For Teodora

Originally I wanted to caption this with something that would lift your spirits. And then, i rethought and i decided to be more real. Today was my uncle’s birthday and he lives by himself, I don’t know that anyone told him happy birthday face to face or gave him a hug. Today I took my third exam and I think I overstudied and I’m getting an A. Today a man got hit by a train and died at the Marta station I go to everyday. What if he was hit by the same train I’ve sat on for the past month and a half? Today I saw some friends I hadn’t seen in a while and they made me feel good, those good people. Today I got home and ran for twenty minutes the best run I’ve ran in months, maybe this whole year. I was almost crying of joy. Today my phone shattered because of the strangest series of events. Today I decided to make art instead of make anger. Today Joze brought me lemon pepper wings and gave me his penguin phone case. Today was the first day of October.

October 1, 2014

Providing homes for the roaches

It’s only been the seventh day at my new home in a humble apartment complex on Six Flags Dr and I’m possibly already dreading the next six months of living here. The first two nights or so I slept very sound probably from being tired and moving thing into and out of boxes so sleeping anywhere even on the floor felt like nothing and everything. But the most recent nights have been full of so many unpleasant exterior noises. The walls are as thin as papyrus which has some substance but certainly not enough. I hear phone conversations and heavy footsteps (one of my biggest pet peeves) upstairs, showers running next door and a never ending traffic buzz along with daily sirens and chatter. People walk right by my window and it feel like they’re watching. I’ve actually witnessed a little boy on his tricycle sitting almost directly in front of my window staring at me stare off into space while having my hand up my shirt for no apparent reason. Like when did I ever have to worry about scratching an itch at my previous homes? At least the music stays on the down low. Recently my life feels like a mixture of living in my grandma’s house in Mexico and living young Carrie Bradshaw’s life (of course without all the social drama) At least when I stay in my grandma’s house all the extra loud outside noise is expected and pleasant, like the announcement of “camoté”, “agua”, or “el gas”. It’s so strange because I was born in the apartment in front of me but obviously have no recollection whatsoever of what it was like, but my mom says it was much nicer back then. I guess it’s bound to be since it was eighteen years ago. I can’t lie, I was pretty excited about moving and I can’t quite figure out why. But now that i’m here, I feel almost numb and wait for some big emotion to hit me. Like nostalgia or regret or relief. But I didn’t really leave behind any nice christmas or thanksgiving memories at my old house, nor do I miss the stagnant energy of that neighborhood. We only stayed there a little over a year. I miss my first house though. She has an energy of whimsical dreams. I can’t wait until I have a more stable cottage-feeling place to call home again. A year ago I had exactly no idea where I’d live or sleep or talk to everyday and that was so terrifying but at the same time it’s no fun to have everything planned out. I’m very thankful for life’s surprises even if they make me cringe or cry. I don’t have a blog yet but this is a start. :) I also have a list of hopefully very interesting topics I haven’t exposed to my public yet. Stay tuned if you enjoyed this rather “short” and less “cheesy” piece.

December 3, 2014

Hasta la piel

You’d think that after almost seven years of having someone in your life they’d made the books. And sure, he’s mentioned in every text conversation I’ve had with every person I know. His name has been scribbled across my journals and books and skin even. Of course I’ve written about him. I just never played out every detail of the moments when we became one. In the cold, in the woods, in the sweltering heat, on the road, in my dreams, at the grocery store, in the middle of a track field. And last week I was laying in his arms in my car on the sixth floor of a random parking deck overlooking the Atlanta Skyline. For a couple hours we laughed and cried and spoke in darkness between foggy windows. I didn’t have to look him in the eye to know he was crying when the muscles in his cheek tightened next to my neck and shoulder. He’s the main reason why I sense and talk about the silent language between living creatures. I believe in unsaid deep communication because of him. Multiple times I could just take a drive with him and know whether he was burning inside with desire, resenting my selfish ways, and slipping away with sleep, or simply wondering what to do next about his father. And when I looked at him again just the other day, not once did his face light up, and it slowly stabbed at me knowing that I was the cause of the tugging on his face. His beautiful caramel colored face. His eyes and cheeks and spirits seemed to fall on his chicken sandwich, which at on point he used to revel in. I felt like a raisin wanting to shrivel up and die before he ever met me. 

Why did it have to be me to do this to him? 

And then I remember that no one before me had loved him so intensely and ceaselessly as I had. I kept wishing we could go back just three days before when he held me as if he’d picked me up from leaning over a cliff. I barely had to put any effort to feel like I was home again. He kissed my head and I honestly never felt like everything was going to be ok as much as I did in that moment. And now, breaking his heart for the second time, I sat there in silence in what used to be one of our favorite places. He could barely lift his gaze. Then he asked a question and my face pinched up in objection. But he had every right to know.

I’ve never felt so sure about someone. Strongly yes, but confident? no. Most of the time I know my infatuations when I feel them, but this is nothing like that. He’s the one I keep coming back to since I met him. To the world, there may be a million and one reasons to stay away, to move on, to say goodbye, but he moves me. And I believe love is more than just the emotion, it’s the tangible and intangible both combined that make you do things you like and dislike with the same pure intentions for the same outcome: others’ happiness. It’s what makes you buy concert or plane tickets just to be with someone. It’s what makes you wait hours on the other side just for a phone call of maybe five minutes. It’s what tears your walls and strips you to your core making you question everything about the once perfect and untouchable faith you had in the world. Love, to me, is the one that pulls and pushes and drowns and polishes...if you let it.