our bodies are about 2/3 water, the earth is 70% covered with water, and we made fire

The 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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And it was.

cada atomo que existe en mi tambien existe en ti

Se me ocurrió una idea mientras que esperaba el avión que me va a regresar a mi nuevo hogar…

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.

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.

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…”

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.

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.

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.

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.

Comment:
Edited due to the writer's rusty Spanish skills and inability to concentrate.

Where is the soleil...

Noah says, The storm is coming. I reply, I sure hope because its been dry as hell here.

I can't get that 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.

Or write anymore bullshit in general.

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.

Sigh. The eternal optimist.

When I Signed Off On A Delivery of a Ton of Bricks

I miss home.
I miss my sister.
I miss my mom.
I miss Leslie.
I miss James.
I miss Anna.
I miss my bed.
I miss my favorite places to eat. (Yes, I am that kind of person.)

I miss my dad.

I'm not unhappy, but I'm not steady.

When I Was Hitting the Button Really Hard

We 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.

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.

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.

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.

And start again. New button, new poison. You pick and you choose.
Self-destruction is just one second away.

When I Was Thinking of Them

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 Philadelphia. 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.

Sigh. Involuntary or not, those sighs are signs that my heart is restlessly pacing back and forth. For whom? For them.

When 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I'm a myriad of things that don't seem to make sense... and I miss the people that know that about me.