How about being human?

We allow ourselves to be animals and we strive to be God
People say, "Be a man!"... "Act like a lady!"
How about trying to be... human??

Choices

She went over to his apartment
Clutching her decision
And he said, did you come here to tell me goodbye?
So she built a skyscraper of procrastination
And then she leaned out the twenty-fifth floor window
Of her reply
And she felt like an actress
Just reading her lines
When she finally said
Yes. it’s really goodbye this time
And far below was the blacktop
And the tiny toy cars
And it all fell so fast
And it all fell so far
And she said:
You are a miracle but that is not all
You are also a stiff drink and I am on call
You are a party and I am a school night
And I’m lookin’ for my door key
But you are not my porch light
And you’ll never know, dear
Just how much I loved you
You’ll probably think this was
Just my big excuse
But I stand committed
To a love that came before you
And the fact that I adore you
Is but one of my truths

...

She’s choking on the smoke
Of unthinkable choices
She is haunted by the voices
Of so many desires
She’s bent over from the business
Of begging forgiveness
While frantically running around
Putting out fires
But then what kind of scale
Compares the weight of two beauties
The gravity of duties
Or the ground speed of joy?
Tell me what kind of gauge
Can quantify elation?
What kind of equation
Could I possibly employ?
And you’ll never know, dear
Just how much I loved you
You probably think this was
Just my big excuse
But I stand committed
To a love that came before you
And the fact that I adore you
Is just one of my truths
So I
I’m goin’ home
To please the one I so love pleasing
And I don’t expect
He’ll have much sympathy for my grieving
But I guess that this is the price
That we pay for the privilege
Of living for even a day
In a world with so many things
Worth believing
In

-Ani DiFranco

Why do I identify so much? I've never chosen between two people. I guess for me it's choices in general. The fight between body and soul, heart and mind, reason and desire. The line is not only gray it's multicolored. Should we pursue what is good for us or what makes us happy, or are they one and the same? How to distinguish between true happiness and the untrue?

My favorite twos

When I really like something, I buy it in twos. Problem is, because I like those things so much, I always have to go back for more; two doesn't last very long. So today I was wondering why I don't just buy 100 packs and save myself the trouble. I think in part it's because I like to have as little stuff as possible at any given moment, but also because I enjoy the going back for more part. I guess I should clarify that the only things I'm actually thinking about are coffee and shisha supplies. Is that all I care about? I think I could be happy without any other material possession... except maybe my camera... and my laptop... I don't have those in twos. Of course coffee is more complicated because there's the freshness factor, which, of course, is crucial. I forgot to put that on my survey. I got a coffee mug painting for my birthday; it's beautiful :) How can a mug collage not make one happy? Impossible.

Black, Strong, Nutty... and with a Good Finish

He borrado 2 veces este post...
Tal vez no hay nada que quiero decir...
En realidad hay mucho que quiero decir pero una "personita" tiene razon cuando dice que soy muy reservada.
Una "personita"... jajajaja!!

Te hago un cafecito?
Ya!

I'm bad...

I think only one person will have any idea what I'm talking about, which is of course... nothing.

So let's change the subject...

How about a poll:

How do you like your coffee?

Options:
a) nutty
b) earthy
c) with a good finish
d) with just the right acidity
e) citrusy
f) chocolaty
g) smooth
h) like my men: black and strong
i) like my men: brown and sweet
j) other

*I'd love to know what other is.

Nihil volitum quin precognitum

(no puede quererse nada que previamente no haya sido conocido)

Inspired by Benetton

Last night I had a strange train of thought after I witnessed a car crash from the 12th floor of the apartment building where I sleep but don't live. The last part went something like this:

• My Benetton bag I bought at a flea market, aka Cumavi
• Benetton adds
• "Benetton couples" (interracial)
• Couples
• Sex
• Love (yes... it was in that order)
• The need to love
• The need to be loved
• The realization that the need to love is stronger than the need to be loved

It makes me wonder, have I ever been in love? I know I've thought so at the time, but when it's over I think... naw, I wasn't in love... it wasn't real... I was blind... it was stupid... I wasn't in love.

And now I've become this completely rational, cold minded person, that doesn't believe in romance, or butterflies (the stomach ones), much less soul mates. I snicker at hand-holding and intimate whispers.

...but try as I may to ignore it, the need to love is strong.

Oh my...

I'm playing chess with myself. It's one of those long drawn out games. I feel like the world has stopped, but then I'm reminded... no, just your world. I've always wondered if we all look at the same object and call it green but really see different colors. It would explain really bad taste. Our minds do crazy things; at this point I don't think anything would surprise me. It's actually really hard for me to seem, sound, be excited, surprised, shocked, or any other kind of strong emotion. I once got really excited during a game of ultimate frisbee; everyone slowed down and glanced at me nervously not knowing how to interpret or react to my enjoyment. Watching TV with my brothers one day, I said, "Ugh, she's so ugly!" My oldest brother asked me why I was always so negative. So I decided to be positive. When the next girl came on the show, I said, "Wow, she's beautiful!!" To this they responded, "Okaaay...", "Not really." I was confused, I didn't know what was expected of me. When I heard some people talking about Princess Diana's death, I said something like, "Well, it's about time." I felt like I should add something to the conversation... except their mouths dropped open and they stared at me in confused disbelief. Emotions, primarily expressing them, has never been my forte.

Nagging little secrets

Ok, so I really need to work but I need to get this off my chest first... I once beat an old couple to a taxi in the rain.

Ahhh! There, I said it!

Part 1 'n a half

I'm not sure I want to go into the messiness of my early teenage years, however, I think that's when the seeking really began. Except I was looking in all the wrong places. I tried on multiple identities, none of which would fit. I somehow managed to think thongs were comfortable (I know, it's beside the point... or is it?) I used to fall asleep (or try to) to Vonda Shepard (I know, that's also strange). I suffered from insomnia, which let my obsessive compulsive nature out of the closet. I would often get up to clean my room at 3 in the morning... or write... or other such things. I would usually sleep through class (if I didn't skip) and accomplished failing Spanish even though I would correct my teacher in my mind. The one thing I loved was work... and other such things. I would usually get there before I needed to and didn't need to be asked twice to stay longer. I worked on holidays with pleasure. Being a fourteen-year-old waitress at an invisible Chinese restaurant seemed to be my only floating device, and I was no where near land. Actually, there were a few islands like the ones that float on the Lake Titicaca (home to the tribe that existed before the sun); women that have forever left their mark on me, floaters themselves, possibly even farther from land than myself. They taught me to distrust men whether or not they meant to and by doing so, in a way, made me very much like the men they resented. Together we shared cigarettes, coffee and our hearts.

It seems I never got around to the subject. From what little I remember of those years, oddly clear through the fog, surfaces part of a Creative English assignment. I don't remember what the subject of the paper was but I quoted someone with this phrase,

"Abraham believed by the virtue of the absurd."

My teacher decided to anonymously read my paper to the class, which resulted in uncomfortable giggles and comments like, "is that a suicide note Miss ...?" I kept quiet while inside a heated debate raged. Was I suicidal because I doubted? Or were they zombies simply waiting for the day to topple over without ever having opened their eyes, much less their minds, to the world pulsing around them. Whether I was suicidal or not, is now irrelevant (as I am still here, the world pulsing around me). At that time I questioned, I doubted, I disbelieved, but worse of all, I didn't care.

Go ahead and cry now
Just give in to the madness
The only way to feel your joy
Is to first feel the sadness

-Vonda Shepard,

I guess when life is complicated, simple is good.

... to be continued

A Glorious Mistake

I should've never started to read dooce, now I'm hopelessly addicted and will forever be delayed an additional 5 minutes before I start to do whatever I need to do (notice the new addition to Where I procrastinate...)

At the flip of a coin

Smoking, why do we start? I honestly don't believe that those who don't are stonger, smarter, more sure of themselves, I just think they were lucky. Is that my excuse? Well, yes, as a matter of fact it is. When one fraction of a second is all that is needed to doom you for the rest of your life, are we really that guilty? The apple was poisoned, the ginger-bread house was a trap, I was lured with false promises and now I'm forever guilty of my innocent crime. Now I feel weak, dirty, bad, stupid. Do people usually dig up other's dirt from before they were 13? Does that not seem illogical? It's just hard for me to accept that humans with braces, that still don't choose their own clothes, that haven't ever had a pimple, that can still hunch their shoulders and not wear a bra, are completely accountable for their actions. Don't worry (you self-righteous-non-smokers), it doesn't make it any easier to quit. You still have your advantage. However, has it not happened to you (by you I mean those of you in my same plight) that when you quit you become self-righteous? It has happened to me. I tell myself I pity my ex-smoking -buddies but maybe I'm just suddenly lonely. You know there are support groups for ex-smokers? Most people don't believe it's such a big deal. Yeah, you're just lucky. And here I am writing about it and all I can think about is how much I want a smoke. And I KNOW it causes cancer, and I KNOW it's the one responsable of my shortness of breath, my coughing, my worthless immune system, I KNOW. Why does that mean nothing to me? I pretend it scares me but it doesn't, not as much as a cheap horror film; so, no, I can't say it scares me. Smoking is my Humbert.

Odio la vaselina

Una excusa es siempre una excusa. No importa si de verdad el perro se comió tu trabajo final, sigue siendo una excusa. Lo importante es que no tienes el trabajo, no por qué no lo tienes.

Hace como 10 días que estoy resfriada. Cuando me enfermo siempre dura una eternidad. Y siempre se torna somato psíquico, o quizás siempre es psicosomático. No lo se. Lo cierto es que hace 3 días que no hago más que trabajar y dormir. Cómo por obligación, no he estado tomando café ni fumando shisha, ni siquiera me he estado arrancando el pelo. Bueno, hoy tome café, ¿es señal de mejora cuando vuelven los vicios? Bueno, mi resfrío coincidió con la regla. Pero sigue siendo excusa.

No quiero salir de mi casa, como para no regresar a la realidad. Incluso es la primera vez en días que reviso mi correo y leo los pensamientos de mis “fellow procrastinators”, como si la realidad virtual también implicara demasiado esfuerzo.

Me haré otra taza de café… umm, parece que estoy volviendo a la vida.

He vuelto con una galleta de miel que en mi reciente ocio he recubierto tiene suero de leche…ugh, ¿por que? También me he enterado que los dulces de ajonjolí tienen aceite de oliva… ¿por que? ¿Por qué se empeñan en destruir mis pequeños placeres? Podría convertirme en “the magician”, pero no sé a qué protestaría con mi silencio.

En un rato voy a una fiesta de cumpleaños. Habrán aceitunas, cubitos de queso, maní, gaseosas, conversaciones excluyentes y otras abiertas, risas, historias vergonzosas, preguntas desinteresadas, respuestas vacías, música, tal vez baile (mas incomodo que divertido), silencio, ruido… Yo iré, porque es mi amigo, porque quiero ir, porque es malo ser antisocial… Pero sé que seré antisocial y sé que cuando alguien me diga, “¿Nos vamos?”, me sentiré aliviada. ¿Entonces por qué voy? Porque la línea entre realidad y fantasía ya es demasiado indistinta. Porque me siento demasiado cómoda en mis sueños. Porque excluir a los demás de mi vida se ha vuelto la norma.

Creo que con suficientes libros y kilos de buen café no me molestaría vivir en una isla desierta. ¿Eso debería preocuparme? Me imagino que si. Me imagino que lo mejor será no publicar esto para que los pocos que leen mis pensamientos no se asusten de mi indiferencia. Pero estoy cansada de fingir y de que los demás finjan. Así que no destinaré mis pensamientos a ser un eterno borrador. Después de todo, ser humana no significa llevar vaselina en los dientes y la sonrisa siempre lista. Esos humanos me inspiran desconfianza. Con cada sonrisa me hacen dudar más y más de su felicidad. Bueno, supongo que es normal en una escéptica.

What forces us out of oblivion...

Fast 2005

Nixon ran away today. It's almost midnight and I can't sleep. I knew he was thinking about it, I should have told someone. If I pass by la casa 1 tomorrow and he's not there... It would be my fault. I don't know if people would blame me but I would.

Sleep is a waste of time anyways. I haven't been getting my 8 hours of sleep, much less the 10-12 I was used to back home. It's good for me though. I was so aragana. I sat in my hammock all day, drinking coffee and daydreaming. I still daydream once in a while but for the most part I don't have time for it anymore. I don't think I'll feel like I'm doing enough until I have a study circle everyday. Hopefully that will start soon. I can start Book 3 this week because I already have the books.

Nixon, where are you? Te imagino caminando, solo, de noche, con hambre y con sed, llorando y llamando a tu mama aunque sabes que no te oye. Lo siento Nixon. Lo siento porque no tienes una mejor vida. Lo siento porque no vives con tu familia... porque no tienes todo lo que yo tuve. Te quiero mucho. Y me duele que sufras... y yo se que no me duele tanto como a ti y me siento hipocrita por atreverme a pensar que entiendo porque no entiendo. No entiendo lo que es tener a una madre que no te quiere ni se interesa por ti. No entiendo lo que es nunca haber conocido a mi padre o tener un hermano que me viola. No entiendo nada de eso. Nunca lo entendere porque no lo he vivido.

Andrea es la niña mas linda del mundo con sus colochos, su sonrisita, su naricita y su pansota... y su mami no la quiere. Y ella quiere tanto a su mami.

Kimberly, ni se queria ir. Y su mama se quejaba de que la hayan acostumbrado a estar chineada. Pobresita, la acostumbraron al amor, al calor de alguien que la abraza y le da un pico y le dice, "¿Como esta mi gordita bella?"

Los gemelos... ni se que decir. Los quiero demasiado. Ahora se lo que se siente querer a alguien tanto que no lo quieres soltar. Entiendo por que mi mama siempre quiere abrazarnos y decirnos que nos quiere. Yo quiciera tenerlos de la mano por el resto de mi vida y verlos sonreir y amarlos y darles todo, todo lo material y espiritual que pueda, llevarlos a la playa... llevarlos a un parque, a comer a McDonald's, verlos aplaudir y gritar cuando les de el Happy Meal.

Son las 12:06 a.m.

Part I

I used to live in the jungle. I know, it sounds exciting. And it was, at least at the beginning, until I started to get really, really bored. When I confronted my parents with my dilemma, they had two different responses: My mom would smile at me with compassion and then change the subject and my dad would offer solutions that could keep me and my offspring occupied for a lifetime. He would say, "Write a book." Not write a story, write a BOOK! He would also suggest I write poetry; at 10, 11, I still had no interest in such an endeavour. "Learn to play a musical instrument." Of course all of these would have been extremely valuable ways of using my time had I had any interest in them at all.

I eventually became an obsessive compulsive reader. I would go into the room where we stashed practically everything from food to art materials to medicine and, or course, books and I would go through all our books looking for ones I had yet to read and separating those I had no interest in (there were few of those), I would then proceed to stack them in the order I would read them in, pick up the one at the top, settle in a hammock of preference, depending on presence or absence of guests and availability of hammocks. I would then read all day, taking short bathroom breaks, on my way back from which I would refill my coffee mug and settle back into my hammock. Later on, my reading was also interrupted by periodic outings for a cigarette, which involved getting out of smelling range from my parents. Once I had a separate "rancho" I would usually read and smoke there, specially after my dad built a huge roofless bathroom with a bench-bed; there was no longer any reason to go down to the house, except for coffee. I used to consider making my own little fireplace at my house so I wouldn't have to go down to the house at all. Not that I didn't like seeing my family, it just seemed so convenient.

Let me explain why I got so bored, while my parents didn't. Adults have a sense of purpose that keeps them motivated, that makes them feel guilty about sleeping in, that allows them to perform tedious tasks dutifully. Children don't have that sense of purpose, they don't really understand, until they're older, why certain things are good and others bad. My parents had and have an unquestionable faith in God and in service to humanity that I certainly did not understand at age 11. I wasn't at all sure what I believed in for many years. I was, in fact, very Nietzsche like in my questioning of the world and all that is accepted as good, correct and holy. I became more and more critical as years past by, climaxing with complete rebellion at 14, which then progressively dwindled to somewhat clear and open mindedness at 15-16. And then I became a seeker.

Soon to come...

Part I

This might end up having a lot in common with Star Wars, in the sense that I'm starting half way through and there might be an exciting comeback years later with the real Episode I... we'll see what happens.

Buy your tickets!! The premier is coming up!!

Reserve May 16th-December 31st, 2014

Acording to "the ring", I'll get married at 28. I guess that's enough time to figure out who I want to be. Of corse I know that's not how it works. We don't get to a point where we become our final selves. That I/me must always change. I guess that's enough time to be completely independent. Although, of course, that's not how that works either, but it's enough time to believe I'm completely independent. I guess it's enough time to get sick of always doing what I want, of not having to compromise.

And, of course, the ring doesn't know when I'll get married, right? Right??!!

Diada for dummies

Diada: un grupo de dos personas.

En una diada, ambos miembros deben participar o el grupo definitivamente deja de existir.

"Hablame!!"
"No me puedes obligar, este grupo is over!! "

Los participantes de una diada no pueden esconder su responsabilidad por hechos que ocurren dentro del grupo.

"Eucrasia, te tiraste un pedo?!!"

"...no..."

Si los miembros de una diada estan en desacuerdo, no hay socio que actue como mediador.

"No te entiendo."

"Creo que necesitamos un terapeuta."

No tienen que manejar el problema de los intrusos o de los espectadores.

"Amor, tu decides, orgia o diada?"

Tampoco tienen que preocuparse por dar espacio a un tercero.

De ahi los loveseats.

Una coalicion y una mayoria son imposibles en la diada.

"Bueno, votemos... ahh, otra vez empate..."

It's now officially tomorrow, by that I mean the sun has set. So really, if we are going to meet up with someone at night, we could say "see you tomorrow" instead of "see you tonight"... it would get pretty confusing though. The word tonight would no longer have any use.

I wonder what the universal language will be. If it's not English I'm kind of screwed; I'd have to find a new occupation. I've always wondered what it would be like to learn a new language because I don't remember learning any language I speak... that souds like I speak 10 languages :) I'd love to learn a new one but I can't decide which would make sense to learn. I guess Farsi to honor my roots. In that case it would be Azari though; I'm not sure how useful that would be unless I move to northwestern Iran... ummm, I don't think so. I've heard Farsi speakers are in great demand in the states, I could move back to my passport country... ummm, I don't think so. Let's see, most of my students are Korean; I could tap that. Then I would speak a language only spoken in 2 countries in the world!!! And that's only because the 1 divided... ummm, utterly useless but an interesting option. When I lived in the states people would ask me if I was a Korean exchange student, hahahaha!! I guess they do "exchange" a lot. I could give one class a week for free in exchange of a free Korean class a week. I once gave free English classes in exchange of guitar lessons... it lasted 1 class.

So it's decided!! I will learn a language destined to become extinct. Yay! Please talk me out of it...

Haiku

I took a sip
And was heartbroken to find
There was no more

Lack of pep

Hoy recibi las sugerencias y quejas de mis estudiantes, algunos decian que soy "super buena profe", otros que no manejaba el tema, etc., pero lo que me sorprendio es que muchos pusieron "no motiva". ¿Que deberia hacer? Pep talk? Give me an E: E!! Give me an N: N!! Give me a G: G!!...EEENGLSHHH!!!!

For some reason I can't picture it. Would the 40 year old man like it if I told him, "you're doing so well, keep up the good work!!"? I guess I thought it would be demeaning.

...OK, they asked for it.

GOOOO ENGLISH CLASS!!!

Would've, could've, should've, bla bla bla...

Deberia estar haciendo cualquier cosa menos escribir en mi blog, pero bueno... Es un dia especial :) Estoy en MI casa!!! Claro, cuando venga the G-unit (ahi les va el primer nickname) no va a ser solo mi casa pero igual, es emocionante. La casa esta llena de cosas de cualquier persona menos mias pero igual, es emocionante.

Asi que ni se les ocurra venir sin avisar porque es MI casa, no me llamen porque estare disfrutando estar sola en MI casa...

Jajajaja, MENTIRA!!! No lo digo en serio, pero igual... es emocionante :)

Sola otra ve-e-ez...

Parece que mi compañera de cuarto se ha ido de vacaciones sin avisar.

La compañera se fue
Buscando el sol en la playa
Con su maleta de piel
Y su bikini de rayas

No estoy segura por qué se fue pero tengo mis sospechas.
Quizá quedó satisfecha... ya le demostré que no la ignoro, que comprendo su silencio.
Bueno, de vez en cuando se conecta al chat como para que no me olvide de ella.
Pero por el momento estoy
Sola otra ve-e-ez...

I write

Some have complimented my writing, others have ignored it. I don't know if it's good or bad... and I've realized I don't really care. What I do know is that I have to write, even if it's only in my head. I need to articulate thought. Everyday, on every micro, during each shower, I type imaginary posts. Most of them I forget and stay stashed away in my subconscious. It's ok, I have space.

Te escucho

Te escuché, no creas que no.
¿Pero quién soy yo para opinar?
No me considero más inteligente que vos como para darte concejos.
Mi ego no es tan grande como para pensar que podría tener la respuesta a tus problemas.
Lo que no sé es si prefieres que te diga algo... aunque no te ayude en nada
O si prefieres que me quede callada.
Solo quiero que sepas que lo que dije o no dije
Fue porque me importas
Y quiero lo mejor para ti.
Lo siento que a veces eso no es suficiente.

3rd Culture Kid

Characteristics

There are different characteristics that impact the typical Third Culture Kid:

• TCKs are 4 times as likely as non-TCKs to earn a bachelor's degree (81% vs 21%)
• 40% earn an advanced degree (as compared to 5% of the non-TCK population.)
• 45% of TCKs attended 3 universities before earning a degree.
• 44% earned undergraduate degree after the age of 22.
• Educators, medicine, professional positions, and self employment are the most common professions for TCKs.
• TCKs are unlikely to work for big business, government, or follow their parents' career choices. "One won't find many TCKs in large corporations. Nor are there many in government ... they have not followed in parental footsteps".
• 90% feel "out of sync" with their peers.
• 90% report feeling as if they understand other cultures/peoples better than the average American.
• 80% believe they can get along with anybody.
• Divorce rates among TCKs are lower than the general population, but they marry older (25+).
  • Military brats, however, tend to marry earlier.
• Linguistically adept (not as true for military ATCKs.)
  • A study whose subjects were all "career military brats"—those who had a parent in the military from birth through high school—shows that brats are linguistically adept.
• Teenage TCKs are more mature than non-TCKs, but ironically take longer to "grow up" in their 20s.
• More welcoming of others into their community.
• Lack a sense of "where home is" but often nationalistic.
• Some studies show a desire to "settle down" others a "restlessness to move".
• Depression and suicide are more prominent among TCK's.

¿Quieren saber más?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_Culture_Kids

M to the C

Oh M to the C
Who would have thought you'd smoke a narg with me

You made me smile
Your food runs a mile

If it rains
We go through great pains

If it's sunny
You get our money

Where are my socks?
Maybe in a box

Or any other place
Maybe in a vase

Thank you for everything
You're a great human being...

Friendship

I was once talking to my friend Nadi, sitting in the plaza with some of the best and cheapest coffee in town, about what makes us such close friends. We came to the conclusion that even though most of the time we have no idea what's going on in our crazy, "inconcluso" friends' minds, we still try to be there for them, remembering and reminding them of their better selves. Or as my so very wise sister-in-law once said,"Puede ser bueno, o puede ser malo... nunca se sabe donde vas a ir."

Dig

We all have a weakness
But some of ours are easy to identify. Look me in the eye,
and ask for forgiveness.
We'll make a pact to never speak that word again.
Yes, you are my friend.
We all have something that digs at us,
at least we dig each other.

So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday.

If I turn into another
dig me up from under what is covering
the better part of me.
Sing this song
remind me that we'll always have each other
when everything else is gone.

We all have a sickness
that cleverly attaches and multiplies
No matter how we try.
We all have someone that digs at us,
at least we dig each other.

So when sickness turns my ego up
I know you'll act as a clever medicine.
If I turn into another,
dig me up from under what is covering
The better part of me.
Sing this song!
Remind me that we'll always have each other
when everything else is gone.
Oh, each other when everything else is gone.

-Incubus

Procrastinating

So I'm sitting on the "office" floor in my underwear (because that seems to me to be a very logical thing to do when one is alone), smoking a shisha and drinking a humongus (how the hell do you spell that!!) cup of coffee, writing to myself and whoever else cares to listen... and yes, procrastinating.

On a day like today, I have the right.

I have an exam tonight, I'm sure my other ñoña compañeras didn't sleep last night studying for it. I used to be the ñoña. I haven't changed... I just changed universities (I'm just sayin').

Do you know what procrastinate is in Spanish? : Postergar, remolonear, boludear

I know, so inadecuate.

It's crazy when you think that we can't conceive an idea we can't put words to, which means millions of people are deprived of the understanding of the word procrastinate!!

What a day, what a day...

Fuck it

"Why didn't you come before?" she said.
It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.

"Didn't you know?"
No, I guess I didn't.
How could I? Are we supposed to just absorb information from the atmosphere? Was I supposed to have innate knowledge?

Or maybe I did know.
Maybe I knew but it wasn't acceptable.
Maybe I did absorb knowledge through my skin or read it at whatever.com but never felt it was an option.

It takes a good many years before we even begin to realize that sometimes we must do things that aren't "an option", sometimes we must make it an option.
Because we can't undo things.
Sometimes we can't mend what is torn.
We can only try to hide the tear with a patch and pretend we are untorn.

And why must we feel so scared and ashamed?
Why must we be made to feel inferior just because others won't admitt to their own mistakes?
How can you make a child feel unpure?
We all lose our innocence through no fault of our own.
How ironic... we are blamed of inmaturity before we know what the word means, we are charged with crimes we didn't know existed and are ultimately sentanced to eternal damnation before we've even cosidered our own beliefs.
The influence is so strong we imagine thick steel bars where there are none and fight our whole lives against the desire to be free.
We drown in the shame of wanting liberty.

So fuck it
Who are you to judge me?

Ojeando un cuaderno viejo...

el mundo esta en constante movimiento y de vez en cuando nos detenemos y sentimos el mundo girar
nos quedamos congelados un instante y contemplamos nuestro alrededor aunque en realidad estamos contemplando nuestro interior
sentimos que hay fuerzas externas que nos afectan pero en realidad... el sol nunca va ni viene somos nosotros los que vamos y venimos
decimos que la manzana es roja aunque en un cuarto oscuro no lo es
todo es relativo
adonde voy con esto?
no hay donde ir
el viaje es interno y siempre llego al mismo punto y lo confundo con un dejavu
siento que estuve aqui antes
no, es que estuviste aqui antes
somos masoquistas
torturamos nuestro cuerpo y nuestra alma y de alguna morbosa manera nos trae placer
gastamos tiempo, dinero, energia
sin darnos cuenta que le estamos dando la vuelta a la misma rotonda
mi cama una selva domestica
mi cuarto un mundo de timidas iluciones
yo, una romantica desilucionada con el amor
que es una lampara si se le ha quemado el bombillo?
que es una sonrisa sin alegria o un abrazo sin calor?
somos como la mecha que se ha hundido en la cera caliente y queda atrapada ahi hasta el fin de sus dias
nosotros mismos ignoramos el proposito de nuestras vidas o lo miramos con ojos ciegos y lo oimos con oidos sordos
seria preferible ser mudo en vez de decir las cosas que decimos
que importa si quedamos paralizados si de todas maneras no hacemos nada
o como extraño tus palabras vacias
o como extraño ese brillo de mis ojos que piensas que es amor, devocion, cariño...
estabas demasiado ciego para darte cuenta que era el reflejo del bombillo fluorescente
besame, besame mucho
como si fuera esta noche la ultima vez
porque el intercambio de saliva y los restos de la cena hacen que sintamos mariposas en el estomago?
el mundo sigue igual
todavia en cada esquina se puede comprar El Extra
y las noticias del dia son:
"... regreso el Chupacabras... prostituta rompe su record de # de clientes por noche... hija mata a su madre y tres hermanos..."
¡chismes! ¡mas chismes!... te diste cuenta que la celebridad X (que nunca voy a conocer) se volvio a casar?
Jessica Simpson penso que habia algun tipo de pollo del mar, pero lo mas triste es que yo y miles de otras personas del mundo lo sabemos, lo hemos comentado, nos hemos burlado de ella y nos ha hecho sentirnos mas inteligentes y superiores
ahora si que podemos dormir con la consciencia tranquila
porque nosotros sabiamos que no hay pollo del mar

For those of you that don't understand:

Ani DiFranco has been able to say what so many of us have not been able to put into words or even comprehensible thoughts, so here are some of my thoughts expressed through her words:

talk to me now

he said ani, you've gotten tough
'cause my tone was curt
yeah, and when i'm approached in a dark alley
i don't lift my skirt
in this city
self-preservation
is a full time occupation
i'm determined
to survive on these shores
i don't avert my eyes anymore
in a man's world
i am a woman by birth
and after nineteen times around i have found
they will stop at nothing once they know what you are worth
talk to me now
i played the powerless
in too many dark scenes
and i was blessed with a birth and a death
and i guess i just want some say in between
don't you understand
in the day to day
in the face to face
i have to act
just as strong as i can
just to preserve a place
where i can be who i am
so if you still know how
talk to me now

insomnia

Bueno, en realidad creo que son los efectos del cafe en un cuerpo milagrosamente desacostumbrado.

Mi amiga usa las iniciales de la gente que menciona en su blog, pero creo que me gustaria usar apodos... esto me da una emocion medio "sheitooniana" :)

A ver que se me ocurre...

I'm sorry

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away

The other night dear
While I lay sleeping
I dreamt I held you in my arms
But when I woke dear
I was mistaken
And I hung my head and I cried

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my sunshine away...

Compañera de cuarto

Todavía la veo. Creo que no se piensa ir muy pronto. Anoche hablamos... bueno, ella no dijo nada. Le dije, "Hi."
Me miro y de repente estaba a la par mía. Trato de decirme algo pero no salia sonido. Esta bien, se que me quería decir.
Creo que nunca me va a dejar de dar miedo, aunque sepa que no me quiere hacer daño.
Ella tiene tanto que decir...
Yo antes decía," no es real, es mi imaginación,"pero acaso no son reales mis miedos, y acaso todos los miedos no tienen una razón real detrás de ellas?
Así que ella es real y lo seguirá siendo hasta que deje de ser real mi miedo.
O sea que todo este tiempo pensé que ella era la razón de mi miedo... pero ella es mi miedo.

the send button

¿Sabes ese sentimiento cuando ya no hay marcha atras? Como cuando pagas 6 meses adelantado en ITS, o cuando el ginecologo te dice que levantes las piernas... mil disculpas por la comparacion. El caso es que ya apretaste el send button y ya no lo puedes unsend. Bueno, hoy lo escrito deja de ser solo mio.

Y con el send, un poco de miedo pero tambien un poco de alivio.

The Darkness

It all started con el "Show de Cristina"... actually that's not where it started at all but I guess that's just how our mind works. We were just sitting around in the living room, studying, checking email and absentmindedly watching el "Show de Cristina". That day it happened to be on sexual abuse. She interviewed many girls who had been forced into prostitution as well as people that worked in organizations trying to rescue these people (women and children).

The stories, of course, were horrendous. I don't know of any appropriate adjectives that would do justice to the situation. One example in particular I can't get out of my mind: Babies, as little as 6 months old, starved so they would suck the dicks of filthy, disgusting men. I don't even want to read what I just wrote, the thought is unbearable.

The afore mentioned image has made me randomly break into tears over the past 3 days and hasn't let me sleep well at night... which consecuently, has made me start this blog.

The thing is that I got to thinking about my own past and fears, and I got really pissed off. I realized (at least I have a theory) why I'm scared of the dark. I think I asociate it with everything that happens in the world that remains hidden. All the things that people don't know about, or don't believe, or simply prefer to ignore; everything that happens in the dark of night that in the day somehow disappears, eventhough it's an elephant in a very small room.

"Las estadísticas mundiales indican que el A.S.I. representa un importante problema social y de salud en numerosas regiones, pese a que se ha demostrado la existencia de un subregistro del fenómeno. Por ejemplo España y EEUU reportan que alrededor del 20 al 25% de las niñas y del 10 al 15% de los niños sufren algún tipo de abuso sexual antes de los 17 años. En América Latina más de 20 000 niños de los países más pobres son vendidos a pedófilos de EEUU, Canadá y Europa y más de 10 000 menores entre los 9 y 16 años de edad son destinados a prostíbulos con un precio inferior al de un equipo de vídeo (3)."

http://www.monografias.com/trabajos15/incidencia-abuso-sexual/incidencia-abuso-sexual.shtml

So if 25% of girls have been sexually abused; that means that if I'm in a group of 4 girls, probably, at least, one of them has had, at least, one truamatic sexual experience in her life time.

So how come we don't talk about it? We don't want to make other people feel uncomfortable. But, shouldn't they feel uncomfortable? Shouldn't we dare to ask our children and our friends and our mothers and sisters, and fathers and brothers for that matter, if there's anything they want to share? Shouldn't we give them that chance? And not just once, because you don't get over a traumatic experience after telling someone about it over one cup of coffee; specially because most people don't know when to just shut up and let the other person talk. We need to let people know that they can talk about things as much as they want, that they can continue to feel pain no matter how many years have passed by; because they wouldn't still be feeling pain if their loved ones hadn't turned a blind eye...

...and let everything painful stay in the darkness.