuperation process he has now left me out in the cold and will not answer my mails. And in fact, told my grandmother to not hand the phone to my mother when my sister or I call. (THE GUY IS A FUCKING MORRON.) (Pardon my french.)
Anyway, we’re trying to figure out how we go about changing her doctor and what are the costs involved since we still owe this doctor so much money and we can’t ‘leave him’ without paying him first… Still no luck in selling the paintings in my grandmother’s apartment, so the very “RESPECTABLE” doctor has been calling my grandmother to harrass her and raise his voice at her and say that he wants his money. (LIKE MY 80 YEAR OLD GRANDMOTHER IS GOING TO LEAVE THE COUNTRY OR SOMETHING!!!) Which has been quite unpleasant and frustrating and makes me hate the doctor even more. And once again, I’m so far away, and there’s nothing I can do….
Well, HAPPY NEW YEAR. Hopefully 2006 will lift the ‘little black cloud’ that has been following me around for the past several years, and it’ll be ONLY BLUE SKIES FOR ME!

Sabotage December 30, 2005

Sabotage is a game I used to play.
A game I invented.
A game I was a GENIUS at.
A game that is stupid. A game I hate. A concept I hate. I loathe. I detest.
When I got scared or felt myself getting too close to someone or felt too committed in a relationship, OR felt that the ‘other person’ was probably going to leave or disappoint me or let me down, what I would do was start my Sabotage Campaign. It consisted mainly of angering the other person in very passive aggressive ways. If I could get them REALLY REALLY REALLY angry with only one move, soooooooo angry that they immediately told me to go to hell or better yet, just simply DISAPPEARED from my life, then I had won the Sabotage Game in a KNOCK OUT.
Sabotage is the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life. It encompasses all my fears and insecurities. I never did it conciously. It was a reflex. Instinct. My version of survival of the fittest. When I realized what I was doing I STOPPED. I am an adult. I have a voice, there is no need to sabotage, if I am feeling afraid, insecure, if I am falling out of love, or in love, or I’m just not that into him I HAVE TO USE MY VOICE, not some ridiculous sabotage campaign so that when the guy leaves or when he disappears I can somehow feel less guilty because I wasn’t the one that left him…
SABOTAGE IS IN MY PAST.
The only reason I’m even thinking about it today is because I have some strong doubts whether something I did this week is sabotage or not…I hope not. Because I’m working hard every day to NOT close myself or my heart to ANY opportunities. I don’t want to sabotage ANYTHING for myself. If I did perpetrate some sort of sabotage move- the only reason my subconcious would have done it (in this specific case) was because I felt myself getting attached to someone and I didn’t feel I was being corresponded. Old habits die hard. But I REALLY HOPE THE SUBCONCIOUS THOUGHT PROCESS BEHIND MY ACTS HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH SABOTAGE, because sabotage is a word I hate. It’s a concept I hate. It just shouldn’t exist.

Mamma Drama December 29, 2005

Mamma Drama continues… I never have a moment of peace. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Sometimes I wish I could just have a semblance of a normal life! Yesterday I got some bad news. My aunt called me in the middle of the day and said she had to tell me something that she knew was going to be tough to hear but that it was her duty to tell me. I immediately started freaking out. She said that while my mom was hospitalized she had asked another doctor to go see her. (I know this doctor VERY well since he operated on me when I had a tumor in my left ovary, and who knows my mother because he was her doctor for many many years until my mother decided one day for no logical reason that she hated him and never went to see him again.) She told me that he had gone to see her and that he had looked over her chart and even discussed it with another doctor, and that in his professional opinion her state was CRITICAL. This is one of the MANY examples he gave: normal levels of bilirubin (waste product that results from the breakdown of hemoglobin molecules from worn out red blood cells) range from .1 – 1.2, with 1.2 being on the HIGH end. My mother’s bilirubin levels are at 15! 15!!!!!! He said that no matter what the other doctor said (whom he respects and admires), or how optimistic he might me, her liver had ZERO function and that a human being NEEDS a liver to live. He said that he believes in God and miracles but that a medical miracle HAS NOT occurred with my mother and that she is still as sick as she was before and during her hospitalization. He also said that unfortunately even if there was a liver available tomorrow for her she would not be able to get a transplant because she has close to zero defenses in her body, is still too weak, and she would not survive the operation. She is also not yet a candidate for a transplant for other reasons. SO, that was my pleasant afternoon conversation yesterday. Of course it ruined my day. It didn’t make it any better when I called my mom and all she did was complain about my grandmother for the 1,285th time this week. And then when I didn’t agree with all her complaints, she got upset with me. UGGGGGGHHH. I just want PEACE. I want my mom to get healthy. I want her to realize that if it weren’t for my grandmother SHE’D BE OUT ON THE STREET SO HOW ABOUT BEING A LITTLE GRATEFUL FOR ONCE IN HER LIFE! But of course I don’t say anything. I just stay quiet and tell her I love her and that I’ll call her later because I’m sooooo very busy at this moment. And then I hang up and deal with it on my own. At the end of the day, she’s my mamma, even with all the drama……..

Voyeurism in Reverse December 28, 2005

Someone asked me if they could share my blog with someone else and I found it quite cute that they’d ask. My answer was, of course, “YES. Pass it on to whomever you like.” If I’m doing this, If I’m exposing my thoughts and feelings, my fears, my angst, my WORLD, it’s not only for specific eyes. It’s for all eyes. I can’t put something on the web and then decide who I want to read it. That’s why it took me so long in the first place to start a blog. I really wanted to write one, but I was so afraid of exposing myself, that I just couldn’t do it. And I kept thinking, if I’m going to do it, I have to do it RIGHT or I might as well not do it at all. And then one day I woke up and just started. There is a certain adrenaline rush in knowing that other people, people I’ve never met, are learning about my life. It’s voyeurism in reverse. I’m allowing others to peak into my life, into me. (I guess you call that exhibitionism, but I don’t like the word exhibitionist because it has a sexual connotation. I like my term better: voyeurism in reverse.

SUBJECT CHANGE: In relationships, I’ve always always always put the other person ahead of me. I sort of forget about my needs and focus on the other person. But I don’t want to be like that anymore. NO! THAT GIRL HAS CHECKED OUT! I don’t want to put up with ANYTHING anymore. If someone wants to be with me they better treat me like I deserve, and give me the attention I deserve, or else they’re just going to lose me. That’s why I hate excuses, because I’ve heard them ALL before. (I’ve GIVEN THEM all before!) And the bottom line is: If you REALLY want someone in your life- you do WHATEVER it takes. I’ve seen it with my own eyes with my guy friends. I’ve seen them get on planes and fly half way across the world for a girl, or make that 3am phone call because they just couldn’t resist, or spend ridiculous amounts of money on a present ‘just because’, or plan amazingly romantic surprises, I’ve SEEN ONE DRIVE FROM NEW YORK CITY TO GUATEMALA just to show her what he’d be willing to do for her. Another male friend, really liked this Latin girl and he started taking Spanish lessons because he knew it was important to her even though she never said anything. I’VE SEEN WHAT GUYS DO FOR GIRLS THEY LIKE. When a guy likes you, he shows it. He goes out of his way. And if he DOESN’T SHOW YOU, then all I can say is: HE’S NOT THAT INTO YOU. Because men that are REALLY INTO someone, show it every single day. So, if he’s not showing it, he’s probably not feeling it, so just be realistic and don’t get attached. Women make the mistake of judging men by their words and not their actions. “Ooooh, he said he loved me and he missed me”, “He said I was different from all the other girls he’s met”, “He said I was his soul mate and that I completed him” WHATEVER. We need to judge men as they judge EACHOTHER: by their ACTIONS. Words are nice, but if they aren’t consistent with their actions, then they aren’t worth anything.
I am the first to advocate being open to new experiences, to new love, to new relationships, but I am also coming to the point where I’m realizing WE MUST BE REALISTIC. And I say this to my guy friends too. If a girl doesn’t give you the right signs PLEASE back off. So, before we get too attached, let’s read the signs- let’s NOT misinterpret phone calls for liking OR niceness for attraction. Let’s interpret things the right way, let’s not make excuses for them or LET THEM GIVE US EXCUSES OF ANY KIND. Just be realistic. And why not give a chance to that cutey you met, who calls every day, sent you a Christmas surprise, and wants to spend New Years Eve with you…

First Kiss December 27, 2005

Christmas has come and gone and now it’s full steam ahead toward New Year’s Eve… The biggest let-down of the year. You plan and plan and plan for the perfect New Year’s Eve celebration and inevitably it NEVER lives up to your expectations. So, I never plan. It’s only a few nights away and I still don’t know what I’m going to do and I it’s ok, because that way I can’t be disappointed if it sucks, because I really didn’t put any effort into it NOT sucking. Atleast I know I’ll be surrounded by a few good friends and that in itself is a treat. Oh, and then there’s of course that “American” tradition of kissing someone (ANYONE) at midnight. In Colombia we have a more romantic version (not very well known but I swear I didn’t invent it) that whoever you kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve is the person you’ll be kissing for the rest of the year… I like this theory, BUT, what if you don’t kiss anyone on New Year’s Eve, OR, what if you kiss the wrong person?…THEN the theory becomes a little scary. In any case, if you are lucky enough to be able to spend New Year’s Eve with someone incredible MAKE SURE to start kissing them at 11:59pm and don’t stop until 12:01am JUST IN CASE. What better way to start a year than with a kiss? What better way to start ANYTHING than with a kiss? Is it starting to sound like I really like kissing? Well, who doesn’t? But not just kissing any random idiot that thinks I’m cute. Because a first kiss can be one of the best memories you can have with a person. And the BEST BEST BEST first kiss you’ll ever have is when you REALLY REALLY like someone, when the chemistry is undeniable, when the anticipation is INTENSE, and when you find yourself thinking: “If he doesn’t kiss me RIGHT NOW, I THINK I’M GOING TO EXPLODE.” And then it happens and it’s like you can suddenly breathe again and you never want to stop and you feel SO HAPPY that he IS a good kisser (there was a 50/50 chance) and it feels like you’ve known that mouth, those lips, that tongue forever and yet everything is new. And the world stops aroud you. And time stops still. And all you can think is: “I never want this kiss to end.”

There’s No Such Place As Far Away December 23, 2005

This has been a year of MANY changes in my life. A year of letting go. A year of loss. A year of moving on. A year of fear & uncertainty. It has been emotional. It has been tough. It has marked me forever.

I have learned many things this year, about myself, about others, about the world around me. I’ve learned who I can count on, who loves me FOR ME, I’ve learned how tough I am, I’ve learned not to apologize for who I am, I’ve learned that love can’t be unconditional because at the very least, the minimum condition is that you be loved back. I’ve learned that people can be very ungrateful but that I never want to be. I’ve learned that it is always better to say what’s on my mind. I’ve learned that there is no such place as far away. I’ve learned that when you love someone, you fight for them. I’ve learned that excuses are lies. I’ve learned that when you hear excuses you don’t ask for, you’re hearing lies. I’ve learned that EVERYONE has 5 minutes. I’ve learned that when you want something you go after it. I’ve learned that I CAN love again, I’ve learned that a broken heart eventually heals, I’ve learned that walls were made to be torn down, I’ve learned that friendship sometimes turns into a one way street. I’ve learned that there are some admirable things about me, I’ve learned that I JUST WANT TO FEEL, I’ve learned that there are still SO many things I want to do, I’ve learned that I’ll never stop dreaming, I’ve learned that I CAN LET GO!!! I’ve learned that some people think I’m beautiful even in my pijamas with no makeup and bad hair, I’ve learned that looks fade and that it’s better to have a beautiful heart than a beautiful face, I’ve learned that my brain is my biggest asset, I’ve learned that sometimes other people JUST DON’T GET IT, I’ve learned that New York City is the best city on earth and will always be home to me no matter where I live, I’ve learned that no matter how crazy my mom makes me sometimes, I adore her and I never ever want her to die, I’ve learned that new friends can become ‘old friends’ very quickly, I’ve learned that when there is chemistry between two people you can see the sparks, I’ve learned that someone who makes me cry doesn’t deserve to be in my life, I’ve learned that someone that makes me smile deserves a chance, I’ve finally accepted the fact that I am a ‘CONSENTIDA’ and there is NOTHING I can do about it, I’ve learned that MEXICO ROCKS, I’ve learned that it’s ok if other people don’t like me and it’s ok if they do, I’ve learned that a life without love is not worth living, I’ve learned that I can’t make my heart forget, or feel, and that it does whatever it wants at its own pace, I’ve also learned that my heart doesn’t understand geography, and that it’s terrible at understanding time, But I’ve learned it’s a good heart, a strong heart, and that I need to take care of it because it’s the only one I’ve got. I’ve learned that being alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely and that being lonely doesn’t mean I’m alone. I’ve learned that tomorrow is never guaranteed, and that I have NO DAY BUT TODAY. I’ve learned that the best way to measure a year is in love.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY HANNUKAH, HAPPY KWANZAA, and FESTIVUS ‘For the Rest of Us’ !!!

Mamma Mia Let Me Go December 22, 2005

Mom is back home. Hallelujah. But, the drama continues. She is still torturing my grandmother about EVERYTHING. The hospital bill is ENORMOUS (even with a discount we got for knowing one of the owners of the hospital) and instead of looking for a SOLUTION like a normal human being, all my mother can think of saying is: “I didn’t ask to be hospitalized.” As if to say: it’s not my problem. NOTHING is ever her problem. Her life is EVERYBODY’S problem except her own. For 3 days the doctors thought she wouldn’t make it. She was practically DEAD. They saved her life!!!!! And all she can say is: “I didn’t ask to be hospitalized.” URGHHHHHHH! And of course, I’m a horrible daughter because I don’t have thousands of dollars in my bank account to just pay the bill and end the drama. Doesn’t she realize that IF I COULD, I WOULD! Doesn’t she understand that it kills me to know what my grandmother is going through!!! And since she’s never had to worry about ANYTHING EVER IN HER ENTIRE LIFE she doesn’t understand what it’s like to have to work and work and work just so you can pay off debt and bills and survive…
She clings to me, and when I don’t have the magic solution to everything, I’m a bad person. And when I suggest she do something to try and help the situation she thinks I’m an idiot. I can never win. It’s like a Vegas casino: THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS. She’s ‘the house’ and we all are the poor shmuck gamblers that lose it all. And yet I love her with all my heart. She is my mamma after all. My only parent. The woman who gave me everything in life that matters: culture, manners, worldliness…. I adore her and I don’t want to lose her EVER. I don’t want my mommy to die. But I also don’t want her to drive me or Nena,my grandmother, CRAZY.

Seascape With Sharks and Dancer December 21, 2005

I want to produce a play in Miami. FYI: there is NO theater culture in Miami. So I want to do something that is VERY HARD to do. I have the play I want. I have a producer, I have the two actors (myself and one of my friends- it’s a two person play), I may or may not direct it depending on whether the producer decides she wants to direct. The producer, even has a theater in mind. I REALLY want this to happen. I NEED to do something that I feel passionate about to see if I start liking this city more. A play would be PHENOMENAL. Getting back into rehersal mode and on stage would be such a rush.
Yesterday I found out my friend’s dad died. I had seen him Friday, and we had danced the night away; in fact I even gave him salsa lessons, and yesterday we met up for dinner to say goodbye because he was going home for X-mas and New Year’s, and we’re just talking about how we both want this year to END. And I was saying that this year was full of unpleasant things for me- the ultimate END of my 2 1/2 year tormented on/off relationship, being broke, the end of my life in NYC, selling everything I own, driving down to Miami ALONE, Living in Miami and NOT ADAPTING so easily, my mother’s illness, all the stress surrounding her & my grandmother & hospitlas & bills, etc etc etc….And well he was saying that he was glad the year was coming to an end too because of this and that and the other, and he says “…and my dad’s death”. And I jumped! WHAT? When did your dad die? And he said: “A week and a half ago.” I froze. I couldn’t believe it. Which meant that when I saw him Friday, his dad was already dead and he said NOTHING… I felt so sad. I also felt VERY identified, being that it has been touch and go with my own mother’s life for a few days. He seemed so calm… Maybe he was at peace with him and they both knew how they felt about eachother so he has no qualms about his sudden death. Maybe he’s in denial. Maybe he’s not externalizing his feelings. Whatever it is, I hope he realizes that he has a friend he can count on for ANYTHING. Because he is so happy and fun and up beat all the time that I’m sure he finds it hard to really open up and ‘vent’…. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just clueless and should mind my own business.
ANYWAY…2 days until Christmas Eve. Or, if I count today, 3 days. I just really want this year to END. And guess what? This is the end. In the words of the INCOMPARABLE Jim Morrison:

This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end

It hurts to set you free
But you’ll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die

This is the end

Vulnerability December 20, 2005

Vulnerable: Susceptible to physical or emotional injury.
We often leave our selves vulnerable to the world around us and don’t seem to mind. We walk around late at night with money in our wallets, we participate in high risk activities such as racing cars, sky diving, bungee jumping… I myself recently had a near death experience on a roller coaster in Los Angeles, and until this moment I hadn’t even thought about it twice. We leave our selves vulnerable to PHYSICAL injury every day of our lives. By having that cigarette, or using those drugs, or getting into that car drunk… BUT, when it comes to leaving ourselves emotionally vulnerable, most of us are MUCH more careful. With our feelings and emotions we play it safe; with our lives, we are a bit more wreckless….HOW CAN THIS BE?? Is it really much easier to jump out of an airplane where there is the inherent possibility that we could die, than to tell another human being how we feel about them? Is our fear of being seen as emotionally vulnerable, or worse, of leaving ourselves vulnerable to attack (i.e. NOT BEING CORRESPONDED) so unbearable? I think we’re put on earth to FEEL, to LIVE, to LOVE… and for this you have to leave yourself somewhat vulnerable. You have to OPEN UP. Because when we’re 80 years old we will not remember those days we showed up on time at the office, or what grade we got on one of the 2,000 finals we took in our life time, or even what the score was of that game we just HAD to watch…But what we will remember will be the moments that took our breath away. The moments that made us stop in our tracks. The moments that shook us up. The moments that opened our eyes. The moments that mades us laugh. That made us cry. That made us FEEL. Feel alive. Feel love. Feel invincible. Feel happier than ever. Sadder than ever. We’ll remember a touch, a kiss, a look, a sound, a smell, a moment that is forever frozen in our minds and that is only ours. We’ll remeber finding love, and losing love, and finding love, and losing it again, and thinking we could never love again, UNTIL that magic moment when life smiled on us and ‘the one’ walked into our lives and we knew. And no matter what happened in life we would not let this person go. Becuase love, like life, is a struggle, a battle…. But if we never leave our selves vulnerable emotionally, the only memories we will have when we are 80 will be of getting horribly drunk with friends, random/meaningless one night stands that we can’t even remember that well because we were drunk, always showing up to work on time, and whether we got a B or a B+ on our final (WHO CARES!) Is that really what we want to be thinking about when we’re 80? I didn’t think so…….

Longing For Something December 20, 2005

 My friend Rodrigo took this picture of me recently in L.A. When I look at it,  it makes me feel like I’m in the middle of the Sahara Desert, in some other time, longing for something…

Tus Calles December 19, 2005

Monday Monday. Is it fair that there are five work days a week and only 2 weekend days? Shouldn't it be a bit more balanced? Like 4 work days and 3 weekend days? Weekends fly. I don't know why. On Friday it was my friend Claudia's birthday and we went out to PARTY. We had soooooooo much fun. It really is amazing to just let loose and dance and dance and dance and have fun and dance and sing and dance and drink and dance. One funny thing that happened: I was dancing with this guy that was in the group with us, and since it was a latin place we were dancing CLOSE and the guy's 'THING' kept poking my leg. It was very gross and uncomfortable and distracting. I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or throw up. I tried to separate my right leg a little from him but he kept pulling me closer. I think the guy was going COMANDO because I've never ever had something get in the way SO MUCH while I'm dancing as this guy's THING.

It's almost Christmas. I feel so sad for my mamma. I think she'll be out of the hospital tomorrow. Which actually SCARES me. I don't even want to know what her homecoming is going to be like. My poor grandmother is petrified. I just don't know what else to do. I feel so powerless. My entire life has become overshadowed by my mother's illness. I'm afraid the phone will ring at any minute with some horrible news. And what I hate the most is EVERYBODY has an opinion. EVERYBODY. It's so annoying. And my sister of course is LOST in lalaland or who knows where. I've left her like 5 messages and she won't call me back. I don't even think she calls my mother to the hospital because yesterday she called my aunt to ask for the number. Her only priority in life is her social life.
ANYWAY…Thought I'd share one of my Spanish poems:

Tus Calles

Camino por las calles que son tuyas
(Como yo)
Y respiro tus aromas cotidianos
Tan ajenos a mi
(Tan míos)
Como todo lo tuyo.

Me pierdo en tus calles
(Como me perdí en tí)
extrañas
idénticas
Y te veo en cada esquina
En cada hombre que me mira
Con ganas de tenerme
(Como yo a ti)
Ignoro sus miradas
penetrantes
alumbrantes
Y sigo mi rumbo sin destino
Sin conocer el camino
Alejandome de ti
Cuando mas cerca te tengo

La luna casi llena me mira con tristeza
Hoy está solitaria
(Como yo)
Y me acompaña.
Intenta guiarme hacia ti
Pero no hay caso
Estoy perdida
(Como antes en tus ojos)
Ahora lo estoy en ti.
Y en tus extrañas
e idénticas
calles.

Suffocation is a horrible way of dying December 16, 2005

Yesterday I was insulted by my mother’s doctor. He said that why did I have to wait until my mother was dying in her room to do something about it. I wanted to kill him. He has NO IDEA! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He doesn’t know how long we’ve been trying/begging/pleading with her to go to the hospital. He said in no uncertain terms that it was my fault she was in the state she was in and that it was my fault I let it get this far. I was in tears. IT IS NOT MY FAULT. EVERYONE’S LIFE IS THERE OWN RESPONSABILITY. PLUS, he has no idea what he’s talking about because we have been trying but it has been impossible. What does he know about my pain or suffering!?!?! What right does he have!???! He said other horrible things to me that I won’t even waste my time recalling because I don’t want to keep contaminating myself with his negative energy.
SUBJECT CHANGE: Yesterday I confronted someone about their attitude toward me. Mainly about their CHANGE in attitude and treatment toward me. I wasn’t planning on doing it. It just sort of happened. I didn’t call him, he didn’t call me, I was on the phone with someone else and we somehow ended up on the phone with eachother and I just started talking. We later had a more private conversation and I just told him, as a life lesson, that the only thing a man has is his word, and that in my eyes he had no word. And that the person he had presented to me initially was NOT the person he had turned out to be. I went on and on and I really let it all out and I just spoke my mind. And, apparently, I made him open his eyes. He had put up a wall to protect himself and not let anyone penetrate and he was not being the person he truly is. He said no one had ever called him on it before and that he was so happy and thankful that I had, and that I had really given his day a 180 degree turn. Right now I don’t know if I did or I didn’t. I hope I did. I hope I opened his eyes. I hope what he was saying yesterday was true. And even if I never talk to him again, I hope I made him realize that if you build a wall around yourself the only thing you will do is suffocate. And suffocation is a horrible way of dying.

How should I know who’s blood it is? December 15, 2005

My mom had her first blood transfusion today. She was petrified. She was afraid they would put in the wrong blood type. To be honest, I was a little scared too. You here about these kinds of things all the time. It was so gut wrenching to hear her so scared and sad and scattered. She wasn’t all together ‘there’. She was telling me that she couldn’t find the TV’s remote. And I was telling her to wait a little bit until the nurse came and ask her to look for it. (My mother is so weak she can not even get up to go to the bathroom on her own.) So we’re having this very mundane conversation about the remote and all of a sudden she starts saying something about COMCEL. (COMCEL is a cell phone company in Colombia. Like T-Mobile in the U.S.) And she says that Patty (my aunt) took the phone to COMCEL to get fixed or something like that. I was SO confused. So I said: “Mami, what are you talking about? We were talking about the remote.” And she said that I was confused and sort of ignored my comment. The other thing that worried me was before the transfusion when I asked her: “Mami, what blood type are you?” (I know what blood type she is, she’s A+, like me, I was asking to see how ’sharp’ she was.) And she said: “I don’t know. The doctor’s don’t tell me anything.” And I said: “Mamita, the doctor’s don’t have to tell you, you should know. What blood type are you?” And she said: “I don’t know. The doctor hasn’t told me.” I went on: “Mami, what blood type have you been your whole life. What blood type is printed on your driver’s license?” (In Colombia Driver’s Licenses have your blood type on them.) And she answered: “Oh, A+, I thought you were asking me, who’s blood they were going to put into me.”  I was dumbstruck. Not only because she didn’t understand what I was asking, but because the blood is coming from a blood bank, how could she possible know who’s it is, so why would I even ask that… I sent her flowers yesterday and she is so moved by them. 3 dozen red roses. They made her so happy. I wish they’d make her happy enough to stop harassing my granmother. She calls her all the time and says she wants her to die and that she hates her. And my poor 80 year old grandmother is having a nervous breakdown. She can’t even get out of bed from the anxiety attack all this is causing her and the angst of not having money to pay for it all, and my mother keeps telling her she wants her dead. Life is so unfair. I hope my mother doesn’t live to regret her words. Or even worse, that she lives to hear the same words from her daughters. Yesterday she said that I had no idea how hard it was to have a mother like hers. And I said: “You’re right, I don’t. But you have no idea how incredibly hard it was to have a mother like YOU.”  I’ve become the mother. I listen to that Kelly Clarkson song ‘Because of You’ and I feel completely identified…. Because of You I am AFRAID. My biggest fear, other than losing my mother, is becoming like her.

Hospitalized December 13, 2005

My mom was hospitalized yesterday. After years of begging her to do SOMETHING to get better she decided to let her self be persuaded to go. She needs a blood transfusion and a liver transplant and it’s still unclear exactly how long she’s going to be in the hospital, but at least SHE’S THERE! She can’t hurt herself there or continue hurting my grandmother (as much), and she can FINALLY start to get better. I’m just afraid she’ll put up with it for a few days and then just say to hell with the blood work and the tests and the transfusions, I’M LEAVING. And then all hope will be lost. My grandmother is practically broke. She is selling the paintings off the living room walls to be able to pay for my mother’s stay at the hospital. Because my mother can’t be at just any hospital, she has to be at the best, most CHIC hospital in town. And with no medical insurance to help out (it expired), my 80 year old grandmother is going insane trying to figure out a way to pay for my mom’s hospitalization. I phoned her yesterday. It’s so tough to be so far away. I wanted to tell her I was so happy to know she had decided she wanted to live and that she was going to get better. She treated me like shit. She was cold and nonchalant as if she was sitting at home and everything was normal in her life and between us. Nothing is normal. None of us are normal. She has changed that forever. She has scarred me forever.

Self Destruction Ends December 12, 2005

3:07am. I’ve destroyed what I love most about my self, my hair.

I wonder December 11, 2005

I wonder if you think of me sometimes, anytime, as you drive around, when you hear a certain sound.

I wonder if you still remember, that sweet November,

the way I’d pretend not to care

if you touched my hair

or if I caught your stare.

I wonder if you ever close your eyes

just to fantasize

about me for a while.

I wonder if you’re not what you seem
if the ‘you’ I met was just a scheme
and nothing you said is true.

I wonder if you remember I exist

and how can you possibly resist

my eyes when I look at you.