See You Next Year!!! Nos Vemos El Próximo Año!!!!

Les deseo mucha prosperidad y bendiciones. Este nuevo 2010 los celebro en la tierra que me vió nacer. Nos vemos el próximo!!!

I wish you much prosperity and blessings. This new 2010 I will celebrate in the land that birthed me. See you in the next one!!!

Pensamientos

No matter how many times it has been said, is said or will be said that we are not our thoughts, I can safely say that I am. I am my thoughts. I am my feelings. I am my life.
I
AM.

If I see, I think of what I see. If I feel, I think of what I feel, and I breath in deep with the realization whispered unto myself: I am alive....

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No importa cuántas veces ha sido dicho, es dicho o será dicho que no somos nuestros pensamientos, puedo decir con seguridad que lo soy. Soy mis pensamientos. Soy mis sentimientos. Soy mi vida.
YO
SOY.

Si veo, pienso en lo que veo. Si siento, pienso en lo que siento, y respiro bien hondo con el descubrimiento susurrado a mi misma: Estoy viva....

La Razón De Mi Ausencia Es Mi Secreto/The Reason For My Absence Is My Secret

Josh y Anel se han marchado a Pluto, y ni siquiera es una planeta ya; es lo que nadie sabe nombrar. Es un todo sin nombre.

Josh and Anel have gone away to Pluto, and it's not even a planet anymore; it's what no one knows how to call. It's a nameless everything.

Important

Marianny y Anel, Ferry, NYC, August 2008

Today I just read a post from my best friend's blog that made me really concerned because I knew that she had this disease called Trichotillomania, but I didn't understand how bad it was. Trichotillomania is an Obsessive Compulsive disease in which the person pulls out their hair due to stress, despression, boredom and other motives. The most common is pulling from the head and least common is the eyelashes or any other hair from the body. I would like anyone out there who knows anything about this to please provide information because there is no cure known for this disease. Here I leave you with a link to my best friend's blog, Living With Myself.

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Hoy acabo de leer una entrada que escribió mi mejor amiga que me precupó mucho porque sabía que ella tenía esta enfermadad llamada Tricotilomanía, pero no conocía la gravedad de su condición. Tricotilomanía es una una enfermedad obsesiva compulsiva en la que la persona se saca el pelo a causa de estrés, depresión, aburrimiento y otros motivos. El más común es halarse los pelos de la cabeza y el menos común es halarse las pestañas o cualquier otra parte del cuerpo. Quisiera que cualquiera que sepa algo sobre esto por favor provea información porque no existe cura conocida para esta enfermedad. Aquí les dejo un enlace del blog de mi amiga, Living With Myself.

Al final, lo importante es estar felíz!

Aveces realmente no sé qué escribir porque lo que realmente quiero decir es muy privado para publicarlo aquí. Pero mi corazón está contento. Deben saber que estoy bastante atariada con la universidad. Estas han sido las semanas de exámenes y eso puede volver a algunas personas locas. Yo hago lo que tengo que hacer, doy lo mejor de mí, no pienso mucho en el asunto y vivo mi vida. Mi corazón está 100% contento. No podría estar mejor! Estoy cansada y con sueño, pero mejor que nunca, más saludable que nunca, más felíz que nunca. Aveces una sola cosa.....o una sola persona puede hacer la diferencia entre aspirar a ser la mejor y realmente estar dispuesta a pasar cualquier dificultad con tal de ser la mejor. Le deseo a todos muchas bendiciones y mucho amor.

No se olviden de dar, lo que quieran recibir!

Dad, y se os dará; medida buena, apretada, remecida y rebosando darán en vuestro regazo; porque con la misma medida con que medís, os volverán a medir.
Lucas 6:38

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Sometimes I just dont really know what to write because what I really want to say might be too private to publish it here. But my heart is content. You should all know that I'm super busy with school. These have been the weeks of midterms and they can drive some people crazy. I do what I need to do, give my best, don't think too much about it and live my life. My heart is 100% content. I couldn't be better! I'm tired and sleepy, but better than ever, healthier than ever, happier than ever. Sometimes just one more thing.......or one more person in our lives can make the difference between aspiring to be the best, and actually be willing to go through anything to be the best. I wish you all many blessings and I wish you all much love.

Do not ever forget to give, what you would like to receive!

Give, and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure that you use, it will be measured back to you.
Luke 6:38

Rather Than A Poem, A Confession

The way that I love you is in many ways like water.
My love is pure and refreshing.
My love is violent and can sweep anything away in order to get everywhere.
My love can be like an iceberg and can also burn way below its boiling point.

My love for you is like a fruit,
like a million kisses,
like sugar was made out of it,
like candy companies would go out of business
if you were willing to sell your kisses.

My love for you is like words,
they sneak into every part of life,
they define things and explain things,
they make me fly and bring me down.
My love is written in every word of every book in the whole world.

My love for you is both an ocean and a desert.
You leave me breathless and you are my air all at the same time.
You light my days and darken my nights.
I love you both sweet and sour.
I love you both hot and cold.
I love you when I don't want to love you,
and I love you inexplicably when I want to as well.

My love is like a poem that can't be written.
There are no rules, no rhymes,
no hyperboles, metaphors, allegories that could ever be enough.
I would love you if the word love didn't exist.
I would use anything to describe it and it wouldn't be enough.

You are all and nothing in different ways.
You are mine and someone else's in different moments.
All I have is this love,
that bursts with its mightiness
and burns with a passion that cannot quite be called passion.

I love you like there is no future,
like if I was waiting for us to part every minute of every day,
like if I had to love you this much,
with this intensity, because I wouldn't know if you'll be there
the next millisecond.
I love you without intention.
Wishing not to love you is loving you more.
Wishing to leave you is getting closer.

I love you
because without effort
you tore down
everything I thought made me strong.

I love you so much that sometimes I laugh and sometimes I cry.
I love you so much that sometimes my heart moves with an uncontrollable laugh.
I love you so much that sometimes my heart hurts like a bullet just entered,
warmed it up and produced nothing more but a terrible pang.

I love you like the word love is not enough.
Te amo con palabras y sin versos.
I don't need words to love you, but I have nothing else to express it.
I don't need anything else to love you,
but I want more.

I am trying to find the place where this love would fit.
The only thing I've known in my life bigger than this love is God,
and baby, that's pretty big.
So to tell you that I love you right second to God,
is telling you in a few words
that I'll never love another man in my whole life, but you....

T E

A M O

Ave O Ser Humano/Human Being Or Bird

Señores!!!!!!!!!

Qué es lo que tiene el amor que nos hace volar tan pero tan alto a tal punto que nuestra existencia se contradice entre ser humano y ave???

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People!!!!!!!!!!!

What is it about love that makes us fly so sooooo high to the point that we confuse our existence between being a human being and a bird???

Volemos/Let's Fly

El mundo es tuyo y mío.
Vamos a volar.
Ya para qué pretender que este amor no nos tiene en el aire?

Necesito volar tomada de tu mano,
porque para qué volar si no estás conmigo?

Volemos.
Ahora.
Sin miedo.
Porque si lo hacemos juntos no nos caeremos.
Pero si volamos separados, nuestra caída será fatal,
y caeremos lejos el uno del otro,
y nuestras manos no podrán sanar las heridas mutuas.

Hombre mío.
Testarudo.
Volemos.

El cielo nos espera,
se ha vestido de azul celeste,
las nubes nos han ofrecido un viaje a la luna
y el sol nos está quemando con rayos dulces.

No nos queda más que hacer que volar,
y olvidar cuán gris fue ayer nuestro cielo.
Dibujaremos millones de estrellas en el cielo,
porque las que ya existen no son suficientes
para expresar cuánto nos amamos.

Ya mis palabras han perdido la verguenza,
y a cada instante pretenden enamorarte más.
Aveces con un Te Amo,
un poema, una historia, un chiste.
Ya no saben hablar de otro tema que no sea de tí.

Volemos,
inventemonos palabras nuevas, caricias nuevas
y hagamos todo nuestro mundo perfecto,
semejante a nuestro amor.

Entonces, amor mío, me acompañas en este vuelo?

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The world is ours.
Let's fly.
Why pretend that this love doesn't already have us in the air?

I need to fly holding your hand,
why would I fly, then, if you're not with me?

Let's fly.
Now.
Fearless.
Because if we do it together, we won't fall.
But if we fly separately, our fall will be fatal,
and we will land away from each other,
unable to let each other's hands heal our wounds.

Man of mine.
Stubborn.
Let's fly.

The sky awaits us.
It has dressed itself for us in light blue,
the clouds have offered us a ride to the moon
and the sun burns us with sweet rays.

We have no other choice but to fly.
And forget the gray of yesterday's sky.
We will paint millions of stars above,
because the ones that already exist
are not enough to tell how much we love each other.

My words have no shame,
and they pretend to romance you more everyday.
Sometimes with an I Love You,
a poem, a story, a joke.
They wish to speak of nothing else but you.

Let's fly.
Let's create new words and new ways to caress.
Let's make our whole world perfect,
similar to our love.

So, then, my love, will you join me in this flight?

Little Things/Las Cosas Pequeñas

Link: Little Things

Al final del día son las cosas pequeñas las que nos mantienen conectados. Siempre debemos mirar nuestras vidas de la manera más positiva posible. Debemos de buscar de Dios o cualquier metodo de espiritualidad que funcione con cada persona. En este blog no hablo mucho sobre mis creencias porque es bastante personal para mí. Pero quisiera aclarar que por más fuerte que sean mis creencias no podría privar a una persona de cualquier método espiritual que lo haga vivir una vida más balanceada. Al final del día, cada quien cree lo que quiere creer y vive como quiere vivir. Pero siempre estemos conscientes que nuestra espiritualidad es importante, que las buenas obras son importantes, que los buenos pensamientos son importantes, las buenas relaciones. Mantengámonos conectados con las cosas buenas y nuestras vidas serán mas fáciles de vivir, y haremos las vidas de los demás más fáciles al igual.

Que viva el amor, la paz, la nobleza y la unidad!

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At the end of the day the small things are the ones that keep us conected. We should always look at our lives in the most positive way. We should search the face of God or any other method of spirituality that works for each individual. In this blog I don't speak a lot about my beliefs because they are rather personal for me. But I'd like to make clear that for stronger that my beliefs may be, I could never prohibit someone for whatever method of spirituality makes them live a more balanced life. At the end of the day everyone believes what they choose to believe and live their lives the way they want to live it. But we should always be aware that our spirituality is important, that good works are important, that good thoughts are important, good relationships. Let's keep ourselves connected to good things and our lives will be easier to live, and we will make other people's lives easier as well.

To love, peace, humbleness and unity!

For J.....2 Months

No one knows
how love can take you
and make you fly
but us.

No one knows
how unpredictable
and unrestrainable
love is
but us.

Everything in here
speaks volumes
of our union.
The heart sings melodies day and night
and I let him sing.
I tell him: someday, someday.
And he obediently
and patiently
waits for the day
when he can kiss
and love
with all its might.

Happy days go by.
Happy because we know we're still here,
Happy because we know we still love.

And just like it only took two months to fall crazy,
it could only take two months to reunite,
to miss, to speak, to see,
to finally kiss, and live next to the other....

2 Months is my hypothesis.....how about yours?

Post 100!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Este es el post número 100 de este blog!!!

No lo puedo creer! Debo confesar que por un tiempo existió en mí una incredulidad acerca de si podría mantener este espacio abierto y activo sin sentir la tentación de cerrarlo o abandonarlo. Y no ha sucedido! Este blog se ha convertido en algo que simplemente no puedo dejar. Es mi espacio, y sé que por ahí hay muchos que luchan con mantener sus espacios abiertos. La verdad es que podría decir que mi secreto es que me gusta. Me gusta mi blog. Me gusta tal vez más que lo que les gusta a mis lectores. Antes de este tuve otro blog público, pero era como un martirio. Creo que tenía la idea errónea de lo que significaba tener un blog, y además estaba demasiado atenta a la reacción del que leía, tenía mucho en mente lo que el lector pensaría de mí. Ahora, solo tengo lo que quiero ofrecer para ofrecer, exactamente de la manera que lo quiero ofrecer. Sin presión alguna. Esto no es ningún negocio. Es divertido!! Bueno, este post 100 también me lo gozo! Disfruten los enlaces de algunos de mis posts favoritos!!

Uno Mas

Yo Quiero

Frustracion De Machismo

Invierno

La Belleza De La Sabiduria

Starbucks Parte I

Starbucks Parte II

101 Cosas Sobre Mi

Un Poco Desnuda Ante Mis Palabras

Dominicana Soy...


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This is post number 100 on this blog!!!

I can't believe it! I must confess that for a while there was skeptiscism from my part wether I could keep this space opened and active without feeling the temptation to shut it down or abandon it. And it hasn't happened! This blog has becomed something that I simply cannot leave. It's my space and I know that there's plenty around who fight with keeping theirs opened. The truth is that I could say that my secret is that I like it. I like my blog. I like it perhaps more than my readers like it. Before this blog I had another public one, but that one was pure anguish. I think I had the wrong idea of what it meant to have a blog, and besides I was too aware of the reaction of the reader, I had too much in mind what the reader would think about me. Now, I only have to offer what I want to offer, exactly in the manner in which I choose to offer it, haha!
No pressure whatsoever. This is not a business. It's fun!! Well, I'm also enjoying this 100th post! Enjoy the links of some of my favorite posts!!

One More

I Want

Winter

The Beauty Of Wisdom

Whenever I Feel

101 Things About Me

A Frustrated Reflection On An Ayn Rand Interview

New York, New York!

A Strange Day

My Soul Friend

Starbucks Part 2 (English Narrative)

Relacionado con las series de Starbucks. Las puedes encontrar en este link.

For the following days she couldn't get that man off her mind. She imagined how he would respond to different things. She asked him questions and answered them for him. She fancied the idea of having this man in her life be a new special somebody. But she struggled with bringing it all to reality. She couldn't deal with this amazing feeling. She had to, in some way, quiet it down, tone it down. But she made his whole personality up from then on, expecting to be dissapointed the next time she saw him. Expecting him to be a product of her imagination, and then being relieved, that she wouldn't have to go through falling in love. She was terrified of it. She knew she had no limits after then, but now she had the power of witholding it all.

He thought of her, plenty. Laughed at the things that had amused him about her personality. He thought of how secured she was, but how carelessly she let her vulnerabilty be displayed right in front of his eyes. It was to him, like discovering a diamond that had been shining right under people's noses and they never noticed it. He wanted to be the man that would sweep her off her feet. In fact, he was almost sure that he would be that man. And he was confident in that fact. So confident that he had the audacity to not show up the following Sunday.

She waited, anxious. Waited. Waited a bit longer. He never showed. She was dissapointed, but then she was happy. She thought that he was not worth her time, not even as a friend. She was glad of this disappointment. All her life she expected people to fail to their commitments. She was fearless. Expected nothing. Received nothing. She sheltered herself on her own ideas and beliefs. From time to time someone would impress her. But it wouldn't last long, and it was like another ball in the basket. She would score again. Say to herself: 'no one can be trusted'. However, the following Sunday, she showed up again, lying to herself. She did in fact have more important things to do. She said she would only stay 15 minutes, then 30, then 45. Two whole hours she read and had coffee. And just when she had been tired of looking at that door expecting that tall older man enter, the very thing happened.

He walked in and saw her. Walked straight to her, asked her if she was leaving. She affirmed, acting cool, nervous, almost in disbelief.

'You want to go for a walk?'
'Yes, where are you going?'

They walked, talked, and what happened will be told, when the narrator knocks on this door, walks through it and tells you something about these lives once again...

To be continued...

For You......Te Vi Venir

I'm dedicating this song to a very special somebody who quickly entered my life and filled it with hope and faith in love again. Below will be my translation of the song, babe.



I don't even have you yet
and I'm already scared of losing you, love.
So quickly it has been thrust in me,
so deep is all this pain.
It's only a bit I know of you
and I'm already favoring you.
I'm not scared of betting on you,
losing you I'm terrified of.

I have no more shelter other than fantasy.
I have no more to do other than making a poem for you.

(Chorus)
Because I saw you arrive
and I didn't doubt.
I saw you get here and I hugged you,
and I gave all my passion so that you stay.
And then I kissed you and I took a risk,
with the truth I caressed you,
and finally I opened my heart so that you pass by it.
My love I gave without condition so that you stay in it.

Now I will wait I few days to see
if what I gave you was enough.
You don't know how scary it feels,
waiting in the morning...
If you wouldn't want to come back anymore all sense of love would be lost.
I wouldn't understand this world anymore.
I would refrain from people.

I have no more shelter other than fantasy.
I have no more to do other than making a poem for you.

(Chorus)
Because I saw you arrive
and I didn't doubt.
I saw you get here and I hugged you,
and I gave all my passion so that you stay.
And then I kissed you and I took a risk,
with the truth I caressed you,
and finally I opened my heart so that you pass by it.
My love I gave without condition so that you stay in it.

My love I gave without condition so that you stay in it.

My love I gave without condition so that you stay in it.

Soy Esa Mujer/I Am That Woman

La verdad es que cuando una mujer descubre su valor, no hay nada ni nadie que la pueda hacer desistir de obtener exactamente lo que desea. En todos los aspectos, ella exige lo mejor de sí misma y de los demás. Yo soy esa mujer. Nunca, nunca me había sentido tan mujer como ahora.

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The truth is that when a woman discovers her worth, there's nobody, no obstacle that could ever stop her from getting exactly what she desires. In every aspect, she asks the best from herself and from others. I am that woman. Never, never have I felt more like a woman than now.



Video and photo: Jill Scott

No sé qué decir.

No puedo escribir.

He perdido la cabeza.

Necesito recuperarla, aunque no sé si quiero.....

La incertidumbre es peor que el dolor.

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I don't know what to say.

I can't write.

I've lost my head.

I need to get it back, though I don't know if I want to.....

Uncertainty is worse than pain.

Starbucks Part I (English Narrative)

*Relacionado con las series de Starbucks. Las pueden encontrar en este link.

She continued to drink her coffee. The man did not look up to see her. The day was nice. It wasn't too cold or hot. People came in and out, most looking for chairs. He had asked for the last one available. So people were forced to leave, hesitant, just in case someone might get up. She was enjoying her novel. It was the time when she had seen one of Jane Austen's favorite lines in Sense And Sensibilty. She had written about deserving the compliment of rational opposition. The compliment of rational opposition! Wow, she thought, how many people have I complemented in life! But it also amused her how this very simple girl seemed to know so many complicated things about extremely simple people who pretended to be complicated. And it was then that she realized how much time she had wasted, but how much more time she now had on her hands to focus on giving people who deserved it, that marvelous compliment. And then he looked up. She noticed. She pretended she didn't. He said, 'excuse me, you are really enjoying that book, aren't you?' She affirmed, planning to go right back into it, smiling inside, questioning if he really was what he appeared to be.

He noticed how big the book was and learnt that it was a collection of the seven novels. Observed her. She took notes. Wrote on the margins, smiled, had a curious look, smiled again. Sometimes you could see her teeth, other times she just grinned. He liked it. He thought there was something odd about her, something mysterious, or intriguing. She began to see him as a psycho and payed no mind. He apologized for interrupting her, looking for something else that she might say that would allow them to talk some more. She said, 'you're not bothering me, I am fond of observers, there's a lot to learn and teach from them'.

She asked wether he was a teacher or a learner. She liked his smile. He talked fluently. She soon realized that he was witty and they went on to have a conversation for a few more minutes, a conversation that would eventually lead to, probably not exactly what the reader might expect. But something that the writer is not in the mood of giving away, not just yet....

To be continued...

Every Day...

Cada día lucho por ser menos como esta niña y más como ella también.

Every day I fight for being less like this little girl and more like her too.

Umm, De Qué Debería Tratar Este Post?/What Should This Post Be About?

Perhaps that I'm doing GREAT at college! Quizás debería decir que me esta yendo SUPER en la Universidad!

Or that I'm taking my writing seriously again. O que estoy tomando el escribir en serio una vez más.

That I'm learning all about 'men's secrets' in a workshop (Act Like A Lady, Think Like A Man) Que estoy tomando un taller donde se revelan todos los 'secretos' de los hombres.

That I auditioned for the play Six Degrees Of Separation to be presented next month (Gee, I really can't believe I'm acting again. It feels amazing!) Que audicioné para la obra Seis Grados De Separación que se presentará el mes próximo. (Wow, no puedo creer que estoy actuando otra vez. Se siente increíble!)

That I registered for the 8th Annual Event For College Poets. Que me registré para el evento anual de Poetas Universitarios.


That I went to the Hispanic Latino Cultural Center of New York, met Junot Díaz again, and he remembered me! Whoa, such a surprise! He signed my Oscar Wao copy, and again, another special autograph. Que fuí al Centro Cultural Latino Hispano de Nueva York, me encontré con Junot Díaz otra vez, y se acordó de mi! Wow, qué sorpresa! Firmó my copia de Oscar Wao una vez más con un autógrafo especial.

That I loved Prayer In The Square even if I could only stream it live from home. It was unbelievable! Que me encantó el evento Oración en Times Square aunque solo lo pude ver en vivo desde casa. Estuvo increíble!


That I watched the Emmy's and got really upset because I realized how underrated Dexter is. (Congratulations to Jessica Lange!) Que ví a los Emmy's y me enojé porque me dí cuenta de lo subestimado que es Dexter. (Felicitaciones a Jessica Lange!)

That Mad Men totally deserved that Emmy! Gee, has anyone seen the last episode? That show is the bomb! Que Mad Men tuvo ese Emmy más que merecido! Vieron el último episodio? Ese show es bomba!

The joke of the week was: Maybe, at Patrick Swayze's Funeral, Kanye West will take the microphone from the priest and say that Michael Jackson had the best death of the year, hahaha! (Cut him some slack, ya'll) El chiste de la semana fue: Tal vez, en el funeral de Patrick Swayze, Kanye West le quitará el micrófono al sacerdote para decir que Michael Jackson tuvo la mejor muerte del año, hahaha! (Ya es tiempo de dejar a ese tipo en paz, gente)

Not much time to blog, but all the time in the world to live! Peace to all!
No hay mucho tiempo para bloguear, pero todo el tiempo del mundo para vivir! Paz a todos!

Empty/Vacíos

I turned to you and there they were: Your Eyes; expecting me, saying hello, smiling, inviting.

My eyes responded, looked maliciously, laughed intensively, welcomed the invitation.

They traveled from your face to the neck; jorneying and departing, like the Nile's Delta; moving to the shoulders, broadening like a map, finding mountains and trees, and routes never before mentioned.

They parted in two ways until two big foundations were found south above soil.

Your eyes were so innocent, so full of curiosity. They seemed to understand the language of mine.

But your hand interrupted the conversation. It began to touch my fingers, gently and then wildly, until desperately flying to my neck.

Then your eyes said something I couldn't understand. All my energies were on that hand; that rough, heavy, warm hand.

It traveled to my shoulder, brushed my hair back, squeezed my muscle, touched delicately the beginning of my arm. Focused and dedicated; it circled my elbow, danced on the way to my wrists and grabbed my hand again.

My other hand touched your lips, and my lips opened, demanding to be fed.

They devoured your mouth, spoke volumes, made love, did not plan on parting, and enjoyed ferociously that embrace.

And now your hands, both of them, squeezed my neck, let themselves waterfall through my back, rested on my waist, squeezed my hips and separated me urgently from you.


My hands, my eyes, my lips were emptier than ever.



I woke up.


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Yo me volví hacia ti y ahí estaban: Tus Ojos; esperándome, saludándome, sonriendo, invitando.

Mis ojos respondieron, miraron maliciosamente, rieron intensamente, aceptaron la invitación.

Viajaron de tu cara al cuello, explorando y despidiéndose como el Delta del Nilo, mudándose hacia los hombros, expandiéndose como mapa, encontrando montañas y árboles, y rutas jamás mencionadas.

Se separaron en dos caminos, hasta encontrar al sur dos grandes fundaciones que descansaban sobre el suelo.

Tus ojos eran tan inocentes, tan llenos de curiosidad, parecían comprender el lenguaje de los míos.

Pero tu mano interrumpió la conversación. Comenzó a tocar mis dedos, sutil y después alocadamente, hasta volar desesperada hacia mi cuello.

Después tus ojos me dijeron algo que no pude comprender. Todas mis energías se concentraban en esa mano; esa áspera, pesada, y templada mano.

Viajó hacia mi hombro, sacudió mi pelo hacia atrás, apretó mi músculo, tocó delicadamente el principio de mi brazo. Enfocada y dedicada; circuló mi codo, bailó hacia mi muñeca y tomó mi mano una vez más.

Mi otra mano tocó tus labios, y mis labios se abrieron, demandando ser alimentados.

Devoraron tu boca, hablaron volumenes, le hicieron el amor, no planearon una despedida, y disfrutaron ferozmente esa unión.

Y ahora tus manos, ambas, apretaron mi cuello, se dejaron caer como cataratas por mi espalda, descansaron en mi cintura, apretaron mis caderas y me separaron con urgencia de ti.


Mis manos, mis ojos, mis labios, nunca estuvieron tan vacíos.



Desperté.

Para Jorge Piña

Se me metió la Metapoesía por los huesos,
y luego no supe distinguir entre lo escrito y lo pensado.

Las palabras se perdían en medio de reflexiones.
Se marchaban como una melodía que cobraba vida por sí sola.

En vez de invitarme me alejaba.
Y yo frustrada, enojada, rabiosa le reclamaba que regresara.

Qué hice yo para merecer este hechizo?
Qué culpa tiene mi papel que mi mente ya no lo invite a la fiesta?
Cómo hacer para regresar sin perder el mismo instante en el que se regresa?

Se me metió la Metapoesía por los huesos.

Ya no supe más de mis antiguos versos,
tal vez solo que son antiguos, y ajenos.
Ya no los puedo llamar míos.
Me embaracé de letras y dí a luz pensamientos.

Se me metió la Metapoesía por los huesos.

Mi lápiz olvidó su baile.
Mis manos luchaban en contra de aquel garabato.
Mis ojos inmóviles, perplejos, gritaban, sin letras.
Las palabras surgían y se volvían a ahogar como
si grandes olas de lágrimas las adoptacen.

Por fín, pensé en lo que pensaba.

Se murió la poesía.



"El Poema no existe, solo existe el Metapoema"
-Jorge Piña

Relacionado a esta entrada: Biografía de Jorge Piña

Escritora?

Escribir. Decirle al papel lo que se quiere, lo que no se quiere, lo que se imagina y el hecho que no escapa de ser hecho.

Pero se escribe sobre escribir? Se escribe acerca de la incómodo que es escribir en Español en una computadora portátil, donde no se pueden marcar los acentos? Se escribe sobre como se frustra el escritor porque nunca puede escribir a la velocidad en la que se piensa? Se escribe acerca de cómo se sienten los dedos al teclado, o el lápiz al papel; como aveces un papel puede inspirar un escrito, o lo puede inspirar una palabra, o la manera en la que se escribió antes de escribir aquello que fue inspirado? Se escribe acerca de cómo aveces los personajes cobran vida y es como si el escritor no tuviese control alguno, como si el personaje fuese el que le ordena al escritor quién es y lo que ha de escribir? Algunos personajes son bastante atrevidos, amenazan al escritor y le dicen todo tipo de barbaridades. Otros, al próximo instante de ser creados desean allí mismo ser fusilados, y otros se van apagando cada día más al ver su dura, cruda y predecible existencia plasmada en un papel. Tal vez la culpa es mía, por no saber describirlos, por no saber alimentarlos, por no saber amarlos u odiarlos, por no encontrar las palabras correctas, o el lugar correcto, o la intención correcta. Tal vez se trata de mi propia vida que se mete intrusa en la vida de mis personajes. Tal vez no quiero realmente inventar personajes. Tal vez quiero reinventar mi vida, hacerla más fantástica, más creativa, más emocionante, o tal vez menos fantástica, menos creativa, menos emocionante.

Hace tanto tiempo que no escribo como realmente quisiera escribir. Hace tanto tiempo que siento que mis palabras murieron como peces capturados, dejados por muertos, abandonados, moribundos a las orillas del mar. Hace tanto tiempo que siento que mis palabras se esfumaron con un amor, con un libro, con un acontecimiento, con la melancolía, con la rabia, con la creatividad que realmente le pertenecía a otro escritor. Y sí, esto es una prueba. También es una huelga, al hábito de ignorar las palabras que fluyen y gobiernan sin permiso mi vida. A todas las veces que he tenido la oportunidad de escribir algo mágico y no lo he hecho. Es una prueba a todas mis intenciones. Abrí una bitácora(blog) con el pretexto de escribir cosas muy superficiales, muy cotidianas, muy de la prensa cuando en realidad lo que siempre he querido hacer es publicar mis propias palabras, mi propio estilo, mi propia voz. He querido disfrazarlas, doblarlas, editarlas, arrancarlas, morderlas. Algunas veces me las he comido y las he vuelto algo completamente ajeno a mí. Entonces, qué es esto? Esto es MAS que una prueba. Es más que una huelga. Es una DECISIÓN, es una revolución de palabras que ni Anel Vicente sabía que Anel Vicente tenia. Escribiendo sobre escribir, escribiendo sobre las veces que he querido, no he querido y he estado confusa acerca de querer escribir.

Pensé porque tal vez no había sido bendecida con la educación más expectacular del planeta, porque no acostumbro a leer a los GRANDES escritores hispanos, tal vez no tengo DERECHO a escribir. Tal vez mis escritos son muy crudos, muy directos, muy desabridos. Pero tal vez esa es la parte en la que debo confiar, que si es suficientemente bueno para mí, es suficientemente bueno para el mundo.

Can I Be A Writer?

While reading Oscar Wao, amazed, breathless, I begin to wonder how it is for a real writer. I close my eyes and breath. I ask myself: What does it feel like? To have the power to describe the sublest thing, to be able to describe things so beautifully and so perfectly. To have the magic to transport a reader to the exact image of his mind, without forgetting one detail, one word, and above all leave the escence that somehow remained without being fully divulged, manisfesting them to light while they still hide in shadows, making them roar with silences.

Is it a gift? I ask myself. Can it be learnt? Can it be taught? Am I doomed to failure? Or will I forever be the expectator and never the performer?

There is a hypocrisy in me. I wish for it to just come naturally, yet I keep pushing myself to be better, to master it, to conquer it, to have it.

And I wonder if perhaps I'm thinking to myself that it is something that's hidden in me not yet unlocked; or is it that I'm greedy and cannot cope with the fact that I'm not a successful writer even to myself, to be able to touch a reader like Junot does. I debate myself wether I'll ever be good or if it's that I'm already good.

I'm a hypocrite. I refuse to follow other people'sd standards like some cult or set of rules I must follow. Yet, these are the same people I'm hoping to wow; for them not to call me a perfect writer, but at least a writer that is able to touch others deeply even at my low capacity.

How can I be naturally good and still push myself to be good?

How can I be original, write with my own words and escence and still learn? What is it that I must learn? Am I perfecting my own words without noticing, or is it a semi-conscious effort of my mind, of my want?



I don't know if I could write, yet I'm still doing it.

Little Children

I'm on a money AND time diet, and it seemed odd to me to have to wait for TWO weeks for a good movie to appear on cable, one that I hadn't already seen, haha. So then this one came along and I enjoyed every last minute of it. This was one of my most favorite scenes. Perfect theme, perfect lines, perfect acting AND filming, LOVED it!

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Estoy a dieta de tiempo y dinero, y me pareció raro tener que esperar DOS semanas para que al menos una buena película apareciera en el cable, una que ya yo no haya visto, haha. Entonces, esta apareció y disfruté cada minuto de ella. Esta es una de mis escenas favoritas. Tema perfecto, líneas perfectas, actuación perfecta Y filmografía, me ENCANTO!

Kate Winslet dice: "No. No se trata de la infidelidad, se trata del hambre, el hambre a una alternativa, y el rechazo a aceptar una vida de infelicidad"

Links/Enlaces: Little Children

El Secreto/The Secret

Se acuerdan de este secreto?


Remember this secret?


Aqui hay una pista/Here's a clue:


The First and the Thirds/Los Primeros y los Terceros

Think Mathematics

Tengo la tendencia a evadir las Matemáticas, pero me he encontrado extrañamente atraída hoy en día a lo filosófica que pueden ser las Matemáticas. Es como si existiesen palabras ocultas dentro de números y lógica; como si me he estado perdiendo lecciones que carecen de letras, y no es solamente fascinante el poder descubrirlas, también abre un mundo de posibilidades, un nuevo aspecto de mi vida que he vuelto a descubrir sin saber que lo tenía.

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I'm usually not fond of Mathematics. But I find unusually amusing how phisophical mathematics can sometimes be; like there are hidden words inside numbers and logic; like I've been missing wordless lessons and it's not only fascinating to me to be able to discover them, but it also opens a new world of possibility, a new aspect of my life that I have discovered once again and never knew I had.

Felíz Compleaños Blog! Happy Birthday Blog!

I don't really know what to say to you, but...

Realmente no sé qué decir más que...

GRACIAS!!!

THANK YOU!!!

You have given me a chance to explore and discover all the many things that I can do with you and all you can do for me. Here's to more years of that!!

Me has dado la oportunidad de explorar y descubrir todas las cosas que puedo hacer contigo y todo lo que puedes hacer por mí. Aquí celebro por más años de eso!!

Congratulations!!! Felicidades!!!

Relacionado a este post/Related to this post: La Primera Entrada/The First Post

Dominicana Soy...

Lucho. Los pensamientos y sentimientos se debaten en mi cabeza. Qué soy? Quién soy? Quién me ha criado, me ha hecho quien soy, me ha hecho pensar como pienso y sentir como siento? Por qué duele tanto mi tierra? Qué soy?

Hace tiempo que no lo sé. No lo puedo comprender. Si me preguntas de donde soy te diré que vengo de una tierra llamada República Dominicana. Si me preguntas de donde soy, te diré que soy de Nueva York. Si me preguntas de donde vengo te diré que no lo sé. Tal vez mi error ha sido el querer saber. Tal vez mi error ha sido haber estado expuesta a una cultura totalmente diferente, a un ambiente totalmente diferente.

Qué soy? Me pregunto mientras trato de contener las lágrimas que insisten en brotar de mis ojos. Por qué duele tanto la tierra? Por qué duele tanto? Se supone que debo amar aquellas cosas que aborrezco? Se supone que la mayoría de las cosas que los Dominicanos comparten sean parte de mi? Qué es ser Dominicano? Existe una definición? Acaso es lo que todo el mundo es? Qué es? Las lágrimas salen. No lo puedo creer. No puedo creer que yo no pueda ser Dominicana. Adónde pertenezco? De dónde soy? Por qué amo tanto a esa tierra y aborrezco a tanta gente que viene de ella? Por qué se contradicen en mí la imagen de un Juan Luis Guerra y un Hipólito Mejía? Por qué me duele? Qué es lo que soy? Ningún Dominicano quiere saber de mi pasión por la lectura, o por escribir, o por cambiar para bien. Ningún Dominicano quiere saber que el cambio comienza por uno mismo. Ningún Dominicano quiere ser Dominicano. Tal vez la definición que tiene el Dominicano sobre ser Dominicano no es la mía. No soy ‘bachatera’ ni ‘reguetonera’. No apoyo el machismo de ninguna manera, ni si quiera en pequeños comentarios. No soy fanática de ningún partido. No me interesa hablar callejeramente sobre sexo. No me gustan los chismes. Todos mis conocimientos de la ‘pelota’ son meramente circumstanciales. No caigo por ninguna ‘muela’, ni porque me digan mami, chula, linda o que estoy ‘buena’. No conozco en plenitud la historia Dominicana y tal vez en este aspecto soy más Dominicana. La única diferencia es que no le veo mucho sentido porque lo poco que sé demuestra que el pueblo Dominicano siempre ha sido lo que aun es: Un pueblo ignorante que insiste en destruirse a sí mismo. Un pueblo que exige derechos y privilegios que no está preparado para asumir, porque no importan todas buenas intenciones de un líder, lo que importa es que de alguna manera ese líder será corrompido. No importa porque hoy en día lo sigo viendo en ‘maestros’ Dominicanos en las escuelas públicas e universidades utilizando el salón de clases no como una vía para enseñar, sino para promover sus propios intereses. Recién llegados hablando todo tipo de barbaridades en autobuses y trenes, faltándole el respeto a la gente, ‘chamaquitos’ privando ser hombres y niñas privando ser mujeres. DONDE???? Dónde están los líderes Dominicanos que aman la República Dominicana???? Dónde están los líderes Dominicanos que tienen un interés sincero para que echemos pa’ lante??? Vamos a disfrazar lo que no tenemos y hacerle a la gente creer esta allí?

Estoy confundida. Estoy dolida. Mis influencias son Estadounidenses, y si son de Latinos, también vienen de influencias Estadounidenses. Y duele. Duele.

Entonces, soy Dominicana? Soy Americana? Si Junot nunca hubiese venido a vivir a los Estados Unidos, fuera Junot lo que es hoy? Estoy confundida. Estoy dolida, y si ustedes tienen la respuesta a mi pregunta, por favor díganmela. Acaso soy un fraude? Y si lo soy, adonde dejo las cosas que amo de mi cultura? Adonde dejo al teatro, al folklore, al merengue, al mangú, arroz, habichuela, sancocho, toda la comida típica. Adonde dejo el Español y las palabritas que distinguen el nuestro como dique, chin, fuá y tantas otras. Adonde dejo la música de Juan Luis Guerra y Chichi Peralta? Adonde dejo la salsa del Canario, la cerveza Presidente, los anuncios de Barceló y tantas otras cosas lindas de mi país? No es esto también ser Dominicano entre otras cosas? Entonces por qué le damos publicidad a la ignorancia y no a las cosas que nos hacen especiales? Por qué seguimos discutiendo política destructiva y relaciones corrompidas? Por qué está bien que una niña de 13 años tenga ‘marido’? Por qué la Educación no importa? Acaso no tengo derecho a exigir más de mi país? Acaso porque no soy Dominicana?

Pero no se trata del país, y no voy a disfrazar mis intenciones. Se trata de mí. Se trata de mi identidad. De querer encontrar una influencia Dominicana como la influencia Afroamericana que he tenido. Se trata de poder hablar con orgullo de algún Martin Luther King Jr. Dominicano o un Barack Obama. Se trata de toda la gente que me dice que no parezco Dominicana. Y si no soy Dominicana, ni Afroamericana, ni Americana, QUE es lo que soy?????


*****Actualización******
Relacionado con este post, la entrada de Henry Francisco: Ayer, Cuando Yo Era Dominicano

Mi Amiga Del Alma

She left me friendless. The last words were harsh and painful. I cried my eyes to sleep and tried to pretend it didn’t matter. Sometimes something happens that hits you so hard that the only way you can go about it is really quiet. I harbored the feelings for two years. Two years I hated her, I wondered if she was ever my friend. Two years I blamed her for making me believe that she was. Two years I felt like a big part of me was detached, like somehow it didn’t happen.

See, there’s this thing that people know but no one really talks about. When you have not found your soulmate but you have soul friends, then even if you may not know it your soul friends matter more than any momentous boyfriend could ever matter. Subconsciously, you’re certain that no matter how many boyfriends you may have, you still have your best friend supporting you through it all. You expect to have dramatic romantic relationships, but your relationships with your friends are never dramatic, never complicated, never catty, jealous, rancorous or envious. So, when your best friend ignores you, trades you for a boyfriend, does not support you in your darkest hours and blatantly offends you and hurts you, the pain… is almost too much to take.

I pretended she never existed. I forbid my other best friend from talking about it. I went on with my life. I never called. I never e-mailed. I even pretended I didn’t see her on the street when I did. And somehow I had lost a little faith in trusting people. So, one day my own words saved me. I took a piece of paper and began to write her a letter. I told her exactly what I wanted to tell her. How I wanted to pretend she was far away but still my friend, how I loved her and cared about her and wish I didn’t. And the weeks following the mailing of that letter, all the pain began to lift from me, all the hurt, all the feeling of betrayal. I felt like I was finally free. I saw her like a friend I once had that was simply an acquaintance today. I was happy and surprised. Could this be the first broken relationship from my past that I had finally resolved? Could it? But it was nothing more than an illusion and I still don’t know why.

Perhaps I fooled myself by going to see her, thinking that she could see me as an acquaintance like I saw her. Perhaps I thought that it would be easier, simpler, and quicker. But sometimes, when someone shows you that they care about you, you secretly begin to believe they do. I didn’t know it. I didn’t even realize it until I saw myself defeated once again. My subconscious played a joke on me. I believed we were friends again. I believed that things had changed and because I was not hurt anymore I didn’t prevent myself or really protected myself for another disillusion. I thought I had mastered it, but I hadn't. I began to believe in my ‘friend’ again. I began without noticing to trust my friend again. I could’ve sworn that everything I was sharing was something you share with an acquaintance. But I thought she had changed. I thought that she was now capable of being a friend, of caring, of supporting. Was I seeing what I wanted to see? Was my mind playing a trick on me? Was I doing what many psychologists have explained, changing my past memories to accommodate my current ones? Was I used? Was my friend making me believe that she was my friend for the purpose of having me care once again about her? I guess I should’ve seen it when she said I should come by more often. I guess I should’ve never gone by again, should’ve never shopped with her, called or texted. I guess it’ll always be that way. I’ll always wish I didn’t care and could never erase it all or forget it all. I guess only one of my soul friends shall remain a true friend. I guess there’s just things in life that we’ll never be able to understand or fight. All I can do is distance myself, hope that the same mistakes will never be again, hope that it never happens with my one true soul friend.

Thank you Mar for always being there. BTW, I really don’t want to talk about this.

Busy Bee

No he publicado más entradas debido a las demandas de tiempo que tengo. He empezado la Universidad una vez más ahora con 6 materias. Lo que más me molesta de estar tan ocupada es que en vez de apaciguar mi creatividad, la alimenta; y el no tener tiempo de plasmar esa creatividad en un papel me molesta sobremanera. Intentaré publicar cada 2 semanas al menos. Tal vez no tenga mucho tiempo para leer sus bitácoras, pero lo haré en cuanto tenga tiempo. Creo que mis entradas se harán cada vez más interesantes, estén sintonizados!

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I have not published more posts due to the lack of time I have. I have begun College again now with 6 courses. What bothers me the most is that instead of lowering my sense of creativity, this heightens it; and not having enough time to write that creativity in a piece of paper bothers me a lot. I will try to publish at least every two weeks. Perhaps I won't have time to read your blogs but I will as soon as I have time. I think that my posts will be more interesting, so stay tuned!

Inside My Head

Will I always live alone in this world of mine? I hope so…….I hope not. I’m too complex for a yes or a no, and too sure for a maybe.

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Estaré por siempre sola en este mundo mio? Espero que sí.... Espero que no. Soy muy compleja para un sí o un no, y muy segura para un tal vez.

I Looooove Michelle Rodríguez

Hungry For Intimacy/Hambre De Intimidad

Dexter Season 4 Episode 1

El primer episodio de la temporada 4 de Dexter está disponible en línea. Lo ví y es INCREIBLE. Está por sobrepasar mi temporada favorita, que es la primera. Aquí lo pueden ver.

He comprado un bulto de Dexter para la universidad que he puesto al pie de esta entrada. Los fans de verdad sabrán lo que significa. Dice: "Hey, quieres jugar? Sí, quiero jugar. De veras, veras quiero jugar."

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The first episode of Dexter Season 4 is now available online. I saw it and it's UNBELIEVABLE. It's about to best my favorite season which is the first season. You can watch it here.

I bought a Dexter bag for college that I posted below this entry. Real fans will know what it means.

Relacionado con/Related to: Dexter Season 4 Promo

Rihanna

Te duermes en mis brazos.

Lloras.

Ríes.

Los parpados caen.

Sonrío.

Te beso.

Te meso.

Y te hablo dentro de mí:
Cuando estés grandecita te voy a contar una historia acerca del trabajo que me dabas para dormirte y cómo me hacías creer que llorabas, te provocabas la tos, te reías para jugar conmigo.

Te amo, chiquita.

No sé si es amor de Tia o amor de madre sin ser tu madre.

Sé que todo el mundo dice que los niños de su familia son los más especiales. Pero tu eres especial de verdad. Pensé que te iba a querer, pero nunca imaginé cuánto. Ahora mi corazón está dividido y no hay una más especial.

Felíz primer añito!

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You fall asleep in my arms.

You cry.

You smile.

Your eyelashes begin to kiss.

I smile.

I kiss you.

I swing you.

I speak to you inside of me:
When you're bigger, I'll tell you a story about how difficult you made it for me to see you fall asleep and how you made me believe you cried, provoked your own cough and laughed to play with me, all to get out of sleeping.

I love you, my little.

I don't know it's Auntie's love or mother's love without being your mother.

I know everyone says that the children in their families are special, but you truly are. I thought I was going to love you, but I never imagined how much. Now my heart is divided and neither one is more special.

Happy first year!

Amor

I thought necessary for some reason today to write about love. Many say that love is blind. Many say that love is painful, that he or she that loves gives everything up for the loved one and cries for the loved one. Others believe in a more passionate kind of love, with a lot of physical attraction and sex. Love may also become something you're used to or settle for. But in reality, what is love? What is it? Is it this which I have described? Every couple is different. It would be difficult to identify who is in love for real. There is no definition or certainty. If there was, divorce wouldn't exist. I ask myself, what is love?

In my life, I have experienced several kinds of love, but for a period of time I thought that I only loved when I suffered. Now I feel so different. I think that you only love once, and that is when you find the right person. Most of us settle with less than what we need or deserve. I have dreamt a thousand times of the man I want to be with. Only pieces of him have been granted to me. Every single relationship I've had has something my dream man has. It's sort of like someone who needs a good Dominican meal. You need rice, beans, meat, salad and fried plantains. I have had each separately and I'm never full. I'm starving, hahaha. I think that love more than anything should be easy, it should come easy, without a lot of effort, without having to work hard to please the significant other, or make them think that we are what we are not. It's necessary the interest and understanding of both parties, not have everything in common, but understand each other and have what the other needs in a partner. Maybe I should write a book about love. Too many thoughts come to mind that would take a long time to edit, and probably no one would want to read such an enormous speech. But in reality, can we really define love?

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Creí necesario hoy en día no sé por qué, hablar del amor. Muchos dicen que el amor es ciego. Algunos dicen que el amor es doloroso, que el que ama lo da todo por su amado y llora por su amado. Otros creen en un tipo de amor más apasionado, con mucho sexo y atraccion física. El amor aveces también se vuelve costumbre o conformismo. Pero qué en realidad es el amor? Qué es? Es esto que yo he descrito? Cada pareja es diferente. Sería difícil identificar quiénes se aman de verdad. No existe una definición o una certeza. Si fuese así no existiera el divorcio. Me pregunto qué es el amor?

En mi vida he experiementado varios tipos de amor. Pero en un tiempo por alguna razón pensé que solo amé cuando sufrí. Ahora pienso tan diferente. Pienso que solo se ama una vez, y es cuando uno encuentra a la persona indicada. La mayoría de nosotros nos conformamos con menos de lo que merecemos o necesitamos. He soñado mil veces con el hombre con el que quiero estar. Solo se me han concedido pedacitos de él, no él completo. Cada una de las relaciones que he tenido tiene algo que quiero en el hombre de mis sueños. Es como cuando alguien necesita una buena comida Dominicana. Necesitas arroz, habichuelas, carne, ensalada y plátanos fritos. He tenido cada uno por separado y nunca me lleno. Me muero del hambre, hahaha. Pienso que el amor más que nada debe de ser fácil, debe venir fácil, sin mucho esfuerzo, sin tratar arduamente de agradar al otro, o hacerle pensar que somos lo que no. Es necesario que exista un interés y comprensión de ambas partes, no que tengan un mundo en común sino que se comprendan y que el uno le pueda dar al otro lo que necesita. Tal vez debería escribir un libro sobre el amor. Son demasiados pensamientos que llegan a mi cabeza que me tomará muchísimo tiempo editar y que probablamente nadie querrá leer tan larga cátedra. Pero en realidad, podemos definir el amor?

Ay, ay, ay!!

Tengo como 10 entradas medio escritas sin tiempo para terminarlas, editarlas, etc. Y a muchos blogs que adoro que no tengo tiempo de visitar. Arrgggg!! Cómo se hace cuando a una le encanta bloguiar y no tiene tiempo para hacerlo?

De vuelta a la frustración, haha.

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I've got about 10 entries half written with no time to finish them, edit them, etc. And I have plenty of blogs that I love and have no time to visit. Arrgggg!! What do you do when you love blogging but have no time to do it?

Back to the frustration, haha.

Secreto/Secret

S K E R O T L P W F Q A
P Q A Z D J L V M V F A
D J E R L A D V T M P W
A L R I A C H E L R Q O
B K Y L X G T S L W T Y
P W P F C B N H R N L E
D T I L Q D T V B J L A
B T D K W H T P A G P E
H C H L F G T U P Q G F
C T X Q V E B R N T P C
O Z I C D V F B G N H M
Q S U R F T G Y H W J N
I A I K F J G H R I L V
J K C B A L S B C S A M
A X H J B C K J U S A I
V T E T W B X D G I S E
S R T Q P W O E I R T U
M W N E B R V T C W U E
U V A A S D F T H Y E W
B R T Y E S C A D S T Q
O B M H V C B T E I E O
D P A Q M S K M U Y P E
S L W C M S N A K L A M
C K A S N C L J A E D E
D C D A K S N E U I F E
L N F C J K E B W D Q E
H W I N F C I A B V U A
L N A S M C A D P N Q C
O D G H U E F B O I E Q
N Q N O D K I Q 3 N H N
A R I F R Y I F G G B R
F H N B V S F D L G V D
A A H O C K O A S I K L
A N G I X A N S L T K C


In here there is a secret hidden in both English and Spanish. I will give the one who discovers it a prize. I don't know what yet, haha. Maybe you guys can give me some suggestions. If no one can discover what it is, I will send it to PostSecret. Who knows? Maybe they publish it and guess what it is (yeah, right!)

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Aquí adentro hay un secreto en ambos Español e Inglés. Le daré un premio al que lo descubra. No sé qué aun, haha. Tal vez me puedan dar sugerencias. Si nadie lo puede adividar, lo enviaré a PostSecret. Quién sabe! Tal vez lo publiquen y lo descubran (si, claro!)

Un Dia Raro

The above picture is a real NYC train.

On Sunday I hung around 49th street and saw what I had forgotten was supposed to happen there. It was the premiere of Mad Men. Goodness, I got so exited! Specially after seeing one of the actors there. I had never seen this show before, but I got curious one day because Baakanit had mentioned it. I loved it since I saw it, and I cannot believe that I missed the exclusive premiere in my city. The Ad for the event was New York Has Gone Mad. Aw, I loved it. I couldn't stay because I was hanging out with pretty hungry people who don't watch the show. But the event was very nicely set up. They had sat people in tables with white sheets. They had waiters serving them in those 60's uniforms, white jackets, black ties. I even heard that there were people dressed like the 60's competing for a prize. It was very unique and I wish I had planned on going.

On the way to the restaurant I once again remembered by blog friend Baakanit who has a blog about the strange things he bumps into in New York. I saw this homeless guy holding a piece of carton that read: CAN I HAVE A BEER, MAN. Hahaha, so original and honest too, I gotta give him that. I wonder how often people give him money and it was sort of a nice contrast, having just seen the Mad Men event and that kind of advertising. I guess that even the homeless need good advertising, huh?

We ate and then went back to where the event had been. Everyone was gone and things were being put away. I had never sat in those TKTS stairs, but for some reason I did having my coffee. And then I found a funny looking notebook. It was really strange looking. I saw a woman writing behind me and I asked if it was hers. She said no and then I proceeded to read. It turns out that the little notebook belonged to a dancer, and this person writes the most important things about the dances she/he choreographs. Gosh! It was so poetic. I loved it, and then about halfway through the notes, I really felt like returning it. But I have no idea who is the owner and there's too many different numbers and names, also adresses not only from New York, but from other states. So, I've decided to keep it and read it from time to time. Those dance notes can really inspire me to write some pretty neat things.

Anywho, it was a very strange day. But I also loved it. Wow, I even went to a weird Starbucks that didn't have chairs! I looked at the girl behind the counter smiling like if I knew something she didn't and said: excuse me, where are the chairs? She smiled and said that they don't have any, that that's more like an express Starbucks. I thought that was pretty cool. It's awesome for those who need to grab their coffee and run.

I swear I wanted to take pictures and send them to my 'raro' Blother. But I had forgotten to take the camera :D

Old Wounds

Aveces uno no se da cuenta de la razón por la que le pasan las cosas y tenemos que mirar hacia atrás para poder comprender. No tengo miedo de mirar lo más triste y feo de mi vida. Por qué tendría miedo de hacerlo si eso ya sucedió? Es necesario quitarle la venda a la herida, examinarla y dejar que sane.

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Sometimes we don't realize why certain things happen and we have to look back to be able to understand. I'm not afraid to look at the saddest and ugliest things of my life. Why would I be scared if it already happened? It's necessary to take the bandage away from the wound, examine it and let it heal.

Nueva York, Nueva York!

I have a cousin who is visiting from the Dominican Republic. She's 17 and is falling in love with New York. I don't know if I'm doing the right thing by showing her the things that I love the most about this city. I'm not exactly an expert, but there's things I love and know I couldn't leave.

We walked from 33rd street to 47th. There's never anything boring about this city. I bought her a Frapuccino and she has sorta had a crush on Starbucks ever since. Hahaha, not only that, but I also make all kind of coffees in my house and she claims that mines are better (I seriously doubt that). After walking around and introducing her to some of my friends who work around there, we went to 42nd street and she had a Cold Stone ice cream. She was so surprised by it and she again fell in love with the ice cream. We sat at the Starbucks next door to eat ice cream, talk about life, have a few laughs. Hahaha, I hope someone doesn't feel like I'm cheating on her. (I'm such a whore, I take everyone to the same places. Haha) Anyways, so there we saw all of the different people passing by. I said: One the things that I love most about New York, is that you can be anyone you like and no one cares. We're all so different, but the thing that unites us is exactly that. I love New York. I couldn't live anywhere else. Where else could we have so much diversity so easily accesible?

I don't hope for my cousin to want to come live here one day. I don't think she could handle it. She was terrified when I cursed out a pervert who wanted to grab her and talk to her. But I hope that when she leaves, she's a bit edgier and she knows that there's more to life than the people she goes to school with and her immediate family. I hope that one day she can take me to all of the places she loves where she lives, introduce me to her friends and teach me something I don't know about my own country.

Pervert

Tengo una prima que visita de RD, y he estado saliendo con ella, dándomela disque de guía turística. No sé si estoy haciendo lo correcto porque a mi prima le está gustando demasiado Nueva York. Hemos visitado varios sitios en lo que he podido. Y hasta ahora, lo que más le ha gustado, o mejor dicho, lo que la ha vuelto adicta ha sido Starbucks. No quiere salir si en el transcurso del día no nos damos una vueltecita por allá.

Un pervertido en el tren quería hablar con mi prima (tiene 17 años, alta y esbelta, rubia y de ojos verdes) pero el tipo ya lo habíamos visto molestando a otra chica. Pues el tipo y su amigo estaban embelesados mirando a mi prima y el perv se sentó opuesto a ella y casi le toca el brazo. La sangre me hirvió. Salté de mi asiento y le grité que se mueva de ahí con mi cara amenazante. Estaba lista para pegarle si era necesario. El tipo quiso actuar como que nada había pasado o como si yo estuviera loca, pero aun estaba en guardia, solo esperando que me quisiera enfrentar para yo caerle encima. Se paró del asiento burlándose de mí y habló con el amigo como si mi prima y yo no hablásemos Inglés. El tipo que estaba sentado le dijo: Esa es su novia? Y el otro le dijo: No, esa es su mamá. Y este le contesto: no loco, no hay manera que esa pueda ser su mamá.

Yo me senté tranquila. Le cambié el tema a mi prima. Pretendí que no me molestaban, pero aun estaba lista para que si aun lo veía molestando a otra chica, le iba a llamar a la policía por indecente y pervertido.

Este tipo de cosas me sorprende mucho sobre mí. Yo no soy una persona confrontacional. Yo no busco peleas ni pleitos y mucho menos con gente que no conozco. Usualmente no me interesan las loqueras con las que pueda salir la gente. Pero siempre he dicho que defiendo a mi familia y a mis amigos con todas mis fuerzas, y esta vez me dí cuenta hasta cuáles extremos esto puede llegar. Le dije a mi prima: entiende esto; yo soy muy linda y muy tranquila, pero cuando alguien se mete con la gente mia, me vuelvo una animal.

Un amigo me dijo que yo exageré, que mi prima es muy bonita y que eso es normal. Pues sí, claro que es normal, pero un pervertido que ande molestando a todas las chicas que ve no es normal. Si él hubiese sido menos agresivo, más amigable, menos obvio. Si hubiese dejado de mirarle el cuerpo y le hubiese mirado la cara, y si yo no hubiese visto a la otra chica que huyó molesta de donde él, creo que no hubiese reaccionado así.

Ustedes qué piensan, exageré?