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Poem to relieve my academic stress

69447088_2225643250878953_5038418481305878528_n(I just started a masters degree at 31 – which is a challenge for me – and I am trying to have some time to relax before I start reading again, so I decided to write a poem loosely inspired by Trainspotting).

Be social.

Make friends.

Find your group of people.

Belong.

Be the best at what you do.

Love your job.

Enjoy every day like it is your last.

Carpe Diem.

Plant a tree.

Get promoted.

Get a masters.

Find a husband.

Be good to people.

Have children.

*

Be nice to the environment.

Don’t curse.

Comb you hair.

Don’t cheat.

Don’t be easy.

Don’t be too sensitive.

Don’t cry at your job.

Say hello.

Be yourself.

Be on Instagram.

Be on Facebook.

Be great.

One apple a day.

One post a day.

*

Wake up, darling. It was a bad dream, and it will take some time to shake it off. But here you can do whatever the fuck you want, even if what you want is to not do anything at all.

 

 

 

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Sunday Night Character: Alek

Alek was too smart for his own good. But what does this mean, exactly? It means that, despite of being a talented writer and natural love-maker (which he didn’t know yet), he didn’t have the slightest idea of how to open a space for himself in the world. At 26, he’d only had one job which he had just left, and the only positive thing he could say about himself was that he was a “typist” (if he were not too shy, he’d say he was “fast with the hands” instead). What he really loved, though, was writing Haikus. He also loved Russian literature, despite of being Polish.

received_231024414502121He was tall and thin in comparison to the average young men from Florida, so he was often told that he “was too skinny and needed to eat more”. Florida; that’s where his family had lived ever since his mother decided to move to the United States to pursue a career as an actress…or waitress. His brown eyes sunk a little in his face, but they matched well with his thin nose and lips. Nobody seemed to find him particularly attractive, just like no one really knew that he often suffered from sinus infection and his favorite novel was Lo-lee-ta. He often wondered how he could explain how much he loved that book; even more than classics such as War and Peace. It wasn’t that he fantasized about meeting a much younger girl; it just amazed him how much empathy he felt for Humbert Humbert.

Sometimes it weirded him out that nobody knew that he feared moths and had once seen mating hummingbirds. The point is that, even though he had two somewhat close friends, Leo and Ethan, there were a lot of little secrets and thoughts that he had never shared with anybody. Were the little discoveries of his to remain in his mind forever? Maybe they were supposed to, but he sure wondered how it would feel to share them with someone. He didn’t like to get romantic though, and wasn’t ready to accept that part of himself quite yet. Alek didn’t even think much about getting a girlfriend, even though he hadn’t had sex for over a year. He had no idea how to flirt with girls and he was well-aware that his inability to pretend made girls feel awkward. Maybe he was too raw, too honest,  overexcited when speaking about things he was passionate about, pulling on his hair when he felt nervous, playing with receipts and any little paper he found when bored.

And now he was also unemployed. Sitting at the kitchen table, trying to write a Haiku about mating hummingbirds, which he had tried a million times before.

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Ode to the Late Bloomers

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There’s always one late to bloom,

one to take longer to adapt

or to find someone to kiss.

Like small trees, too comfortable

under the shade

of bigger trees

that didn’t stay too long

playing with roots and soil

and, instead, grew taller and taller

toward the sun.

There’s always one who arrives too late

to a realization

or the doors of fate.

Or is it, maybe, that being late

is being right on time?

Are the so-called late bloomers

just careful flowers

making their nectar the sweetest

before opening up in the fall

when everything else seems to wither?

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Poker lessons

Sometimes I feel a little bit ashamed because I have not really discovered “my path”. I feel most people find that thing which they want to put all their energy into. I believe if I found that thing, I would really try to be unstoppable. But, I have commitment issues.

Continue reading “Poker lessons”

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Maybe it is Terrible

69447088_2225643250878953_5038418481305878528_nMaybe it is terrible that

every moment I spend with you

is followed by a sigh;

as though my body had to let it go

for me to continue living.

It is just too much.

Too much water for

this small cactus.

Too much love

for this small body.

I’ve filled all the little corners

within myself,

all the secret places,

with your treasures,

like a thief.

Now I am afraid

I have nowhere else

to place them.

So, darling,

when I tell you that I need space,

it’s because I go to some other place

where I can deposit your treasures

to keep them safe

and then let them go.

And I would rather do this

every single time

so that I can come back

and look into your eyes

and be able to handle it.

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Sunday Night Character: Randy

Randy had never looked inside a closet to figure out what to wear for so long. Nevertheless, that early morning he found himself staring at his four shirts and three pants for a long while, not knowing which one to pick. All of the shirts had flaws. The white one had a couple of yellow stains, the light blue one was missing two buttons, the orange one had unstitched sections on one of the sleeves and the grey one was not exactly his. It belonged to his brother, who was still in prison. It made Randy terribly sad just to look at the shirt, but it was still his best option. After getting dressed, for a while he stood in front of the mirror, carefully observing all the years and suffering stored in the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He then took three quarters and five dimes from the collection of coins which he kept in a jar, and after putting them in the pocket where the piece of paper with the address was, he opened the door and left the small moisty room where he was now living. His first “home” in 12 years.

When Randy got to the place, he was already a little bit sweaty. It was not a particularly hot day, but his own nerves made him feel as though it were. He pushed the door gently and, as soon as his bulgy brown eyes took a look inside, he felt a little shocked to see so many people…so many young people. He just stood there, behind the half-open door, until…. “Excuse me, sir.” These words took a few seconds to register in Randy’s mind, upon which he shook his head violently and walked inside.

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Continue reading “Sunday Night Character: Randy”

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So, what do you do when you get tired?

My sister and I, we go through these “what the hell” moments. That’s what she calls them. This is when we are mentally tired.

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This is my brain (hope it doesn’t look like something weird).

How can you tell that we are going through a “what the hell” moment? Because we eat. This afternoon we had the best worst idea. We went to read at a vegan (she’s vegan…I am…almost vegan -whatever that means) café. They have amazing donuts, key lime pie, cookies…(yum!). So we were already in a “what the hell” mood and it all started with a shared key lime pie and a donut. She was reading a book on animal rights and I was reading about economic, social and cultural rights.

Reading made us more and more tired. So, we ordered more and more food: coffee, desserts, something salty, something for the road. I don’t know how I made it home (before getting home, I did stop to buy a large bag of paprika-flavoured chips).

It was a big time “what the hell” moment. I allowed it, in part, because I am moving in a week to Europe and I’m trying to get all these sister moments in before I go. Also, we were anxious. We get anxious sometimes. Specially Saturday afternoons. I don’t know why.

So, I got home and I really felt under the obligation to write. I figured I was too tired to write, so I decided to doodle something. I was too tired to doodle, so I ended up doing a weird drawing of myself; of my post-“what the hell” moment look.

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This is what happens after a “what the hell” moment

You know? Sometimes we just get tired for no good reason…and we eat chips.

 

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Lay off the pressure. You’re OK.

IMG_2716I wonder when we started becoming so obsessed with being more. I wonder when we stopped being important. Is it that there’s too many people? Is it a biological need for attention? Is it a human need of fulfilling an ideal?

Whatever it is, it’s everywhere, and it’s not new. We can find this in literature (in Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich, for example). I don’t know if it is a tendency toward survival or evolution, but I don’t see how it is helping us anymore.

“So they began living in their new home — in which, as always happens, when they got thoroughly settled in they found they were just one room short….Things went particularly well at first, before everything was finally arranged and while something had still to be done….When nothing was left to arrange it became rather dull and something seemed to be lacking, but they were then making acquaintances, forming habits, and life was growing fuller.”

-Excerpt from The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Tolstoy

I think what most people need is to understand it is okay to stay where you are. It’s okay to not travel around the world and meet a million people. Whatever you do, try to do with love. That’s it. Well, I don’t actually know that that’s what people want to hear, but it’s definitely soothing for me.

Things are only better or worse according to society-based concepts sometimes. Why is being somewhere “exotic” better than being at home? What changes in you? Why does it make your experience of yourself better or worse? We are missing out on so much by desiring something different or “better” all the time.

Hey, I love travelling, but I am really trying to understand that being at home is just as enjoyable; as infinite; as divine.

It’s similar to drugs. I’ve heard people say “concerts are just better on drugs”. This, I think, is a dangerous thought pattern. Things are “better” with someone else, on something, somewhere else. Why can’t we just say it’s “different”?

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Words have power over us. The thought that something external to us gives us a better experience of ourselves makes us addicts. To travelling, to tattoos, to sex, to love, you name it. It can become each time more difficult to come back home to you and understand that you are just fine. That the sun shines beautifully through the windows of your own home, and that this morning is as calm and beautiful as it could’ve been in Thailand, India or Fiji.

I too have that urge to become something else all the time, until I remember that I don’t need to be “bigger”, “better”, “brighter”. What keeps me from embracing this moment is only myself. I am totally missing it. I am totally missing the point. I am here and that is much more than enough. These atoms didn’t need to manifest in my form. It happened by chance, and chance is amazing. These bodies are because of chance. Lay off the pressure. You’re OK. More than OK.

AND….if you’re having trouble being happy over your own life, follow the advice I heard from a buddhist monk…rejoice in the circumstances of other beings.

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Improvised microstory: Sunday Morning

(So, I decided to improvise a microstory just because. It’s late, so my mind drifts after ten words. Here’s what emerged in the last 15 minutes:)

Her alarm went off at 4.55 a.m., but she missed it. She missed the second alarm too. Her phone was in her room, but she wasn’t. She was sleeping on the couch with Greg. It was not a big deal that she missed the alarm; it was Sunday. His alarm went off at 5.30 anyways. She woke up first, but she couldn’t move because his arm was around her body. She felt trapped and moved slowly until he woke up. Then he said it.

“I must leave.”

Continue reading “Improvised microstory: Sunday Morning”

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Good ideas followed by better excuses

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A tribute to Dafne, who makes my writing experience lovelier.

I am writing this because I believe I must have this conversation with myself. It is overdue. How do I know? I’ve been told for the third or fourth time that I speak about caring about others too much, but actually do very little. Harsh. Yeah, I know.

This is definitely the case. I talk endlessly about unhappiness and suffering in the world. I get really upset and depressed at times about it and then I tell myself: “nobody really cares”. Probably the most arrogant thought there is. To think you are the only one who cares. Many people care, they’re just not talking about it all the time.

Thinking is not equal to doing

Continue reading “Good ideas followed by better excuses”

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We’re different colors

69256186_485291562305436_852838049510326272_nTonight we’re different colors.

I can speak only in the hue

of the late morning sky

to my friend the ocean

and other beings like us.

But you and I,

we tremble in different frequencies tonight

and every word I say loses its meaning

in the long, long journey

it has to travel

to reach you.

Tonight you’re bathed in colors.

You’re beautiful.

I’m blue.

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Old Fairy

FemmeSacré
Drawing I did about 10 years ago.

From princess or actress, to writer or lawyer,

to brilliant academic, to teacher and mother.

Pipe dreams. Ambitions. Hours upon hours

of daydreaming and stressing out

over never being who I wanted to be.

It took me thirty years to discover

all I wanted was to be free.

Free from being a writer,

a saint or a lawyer

and to aspire to be the childless lover

of bodies, forests, rain

and all that which is temporary.

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Sunday Night Character: Herman

The day he got a job as a blank clerk was the happiest in his life. He worked at a small bank, and sometimes was the only one there, except for the manager who was always in her office. Other 37-year-old men wouldn’t consider this a great job position, but for skinny, big-nosed Herman it was just amazing. Whoever came up to him at the bank to ask about their accounts or loans, could immediately feel how calm and happy he was.

Herman

His eyes were alive, and the few grey hairs on his head added something nice to this whole picture. He felt so handsome there, despite of his big ears. He was even flirtatious at times. He was not like those clerks who thought they were bigger than their jobs; he was just happy, because he was proving to all his classmates, who used to bug him and call him names, that he had gotten somewhere. Naturally, several of his old classmates had much better jobs and would laugh at his salary, but it was more than enough for gentle Herman.

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(Not so) Great Expectations

(This is a poem and a commentary on expecting too much from people and NOT a criticism of Dickens’s book. I haven’t read it…but I love the movie and am sure the book is a lot better.)

68870055_600959856977169_1044380877808730112_n Continue reading “(Not so) Great Expectations”

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From Superheroine to Couch Potato

I once read a book called Death with Interruptions by José Saramago. This was many years ago, but I think it was about that one day in which Death didn’t work. Naturally, no one died that day. So, as Death does, Captain Chaos has days in which she takes breaks.

Instead of working as a reporter or being in charge of her huge family enteprise, she basically becomes a couch potato.

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Her life, when not “on the job”, is basically reduced to chick flicks and cats. At least for now. She does have some obligations of her own like feedings cats, watering plants, washing dishes and reading. But there are days in which, like today, she doesn’t really feel like reading, so…more chick flicks.

Maybe Chaos’s second superpower is to procrastinate.

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Captain Chaos’s relationship lessons

Captain Chaos has met many, many people in her life and has had many failed friendships and love relationships (obviously, since making messes is what Captain Chaos is all about). Throughout her many relationships, she has discovered there are two kind of people. She explains it the following way:

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Some people will only see your demons and fight with them endlessly. Other people will make an effort to see the beautiful and joyful nature that they are guarding.

(By the way, Captain Chaos is still learning how to draw herself, in case she looks different from one drawing to another).

Continue reading “Captain Chaos’s relationship lessons”

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Hello, I am Chaos / Hola, soy Caos

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Hello, I am Captain Chaos. I come here to bring confusion into your life. Or so the say.

Except my hair is not that long, but I do have a 13 year-old body, despite being 31.

Chaos is my superpower. I discovered it this morning in a conversation with my sister. I told her that a friend told me quite recently that I didn’t really transmit well-being to other people…”you transmit your inner chaos.”

Continue reading “Hello, I am Chaos / Hola, soy Caos”

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Fuel for the Fire, or If You Feel Heartbroken, Just Love More

IMG_2762In January I left my job kind of heartbroken and tired. I felt defeated, but I tried to take it as a chance to change what I needed to change. The past months were about introversion and the desire to become a “better person”, as they say.

I engaged in a friendship which I thought would boost my morale and help me see myself; love myself. I put so much hopes in this new stage of my life. I decided to be open and vulnerable. I really thought I was starting something great; that I was coming back home to myself. I had so much expectations for what I could achieve in the realms of vulnerability and love…but I was left shattered and with a list of things that I continue to fail at.

Continue reading “Fuel for the Fire, or If You Feel Heartbroken, Just Love More”

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Anthony # 2

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My name is Edwald. I used to have a best friend,

but then Anthony told me he that couldn’t be my best friend anymore.

At first, I tried to ignore it, but it is getting more and more difficult.

I am tired of eating the extra carrots that mom packs for Tony

and playing ball with the wall.

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Continue reading “Anthony # 2”

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Melancholia finds a friend / Melancolía encuentra una amiga

(Español más abajo)

Simona had no friends and she got bored during break. She made little mountains with that dry and rough sand found in hot places. She got distracted thinking about many things. She wanted to be a princess or a model, have a limousine, a big house with a balcony from which to sing like in Disney movies, to have a different name, to live a different life (videogames taught us that there were different worlds). Continue reading “Melancholia finds a friend / Melancolía encuentra una amiga”

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Ahogué mi Bonsái / I Drowned My Bonsai

English below.

(Un microcuento más para el olvido)

Una vez tuve un Bonsái. Le puse León y le dije que lo quería. Vino con la advertencia de que no era fácil de cuidar, pero yo estaba segura de que podía darle los mejores cuidados. Estaba acostumbrada a Marcel, el cactus, y a Rastrojito, mi pequeño pero hermoso pasto, que se dejaban olvidar por días, hasta semanas, pero seguían ahí, con vida. Cuando los regaba, me agradecían con nuevas flores o creciendo una nueva espina. Pero León era de otra naturaleza y yo lo había comprendido desde un primer momento porque, a diferencia de los otros, venía con instrucciones. Continue reading “Ahogué mi Bonsái / I Drowned My Bonsai”

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Tips for Letting Go / “Tips” para dejar ir

(English further down)

Leyendo mi blog una y otra vez, y escribiendo en él, por supuesto, me he dado cuenta de que se trata, más que todo, de dejar ir. Esos momentos son en los que más escribo: cuando necesito dejar ir de algo porque está bloqueando mi respiración, pensamientos y experiencias del momento presente.

Entonces, me pregunto: después de todos estos años,

¿Cómo hago yo para dejar ir?

¿Cuáles son las cosas que yo hago que funcionan, si acaso hay alguna?

¿He aprendido a dejar ir del todo, o me estoy volviendo cada vez peor en eso?

Entonces, intentaré escribir algunos tips para experimentar qué surge: Continue reading “Tips for Letting Go / “Tips” para dejar ir”

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Alistándome para una nueva aventura.

Este post es para mí misma. Para “calentar motores”. Debería seguir leyendo el material de la maestría, pero estoy un poco emocionada.

Se me hace un poco difícil tener que dejar esta ciudad, sobre todo cuando la he disfrutado tanto estos últimos meses (más que nunca, diría yo). He estado más tranquila, he andado sin miedo, escrito, leído,  bailado y he subido montañas (bueno, un día). He pasado tiempo con mi hermana que es de mis cosas favoritas en el mundo, si no es la favorita, simplemente riéndonos de cosas que probablemente solo nos parecen chistosas a nosotras (en estos días hablábamos de que debimos haber creado un perfil de Instagram hace tiempo porque tanta diversión y rareza debe compartirse con el mundo). Participé en un taller de creación poética también. No sé…creo que han sido unos meses bastante rendidores y enriquecedores, a pesar de que no todo en ellos haya sido fácil (ni para mí, ni para otras personas que me han acompañado) y haya cosas que están muy cerca de mis ojos para poder verlas bien y entenderlas. Pero amarse a sí mismo es también comprender que hay partes de uno que uno no entiende y que tomará algo de espacio y tiempo hacerlo.

Continue reading “Alistándome para una nueva aventura.”

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About Being “Hormonal” or Little Monster

I don’t really know what the pre menstrual syndrome (PMS) really consists of, or if there is an explanation of the great effects it can have over our emotions. Scientifically, I know nothing. Empirically, or from my personal experience, I have seen for years the great effects the days before my period have over me.

What changes?

Well:

  1. I have a lot less patience.
  2. I can’t sleep.
  3. I feel uncomfortable most of the time.
  4. My insecurities grow or become more evident.
  5. I start to say what I really think or feel – without filters. Or I simply think and feel differently.
  6. I make radical decisions, even though they only last those few days.
  7. I get hungrier than usual.
  8. Things stop seeming so important.

Maybe this is the worst moment to make decisions, or maybe I just stop resisting the inevitable, I don’t know. The truth is that I start allowing myself to not try to be patient and loving all the time; to make mistakes.

Continue reading “About Being “Hormonal” or Little Monster”

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Strangelove

I’ve felt weird for some days now. I have felt this way before. It feels like something suddenly woke up in me and things started changing colors. Time also is passing in a different way. I’ve described it before as being in the verge of something new that’s about to happen. Maybe it is my trip to Italy, almost a month away, or the sunny but rainy weather. Something is being transformed in me and right now I have a strange sensation that everything is alive; that many things are moving inside and out, and everything is just the way it has to be.

Continue reading “Strangelove”

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No estamos condenados a elegir lo mismo

Hay dos factores que han afectado mi desenvolvimiento en la sociedad:

1)   Desde niña me fue muy difícil pertenecer a grupos. Siempre fui solitaria o independiente y no supe asociarme.

2)   De niña me aburría muy rápido de las cosas. Esto me pasa aún, y me es difícil entregarme a una sola disciplina o causa. Esto hace que no “progrese” en una sola narrativa de vida sino que cambie de vez en cuando mi forma de vivir.

Si hubiese escogido una causa o un propósito, y además supiera cómo crear grupos y asociaciones, o por lo menos hacer parte de ellos, tal vez tendría una vida más “normal” y no tendría que tener tanto miedo por lo que va a suceder; me sentiría más “segura”. No me siento segura. Siento que carezco de muchas herramientas sociales, y a veces siento que a mis 31 años es ya demasiado tarde. Pero también está la otra cara de la moneda.

¿Cuál es la otra cara de la moneda?

Agradecer todo lo que me ha ofrecido la soledad, que siempre trae regalos (aunque a veces toma un poco de tiempo apreciarlos realmente).

Comprender que, gracias a que no todo me ha sido fácil (socialmente); a que no participo activamente en asociaciones y grupos sociales – con los beneficios que estos traen; a que he pasado temporadas de soledad, he tenido que enfrentar un miedo particular. No es el miedo de morir de hambre por estar en la calle, ya que sé que cuento con el apoyo de mi familia; es más bien el miedo de que mi vida no siga una estructura y de no poder predecir qué forma tomará. Es el miedo de que mi vida carezca de sentido más allá del momento presente; de este comedor donde escribo mientras me tomo un café, de los gatos que ahora duermen (puse un video de YouTube con repeticiones musicalizadas del mantra Om Mani Padme Hum y se tranquilizaron después de pelear toda la mañana con la escoba y el trapero mientras yo limpiaba), del cielo gris y el quieto árbol que veo desde la ventana. O tal vez es el miedo de que esta sea la vida que quiero llevar. Que no piense que deba estar todo el tiempo proyectándome hacia el futuro y asegurándome que todo lo que haga hoy me acerque a una idea futura de mí que en realidad no existe.

Tal vez quiero vivir un día a la vez. Sí, teniendo proyectos como mi viaje a Italia a hacer una maestría, pero sin apegarme a ellos; sin que de ellos dependa que sienta que estoy “acercándome a mi propósito”. El gran miedo que siento es simplemente el de aceptar que esta ha sido mi elección. No es mi elección de hoy, ni de hace un año…es, de alguna forma, la vida que he llevado por casi 9 años. Como hago con todo lo demás, la cuestiono. Está bien cuestionarse las elecciones para que estas no se vuelvan una simple repetición del pasado. Sigo descubriendo que me hace feliz escoger el presente. La felicidad de estar aquí.

Esa felicidad me hace ver las cosas bajo una luz muy distinta. Tal vez solo elija sentirme así como un mecanismo de defensa. Hoy comienza el puente. No tengo planes. No tengo absolutamente ningún plan que no sea leer o escribir. Ya hice aseo y organicé la casa porque sé que estaré acá un buen tiempo. Tengo la comida que necesito por lo menos para hoy.

Si viera mi vida desde una linealidad del tiempo y la midiera según el lugar al que quiero llegar y todo lo que quiero hacer y tener, tal vez me frustraría. También me entristecería si comparara mi vida con la de los demás y pensara que todo el mundo tiene algo que hacer, alguien con quien compartir y una nueva experiencia que vivir. Sin embargo, en este preciso instante siento que no preferiría estar en ningún otro lugar. No porque el comedor del apartamento en el que vivo sea el mejor lugar del universo, sino porque es donde estoy y adonde he llegado a través de mis elecciones. Además, es el lugar a través del cual hoy puedo crearlo todo de nuevo.

Ahora estoy tranquila. A pesar de que no tengo trabajo y solo espero pedir una visa para irme a estudiar de nuevo (que me aterroriza un poco porque llevo un tiempo sin estudiar); de que me pregunto qué he hecho en todo el tiempo desde que me gradué del colegio; de que mis relaciones – tanto “amorosas” como las amistades – han tomado cursos muy extraños e inesperados, y que la mayoría son claramente impermanentes; de que en los últimos meses me di cuenta de que estoy muy lejos de ser escritora; de que estoy consciente de que pude haberme educado de tal forma que hubiese impactado más al mundo y de que podría estar haciendo mucho más en este instante por ayudar a los demás… a pesar de todo eso, estoy tranquila. Tal vez sea solo en este instante que escribo y no dure todo el día, pero este instante me basta y lo agradezco.

Ahora pienso que no hay mejor manera de pasar el tiempo que en esta tranquilidad de que todo está bien; de que todo de alguna forma tiene sentido y de que, si no lo tiene, es este instante el único momento en que puedo empezar a elegir. No estamos condenados. No estamos condenados a escalar la vida que llevamos si hacemos daño a los demás y no estamos felices. No estamos condenados a sentir culpa por nuestros errores ni a sentir que hemos desperdiciado el tiempo. En cada instante podemos decidir comenzar. Esta es la verdadera sorpresa de la naturaleza real del tiempo y de la vida que fluye a través de nosotros y nos anima. Cada segundo es la oportunidad de elegir de nuevo. Ahora mismo no se me ocurre una manera más increíble de ver la vida.

P.D.: Soy consciente de que no en todos los momentos podemos gozar de esta tranquilidad de la misma forma. Si estuviésemos, por ejemplo, en medio de un conflicto armado, no tuviéramos qué comer, viviéramos con menos de dos dólares al día (como casi la mitad de la población del mundo) o estuviéramos enfermos, sería mucho más difícil sentir y conservar esta calma. Pero precisamente por eso tal vez es nuestra “responsabilidad” honrar esos momentos en que estamos en condiciones de estar tranquilos. Este gozo no está ignorando el sufrimiento del mundo, sino que tiene la intención de aliviarlo un poco, así sea desde un rincón desconocido.

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Una inesperada historia de amor

Mientras que todos veían el partido, me encerré en el closet. Me encerré en el closet para organizar dos gavetas. La bulla de afuera me hace reconsiderar el haber salido del closet, pero nada que unas buenas canciones con suficiente volumen no puedan arreglar. El hecho es que encontré unas cuatro páginas con una historia; al parecer de amor (de un extraño y oscuro primer amor). No recuerdo cuándo escribí esto, pero ya que lo encontré en una libreta de GICHD (Geneva International Centre for Humanitarian Demining), supongo que fue en noviembre 2017, cuando asistí a un entrenamiento llevado a cabo por ellos en Bogotá:

“Ya no sueño con encuentros fortuitos; la vida se ha vuelto mucho más práctica. Ya no me avergüenza la soledad, pues rara vez tengo esa dicha. Tal vez uno no escapa de la literatura; tal vez ella se escapa de uno cual fantasma que solo deja un eco de risa que a veces lo atormenta a uno. O un llanto; no lo sé.  

Cuando estoy sola y por fin el silencio hace presencia, te escucho; el eco de tus pasos y tu risa y recuerdo esa dicha que sentía al perderme en ti. Fuiste, tal vez, mi primer amigo, como un duende que perseguía entre árboles. Podía quedarme horas hablando contigo; con esa sensación de que solo tú comprendías el secreto que nos revelaba el mundo todos los atardeceres.

A veces, cuando me seguías a casa después del colegio y yo intentaba esconder tu presencia, prefería quedarme contigo a salir, y me daba rabia cuando me querían separar de ti.

Cada segundo contigo parecía una eternidad que ambos sentíamos con plenitud. Muchos se burlaban de nuestra amistad, pero es porque no la comprendían…mucho menos a esa edad.

Con el tiempo, no lo niego – y te confieso con esa misma tristeza que vi entonces en tu ojos – me empecé a avergonzar de ti. Pero entre más intentaba negarte, más fuerte te hacías, solo que ya no me tratabas con la misma dulzura.

 Cómo te odiaba a veces; y cómo luchaba para no sentirte cerca. “Bestia”, te llamaba. “Bestia”. No quería que te fueras de mí, pero no sabía cómo estar contigo, como sucede en las más intensas relaciones.

 Bestia…pero tal vez eras solo un niño, como yo cuando nos conocimos. Si tan solo te hubiese comprendido; si te hubiese amado de la misma forma en que me amabas, nunca te habrías hecho bestia.

 Si hubiese comprendido que eras tan frágil y melancólico como yo, y tan solitario, nunca me habría hecho bestia.

 Ahora lo entiendo todo. Entiendo por qué has desaparecido.”