Draft from December 1st, 2009

Creo que me di cuenta hoy sobre la razon por la que amamos las cosas. Amamos las cosas porque o alguien nos las inspiro o hemos tenido una encuentro intimo y profundo con aquella cosa que amamos. Aveces podemos amar las cosas en un nivel muy superficial, por ejemplo, yo amo las artes escenicas, pero las amo porque me gusta hacerlo, me siento bien mientras lo hago, pero nunca podria vivir la vida de una persona que vive de esto. No estoy dispuesta a trabajar en cada detalle y aprender cosas religiosamente con el fin de que algo resulte de cierta forma, para cosechar ciertos beneficios. Creo que esto tambien debe ser parte de lo que fue inspirado o aprendido.


I think I realized today the reason why we love things. We love things because either somebody instilled that in us or we have had a very deep and personal encounter with that which we love. Sometimes we can love things in a very superficial level, for example, I love performing arts, but I like to perform because I like it; I feel good while I do it. But I could never live the life of a performer. I am not willing to work on every detail and to learn things religiously in order for something to come out a certain way, to reap a certain benefit. I think that that too should be part of what was either instilled or learnt with such an intimate strength that it all becomes a part of performing. But, when someone loves something in an intimate way, there is no possible way that someone else could understand or experience that which that person loves, it could not even have to be the same kind of love that everyone has for the apparent same thing. For example, you could say that I love the mind, and yes, I do, but it began with my mind, with analyzing every thought and pattern, what was good and not good about it, what was sane and what was insane. So, why do we love things? Does everyone else have to love in the same way we love? Does everyone else have to feel the way we feel? I have learnt to love my own way, and to throw away any system that wants to make me love the way they love. I love my own way, my own crazy way, so if I love theater that does not mean that I belong solely to the theater and that I have to do everything possible to be that. I love everything I love in the way that I love it. It may be parts of it. It may only really be bits, but never tell me I dont love it, because maybe, just maybe, those bits may speak to me much more than the whole picture speaks to everyone else.

Always love life, every single part that speaks to your life and that could benefit your life and the life of humanity.....

Draft from October, 2009

Cada pensamiento que borras son planetas que nos separan aun mas lejos, perdidos por siempre en palabras eternas que no hemos enunciado; de labios, deseando hablar, con palabras, con lenguas, con besos. Tus pensamientos son caricias que nunca se le han permitido acariciar.
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Every thought you erase are planets that separate us even farther, forever lost in the endless words we have not spoken, from lips, longing to speak, with words, with tongues, with kisses. Your words are more caresses that are never allowed to caress.

Draft from September 15th, 2009

Today I write you something beautiful. Something that exhales pulchritude, something colorless, something blind, perhaps something full, infinite, without questions or answers, without explanation. Today, I give you this, because no matter how much I wish I couldnt write it, or think it or feel it, it has overpowered every single intent, and taken over. This thing loves you, caresses you, desires you and wishes more than anything to sing sweet nothings or everythings in your ears. This beautiful thing yearns to hug you, call you it's own and bless you, embrace you and paint your beautifulness. This beautiful thing today wants to touch and let go, to miss you, and miss you, and have you all over again. This thing wants the impossible and unimaginable superpowered event of having you, of mothering you, of womaning you. This thing intends to exault you, and adore you, to convince you and smile you. The everything wants to be your everything, the hands want to touch your hands. The lips want to to speak with the upper, then the bottom, then the opening, then the tongue, and the rivers that unite this magical, impossible tale. Today, I want to write you something beautiful, perhaps something passionate, something too much to bear, something that breaths..... and lets out, and cannot control the thoughts, the impulses. Today, the beautiful makes you it's beautiful, the love makes you it's love, the pain makes you it's pain. I wish I had you....

Dear Soulmate, Draft from August 12th, 2009

Every happy day is a hard day for me. I can only think of the time when I can share my life with you. I don't spoil many people and it's been a while since I let someone spoil me. I wish so bad that you were here. I wish so bad to make you laugh, to kiss you, hug you, make fun of you, fight with you, make up with you... I wish I could write you all of these poems that I keep wanting to write, but I can't, because I feel like I'm betraying you somehow. I don't. I don't know you. I just know that you are alive somewhere and that you belong to me. I'm not like every other woman and I can't settle just for a good man. I need you. I need you to hold me and love me. I need you to challenge me and disagree with me. I need you to love me for who I am, not for an idea of who you want me to be, but for who I really am. I can't wait to have you in my life and share amazing moments. I want to offer you all of me and treat you like a king. I want us to make each other happy. I want to make love to you. I want to unleash all of the woman that I am, but just to you and only you. I'm waiting for you. I already feel like I love you. Maybe because I know how much I will. But I'm tired. I'm tired of dramatic and painful relationships, and I'm tired of shallow and circumstancial relationships. You know who I am, right? You know I'm not perfect right? You know I'm wonderfully imperfect, right? Please come to my arms, they ache with nothingness, emptiness, purposeless. They long to hold you.

Epiphany

No. I'm not in love with words. I'm in love with the manner in which words are said. I'm in love with the sounds, the tones, the voice, the breath that could be identified before each pause. I'm in love with the meaning behind the words. I'm in love with the motives. I'm in love with the way in which they are perceived. I'm in love with the voices that bring them to life and the hands that create their images. I like the way they look, the way they can make people feel and think and be.

No. I'm not in love with words. Not with them particularly. I'm in love with everything about them.

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No. No estoy enamorada de las palabras. Estoy enamorada de la manera en la que las palabras son enunciadas. Estoy enamorada de los sonidos, los tonos, la voz, el suspiro que se identifica entre cada pausa. Estoy enamorada del significado detrás de las palabras. Estoy enamorada de los motivos. Estoy enamorada de la manera en que son percibidas. Estoy enamorada de las voces que les dan vida y las manos que crean sus imágenes. Me gusta como se ven, como hacen a la gente sentir y pensar y ser.

No. No estoy enamorada de las palabras. No particualrmente de ellas. Estoy enamorada de todo sobre ellas.

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???

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!

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...

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...

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.

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.

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!

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?

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.