strange.

there's a tall skinny man that comes into my gym once in a while. he embodies the sort of sad awkwardness that can only come from a combination of poverty and loneliness. he's uncomfortably outgoing and never wears workout clothes, just a denim button up shirt and khaki shorts. i wonder about him, how he gets through life in those shoes, how he is a walking universe so far beyond what is recognizable to me. It'd be unfair and condescending to feel bad for him, or for all the other people in the world who look like ticking time bombs that could explode if they make one last mistake, but i do feel something, and its painful and awkward. i feel that they need to be nurtured, that they missed something along the way that is irreplaceable now. There's no going back in time, but i know that I can do better to those who are still coming about in life. We all need so much of each other.

to think

To think the sixty-something year old man who cleans the sweat off the floor of the gym where i work will do so while singing old Colombian ballads. He'll stop by the front desk to ask how I am, to joke around, sing me a song or ask me to translate something for him. He reminds me of mi abuelo.

Here I am, feeling guilty that I get to sit on my ass greeting people on autopilot, reading books between greetings, sipping coffee at my leisure.

"I am young and able. I should take that rag off your hands and ask you to sit in my place so the world feels right again. I can't go on living in a place where men who should be traveling the world or sitting in a front porch drinking lemonade are cleaning after people who pay to run in place on these machines."

How does one say that out loud?

"Dios Mio". I want to hug him and tell him that it isn't fair. Another overworked and underpaid immigrant at the mercy of a capitalist venture. And the saddest/most beautiful part is that he's grateful for his job and does it well. that he smiles every single day and makes me smile. he sings those old Spanish songs with the soul of an artist. That is what he is, a musician, not a janitor.

to think that the people around you live lives disguised as worker bees, to think they're human beings underneath.

no es justo.

terrible two's, terrible twenty-two's

i have a theory that little ones enter the 'terrible' stage around their second year, not only because their increasing independence pushes them to test their (and your) limits, but because they have to keep your heart in check.
if he didn't drive me crazy once in a while i would continue to fall in love, and that kind of love ain't easy. that kind of love is the type one would die for..



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

cynicism. what a terrible fate. the more i learn the less i know, and yet the world feels small and predictable. i've been looking at everything through the same lens, one of socioeconomic disparity, class struggle, politics and war. and it's no wonder i'm dissapointed. and what i feared would happen happened.

i feared that getting my feet wet with politics again would not only revive that mostly noble ambition to serve others and the strong desire to save the world from itself (the arrogant stripes of idealism), but it also reminded my heart of all the injustice, the disparity, the pain... i want to hide from it all, 'drop out', believe there isn't anything i can do... it's easier that way.


(... as i was writing this post, my nephew walked into my room with a bouquet of flowers. true story.)


love trumps fear.

i hope.

left & leaving

i got your text message around 3 in the afternoon.

"Moving in july, gonna need to get that camera and my chair"

12 words and one hundred thoughts going through my head.
the alaska polaroids in front of me, your momma's leopard print chair, those prints i bought in seattle now hanging on my bedroom wall, just a few of the million reminders of what was.

that old cannon that belonged to your grandfather took some of my favorite photographs. i'm going to feel its absence.
i'm going to feel your absence.


i could not begin to summarize us, to talk about teenage love and dragged out heartbreak, about the lessons and the memories.
i will just hold them, as i always have, close to my heart.
how i wish i could crystallize in words that something that you and i will always share.
the laughter in between immature jokes and honest conversations. the way that you are unfiltered around me.
i feel that you may be the one who knows me best, and i you.

oh, the yearning of "what could have been" that i felt then and you feel now.
the irony of timing..

i'm going to miss you, of course.

heartbreak and forgiveness

I know I was a bastard. You were too sweet, and I too cruel. You believed in love and hope, two ideas I couldn't stomach at the time of our sweet embrace. I hope all is well.

"Momentos que te dejan volando. Momentos como ayer." (part of a letter I once wrote him.)

Essentially I am apologizing for being a foolish boy in a man's body. I have my reasons for being a coward in this life, they are much too hard to explain. I just never wanted you to hate me, to think less of me, for not knowing what to do with this life, this cruel gift given to me by some unknown dreamer.

Ps. I hope that I don't come across as some creep. For some reason I can only feel in hindsight. You are not the first girl I have done this to and you will not be the last. This is my pathetic attempt to piece together my scattered life and understand a little more about myself and the people around me. Oh yeah, I made it to England. People are weird here, or maybe it is just me!

Dear ___,

You are a sweet memory.

I cannot say that the abrupt ending of what felt like a dreamy little romance didn't hurt. I was shaken out of a dream, and it was a beautiful dream, I didn't want to wake up.

I forgive everything, if there is anything to forgive.

In time, I realized that I too was mistaken in some of my actions/expectations. My eagerness to live the love that I believed in blinded me to reason. I held you to the expectations of that love, and what a daunting task it is to love without reservations.

You are who you are, and regardless of whatever hurt our adventure caused, in the end I will always like you as you are. Whether you are the coward you claim to be, whether you are immune to the idealized love I once offered, you are a soul that I will never forget.

Your note was an unexpected surprise, but a sweet one.

I hope England will afford you with a million unforgettable experiences.

All is well here, actually, all is better than it has ever been. I think I can thank the introspection that came out of our experience for that.

Love,

D

"It could be that our faithlessness is a cowering cowardice born of our very smallness, a massive failure of imagination... If we were to judge nature by common sense or likelihood, we wouldn't believe the world existed." - Annie Dillard

The past few years have witnessed the erosion of opinion and belief. Not that I've eradicated them completely, but this quote sums it up better than I ever could.