Crash and burn before take-off

Three suitcases. Just like that my life in Madrid is packed away. And now, as the suitcases stand ready for departure, and the clock slowly ticks away the minutes left until I have to get ready to leave, everything I know I shouldn't think about comes to mind. 

I left you sleeping, I couldn't bear to stay any longer, I knew my tears would wake you and I didn't want that. I don't know what I expected; perhaps that somehow, in these six days the sky would fall and we could stay together. The sky is still in one piece and I find myself trying to fool myself into believing that those moments of happiness are worth the tears and the pain. Again, we saw it coming and we went head-first into oblivion. It's like looking for pearls in a bucket of oil. I sometimes wish I had chickened out when I saw you, run away home and never thought of you again. And yet, as I saw you sleeping (or maybe pretending you were asleep, I haven't figured you out yet) glowing in the light of that lava lamp, I knew we had achieved perfection....and now it's over. Now, I fall from such great heights, and I bring you down with me when you never asked to come along for the trip...

Every attempt to rationalize the situation is blown to smithereens when I think of you, when I remember your eyes, your smile and your touch. Even you tell me there will be others: 'mejores, seguro; peores, seguro' and, that being said, I'm still terrified by the thought that in ten years I'll look back only to realize you were the best thing I ever had. Sure you can argue that I'm young and foolish, that my romanticized vision of the world distorts reality completely and that I should move on, period. 

Everyone around me tells me that this will be a great change, that I am following my dreams. Now, as I'm two hours away from getting on a plane which will take me to the rest of my life, I question everything. It's the first step I take on my own and I'm scared shitless. The thought of looking back in the future and realizing it was all wrong.....sometimes I do think the road not taken does make 'all the difference'. 

Anyway, don't listen to me...after all, I'm just foolishly romantic. Soon enough the political pragmatism we are all programmed for will kick in and I will do 'what you have to'. Even so, I'd appreciate it if we could see things clearly for what they are. Why are we fed so much bullshit (forgive my french) about romance and fairytales if we don't pursue those dreams. I understand siding either with love or pragmatism, but why sell one when we know we will eventually be forced to choose the other?

God you looked beautiful...sweet dreams.

-------------------------

James Blunt - Goodbye My Lover

Did I disappoint you or let you down?

Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your head.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I am a dreamer but when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bear my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

Please don't stop the music

After several hours talking about politics, weapons, cars, military equipment, past relationships, colleges, law, justice, police and, more importantly...honesty, I couldn't help but smile. I never thought I could find someone just as weird as myself and...the way you put it, 'God damn it, just when I found someone who knows what a Tico is' 

Right now I don't want to think, I doubt it would do me any good. I'm leaving in four days and all I want to do is close my eyes and cuddle up to you: no plans, no planes, no changes, just you, me and military history. 

Ironically, you tell me I should leave, that I should take advantage of my opportunity, enjoy my time there and not worry about anything. I don't know if you actually believe what you say or just say what you 'should' but, more surprisingly, the fact that you say it makes me like you even more. 

So....where do we go from here? No clue, I don't want to know. Sure, it's childish, I just want to enjoy the here and now and refuse to look down the road...so please don't stop the music.

________________________

Natasha St. Pier ft Pascal Obispo - Mourir Demain

Il y a ceux qui prendraient un avion
D'autres qui s'enfermeraient chez eux les yeux fermés
Toi, qu'est-ce que tu ferais ?

Toi, qu'est-ce que tu ferais ?

Il y en a qui voudrait revoir la mer
D'autres qui voudraient encore faire l'amour
Une dernière fois
Toi, tu ferais quoi ? ... et toi, tu ferais quoi ?

Si on devait mourir demain
Qu'est-ce qu'on ferait de plus,
Qu'est-ce qu'on ferait de moins
Si on devait mourir demain
Moi, je t'aimerai... moi, je t'aimerai

Il y en a qui referaient leur passé
Certains qui voudraient boire et faire la fête
Jusqu'au matin
D'autres qui prieraient...

D'autres qui prieraient...

Ceux qui s'en fichent et se donneraient du plaisir
Et d'autres qui voudraient encore partir
Avant la fin
Toi, qu'est-ce que tu ferais ? ... et toi, qu'est-ce que tu ferais ?

Si on devait mourir demain
Qu'est-ce qu'on ferait de plus
Qu'est-ce qu'on ferait de moins
Si on devait mourir demain
Moi, je t'aimerai... moi, je t'aimerai... Je t'aimerai

Et toi, dis moi, est ce que tu m'aimeras
Jusqu'à demain et tous les jours d'après
Que rien, non rien, ne s'arrêtera jamais
Si on devait mourir demain
Moi, je t'aimerai... moi, je t'aimerai
Est-ce qu'on ferait du mal, du bien
Si on avait jusqu'à demain
Pour vivre tout ce qu'on a rêvé
Si on devait mourir demain
Moi, je t'aimerai... moi, je t'aimerai

Carpe Diem

Shock led to pain, which led to frustration, then spite, hatred, and finally search for revenge...

In my case it wasn't exactly this way since the last step was rather 'how do I stop thinking about him?' rather than 'how can I screw him over?' And so, the last link in this chain was, inevitably, sex. It's funny to see how people deal with emotional pain: some cry, some laugh untruthfully, some laugh genuinely, some stare at a wall....I decided to have sex. Through physical pleasure, I believed, I could get my mind off things.

So...out of all the hunky rebound guys, why did I have to choose one I could actually like? He was a complete stranger and, to be perfectly honest, I only wanted his body at first. I have had the occasional one night stand and only wanted that this time...Murphy you bastard. I've seen him again these last days and, go figure, I like him and he likes me. It sounds like something that would never happen, a mental cock-up between sex and emotion, and yet both the sexual and the emotional part are great. 

I have always been a rationalist who argued logically that there could be no such thing as emotion from sex. I always said I thought we could and should separate physical from emotional attachment. Even Neruda described love as a great friendship with great sex. I argued that for a true attraction between two people to occur it had to be based on emotion, not physical urges. I thought that you could be that scientific about it, that you could truly argue that sex is sex and love is love. Unfortunately, I've fallen twice into the same trap. Something that seemed so simple and straightforward turned out to be completely the opposite. Not that I don't like it, it again goes back to an improbability factor and Murphy messing with our minds....'want a rebound guy? here you go.....p.s. you're gonna fall for him'

 'Seize the day' is apparently this last month's motto. However, it's not as fun as it seems. Sure I'll enjoy the six days I have left until I leave, but that doesn't imply disregarding the consequences of my actions. Someone I truly love just asked me not to leave, crying, pleading...my little adventure is obviously harming more people than I originally expected. And so, with hundreds of questions unanswered in my mind, my sleep cycle upside down, and my friends away, I now not only have to deal with my own emotions regarding the subject but those of the people around me. 

As I wrote back to this person, I wondered, was the fact that the person begged me not to leave a selfish thing to do or a loving act? When we say we want to 'break free' 'move on' 'leave the nest', do we realize that involves leaving many behind? What about them? Do they have the obligation to wave us good-bye and swallow their tears or should they consider our departure a wake-up call and show us how they truly feel?

I don't know if I'll live to regret my choices, I'm sure I will for some of them. The only thing I know is that up to this point I've loved every minute of the trip. I can't even guess where or how I'll be in a couple of years, nor can I do this for those around me; however, I can say that the moments I've lived with them until today will always be precious memories which I will never stop cherishing.

________________________

Leona Lewis - Yesterday

I just cant believe your gone,

still waiting for morning to come, 

when I see if the sun will rise,

in the way that your by my side,  

where we had so much in store, 

tell me what is it I'm reaching for, 

when we're through building memories 

I'll hold yesterday in my heart, in my heart 

They can take tomorrow and the plans we made, 

they can take the music that we'll never play, 

all the broken dreams, take everything, 

just take it away, but they can never have yesterday, 

they can take the future that we'll never know 

they can take the places that we said we will go, 

all the broken dreams take everything, 

just take it away, but they can never have yesterday 

You always choose to stay, 

I should be thankful for everyday, 

heaven knows what the future holds, 
or least where the story goes, 

I never believed until now, 

I know il see you again I'm sure, 

no its not selfish to ask for more, 

one more night, one more day 

one more smile on your face 

but they cant take yesterday, 

They can take tomorrow and the plans we made, 

they can take the music that we'll never play, 

all the broken dreams, take everything, 

just take it away, but they can never have yesterday, 

they can take the future that we'll never know 

they can take the places that we said we will go, 

all the broken dreams take everything, 

just take it away, but they can never have yesterday 

I thought our days would last forever, 

but it wasn't our destiny, 

'cause in my mind we had so much time, 

but I was so wrong, 

no I can, believe me,

I can still find the strength 

in the moments we made 
im lookin back on yesterday 

They can take tomorrow and the plans we made, 

they can take the music that we'll never play, 

all the broken dreams, take everything, 

just take it away, but they can never have yesterday, 

they can take the future that we'll never know 

they can take the places that we said we will go, 

all the broken dreams take everything, 

just take it away, but they can never have yesterday 

Red tape? What for?

Two weeks ago I was walking near my house with a couple of friends at around 3 in the morning. At that time there was no one on the streets and we immediately noticed a motorcycle that started following us. On it were two guys which shouted something like "suck my cock" at us. They then went around the block and again slowed down to look at us. Finally, on their third time around they rode the motorcycle onto the boardwalk and headed for me. My friends were walking on the sides of the boardwalk while I walked right through the middle. When they got onto the boardwalk the guys in the motorcycle tried to scare me pretending they would run me over. I guess they thought I would budge and leap out of the way....I didn't and they had to brake, almost crash and hit a pot in the process....I think that pissed them off. 

They immediately started swearing at me and threatened with beating me up. Even though one of my friends tried to reason with them, one of the guys took out a nightstick and started to move towards me. He was a bit surprised when I turned around carrying a wooden cane about four feet in size with a big brass ball on the end (I had thought it would be fun to go walking with such a fancy cane). At the same time, a car stopped right next to us and the occupant offered his help. The two guys from the motorcycle got scared and fled on Pozuelo's main street on the wrong lane. We phoned the police and, surprisingly enough, they stopped the motorcycle and identified the guys. 

Usually I complain bitterly about our police departments here in Spain. However, in this case it took thirty seconds to have a squad car at the scene and in less than five minutes they had identified the two people on the motorcycle. Of course, I pressed charges thinking that they would at least have to go to trial and go through the entire process, hopefully facing a conviction.

After filing the claim, we were told that the docket would take at least a month to get to court. Knowing that I wouldn't be in the country by then, I checked with a lawyer and went by the courtroom today to present a sworn affidavit and be excused from trial.

I was pleasantly surprised when the people at the courtroom kindly showed me to where I had to go. However, I was utterly disappointed when I got to the right place. At a desk, a kind woman with a warm smile informed me that the two guys were underage. As minors, the file had been sent to the DA responsible for those cases and thus had gone from a personal claim (since the police had not been present at the time of the threats, and since it is considered a minor offense rather than a felony, it was basically my word against their's which basically ensured a trial had to take place) to a DA case (meaning that it was now the district attorney who decided whether or not charges would be pressed). Because of that, she told me, it was best if I forgot the whole thing happened....as she put it: "after all, they didn't beat up did they? see? it's nothing serious"

You have to laugh if you don't want to burn down the courtroom, so I did. I had just been taught that it is legally acceptable to threaten people with weapons (p.s. the police impounded my cane because they considered it a 'dangerous weapon' and I will probably never recover it) as long as you stop when you're eighteen (then you can just plea temporary insanity ;) ). So basically I'm living five blocks away (I saw them again and know where they live) from two guys who decided they would beat me up since the didn't have anything else to do.

I must admit I was surprised by the fact that there was barely any red tape or paperwork in this process, but then again the outcome was less than favorable to say the least.

Subconscious schmonscious

It's slowly but surely becoming a reality....as Frankie would put it, "I'm leaving on a jet plane" in ten days...yikes!

Here's the catch: I'm not even aware of just how scared/nervous I really am. To everyone that asks I calmly respond that I'm anxious to get there, and I'm doing everything I have to to make sure that all goes well. What's more I even told my parents that I'd be fine and not to worry; I told them there was no need to come and see me before next year.

So if all is well, why can't I sleep? Why have I taken up piano again? Why have I taken up photography again? Even this blog screams subconscious stress from a mile away. Am I simply using occupational therapy as an escape valve or am I simply becoming more active? 

I've experienced this kind of stress before, and still do. When my parents got divorced, for example, I got this tick where I would count the syllables of whatever word or sentence I was saying and see if it came out to be an even or odd number. It sounds wacky, but who doesn't have a wacky tick? "A otros les da por peinar bombillas" ('others choose to comb lightbulbs')

Truth is I don't know if I should be worried or not. Objectively, this is going to be a radical change in my life, and yet I know I want it to take place...it already is. I guess this is like the night before a plane trip, I can never sleep. Bad part is this is stretching itself out for about a month. 

Blind date, blind faith, blind ignorance

After not sleeping for two days I finally fell asleep at 9 PM. Ironically, last night was the only night I didn't want to fall asleep since I was waiting for something to happen...it never did so I'm glad I got some sleep (even though I was up at 5, don't ask me why).

One year ago today, I left my house with my stomach in a knot. This guy I met online wanted to meet me after only two weeks. The only person I had actually met from my online acquaintances had to wait six months until we met in person, and yet, not knowing why, I accepted to meet him. Not only did I accept to meet him, but got in his car. 

I was supposedly going to take him to a bar near my house but when we got there the place was closed. Then, he asked me: "Do you trust me?" The short answer is obviously NOT but since he didn't look like Jack the Ripper I said yes. And so, he put the car in gear and headed out on the highway. We were about 50 km outside Madrid when we pulled onto a dirt road. It was past midnight. 

Of course I had taken precautions (what can I say, the lawyer in me). I had asked for his driver's license number, date of birth, complete name, brand and model of his car, license plates, phone number and workplace. I texted all the information to a friend and asked her to call me after two hours to see if everything was all right. 

When I remember that "date" I laugh but I was scared shitless as we left the main road, got onto a dirt one without any street lights and headed out to a field in the middle of nowhere. I was convinced that he either raped and killed me or it was going to be the most romantic date of my life. Fortunately for me, it turned out to be the latter and when we got out of the car and looked up I have never seen so many stars in my life.

I'm still unable to describe that relationship. Sure, we knew each other's basic facts: age, place and date of birth, workplace, family members, friends...and yet, conversation always seemed to be trivial, small talk. That being said, the relationship wasn't based on lust either. Sure, the physical part was great, but there was always something else behind it. I still don't know what it was and fail to logically understand how two people that barely talk can have such an intimate connection. It was that factor that made us melt when we looked into each other's eyes (ok, cheeseball, sue me) and I've never been able to put my finger on it.

We broke up exactly three months later, when I decided that sharing him with his girlfriend wasn't what I wanted. Still, even though I knew I didn't want to be the mystery mistress, I couldn't stop thinking about him and we actually ended on pretty good terms. We saw each other once after that, I again decided that it wasn't what I wanted (that time it would've involved sharing him with his girlfriend and another guy) and we parted ways. 

Again, that mysterious factor comes into play. If you look at the situation as an outsider, or simply objectively, you could perfectly say that it was plain sex with an unashamedly unfaithful guy who didn't even know what he wanted. And yet, I can't bring myself to do that. I know, don't ask me how, that it wasn't only sex, and I still believe that under a different set of circumstances things could've worked out.

Anyway, all this to say that I was secretly hoping to see him again on the anniversary of our first date. I'm not even sure he's in town, or available, but even so I still hoped and believed it might just happen...it didn't. It's funny, though, how that "fuzz factor" can make even the most cynical person have, for a moment, blind faith.

The incredible Mr. Big

I just talked to him after months without contact; my incredible Mr. Big. Fine, I copied the name from Sex And The City, but regardless, this guy is incredibly important to me. In SATC the character played by Chris Noth is an attractive bachelor about ten years older than the protagonist who is somewhere between a friend and a platonic love. Of course, since no TV show can have an unhappy ending they eventually end up together and get married in the movie.

In my case I highly doubt that I'll end up marrying my Mr. Big, I think we'd drive each other nuts. No, what I mean by that name is that person who, even though in my case he is between a friend and a platonic love, is usually a friend whose acquaintance we made in a bizarre way, who is always in and out of our life and who always pops up at the right time. It's that someone who you know you must have been married to in another life and yet you laugh at the thought of being with them. You can have the worst day of your life and, right at that moment when you think you're going to lose it you get a call, sms or email simply saying "hey kid" which puts a smile on your face that makes it all ok. 

I met my Mr. Big on an online forum....a soccer forum (not that I was into soccer, just soccer players and they had pretty good pics there) four years ago. One night one of us (can't remember who) decided to post a topic called "What are you listening to". It was a tedious summer afternoon and it's just the type of thing you do to keep you busy, you post the song you're listening to. As soon as the topic was posted, we met. We met simply because we were both stubbornly determined to post more songs per minute. In less than fifteen minutes we had collapsed the servers and almost been banned from the forum, and were chatting away on messenger. We spent almost every night that week chatting until at least five in the morning, about everything. 

I guess distance and age really played a significant part in the relationship, if you want to call it that. He was five years older than me and about three-hundred kilometers away, a perfect confident and an ideal platonic target. There I was, a fourteen year-old brat pouring my heart out to a nineteen year-old college student, teasing him all the way and, to my surprise, getting pretty good feedback. 

It was just the type of relationship you want, and yet we both were confident and at ease with the idea that nothing would ever happen between us. If you mixed his arrogance and my annoying nagging you got endless hours of sarcasm, witty comebacks and some of the best laughs of my life. You could say that things even spiced up at a point (obviously several years after we first met) and that only made the friendship more interesting since it brought a whole new level of connotations with which to fool around. You could also say we both corrupted each other (if we were ever innocent) and loved every minute of it. 

So when he popped up today I stopped worrying. I still can't sleep, I have a lot to do, and yet with that "hey kid" that smile came about and if I had to post a reply to "What are you listening to" it would have to be Michael Buble - I'm Feeling Good. 

Cheers. 

Mosquitoes, love and other things I'd love to swat

I resigned myself to the idea of sleep at about 7:30 (after going to bed at 6:30) when I was bitten for the sixth time by the same bloodsucking, high-pitched flyby, damn mosquito. Accepting the impossibility of sleeping, I decided that the best way to spend the next hour was huddled in a corner of my room, lights on, actually speaking out loud to this insect, its brain several hundred times smaller than a pinhead, which still outsmarted me.

It got to a point where I would randomly slap myself around, completely paranoid and itching all over. Every time it buzzed in my ear I kept wishing that God would smite it down in His wrath even if he took the entire apartment building down with it. Then I realized...how well has the whole "make a wish" trick worked out in the last eighteen years? Not so well...

As we go through the early years of our life, we are awarded random "carte-blanches" with which we can actually point out a specific thing we desire and, supposedly, obtain it. Usually these rituals take place on the anniversary of your birth and whenever you lose an eyelash.

At first of course we begin our series of silent demands with pure, unashamed and perfectly magnificent (if you ask me) materialism. The good thing about those wishes is that there is a good chance they might come true. In my case, it usually went like this: I wished for something, I then told my parents what I had wished for and, if there was money the wish came true, and if there wasn't any money, I saved up and the wish came true anyway....sweet. Enter love, generosity and the whole cart of horseshit. The way I see it, that's where we went wrong; we are selfish by nature, materialistic, pragmatic and yet completely ashamed of these traits even though we do little or nothing to prove otherwise. So we wish for the welfare of others....let me make a short list of the latest consequences of "I wish he'll be happy" for me:

1.) A phone call on my birthday in which, instead of hearing "happy birthday cutie" or something similar, I get "Hi! I fell in love with a guy I just met!"

2.) A Thai flight attendant....

3.) Walking in on the guy I like getting a blowjob in the bathroom from a woman and then giving me all the details, having to nod and smile all the way through.

So, the scoreboard doesn't look too good...

And now, the question: What causes us to go against our genetic composition and natural tendencies of selfishness, forgoing them in order to "wish he'll be happy"? I understand physical attracion, that I get completely. We need to keep the species going and look for the Alpha male (p.s. I just learned today that there's this fetish involving Alpha jackets....the world's going nuts). However, it's not only biosexually motivated attraction, but in many cases something deeper. If the -logic part of biologic applied, we would know better than to believe we can act as something other than animals if that is what originally drives our attraction.

So instead of following biology, we have created this type of masochism where, not only do we have to work much much harder for the sex but, we have created such a chemical inbalance in our brains that we actually feel pain and joy which aren't physical and a whole variety of feelings in between. Even more, we have created a type of attraction where we obsess to the point of saying "he's the one" and being absolutely positive about it until we either succeed or move on. In a nutshell we have discarded the idea of choosing the fittest maleS to obsessing about one for vast amounts of time and basing our choice on something other than genes (I'm sure you thing he's cute but for God's sake open an Abercrome & Fitch catalog then tell me your going on purely Darwinian criteria here).

Last month I met up with a guy I used to like a lot and, even though we had a great time, I kept asking myself how it was possible that I used to drool over him, waiting for him to call, counting the days until we saw each other again....even the physical attraction which had been so strong several years ago only inspired a miserable "meh" when I saw him. And yet, at the time I was convinced that things could work out and he could turn out to be "the one". Why do we obsess with perfection? Why one? Can't we be a bit more realistic and assume that there will be more than one person who can relate to us and spend time with us? Can't we come to terms with this idea, especially after a pattern of "he's the one" NEXT "he's the one" NEXT?

I often wonder if there is a "one" whether or not that person would be attainable. I have no problem admitting when I have failed in a relationship or being rejected to start with but....what about the impossibility factor, or rather the "straight or gay" factor? What happens if the real "one" is the only one we can't get? What happens when our brilliantly romantic, chemically imbalanced, alternative to biology hits a brick wall?

__________________________________


Solo Un Deseo


Clamar al destino, al cielo rogar
tapar nuestras yagas, la llama alumbrar
y jurar....

Promesas que nunca podremos cumplir
al creer que podremos el tiempo domar
si, ya sea por mérito, piedad o valor,
nos fuera otorgado ese único amor
que ansiamos con rabia, pasión, sin pudor

Bendita ignorancia, maldita ilusión
al creer que con ello la pieza encajó
que acabó todo el puzle, que la incógnita hayó

Y ver que al mirar desde lejos la obra
no es sino un sucio lienzo, mil tonos de sombra
que ese final no hizo mas que poner
en paleta colores, en un corazón querer

Y es que ansiar una flor de un esquejo invisible
sin mirar más que a un punto esperando un milagro
sin querer admitir que no es todo a una carta
nos pudre por dentro, rabiamos por falta
de no poder ver que no hay sólo un querer

Que la vida es tragar y sentirla escocer
y saber que los tragos que habremos de dar
seran mil harto amargos
mas que dulces vendrán
que mil hay sin su fruto ni su jugo darán
que son secos y largos sin motivo ni son

Mas a cada respiro que ansiado tomamos
buscamos sin falta volver a empezar
y ver que los llantos, sollozos y golpes
las fuertes mareas, los vientos, los nombres
de aquellos que pudieron ser, que fueron, que duelen
que creimos rompieron lo allén construido
son las cicatrices que crean el lienzo
cada una un dolor, cada una un recuerdo

Y al los años pasar, y al caer cien mil veces
al levantarnos con rabia, al volver a fallar
nos reimos sin miedo frente a nuestro destino
sabiendo que caer no es más que el paso previo
a surgir de ese suelo que ya conocemos
y la sangre que fluye de las heridas nuevas
ahora es solo el sembrado de nuevos recuerdos

Seguimos rezando, pidiendo un deseo
apagando las velas, susurrando en secreto
sólo eso, Dios mio, dame sólo ese algo
que lo cambiará todo, lo demás será en vano

Y al beber tantas veces de ese amargo licor
descubrimos forzados su oculta dulzura
cada trago es más dulce por haber sido amargo
y al final lo pedido sin saberlo fue dado

Knight in shining armor shot to death while trespassing private property

I can just imagine the news break:

"Police are still trying to identify the mysterious knight who, early this morning was shot to death when he stampeded into number 135 of the Enchanted Forest bawling "I will save you" while brandishing a Toledan, 32 inch sword. According to the official report, the owner of the property, a woman who goes by the name of Snow White, feared for her life and that of the seven elderly, growth-impaired, men under her care and acted in self defense. In an exclusive interview to this channel, Snow White has revealed some details of the attack:

   'I saw a man galloping towards the front door wielding a sword and I reacted automatically. I reached for the twelve gauge we keep in the corner, aimed at his head and fired twice.' - the poor woman stated in tears.

 'The victim was completely disfigured and dental records are useless, we will have to use DNA to identify the body. It is not confirmed, but we suspect this might be your Royal Highness Prince Charming, a knight who was seen entering the woods claiming he had to save Ms. White. Apparently, he hadn't received the memo that the Wicked Witch's flight out of Boca was delayed due to a hurricane and she wouldn't be able to make it until next week.' - The police chief revealed.

This incident resembles the case just last week where Sleeping Beauty had to blind an assailant with pepper-spray when she was sexually assaulted while napping. Fortunately, her three fairy godmothers turned the rapist into a pile of dust before he could recover his sight, but it was another close call for one of the most beautiful maidens in the kingdom. The last of these women, Cinderella has testified today regarding her assaulter's apparent foot fetish in the case brought against him (an anonymous member of the royal family) for sexual harassment.

This epidemic of bad timing has forced the Happily Ever After Association to file for bankruptcy this morning while the recruitment centers for the Shining Armor Brigade are completely empty. The national census shows an alarming 85% of the population is made up of women and this year marked a new record number of vasectomies."

______________________

Why is it so damn hard? Or rather, why is Murphy such a freaking sadist??? I mean, as if "whatever can go wrong will go wrong" wasn't hard enough, now we have "whatever can go wrong will go wrong, unless of course by making it go right we can screw you over even harder." Apparently, now we, as in a murder trial, must have the means, motive AND opportunity to be successful in a relationship...any parallelisms here?

It is not enough to be passionately in love and try our hardest, but we have to get the timing right. My last relationship was with a guy who 'loved' me to death yet could not bring himself to leave his girlfriend or accept his bisexuality. Less than a year after we broke up he had come out of the closet, dumped the girlfriend and was dating a Thai flight attendant... apparently, I missed my enter cue by about a year early. Another candidate came about not soon after I had banged my head against the wall a couple thousand times for things not working out with this guy. In this case, I had missed my enter cue by about a year LATE, since he was available, smart, attractive, but I am less than two weeks away from leaving the country. Again, Murphy and God must be sharing a bucket of popcorn the size of the Coliseum (and not even getting fat) while watching the show: namely, us.

What's even more ironic, I'm willing to bet that those people who actually got the timing right face a heart-attack or bus-driving-over-your-anti-Murphy-ass related death probability of about 5000% compared to those who didn't. 

Grumpy mood? Perhaps, I think it's because even though I spend most of the day thinking about what I could write, I ALWAYS get my best ideas just at that moment when my head sinks into the pillow and I start snoring lightly...gotta love Murphy.

Signed, sealed and forgotten

"Grandpa died: September 23, 1995. I love you grandpa."

That's all the letter read. I had come across it while looking for things to take with me to the states. The text was clearly my handwriting on an A4 sheet neatly folded in four parts and put in an envelope titled: "details of grandpa's death." When I saw the letter a whole flood of memories came to me: I remembered my grandfather and how he used to be, his laughter and his ears (don't ask). I sat staring at the line of text for at least ten minutes remembering all these things, and then realized that, at the age of five, when my beloved "belelo" passed, my grief could be expressed in two words and a date, then filed away in a drawer and I could go on with my life. Was it ignorance, fear or simple pragmatism to bury such an event? Are we tactless as children or do we simply understand that grief is an inner process of which we sometimes show no sign?

When someone we care for dies we again turn to our masks and put up what my father usually refers to as "the circus". This includes buying new black suits and dresses, inviting relatives who barely knew the deceased, feeding them abundantly of course, and spending several months' salary on a wooden box which will spend the rest of eternity (hopefully) underground. We put make up on the deceased, make sure they look splendid for the occasion (after all, it is a special occasion, YOU'RE DEAD, smile!) and demand they be taken to their resting place in a Mercedes-Benz. I think now I understand why I simply chose to aknowledge the fact, write myself a reminder and move on, or rather truly grieve without asking for a german luxury sedan. We each grieve in our own way, but this being said, a funeral is no way to grieve at all in my opinion.

When my grandmother passed, our family again spent a fortune in the wake and funeral and put her to rest in the family mausoleum. Over 200 people showed up; the place gleamed with Armani and Versace from a mile away. When the Mercedes arrived in front of the mausoleum, and the service begun while the casket was being put into its spot, all the guests gathered around the priest who was beginning a prayer. It was a beautiful spring day, all the guests were in their best clothes and the last ceremony began. The priest was a young man in his late twenties and apparently reading wasn't his forte. Four out of every five words that came out of his mouth were mispronounced and made most people cringe. In the background, typical Spanish workers (i.e. tan men in their late forties with an average weight of 250 pounds, an average height of 4 feet and 90% of their body hair on their chest right next to their neck) were yelling orders back and forth while they passed the bricks they had to lay, occasionally dropping one and offering a truly respectful scene to those present when they bent down to reach for it...who need clowns when you have that?

Ironically, after tens of thousands of dollars spent on the whole thing, I don't remember where my grandmother's buried, what or where we ate, or most of the people that were there...but the worker's asscrack, oh that will stay for life.

Shortly after the funeral, my dad warned me that if he was ever buried in anything more expensive than a shoebox he would come back from the dead and beat the crap out of me...can't say I'm surprised. Actually, I would like the same thing: a handful of people in jeans around an old shoebox; I'm willing to bet that those people would remember the funeral and, more importantly, it would be meaningful.

Three layers of onion, one layer of lead

I have always been fascinated by the process of hypnosis: a trip into your subconscious, expressing your thoughts as they form and providing a vision of yourself which is pure, unaltered. However, what seemed at first the possibility of a spiritual journey and knowing oneself better than we already do, soon turned into a possible threat. Hypnotic sessions are usually recorded since the person undergoing the treatment is not aware of what is going on. I was surprised to find out, though, that some patients are denied access to those recordings or are strongly advised against listening to them because of their content. Apparently, our true personality isn't always as pleasant as we would think. Thus, the question arises: how well do we want to know ourselves? 

We create facades, layers, masks, call it what you will, for different situations. We see this process as a means not only for protection but adaptation as well. A whole variety of different "me's" are stored within us, ready for an immediate application if the circumstances require of it. For example, we modify our behavior when we socialize, when we are intimate or when we are alone. Of course there are many sub-categories within these which fine-tune our demeanor even more according to the specific surroundings we find ourselves in. We like to think that this adaptability helps not only ourselves but those around us, since we become "polite" or "appropriate". 

While changing our appearance and demeanor in order to "fit in" may seem harmless in most cases, and even convenient, do we truly remember who we really are? Have we lost our own blueprints amidst the frenzy of social adaptation? 

When we meet other people, especially if we begin an intimate relationship with them, we expect to peel off those layers and reach the core of the given person, hopefully to find someone we truly feel comfortable with. The process begins with "breaking the ice", our first bite at the onion, and working our way into that person's innermost thoughts. Be that as it may, we refuse to scrutinize our own selves with the same rigor. While we expect, actually demand, to know those we love completely, reprimanding them for any type of secrecy, we are contented with keeping skeletons in our own closets and burying them in layers of pseudo-personality until they are so long gone they only remain in our subconscious. Are there skeletons so disturbing that deserve a closet within the closet? Furthermore, if they come out, can we use them to our advantage or will that only prove the original purpose of our layers? Is our subconscious a vision of who we truly are or a grave never to be opened?

The carrot, the stick, and the scars they both leave...

I never really understood the meaning of the expression involving a proverbial carrot and stick. According to some the metaphor in the expression involves luring someone with a reward they will never get (namely, using a stick to hold a carrot in front of the person and pulling it back every time they reach it, making it impossible for them to get to it). Others argue that this expression symbolizes reward and punishment since, if the person acts as they should, they will be rewarded (carrot), but they will be punished if they act otherwise (stick). Thus, we have two scenarios: one where we blindly and futilely seek gratification and another where we face pain but have a chance at joy...However, which rules apply if we are the ones wielding the stick and carrot in front of someone else? Should we keep our distance while offering a carrot that person will never get, hence preventing them from ever being hit with the stick, or should we offer both the carrot and the stick, holding both equally firmly?

Physically, we are reminded of the pain we once went through with our scars. Small cuts that show us how we were hurt and supposedly prevent us from repeating the same mistake. Emotionally however, those scars apparently vanish only to randomly reappear causing more pain: a song which reminds us of someone long after we thought we forgot them, a place is transformed from an address to where we once met, and an object covered in dust is suddenly a gift you once gave or received. Nevertheless, we are only too happy to give emotions a second chance and hope never to be hurt in the same place again. We tell ourselves that life is too precious to waste a single second and should take advantage of every moment and opportunity, even if we might get hurt along the way. Thus, when we relive a situation by which we once were scarred, we use the carpe diem excuse clause to plunge head-first into a most probable repetition of our failure. Even so, this is inherent in our nature; after all, we are the only animals which trip twice on the same stone....but, what if the choice was not so much to prevent our own harm but to prevent hurting the other person? If we know for a fact we will scar someone we care for if we start a relationship, is it best to prevent the wound or trust the scar will serve as a reminder of an irreplaceable experience? Is carpe diem a valid alibi to inflict pain or is it our way to heal our own scars?

Hyperspeed Activated

We crave change. When faced with the possibility of an unknown future which could potentially make our dreams come true, few take the time to carefully examine to what extent they are willing to risk what dreams they have accomplished for an opportunity which offers nothing but uncertainty. 

Whether we do it seeking love, a better career or simply for the heck of it, we see rolling the dice as an entryway to a new and exciting future. We see change as a promise when it is nothing but our subconscious asking "what if...". We are positive that what we leave behind fades in comparison to what awaits us in that land of opportunity. 

In his poem "The Road Not Taken", Frost explores the idea of whether or not our choices determine our fate and whether or not we should question those choices after we make them. Whether one believes that choosing the road "less travelled by" was the correct choice, or even made a difference in where we ended up, it seems as if we always leaving something at the crossroads. 

For me, the reality of change has struck sudden and decisively with a single text message. The person that was closest to me for the past four years of my life got on a plane and left the country. She will return within the next month, but I will no longer be here, since I as well have a plane to catch. Realizing that I have chosen my career over those I love without realizing the pain that that would cause until tonight, I can't help but ask: Is following our fantasies a noble act which holds hope for an ideal future, or an act of selfishness which hurts both ourselves and those whose company we cherish and know to love us for sure? Are we not, in a way, saying that we want more? That what we leave behind is not good enough? Again, are we being reasonably hopeful or simply taking a chance on change with the odds stacked against us?

Of course, we can't do anything about this since we won't know the answers to these questions until we reach the end of our trip, and trace our steps back to those crossroads seeing if we chose the correct road. Until then, we can only dream that what awaits us is worth our choice, and that our dreams of change hold the key to a happiness so gratifying it is worth hurting others in order to achieve. 

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;        5 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,        10 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.        15 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.        20 

- Robert Frost

http://www.bartleby.com/119/1.html

The Infinite Improbability Drive

In Douglas Adams' series of 'The Hitchhiker's Guide To the Galaxy' the author creates this futuristic drive which has as a purpose that of creating situations so improbable that they could only occur knowing the exact factor of their improbability. For example, at a given factor of improbability, this drive turns two missiles headed towards the protagonists' ship into a sperm whale, which questions its existence, the meaning of its meaningless life and its future as it plunges towards the rocky surface of a nearby planet several thousand miles below, and a bowl of petunias. 

If I had to take a shot in the dark, I would say that the improbability factor of me reopening this blog two years after the last entry was posted is somewhere around 1,000,000,000 to 1 against. Futuristic drives and sperm whales notwithstanding, you have to laugh to yourself when you find that you are exactly in the place where you were certain you wouldn't end up. Obviously, the infinite improbability drive was introduced long ago, but is usually referred to as: LIFE. 

I came across this blog accidentally as I rummaged through my old school files. When I entered it (after reactivating it) and read my previous entries, I couldn't help but gawk strangely at the lines I had written and see how I have changed. 

So...where am I now...what has changed?

Academically, the path is just beginning, but I never thought I would take the steps that have led me to where I stand today. When I first created this blog, an education in the States seemed like a dream, a fantasy...today, it's a reality. I won't say that it took "blood, toil, tears and sweat" for that would clearly be an exaggeration (God knows I have never stressed over my schoolwork); however, I have accomplished more than I had dreamt of. After going through the IB program and successfully obtaining a bilingual diploma, writing an extended essay, going through the joys of community service and the journey to the inner self that Theory of Knowledge provides, I actually had an academic chance at a scholarship for an American university. Again, even with the grades, it seemed like the impossible dream and I readily prepared for a career at a university in Madrid with a possibly definite future in Spain. However, as things turned out, the economic impossibilities that once were there, vanished in weeks; there was now hope. After sending out applications to 18 American universities, I was accepted into 7 and offered a scholarship at all of those. Now, I'm packing my bags and getting ready to start a new chapter in my life, moving to Boston for the next five years. Who ever said dreams can't come true?

Emotionally, these two years have proven that life never gets boring. Friends have turned into enemies, enemies into friends and both have come and gone as is natural. Nevertheless, as I get ready to embark in my newest adventure, I can't help but look back and notice that it is precisely because I am leaving that I know who I am closest to. I guess you could say that distance and loss are excellent filters when it comes to distinguishing acquaintances from true love, whether it be friendly or otherwise. Sadly though, I fear that, even if I try my hardest at keeping in touch, those who I truly cherished will fall into the same pit of forgetfulness as those who never meant anything. There will be new friends, lovers, and simple acquaintances but...as we go through life, do they all progressively end up in the same place? Are our memories souvenirs of a feeling that once was, or parts of the feeling itself? Whatever the case, I wouldn't change the people I have met, or the moments I have lived in these two years for the world. Heartbreaks and tears have led to laughter and love and I expect the cycle to continue that way.

The reason for this new entry was my attempt to build a time capsule to take with me to Boston, to make sure I never forget; objects and documents which reflect cherished moments: successes, failures and everyone that made those moments precious. Ironically, this blog has served as a time capsule on its own, waiting silently in cyberspace, reminding me today of how I was and what I believed to be important several years ago. Thus, in the same way that I now examine objects, and more importantly thoughts from the past, I would like to make sure that this blog continues, not so much so that it can rise from its ashes, but rather pile up on them and become another milestone on which to comment several years from now.