tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25800316532002415062024-03-05T18:44:47.034-08:00a slow and steady de(con)structionan exercise in falling upLe Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-86179748553262142982008-08-17T03:08:00.000-07:002008-08-17T03:22:02.026-07:00time can take its toll on the best of usI think this first occurred to me when I was listening to my best friend cry on the phone. And then when my little sister was telling me about the girl who had beaten her up. She was also crying. It really hit me when I was crying on the phone, trying not to let someone else hear how much I was hurting.<br /><br />How can you love someone so much that the sound of their voice on the phone makes your heart break? Every single time.<br /><br />Because there is someone, a thousand miles away, who is listening to you as well. Who at that moment you would do anything to be next to. Who makes you wish that you were able to teleport. Who makes you want to be more than just your normal self, and be everything and everywhere. Just for them.<br /><br />It makes you wonder what people did before phones. Not exactly what they did, because you know they wrote letters, but what they did with those feelings of extraordinary longing.<br /><br />They are absolutely enveloping.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-41752126297650724802008-08-09T06:12:00.000-07:002008-08-09T06:23:51.037-07:00used to be one of the rotten onesI've realized that it doesn't matter how long I'm awake or how long I'm asleep. It doesn't matter when I finally close my eyes or when I open them, because really, I inevitably come to think of just one thing.<br /><br />Just one.<br /><br />A gentle brushing of finger tips, lightly touching my lips. More intimate than a kiss, it's a memory that presses against my mouth. It stays there, settles. Dies. Is reborn. Continues.<br /><br />I'm quite sick of this and I'd like for it to stop.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-90866734055925084232008-05-31T02:27:00.000-07:002008-05-31T02:33:20.618-07:00when it was just me<div style="text-align: center;">January 1st<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">December 31, 1996</span><br />She’d somehow gotten it into her head that she had to eat all twelve grapes at once. Although it would be a difficult task, with five grapes making her look like a chipmunk who had swallowed more than it could chew, she knew it was important. It’s a tradition, he had said, and she felt the words heavy with responsibility and expectation.<br /><br />At midnight she had to make a wish on every grape she swallowed. It was hard not to get distracted by the images of Time Square on the television, but she kept her eyes for the most part on the clock. She didn’t want to miss it, she didn’t want to be late. She would be nine in six days and starting the year off right was crucial. Wish hard enough and they’ll come true, he had said. She believed him.<br /><br />Her dad had asked her to gather twelve grapes for her, her mother, her little sister, and him. She’d been careful and deliberate in her choices, and only the smoothest, darkest ones were chosen. Her mother thought it was superstitious and unnecessary, and her little sister was three and would have put anything in her mouth. It was really only important to her father, and by extension, her.<br /><br />She felt tremendously silly when he told her to swallow one grape at a time, instead of trying to make one humongous wish with twelve grapes in her mouth. But it wasn’t that she had just decided to eat them all at the same on a whim; she had a reason. One grape seemed too insignificant to make this wish on. It seemed that the only way it could possibly come true was if she swallowed all of them at the same time. The swollen-looking cheeks would be worth it if this wish came true.<br /><br />Her mother was tired and didn’t care about staying up to watch the countdown, but it seemed appropriate to after having waited all night for her father to come home. He’d been at work, but her own impatience, matched only by her mother’s, had caused her to call her father’s office more than twelve times to reach him. He hadn’t been available, and so she’d prepared the grapes herself and waited for him to arrive.<br /><br />Her little sister was the most notably excited of the family. She’d had a huge grin the entire night that had begun to droop just a little due to exhaustion. She’d passed the terrible twos and was on to the treacherous threes that made her prone to temper tantrums. But not on this night. On this night upon sensing her mother’s visible tension and her older sister’s concerned countenance, she’d acted in a manner beyond her years. She accepted the grapes and waited patiently for whatever was going to happen.<br /><br />With ten minutes left in the year, movement in the apartment began to center around the television. Her mother came back from her self-imposed seclusion, her father stopped pacing, and her little sister reached out for someone to hold her up to eye level.<br /><br />And so it came to be that they all had their respective glass of grapes, with the exception of her little sister who had a cup, and they counted down the minutes towards the New Year. As the final minutes approached they each quietly began to take grapes and to make silent wishes for the New Year. They would never know each other’s wishes, and they could never be told to another soul. She didn’t know what her mother would wish, though it probably involved being able to reach her husband at work. She didn’t know what her little sister would wish, though since the concept was completely new to her, it probably involved being paid more attention to. She would never guess what her father would wish, though she knew it had to involve some sort of promise to visit his home country again, to improve his new business, and to spend more weekends feeding ducks at the local park with his two daughters. She wished him luck with all the imaginary wishes, but had her own that encompassed the entirety of the grapes.<br /><br />She swallowed each of them slowly. She thought carefully, again and again, of her wish. This was important, it was a tradition, it meant something and if she wished hard enough it would come true. With every grape, another part of the wish became a certainty in the future.<br /><br />When the clock struck midnight, her father hugged her and wished her a Happy New Year. She wrapped her arms around her mother and the tension they’d carried on their shoulders was lessened and then gone. Her mother forgave her father’s lateness and they embraced and said Feliz Año Nuevo. Her dad picked up her little sister and kissed her cheek, and she let him without any complaints, though her yawn indicated that the night’s festivities were at a close for her. Her father handed her the little body, warm with sleep, and told her to put her to bed.<br /><br />She carried her to the only room, and placed her on her bed. She wanted to give her a kiss goodnight, but thought it best not to disturb her in any way. Instead, she confided to that little soul. She was young, she wouldn’t understand, but she wanted someone to share her only wish with.<br /><br />“Can we stay together forever?” she softly asked. A contented sigh was all she received as an answer, as her little sister fell into deeper sleep. She didn’t know what she was dreaming, but a little smile appeared on her lips, and she left her to join her parents.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">December 31, 2006</span><br />She did not want to go to church. Her mom and sister were getting ready to go but she didn’t want to waste her New Year’s listening to how she had to repent her sins before Armageddon came and she was destroyed. It had been months, maybe years, since she’d last gone and she would never be going back she defiantly told her mother.<br /><br />It had also been months since they’d argued about this particular issue. She’d been busy with school, busy with her friends, busy with the prospect of finally leaving for college, and her mother had finally given up. They’d had some earth-shattering arguments in which she’d said more than was necessary and been as rude and disrespectful as she could be without getting in huge trouble, but things had come to a standstill. Her mother didn’t have the patience, or the strength to argue with her anymore, so she only asked once if she’d join them at church. She would not be joining her mother and sister.<br /><br />Her father had called as well and she’d answered on his third try because she didn’t know what kind of news he’d bring. He wouldn’t be able to pick her up and take her to her aunt’s house for dinner because he was too sick. Her dad had been bed-ridden for days and didn’t have the physical strength or the patience with his disease to go out to see anyone. He and his brother would spend the night at the apartment they’d rented, eating re-heated food and watching the countdown on TV.<br /><br />He apologized to her several times but she understood. His health had been deteriorating for the past four years to the point that her uncle had come from his country to serve as a full-time nurse for him. They’d moved out, and it became harder and harder for her to see her father on a regular basis. She was busy, so he understood. She had a lot to look forward to, a lot to do before she left for college. She was seventeen, so close to eighteen and being an adult. Her family had taken a backseat to everything else, and though she lived with her mother and sister, she’d been home a lot less. Her dinner at her aunt’s house was a tradition that had replaced her New Year’s Eve at home, and yet with it gone she didn’t fall into despair.<br /><br />“Remember to eat the grapes at midnight,” he reminded her urgently, as she tried to get off the phone. She would, she replied. Just then she realized she had another call, said a quick goodbye, and hung up. It hurt for a second and then she focused on what would happen next.<br /><br />It was the boy she’d been seeing and he brought the promise of an empty house and pizza, if she wanted to join him on New Year’s. She agreed without hesitation, and got dressed quickly, but attentively. She chose a pair of jeans, but enhanced them with heels because she didn’t know what they’d be doing. She told her mother she was going to a friend’s house and ended up getting in his car before she’d even left for church.<br /><br />They arrived at his house and he ate pizza while she nervously tapped her foot and rubbed her hands against her jeans. To get her mind off things, she flipped through the channels looking for a countdown. She paused for a moment on the Spanish news channel, which was showing the countdown she was used to watching. It wouldn’t work though, he didn’t speak Spanish. She’d have to find a channel they could both watch, and settle for the fact that the most grape-like item in his house were olives and wishes didn’t come true on olives. There would be no countdown in Spanish this year. There would be no grapes.<br /><br />It was her first New Year’s away from her family. Everything had changed so much since her dad had gotten sick that it had been a relief to find someone she could be with that wouldn’t remind her of how much was gone. When he asked her to dance with him at ten minutes ‘til midnight, she accepted. He looked through his music collection, trying to find something appropriate that they could slow dance to in order to welcome the New Year.<br /><br />“Memories like the corners of my mind… misty water-colored memories of the way we were” rang out from his speakers. He asked for her hand and she handed it to him, aware of how she couldn’t control her heartbeat. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, that would express even a small part of how she felt. There was so much to say, there was so much darkness threatening to pour out from her eyes, that she choked on her words. With a minute left in a flash she realized how much she missed the grapes. Missed having something to do with her hands, and so she took one to wipe her eyes. He looked down at her and took her hand, clumsily, and held it in his. Her eyes burned, and when they met his the look of tender, young concern caught her off guard.<br /><br />He kissed her at midnight and she knew she was in love. There were no grapes this year, but there was a kiss that stopped the tears in her eyes and that absorbed the words that had been causing her to lose her breath. With her body pressed against his she felt a certain warmth that although familiar seemed completely new. This wasn’t what she’d wanted, this wasn’t what she’d expected for the New Year, but it was something. It was something when she was silently but frantically looking for anything.<br /><br />“Memories may be beautiful and yet what's too painful to remember we simply choose to forget,” she heard in the distance.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">December 31, 2007</span><br />She stood alone on a street corner. Her new house was the only one on the block, so it stood alone as well. The wind was blowing everywhere, furiously. It wasn’t welcoming her, and it definitely was not greeting the New Year. <br /><br />They’d moved in three days ago, and she didn’t know anyone around for miles. She’d also been sick, further keeping her from venturing out and meeting people. It was an entirely different state, and an entirely different city where she only knew her sister and her mom. It was the three of them, in a lonely house where they still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that they each had their own rooms instead of sharing one.<br /><br />There was no telephone service yet. The cable man was also not going to be available until next week so there would be no television. They hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet, so there was also little variety in what they could eat. They didn’t have grapes. Hell, they didn’t have milk or wine or much anything else.<br /><br />It was a quarter to midnight and her mom was getting ready for bed, and she told her to do the same. She’d mainly been in charge of unpacking since she’d been sick so she understood why she’d be tired. Also, along with unpacking she’d been her nurse and she deserved to rest.<br /><br />However, she remembered that her dad always said to start the year off the way you wanted to end it. It couldn’t find her in the same bed she’d been in for the past three days, and it wouldn’t find her asleep. She said a brief goodnight to her mother, kissed her cheek and set off to get ready.<br /><br />She got dressed. She chose a gold-colored dress that made her feel like celebrating, but put on boots instead of heels. The boots that had been everyday wear in her college that was thousands of miles away, hidden in snow. Although she’d never been a fan of shoes more complicated than sneakers, the boots made her feel like she could walk through whatever storm she would encounter outside.<br /><br />She shivered as she pulled her green coat tighter around her. It was windy and cold, but there were fireworks. In every direction that she looked from her solitary house, there were fireworks. And better than that, there were stars. She walked slowly to the corner, savoring the feeling of fresh air, occasionally pausing to look at the house that was farther and farther away.<br /><br />There was a petite figure looking down at her from her bedroom window. It was her little sister and when she blinked the lights went off and she was gone. She hesitated for a second and wondered whether she should invite her to come outside and watch the fireworks. But it was cold, and she continued on.<br /><br />She checked her phone and saw that there were two minutes left. She looked around for any other person, any one else standing outside waiting for the New Year to come. There was no one though. She considered calling someone to count down the last minute with, but couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be with family or friends.<br /><br />She breathed in slowly, holding one breath, holding it very tightly, waiting for the minute to end, waiting for something to happen, hoping she would cry, hoping she could laugh, holding, waiting, hoping. There were no grapes, there were no songs, there was no dancing, there was her. Just her. She let go of that breath and inhaled the New Year.<br /><br />At that moment there was so much she wanted to do. It was January 1st, it was the first few minutes of the new year. They held too much promise for her to simply stand without doing anything significant. Lifting her arms into the sky she asked for something that she didn’t expect to receive an answer for.<br /><br />Give it back, she thought and paused for an answer; any answer. She needed something at the moment to keep her legs from freezing to the ground. At that moment, anything from divine intervention to a shooting star would have been enough. The sky raged in the night with fireworks and that was enough.<br /><br />She ran back to her warm house that was apart from the rest. There would be more built and her’s would not be the only one on the block for long. She walked through the door, up the stairs, past her mom’s room. She stopped for a second and heard her light snores. Her mom had never been a fan of staying up late and had only ever done so for the benefit of the family, and so now she was doing what she’d always wanted to do on New Year’s Eve. She walked away and to her own room. She turned on the lights and lying on her bed was her little sister. At twelve, she was just a few inches shorter than her, and she growing up so fast.<br /><br />She wasn’t the same little girl with the soft smile as she lay down to sleep. She had tired eyes that looked worn out whether she had slept well or not. She lay down next to her little sister, that she’d whispered to more than a decade to, and took her hand. Her eyes glistened with tears and as they began to spill out she wiped them away.<br /><br />“I still miss him,” she said.<br />“I know.”Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-30728214073167653142008-02-25T18:50:00.000-08:002008-03-02T22:45:42.422-08:00when you thought there was nothing there, but there was so much<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://imgsrc.hubblesite.org/hu/db/2004/07/images/b/formats/web.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://imgsrc.hubblesite.org/hu/db/2004/07/images/b/formats/web.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />They watched the empty night sky for four months. For four months, they looked at this area in the sky because there didn't seem to be anything there. It makes you wonder why anyone would bother to look for something that they thought they wouldn’t find, or furthermore, that they didn’t expect to find.<br /><br />But they found something; they saw through time. This speck of sky, this unimpressive part of the universe, contains 10,000 galaxies. Hubble Ultra Deep Field represents the oldest and farthest region of space ever observed through a telescope. It was chosen for observance due to its disparity to areas around it; in a sky illuminated by celestial bodies, we thought we'd found somewhere different: emptiness.<br /><br />So we learn. That is the momentum that knowledge has taken in man's search for understanding: there is always more. Outside of what we know, outside of what we can know, outside of what we will ever know there will always be much, much more. We simply do not have the perspective to ever fully capture the transcendent size of the universe because we are entirely too limited to ever do so. We are born, we live in awe, and then we die like everyone before us has done.<br /><br />I’m left with that brief feeling of terror whenever I look up at the night sky and realize that I mean less and less the farther away I let my eyes travel. It is what Edmund Burke would classify as a normal emotion in the presence of the sublime. When confronted with absolute, consuming, overwhelming space, I feel a powerful sense of motion downwards. I’m here, on Earth; I will never be there, I will never experience that.<br /><br />In essence, we get lost in the infinity. It is very easy to succumb to the feeling that everything is so much bigger than us. I do. A lot. I forget the tiny snowflake landing on my lips and gently melting there like a kiss when I think about the galaxies out there, the exploding stars, the black holes. That’s the dilemma you’re left with when you try to reconcile your existence with that of an entity that was there before you were an idea, and will be there after you are nothing but a collection of lonely cells.<br /><br />But then I remember that when I walk through a snowstorm, I’m really walking through so many snowflakes. They’re all different, all ephemeral, yet all so beautiful as they land on my eyelashes, melt, and become tears of awe. There is awe in this as well, they’re saying, as there is in those galaxies so far away. What I experience now is singular to myself, singular to all of time, and although it passes all too quickly, it happened. That moment. In a universe that is constantly expanding, or contracting (whatever you believe), your life happened when it didn’t have to. What’s more, you exist.<br /><br />There’s something in that, isn’t there? In that I can stand under the night sky. I can see the stars, the galaxies, see back in time. And I can walk back to my room while snowflakes embrace the ground, and me.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-28124882383449170852008-02-04T15:56:00.001-08:002008-12-12T20:03:17.772-08:00Goldy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8H5aK1GDMK5HYf2hhsnsFqk1vxKruOOdKCqumsgc3nDfHrh_H4xKSO6ps6O2G-BEaMO6TEtEYHNqi_EniqLRD4Y7Q5NpdUYjH2AQ2JlON6nTsVfD5q1pNUrLibySVme5rfTe91VCsWK7a/s1600-h/Photo+286.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8H5aK1GDMK5HYf2hhsnsFqk1vxKruOOdKCqumsgc3nDfHrh_H4xKSO6ps6O2G-BEaMO6TEtEYHNqi_EniqLRD4Y7Q5NpdUYjH2AQ2JlON6nTsVfD5q1pNUrLibySVme5rfTe91VCsWK7a/s320/Photo+286.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163278396943786114" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">He was a very good cat and a very dear friend.<br /></div>Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-42168705224080047612008-01-09T22:02:00.000-08:002008-01-09T22:03:30.954-08:00When I WasI cried when she told me. I hadn’t cried out of happiness in so long, it felt good. In the fluorescent lighting of the kitschy 24 hour diner, with some woman in the booth behind us cursing about being old and not being fucking married, she blushed and looked down as she described how they’d been lying in bed. Her roommate was in the room too, so I didn’t get any other ideas, but still, they lay down together. She confessed to him, shyly and simply, that she was very in love with him. And he told her how how he’d wanted to say the same thing for a very long time. He really loved her too. <br /><br />It was beautiful. It was something that she didn’t make a big deal out of, but it was painted in her eyes. My two best friends are in love and it made me cry out of joy.<br /><br />Last year was hard. I can still remember every second, I can still hear every word of that phone call, and one phrase plays constantly. “Tu papa ya no esta con nosotros,” my uncle said. But that’s not something I’m ready to start writing about. As someone said about writing about moments that change your life and define you, you don’t want to end up sounding melodramatic. And it’s also not what this is about. <br /><br />It’s about my two friends who are in love. It’s about the way she told him she loved him. It’s about how he has loved her for a long time. It’s about how even though fucking awful things happen in life, things that knock you to your knees, things that make you think you couldn’t possibly ever be okay, that despite all those things there are still tears of joy. It’s about how I was reminded that there is still good. It’s about how there is always hope.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-36880208661628521202007-12-28T09:52:00.000-08:002007-12-29T18:22:50.451-08:00When there’s nothing left to burn, you must set yourself on fire...As I flicked my cigarette and the wind blew my hair in my face for the thousandth time, I looked up. The same stars that I’m searching for in the ashtray LA sky, I could see clearly from Christmas-card perfect Amherst. I smile because it’s home.<br /><br />I’m sitting at my favorite hookah bar, on my favorite busy, car-infested boulevard, listening to a conversation that I take and leave as my ears will allow. My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once, and when the waiter asks me if I’d like more tea I absentmindedly nod. He winks and coyly asks me if I have enough sugar.<br /><br />I respond, I never do. For the tea.<br /><br />There’s Middle Eastern music in the background and it reminds me of that boy that I once loved. We’d spent many nights there, on that hectic, garishly, almost obscenely busy boulevard that catered to late nights and breaking curfews. My eyes lost focus again, but I didn’t let myself get lost by the ashes that had collected on my cigarette and in my head.<br /><br />I was moving to Texas at the end of this week. Though I should probably rephrase that and say that my mom and sister are moving to Texas and I was moving to limbo. Leave the college and come back home, leave the home and move to nowhere, is basically the summary of my nomadic wanderings for the winter. I wished for a second I had decided to hibernate in my dorm room until everything had settled, and then I repeated to myself what has become my life’s philosophy: Things happen and nothing is certain.<br /><br />But death, I suppose.<br /><br />I needed a moment to fix the medusa’s head that my hair has become, because a storm had descended on San Fernando Valley. My valley. It was saying goodbye in the way a scorned lover would, howling at my infidelity at having another valley to seek comfort in, and another home in which to toss and turn on restless nights.<br /><br />I walk to the bathroom and in front of the mirror run my hands through my hair. I miss my long, untamed curls, but I decided to straighten my hair so it’s my own fault. My lips aren’t chapped for the first time in months, and I resist the urge to lick them because the wind will make me pay for that decision too. My eyes are dams, the only sign that there is something rushing forward, pressing outward, wanting release. I’ve changed.<br /><br />I walk back to the carpet we’re sitting on, appreciating and loving the fact that its nearly 2 in the morning and there are people out. Just out. The waiter walks by, grins and asks me if he can change my coals. For a second I really want to quote Buddha’s Fire Sermon, for absolutely no reason. It’d be lost on <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> moment. Maybe later, maybe with someone else.<br /><br />Instead I say, I’m leaving. I am. It’s time.<br /><br />Sleep. Miles and miles of sleep, that’s all I’m thinking about. And the stars. I’m looking at them. Wherever I am, there they are, where I am, there are stars.<br /><br />They’re where you are, too. It comforts me, and I grab my coat and walk back on to that boulevard.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-82253986896386605122007-12-11T18:51:00.000-08:002007-12-11T18:52:30.619-08:00our bodies are about 2/3 water, the earth is 70% covered with water, and we made fireThe truth was that on Memorial Hill, I wanted nothing more than to burst into flames. It occurred to me briefly that if I let the cigarette flame reach my mouth it might trigger the spontaneous combustion I had been begging for. But I was completely aware that in that dense of a fog, the chances of me bursting into flames were about as likely as the chances that God would answer me as I extended my hands upward and demanded, “Give it back.”<br /><br />Give what back? I don’t really know. Plenty of things are gone that I want back, but it was a pitiful excuse for a supplication because I didn’t even know which I was referring to.<br /><br />I paused and waited. What was I expecting? Nothing really, maybe something along the lines of divine revelation or a shooting star. I just knew that that night I needed something to keep my legs from freezing to the ground. I needed to feel connected to something. Ironically, I was going about this by avoiding all human contact for a few minutes, but it was ephemeral I knew it. I’m never alone here. We’re never alone anywhere.<br /><br />I was considering walking through the fog and into the forest when I saw the headlights announce the presence of another soul at the bottom of that steep hill. I had blissfully enjoyed the fact that for a few seconds it was just me, my cigarette and my smoke on that hill. It was quiet, the kind of quiet you fall in love with. It reminded me of my philosophy professor, who midway through the journey of his life decided he needed to retreat into the woods. Complete silence and utter solitude, and he made it sound like the most normal thing to do. Frankly, I’ll admit the thought was seductive, but I lacked the fortitude to go about it alone.<br /><br />While lost in those thoughts, I realized my visibility was being greatly reduced. I could no longer see into the woods, and I couldn’t see how steep that hill is. It was no longer the same hill I had walked to moments before. I was overcome with a deep appreciation for water in all its forms. This is somewhat ironic because of my morbid (and irrational fear) of the dark blue spots on maps, but at one in the morning… I loved the fog that added an air of mystery to my hill, I loved the ice that could cause me to break my neck, I loved the snow that just one week ago inspired excited running about, god… I even loved the tears that were forming in my eyes.<br /><br />And that was the truth I came to. The water was simply existing, constantly changing, and patiently reminding me that I have to change too. I was burning inside, I was a smoldering pile of ashes on that hill and the water was caressing my face, murmuring the promise that when it was time for me to burst into flames, it would be there. Then it happened that for a few seconds I forgot about the boundary that divides my insides from the ground, my thoughts from the fog, my life from the earth.<br /><br />Suddenly, I heard someone behind me talking on their cell phone, and I knew it was time to go. I finished my cigarette and looked up into the sky again. “That’s enough,” I whispered.<br /><br />And it was.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-67501487155461458382007-12-11T00:41:00.001-08:002007-12-11T00:41:14.358-08:00cada atomo que existe en mi tambien existe en tiSe me ocurrió una idea mientras que esperaba el avión que me va a regresar a mi nuevo hogar…<br /><br />No había podido escribir en tanto tiempo algo que de verdad me dejaba satisfecha, y puede ser porque no me venían las palabras. El problema que quizás no vi fue que estaba tratando en un lenguaje que no tiene la historia, no tiene el peso que tiene el lenguaje de mis padres, de los que han venido antes de mi. He estado tratando de expresar algo tan intimo y tan profundamente importante para mi en un lenguaje que me hace la primera de una nueva línea, y a veces se necesita tocar las raíces de una historia, una vida, para de verdad poder decir lo que se necesita decir.<br /><br />Estoy llorando lagrimas amargas, pero de verdad no estoy llorando en lo absoluto. Mis ojos están secos porque no a quedado ni una lagrima por los asuntos que constantemente murmuran mi nombre, rogándome que finalmente me quiebre, que admita que no estoy feliz, que no estoy bien. Es una canción melancólica que no es exclusivamente mía, pero que fue conducida por medio de la sangre que me apega a vida, que siempre a existido, que nunca nació, y que nunca morirá.<br /><br />Me recuerdo del refrán que siempre me decía mi papa cuando me sentía deprimida, “Marcha, marcha soldado valiente. No temas fatiga ni sed. Que en tu frente la gente algún día, cariñoso laurel ceñirá. Al rigor del calor y del frió…”<br /><br />Y el resto no me acuerdo… Lo puedo oír tan claramente hasta ese punto, y después de eso no hay nada. Es deprimente. Pero me consuelo que aunque sean pocas palabras, dentro de mi inspiran movimiento. Eran las palabras que mi papa me daba de forma de consuelo, y eran las palabras que su papa le dio a el. Y eso es lo mejor que yo podría esperar. Una acaricia es temporaria (pero tan bella, tan extrañada), pero mucho después de que me olvide como era un abrazo de mi papa, me acordare de esas palabras.<br /><br />De repente me siento increíblemente pesada, similar al efecto de cargar una montaña en los hombros. Siempre me gusto la metáfora de que cada individuo es una isla, solitaria en si misma, pero ahora creo que tengo que modificarla con ayuda de Dave Eggers. El escribió que hace tiempo habían unas gentes que vivían en unas montañas rurales, apartadas del resto del mundo. Centro a su sistema de creencias eran estas mismas montañas en que ellos vivían porque ellos creían en la existencia de montañas simbólicas que se heredaban de una generación a otra. Eran el sumo de todos las partes que constituían la vida de todos los que vinieron antes, y se cargaban hasta el día en que volares de la montaña en que naciste.<br /><br />Y eso lo creo mucho. Dentro de mi esta todo niño, niña, hombre, mujer, novio, novia, madre, padre… todo lo que ellos sintieron corren por mis venas; memorias que nunca me acordare, vidas que nunca viviré, muertes que nunca moriré. Es la unión que tengo al pasado, porque todo lo que paso antes de mi dio paso a mi existencia. Y cuando yo siento el dolor de estar sin padre, siento el dolor que sintió mi padre cuando el perdió el de el. Estamos unidos por una linea que no empieza con solo el y yo, pero que extiende por todo tiempo.<br /><br />Universalmente solos. Es un concepto paradójico porque implico que aunque estoy sola, tengo la compañía de todo mi línea genética. Y quizás lo que quiero decir es que simplemente mi isla incluye una montana que espero algún día felizmente pueda brincar, sabiendo que también escribe unas palabras en la alma de alguien.<br /><br />Comment:<br />Edited due to the writer's rusty Spanish skills and inability to concentrate.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-6291436845393011312007-11-05T16:40:00.000-08:002007-11-08T05:03:46.814-08:00Where is the soleil...Noah says, The storm is coming. I reply, I sure hope because its been dry as hell here.<br /><br />I can't get<span style="font-style: italic;"> that </span>song out of my head, and its making me want to sing it as loud as I possibly can at midnight on Memorial Hill. Somehow I figure that will help me get rid of the worst writer's block to strangle me ever. Or at least it will give me a cold so I don't have to write any more bullshit papers for my seminar.<br /><br />Or write anymore bullshit in general.<br /><br />So storm please come... because I can say that I am thundering. I'm being filled with warnings that the storm is coming: a storm of words, a flood of realization, the death of some(thing), the survival of some(one). And I begin to see that these waters aren't drowning anything... they're cleaning.<br /><br />Sigh. The eternal optimist.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-37243840882851896882007-10-22T02:51:00.000-07:002007-10-22T02:54:01.807-07:00When I Signed Off On A Delivery of a Ton of BricksI miss home.<br />I miss my sister.<br />I miss my mom.<br />I miss Leslie.<br />I miss James.<br />I miss Anna.<br />I miss my bed.<br />I miss my favorite places to eat. (Yes, I am that kind of person.)<br /><br />I miss my dad.<br /><br />I'm not unhappy, but I'm not steady.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-11676622972831962522007-10-11T14:16:00.000-07:002007-10-11T15:29:13.896-07:00When I Was Hitting the Button Really HardWe constantly hit the self-destruct button. Unintentionally usually, but most of the time we have some sort of inclination that what we are about to do will hurt us in some way.<br /><br />This goes for everything. In every aspect of our life, we find something that will send us running towards the hills and we do it. This is how we got to the moon after centuries of fear that God was somewhere in the skies waiting to strike us down if we ventured into his heavens. This is how we have vaccines, how we exercise to the point of near devastation, and how we smoke pot knowing our lungs are paying the price. Its a necessary evil in life, the corrupt good that lies in doing what we're not supposed to.<br /><br />We learn. After so many times, the mouse in the Skinner Box figures out that when there is music the cheese is hard to get, and we figure out that we are not invincible, but instead adaptive.<br /><br />So we give another inch. We learn that we can press the button for so long and still be okay. Or we fuck ourselves over by jabbing our finger against the button one too many times.<br /><br />And start again. New button, new poison. You pick and you choose.<br />Self-destruction is just one second away.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-49154029382448511072007-09-18T07:10:00.000-07:002007-09-18T07:26:54.318-07:00When I Was Thinking of ThemI have nothing but an endless stream of words that leaves me breathing in so deeply as to grasp the full extent of their meaning. It is beauty and chaos, it is killing me but allowing me to truly live.<br /><br />To philosophize is to die. That I truly believe, though my pondering has merely left me short of air, and feeling dizzy. How strange is it though, to not be able to control my bodies reaction to certain thoughts. Oh man, in all his foolish behavior believing he is master of the universe, and yet cannot truly control the eruption of a sneeze, the subtlety of a sigh, or the threatening watering of the eyes. I have learned never to claim that I have control over my body because honestly, I feel my body belongs to no one in particular, not even myself.<br /><br />Perhaps it belongs more to others. I know that my mind is my own, for that is the only entity that I can truly embrace through reason. As for my heart, experience has shown that it is in the wind, in the rain, in the earth, in fire, and yet never truly in my body. It wanders around as lonely as a cloud, and occasionally settles itself on my chest, constricting any kind of movement, except for those which it wishes to pursue.<br /><br />And thus, at this moment, on its own volition my foot is tapping away, constantly restless, constantly in search for a place to run. My heart is racing, for no one and someone in particular because although they may be a thousand miles away, my heart is there, in that warm and friendly (polluted) sky, waiting for a reunion with my body.<br /><br />Although at the same time, a part of my heart was left in DC with Eric, and a part was torn away for the few minutes that I was in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Philadelphia</span>. That was truly astonishing though, how I felt a part of me racing towards my love, using my eyes to scan the area, searching for the boy who holds an incredibly special piece of my heart and soul.<br /><br />Sigh. Involuntary or not, those sighs are signs that my heart is restlessly pacing back and forth. For whom? For them.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-40195738273050134422007-09-04T00:02:00.000-07:002007-09-04T00:03:55.046-07:00When I Missed A Feeling Forgotten (His Arms)I'm up at 2:44 am on the day of my first college class. I'm supposed to be at The Moral Essay (english class) at 8:30 in the morning, ready for something... ready to learn, i guess.<br /><br />Right now though, I feel like I'm clinging to something that feels about to be torn away from me. I am holding on to that image of me sitting at the planter, with all my friends, and with people who at some point were friends.<br /><br />I can see it so vividly it feels as if it were a film on pause. Everyone, in my heart and mind, is stuck in that one moment. Actually, more accurately... I am stuck in that moment. I am trapped, so willingly, in that image that I wish could recreate itself.<br /><br />I truly wish I could say that I am in love with college. For longer than I can remember, people have told me that I belonged in college, because high school was not the place for me. I was older, more mature, than the rest of my fellow high schoolers, and that was probably true. I am an old soul, I share something that links me to antiquities, but that also pulls me towards a new epoch in life.<br /><br />But I don't feel that way. I miss my friends, I miss my home, I miss so much that it feels impossible that I would be able to let it all go and become something new. I know I am changing, and I can feel it. Thus the image fades. And as time goes on, the faces will become more and more blurry... the smiles will be less clear, the voices will not ring, and the colors will become a dull black and white.<br /><br />The truth is that I miss everyone. Everyone. I miss the people I loved seeing and I miss the people I dreaded seeing. I miss so many moments. I miss Leslie jumping into my arms. I miss hugging James. I miss singing with Anna. God, I miss those things so badly. And they won't be there forever. Right? They will fade. Those feelings will fade because if anything, emotions are based in impermanence. I will no longer miss these things at some point... and that scares me so much. I will have changed more than I thought possible because the people who matter most to me in the world now will cease to be freshly burned into my mind.<br /><br />I'm so scared that that will happen. I don't want it to. I don't want to ever stop missing Eric's smile or Abby's jokes or Jamie's judging, Tay's sarcasm, Azia's dead pan humor, Spencer's red hair. I don't want to stop missing those things because then I won't be me.<br /><br />Thus I am caught at an impasse. To be happy, I must forego this constant ache that reminds me that I miss someone... but when that ache is gone I will no longer be happy that I have/had such wonderful people in my life.<br /><br />And this is me. The college student. At 3 in the morning... hoping that she's in constant heartache. But at the same time laughing with her new friends.<br /><br />I'm a myriad of things that don't seem to make sense... and I miss the people that know that about me.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-37754098775244671282007-07-24T11:10:00.000-07:002007-07-24T11:11:22.867-07:00When I Finished Harry Potter and Cried For James, Anna and Leslie, and Many OthersI sleep with my windows wide open because its comforting to feel that even though the world is dark and lonely, streetlamps are on to illuminate people’s ways on even the darkest of nights. Though I may be laying down, blanket warming me, and my head softly resting on a pillow, there are others that are still out there wandering, eventually, and hopefully, finding their way home.<br /><br />We anticipated that life doesn’t end when the sun sets, and that life always seems to be more interesting at night, and thus we placed streetlamps on corners, along streets, to keep us from being lost. Its instinct, I believe, that truly prevents us from ever really being lost, because at every moment, and ever second we have been psychologically trained to survive. How did we ever manage to beat out the wooly mammoth or the saber-toothed tiger if we didn’t naturally just really want to live and see another sunrise?<br /><br />This need, this constant and never-ending desire to breathe, to find light, is what brings love into your life. It draws people into your heart, and not because we consciously strive to find people that will guide us and help us, but because it is what we have done for thousands of years. A person lost is not one that doesn’t know where they are, but rather one that has lost all hope of ever knowing where they are. You can never truly be lost until you admit that there is no way that you can find your way, and when there are people in your life that act as guideposts you can never be lost.<br /><br />“No man is an island, entire unto himself. Ever man is a piece of a continent, a part of the main,” preached John Donne. He said this to the knowledge seeking people of the Renaissance, people whose life was being affected every day by new technology, new art, new music, new ways to wage war, new ways to cure disease, new ways to die, new ways to truly live. Isn’t that so similar to the lives that we lead now? Everyday we are exposed to a myriad of things that make us happy, and everyday we learn of things that make us infinitely sad. There isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t walk under the sun, and there isn’t a day that we don’t walk in the shadows.<br /><br />Darkness. I seem to touch it everyday, and not in the ways that would seem most obvious, like realizing impending doom in the world, but rather within myself. Within us we carry an immense tolerance of pain and of happiness, but it is the pain that takes the greatest toll on us. You can drown in sorrow more readily than you can drown in the ocean, and yet we can survive. We can survive because light just seems to come amidst the major storms in life, and it just so happens that it can exist in the embrace of a friend, the kind words of a stranger, in the unbreakable bond between family.<br /><br />This is what friends are. They are the streetlamps that keep you from being lost in the dark. Regardless of where you are and where you are going, they are there to keep you from falling off the edge of the cliff, crashing into a wall, or simply from succumbing to a darkness that could seem eternal. There is sunlight, sure, but when the night comes, rest assured that there is always light.<br /><br />There is always hope. And so even as a child, when I was afraid of the dark, and now as an adult, when I’m afraid that the night will never end, I look at the lampposts and I fall asleep… because I am not lost, because there will always be a way to find my way home.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-61513103168999562162007-07-16T17:07:00.000-07:002007-07-16T17:09:10.493-07:00When I Was Leaving, But You Were Still HereSo I call it the “Going Away to College” Blues.<br /><br />But really it could be the “I’m scared out of my mind, but not really” Syndrome. I mean, I always knew it was coming. Of course after high school had to come something, whether it was getting a job, or well, going to college. I pictured it differently though.<br /><br />Here’s what I thought would happen:<br />I would graduate. I would be incredibly sad because I was leaving all my best friends, but we would hang out all of summer and every moment would be somehow more significant. We would all reminisce about how high school was amazing, but college would be better because some of us would be going to the same one, even dorming. I’d probably be going to Berkeley or San Diego, but maybe even UCLA. I would be worried because I’d feel bad about moving out of my house and leaving the family in general. It would be an extra long summer too, because class wouldn’t start around September. In the end, I would just want to be with my friends all the time, and perhaps even a boy, enjoying what was left of being a kid.<br /><br />Here’s what’s actually happening:<br />I graduated. I truly didn’t hate going to Granada because it was an escape from home, but still, I don’t have the fondest memories of senior year. It actually kind of sucked. A lot. I did well, and had really kick ass friends, but, I don’t know… something was missing, or something was altogether too abundant. I do want to be with my friends a lot, but as the date of me moving away gets closer and closer, I feel conflicted. People that I really love, I can’t seem to be around because I feel like I want to tell them everything. I want to say, remember the time that we… and then everything blurs together. Every moment that has past seems to escape the ability to actually be remembered, and I can’t seem to be able to pinpoint when and how we became best friends. And then there are the people that I can’t call or talk to that I really want to, because it just feels that they’ve already left.<br /><br />Isn’t that strange? The past four years, I have wanted nothing more than to leave high school, and now I want nothing more than to just be back in that time period when all the people I know and I had a future together. I know its possible that I will still be friends with some of the people I went to high school with, yet… will it be the same? Next summer, will I dread coming home and leaving the people I will then have spent a year with? Won’t everyone feel that way?<br /><br />I wish I had more time, is the point I guess. I wish I had more time with some people, so that I could know that we’d be friends in a decade… or even a year. And some people I wish I could go back and change certain moments. If this had never happened, would these feelings still be relevant?<br /><br />I guess having the blues is complicated. I wish I had chosen my actions more wisely. But now all I have is the present, this moment right now. I have the future too.<br /><br />Here’s what I want to happen:<br />I want to let go of all the bad feelings that I hold on to from senior year. Against everyone that I may have wronged (and I wronged some) and those that wronged me (and some did). I want to be happy. I want to be with Leslie as many times as possible this summer. I want to play Mario Kart with Jamie and James. I want to go with James to Italy. I want to dress up one more time with Anna, and go somewhere where we can talk about how much we love Cole Porter, and how we’re still completely in love with the Top Ten Greatest Moment Ever (she knows which one it is). I want to tell Mikey that I didn’t make a huge mistake when I had a crush on him junior year.<br /><br />And yeah, god, there are a lot of people I’ll miss.<br /><br />Here are some inside jokes/comments that well… are inside jokes/comments that only those select few would know:<br />“Hey…this isn’t my wallet.”<br />“I’m American, white, and twelve inches.”<br /><br />That made me a little sad. But hey, they wouldn’t call it the blues if I was laughing.Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-44418447011643578412007-06-13T00:42:00.001-07:002007-06-13T01:01:01.769-07:00When I Needed Some Darkness<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Man: So, this is the end of the world?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">God: Yeah.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Man: It's boring.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">God: It would be.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Man: I thought it would be more interesting than this. You know, hail, brimstone, at least some fire or some fucking demons. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">God: Why would I subject you to something you could have easily experienced? And watch your language.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">-Astoria Alms</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You have to wonder sometimes, don't you? Why we were made the way we were, what makes us wholly ourselves. I don't know, I've come to believe we are a collection of everything that came before us, and we carry around our mountains of the past and with that we go through life either building a higher top on the mountain or demolishing it.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's not existence, though, that troubles me. At least not the kind experienced collectively. Superficially, we have the everyday events that we take part of, the going out for a walk, the eating dinner, the listening to music, but beneath that is what we were hoping to find when we stopped walking, what we felt when we took the first bite, and what that song we were listening to reminded us of. Indeed, there is an Everything in everything that I fail to grasp most of the time, the complete picture that seems to elude me and that only sometimes gives me a clue of what is actually going on. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Suddenly a silence isn't just a silence but rather the hum of two people trying to communicate their feelings, and the sigh isn't a sigh but rather an indication of the tension felt within the lungs. And that's when you realize that life has so many goddamn complications you could never really figure anything out. Its frustrating to realize that as long as you like you may never really figure out anything. At all. You will never really know anything.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yeah. I'm kinda tired, but its mostly because I've been having so many nightmares lately it's ridiculous. And that's what I meant by not just everyday existence. In my dreams I have... actually more control than in real life, and yet I don't find it any more satisfying. To be able to wake up is a luxury we are not offered from real life is the real reason life becomes a mountain to carry. You're stuck in whatever reality you have created and that's basically the truth of it. And I want to try to be optimistic about things, I really do, but honestly, I don't care enough to be. I'll be realistic about it.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You're either happy or you're sad, or some lovely little variation of it, and whichever you are, you sure as Betsy can guarantee that you will be the other in a few months, days, hours or even the next second.</span></span>Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2580031653200241506.post-84163546406107951362007-06-12T12:43:00.000-07:002007-06-13T01:01:26.566-07:00When There Was A New Beginning<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">“A good heart and good intentions must lead to good actions before they con truly be commendable.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">-Astoria Alms</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When we are faced with an innumerable amount of regrets concerning our life and the decisions we have made, there are few things we can do, but sigh and accept the things which we cannot change. Though one could easily decide to live in the prison that is the past, or long for the promised gates of the future, the important Moment is passing us by. To live within oneself, constantly reflecting on the things that could have been done or the things that should not have been done, is not only unprofitable, but rather cost-detrimental. They take a toll on the human mind, they wear out the heart, and they weaken the soul. If we live everyday wishing it were yesterday, there is an infinity lying between the nothing of yesterday and the possibility of today. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Though of course one should look upon yesterday with the eye of a passing observer, gathering information but not becoming heavily immersed, one must maintain a distance for all has passed. The Moment is lost if not completely appreciated at the time. Thus one must wake up everyday, every single day, every morning, every sunrise, as if it were the first. It is sheer madness to live as if each day is the last because then everything is absorbed in such a rapid way that there is nothing savored softly. To live each day as if it were your first entails feeling everything with the innocence that comes from experiencing the new. Opening your eyes is such a simple human activity, something that we take for granted everyday, but when one truly opens one’s eyes, the world’s intensity level rises more than can be possibly be comprehended. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Everything has so many possibilities, if we could only just perfectly balance our past and our present, to have the courage to reach out and touch the future.</span>Le Chefhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16659692102210980378noreply@blogger.com0