Is change for everyone?

All ideas are, to an extent, fictional and this serves a function. Imagination can be a healthy way of socialization. We dream of tomorrow the next-day, tomorrow within a year or so, tomorrow payday, tomorrow when I’m off. This very moment right now is what we know and even this moment sometime back was a mere idea, a thought. Now, we all have a way in which we start our day and as the day progress, it’s almost converted in a routine. This is perhaps why that the moments that do not reflect a routine in our lives are the ones we tend to associate with either pain or pleasure. Not that there isn’t pleasure or pain in our daily lives. But when we step out of the ordinary, usually fascinating things start to happen. It’s this sort of realization, this mind frame, which makes it possible for us to conceive the idea of change. Now, change, for instance, in a positive light, it’s something many of us say repeatedly we want. In fact, there’re aspects of our lives in which we feel some improvement may be exerted. Why, then, is change something we say we want but rarely acquire? Why is it such an effort to actually conquer our demons and get on with our lives the way we would like? Some people argue that this is due to habit. Aside from simplistic, this view doesn’t quite resolve anything. If it’s so hard to change what has been wired up in our associative way of behaving, then there is no solution to the puzzle. The very same people that pose habit as the main obstacle for change argues that habit can be destroyed by habit. That doesn’t represent a solution to our problem either. The sole notion that individuals can change their bad habits by replacing them is just not an answer to our original question: why most people simply don’t? Losing weigh, quitting smoking, pursuing a formal education, saving consistently and enough, to mention a few paradigms. The reality is still simpler: most people won’t change because change is not easy. That said, many try to but only a handful of these actually are capable of attaining the benefit of their endeavor. Winners, sad to admit, are the biggest losers. In order to obtain the degree of excellence to which most would like to ascribe themselves to, there’s a path of trial and error, and, of course, the ones who have traveled down that road know that it’s paved on sacrifice, endurance, patience and failure: qualities that in their very own are scarce if singled out and all combined are not found in the average human being. Hence the indictment made earlier. To win it takes a lot of losing and guts to risk, and in order to succeed, you must fail. Pretending that change is possible for everyone is such a Christian fantasy. The idea that we are all equal and capable is just laughable. Yes, it’s true that most of us don’t precisely exacerbate our potential to the very fullest. But it’s also true that talent is not something everyone is endowed with. Therefore, the argument that we can all change in all the ways we can is something that only the very hopeful can truly believe. To all the Anthony Robins in the world: if it were true that the world in reality is full of potential to be uncovered, why is it that we are in the mess we are? Even the sagest of all men have had their brush with imperfection and at her hands fought to excel. Why are we worried about pushing everyone forward when in fact is the same exact mechanism that is slowing us now? Besides, after a while of telling someone over and over that they are capable of anything, you may be doing them a disservice. The real talent is unearthed sometimes when instead of faith we deposit real incentives for the individual. Talent is such that even in the case of those who were not given real motives or inspirational speeches, went out and did it their own. Why, you may ask, made them do it? What would their answer be? Because no one thought I could.

Interior monologue

The interior monologue I have, like most people, keeps me doing the same things over and over. We spend a very precious part of our lives thinking of the things we want to do and doing the things we don’t want any part of. Well, perhaps I’m being a bit harsh on myself. Things I don’t talk about in this writings, aspects of my life I keep in obscurity, as people so often does, are the things that most impact have on us. These should be out in the open and not hidden somewhere under a big pile of nothingness. Dealing now with what’s most urgent, grabbing the bull by its thorns, creates a sense of purpose in our lives. I’m not advocating for us to go on a limb and jump in hot water; good things require time and dedication, endurance and patience. It’s comforting to know that we’re in charge of this thing, that we mean business as usual without the need to look sweaty or have a for sale sign on the door. Pace yourself but aim always a bit higher, chunk after chunk of energy poured into the cause at hand will alleviate the symptoms in the very least or eradicate the illness overall. It’s hard and tedious work but someone has to clean the dirty dishes. So, indulge in certain recreational activities from time to time to congratulate yourself. In fact, I do think that the ones who enjoy life to the fullest are actually the most efficient individuals there are. The more we think about it the more we come to realize that following the path of our dreams is a lot easier than taking the easy way out. Because the easy way out in the long road constitutes a heavier load on our backs. Even if the load of our hopes and aspirations is just as grave, it is at least so much more rewarding. I want to break the chains of this routine which have me here in front of this computer at this particular time in life just visualizing my potential. I will exacerbate it. I will leave very little room to chance. This very writing is a proof of such metamorphosis: I had in mind to do something consistently to explore myself and expose myself. To keep the dialogue flowing. To break away with the ever so tired monologue. This job, insignificant as it may appear, it is part of the reconstruction. Some people might get the sense that I am a recovering emotional addict. On the contrary, I have very little need of dependency; nonetheless, I have been wasteful with my time. That, sir, is a terrible crime. But guilt is such a futile exertion. I avoid falling into its vicious cycle and instead immerse myself into this phenomenon which we call “life”. It will be nighttime soon, and I thought I should write down here and now that I am a lot happier, more apt and mature than ever before. Taking a look around, there’s still so much to be done. I won’t stop at nothing. My goals are realistic, my mind is focused. Someone wise once told me that the road to hell was paved in good intentions. What a witty paradox! In other words, many people sacrifice too much thinking of others and submitting themselves to conditions they’d rather not be in, in the name of good intentions. I said before too that some people is good because that’s all that they can be. At the very same time, I am in a delicate situation myself. I am torn in two and I’m not nearly as perfect as I sound. But I’m slowly getting there. It seems to me that there is a lot of sacrifice to be made, for myself and for others. Are my supposedly good intentions getting in the way, my way? I think it depends on the way we see things. Sure I could very easily get ahead by sacrificing all the lamb meat in my life and saving just the lion’s head. But as well as an existential architect in me there’s also a nurturer and a compassionate soul. I’ve read and understood Nietzsche like most individuals who denounce him as crazy never had the chance to. I know that after all there might not be an after all but just what we have and what we work with right here and now. Still I haven’t become a cynic and I have an open mind and an open surgical-like proverbial heart. If helping those that have consistently lend a hand to me in time of need is a sign of inferiority, then I am a very little man on this estranged earth. I am not being a hypocrite nor sentimental nor stoic. But there’s a little of all of that in me.

On the body and the soul

In Nietzsche’s Twilight of the Idols, an excerpt of an aphorism numbered 47 reads: “It is decisive for the fortune of nations and of mankind that one should inaugurate culture in the right place –not in the ‘soul’…: the right place is the body, demeanor, diet, physiology: the rest follows… This is why the Greeks remain the supreme cultural event of history – they knew, they did what needed to be done; Christianity, which despise the body, has up till now been mankind’s greatest misfortune.” Last night, I wondered if any of the old timers in philosophy gave great importance to fitness. I found, flipping through Nietzsche’s book, which at least he does. What Nietzsche conquers splendidly abolishes our need for inane idols, our tendency to devote ourselves to theological aims and neglect our animal inheritance. This is still a rather primitive society. But at least I now know that not all of my personal idols abandoned the importance of the body. Not known for being benevolent to his writings, I’d say that long before he came along with his predicament, there already was a Latin proverb that made an emphasis on the same subject: “A healthy mind in a healthy body.” Also, Schopenhauer, a generation before, had declaimed that the most important thing in life is good health.

Another Saturday evening... or is it?

Almost without time to make my weekly log, I now prepare this writing in a rush. I had planned to go out tonight and seeing people pass by I feel the urge to do so, although I am not quite up to the job. I’ve been feeling a bit contrived lately but that feeling just melt away today after I put in my exercise routine. I immediately felt the difference, the impact of physical activity. I wondered and I thought to myself then (also, I imagined myself writing it) if maybe the great pessimists lacked exercise. To think of those dark philosophers writing their dire prognosis of life makes me question whether a more active lifestyle would have made a difference in their intake of life. I also thought of my dear Maria, whom I haven’t called in more than a week. I can’t cave in easily, she had said she’d give me a call if anything and I had said the same but since at the time I was the one calling, I thought it was just in order for her to call me this time around. I should stop this silly behavior. In fact, it’s not a tactical game per say, but the reality is that I’ve been a bit low on cash. Which is one of the reasons I doubt I will go out tonight. I know this hasn’t been an issue before. But I don’t feel right. Let’s see how things go. I will be off duty in a little while and I haven’t gone out in the city ever since my infamous fighting debut. My left hand hurt today when I lifted my 35pound dumbbell. As a matter of fact, it’s been a few months since I don’t use a 35pounder. I was up to a 45pound dumbbell until the accidental encounter of fists. Things can only pick up from this point. I will call my dear Maria given that she hasn’t forgotten me at all. Let’s hope not.
On other news, I did everything I had to concerning my computer and other house chores. I have done so many things in this little time it’s amazing I don’t feel like celebrating. Well, there’s still a lot to be done and after that vital load, perhaps some more. Then, maybe then, I will venture into the outdoors. I will go home and have a few Negra Modelo beers, listen to music, and smoke my existential intransigence away.

Another Wenesday at Home doing the usual tedious stuff

It’s unbearable to write anything worth reading if not surrounded by the right atmosphere. I usually submit silly poems at poetry.com through the computer at work. My computer, which I had sent to fix, now has another problem in less than a week from being fixed. The modem doesn’t dial up. I’m sure I’ll have to spend some money on it. I did take it back and according to Isabel it might be due to the fact that I left it on the day of the lightening storm. The last time, same thing, so it appears to be plausibly true. I just spent almost four hundred dollars on a cloth washing machine. I paid fifty dollars on a bounced check in my bank account. I have less than two hundred dollars to my name from here to Tuesday, which is payday. What a gorgeous day it is out there. Too bad that my experience at the Internet, here at the library, wasn’t as productive as I had envisioned. It is full of youth and these youngsters tend to be noisy. I haven’t found a reason for this blog lately. I will have to look into my priorities. It’s been kind of a drag. But whenever it is this way, I don’t worry. I know things can only look up once you’re staring down. I will cook in a little while and later on today, in the evening, I will attend a meeting on a program that seems promising but I have no desire to get involved in. A friend at work, who works for UPS, introduced me to these people. I have nothing to lose; the program teaches you about finances and you get a license to sell insures or I don’t know what. I better start getting serious with these writings. Now I am pushed, as I am when at work, to finish up really quick before my appointment is over. Oh, how I wish that this afternoon was meant for something worth. Good news, though: Eda called back and said that my documents are safe. Yes, my dear Turca, who hadn’t called me, called me after I had called her and hang up without leaving a message. I will probably see her later this week. No doubt I will be going out on Friday or Saturday. But I can’t spend much. Now, just because I put going out and talking to Eda doesn’t mean that I have in mind going out with her. The thing is, friends who happen to be exes function as blockers sometimes in the nightclub hunting scene. I will give Maria a call. She said she’d call but right there as she said it I knew she probably wouldn’t. She likes being pursued after and do nothing at all. Well, she is beautiful and I don’t her often. Three times since I met her. That was almost a month and a week ago.

Another Saturday evening...

I’ve been fixated with the fight tonight, which I won’t be able to see due to work schedule and my cable connection, lost for unknown reasons a few days back. I asked around to see if anyone had an idea of where the fight might be showing in Manhattan, but the closest to an actual response was, “Go to a bar.” Nonetheless, it would be better not to see it. My stress level surges whenever I watch a fight, and although this is perhaps one of the psychological reasons behind my motives to see fights, I was disappointed with de la Hoya’s last performance. I thought it should have gone to Strum. Then again, de la Hoya has been stolen a couple of times in the past (once deservingly and the second, not so much so). Other than the fight, my day was rather dull. It’s a chilly Saturday eve. I cooked breakfast and dinner simultaneously, one to eat immediately and the other to take with me to work. In a couple of hours, I’ll be gone home. It would be nice to see if I can catch the fight from here to there. I haven’t given up that possibility.
Yesterday, I spoke to Maria. I hadn’t ever since last week. Granted, I have been reading a great deal and borrowing at the same time material to incorporate into my behavior from different sources in respect to women. The reality is, I don’t think any advice is worth the effort. I am an avid reader of askmen.com and I have google sites on the subject of dating. But going back to my phone call with Maria: She apologized for not calling, said she was happy I had called because she had lost my number, and then briefed me a bit on how her week had been. I am glad to be able to pace myself nowadays, after all it suits my lifestyle. What was my focus today? The computer, for instance, fixed a few days back now doesn’t connect to the Internet. It’s Saturday night and I haven’t gone out ever since my own street fight. My hands are better, nonetheless. And, as usual, I am sitting in front of the computer in the 219 lobby. I won’t say more.
I was tempted to give the address to this site to (now I’m making an effort to remember her name) Crystal. I know I gave it to Eda, who hasn’t returned my email and hasn’t answered my instant message. I ought to call her because one of the worst news I got came from the guy in charge of fixing my computer: he wasn’t able to save my documents. I took it as a challenge, and now I have to make even better, more ambitious writings. The ones I lost due to the inefficiency of this person are in the past, gone, and there they shall remain. I am on my way, I feel. Yesterday, I received news from the International Library of Poetry. They want to include me in a book entitled “Best Poems and Poets of 2004”. Aside from The Silent Journey, from which I own two copies (one I gave to my sister, Paola, and the other I keep), I will appear on another book entitled Eternal Portraits to be released soon. How soon, I don’t know. There, trusting everything goes as planned, would be fifteen or so poems I wrote in the last few months. Now that my computer is back, there is no saying into how much I can accomplish. I just have to keep pounding.
I had to see my sister Paola yesterday, Friday. As I called to cancel my journey to Queens, she asked me to write a letter for Cheila, my cousin in Colombia. A dear cousin, by the way. Not that there are any cousins which I favor and some others I don’t. Oh, who am I kidding? We all have our favorites when it comes to everything. Yes, Cheila is one of them. Not because she’s dying of cancer. In fact, I didn’t know it was a terminal type although I knew she had cancer. See, I was told that she had leukemia and that she had been effectively treated with a medulla transplant. Apparently, it’s not so. It’s not even that type of cancer. My mother made that story up and when I asked my sister why would she do such a thing, her answer was rather surrealistic: “Well, she’s afraid to ask so she said that.” Cheila and I go back a long way. It was in the mercenary home of grandma, where we first met. We spent childhood years driving crazy our now then insane grandfather and we would probably still be doing so if it wasn’t for the fact that our lives drastically changed paths since then. We are adults now and the reign of terror that our grandma orchestrated is long over. I remember one day when she made up the story that in school the teachers would conceal us in a tunnel under ground. It was such the ferocity with which we held to our version of the ordeal that her father and mother went to find out if there were any truth to it. In the end, the perspicacity of our imagination prevailed since her parents didn’t think any one of us capable to make up such a thing. If there was any trait by which we would go by it certainly had absolutely nothing to do with imagination. Go figure.

Not a lot to say

It’s amazing how technology makes it easier for us to achieve even greater status of success. What does get into our way when we have at hand all of the tools we need in order to triumph but rarely take a step forward? Well, I suppose it’s a combination of factors. What I can say, on by behalf, it certainly isn’t a lack of talent. I constantly read what I think will persuade my baser instincts to perform at an all top level. This isn’t as easy as it sounds. For instance, most people is good at doing something precisely because they spend quality time engaged on the exercise of this particular gift or endeavor. They keep at it day in and day out. I often like to use the metaphor of muscles, which, granted, take time to grow. I wasn’t in the shape I am now my whole life and quite honestly I don’t think I’m nearly in as good a shape as I will be. I keep at it. I started only with a 25 pound dumbbell. Then, after several months, I changed my dumbbell for one of 35 pounds. Not too long ago, I bought a 50 pound dumbbell. I started off with aerobics and then added weight lifting. I haven’t been able to lift weights in a couple of weeks due to the street fight accident I had. My hands were rendered useless for heavy tasks. I now miss what I used to loath just thinking of doing. Nonetheless, my point stands that in order to achieve great results we must keep at it day in and day out. Then it is like a second nature, it becomes natural. I will in time go back to training hard. For the time being, I am exercising mildly and I’m back to my aerobic days. I have to keep an eye on my diet. I incorporated certain foods which hadn’t appeared on my diet map in years. I have been seen infatuated with French fries on Wendy’s. Even so, I still keep my standards. I drink a lot of water and always eat less in the evenings than in the earlier part of the day. Today, I will indulge into the wrong path for the fun of it! I will have half fried chicken with fried rice and it won’t be the first time I do so, just that I don’t incur into it too often.
What a glorious day it is today Sunday and the second entry I make in this blog. I forgot to mention it to Jorge. He told me he had started exercising recently. I gave him some pointers. It was fun to be out with my closest friends. Michael kept complaining that I had been slow with the girls but in reality I wasn’t trying too hard either. Okay, let’s try and focus on some meaningfulness here. I’ve been kind of dragging this thing without a thing in mind to shock my reader. I guess I will try later to do so. The truth is that in any second my coworker will be back and I will have to get ready to leave and restart my rounds. Before he does, I will get in a few more words. I feel that in the process I am growing. Silly thought, but seriously now, the more I keep at it the easier it flows. The more apt to the challenge I feel. The less anxious I become in front of the paper. It takes a few minutes to write these drafts. No time to correct anything. Life goes fast. It’s slipping through the cracks. When I have more time, I will make a much wider effort. Certainly then I will have lived enough to commit to words something worth reading. For now, my most sincere apologies.

Metamorphosing...

Really, not much has transpired. I’m still awaiting certain trials but time will only tell. I keep healthy, yesterday I stayed in. I had made superficial plans, even bought me a long-sleeve neat black shirt, but in the end, as youth and city began to unravel before my eyes, I backed down. My hands still hurt, and I was thinking there might be a need to look for professional help. It’s a pleasant sunny Sunday afternoon, and I feel optimal. The idea was to end the week with some money in my pocket since I’ve been a little wasteful. Now, this only takes discipline and discipline is acquired through repetition until habit takes place. I need to put into effect several plans and there’s not a single thought in order to make me want to pour my soul into this sheet. In fact, I see it as necessary not having anything to say but still taking the time to see what’s written when you have nothing in store. I am still waiting, for instance, for the bronze trophy that the kind folks at the international library of poetry promised to deliver me via old-fashioned mail. I’ve learnt that a handful of poems I’ve written since will be expectantly released on another book by the end of summer, entitled “Eternal Portraits”.
Once I receive my trophy, and get published again on a compilation book, then I’ll put together a real effort to write around 72 poems and send them to different publishers along with the recent info of my publications and my achievements. By the end of this week, I will find out about a career in journalism or maybe philosophy, possibly in Lehman’s college. It is in close proximity to what is my residence for now. I expect to graduate at least with a two-year degree and then make my way to Spain and get a lengthier education. Meanwhile, I will help those who have consistently helped me. Now, I must remember to take the computer to be fixed and get on with writing. Aside from poetry, I intend to publish a book of fiction in Spanish or nonfiction in English. Jorge pointed out to me that it was amazing I had been published first in English when I wrote so much better in my Mother Language. It’s true, and I must confess that it wasn’t planned. At least not planned in a conventional way, but if the opportunity presented itself then I was not to let it slide. I said it looks good, starting small and then building up little by little with steady determination, keep at it. We’ll see what great adventures will befall me next week. It’s time now for the reconstruction. Oh, yeah, like the poem I wanted to write about Pfizer’s 28th floor, Treasure’s Division. When I got here, it was a desolate spectacle, clean-cut floor with rubbish construction all over the place. Within weeks, it started to take shape, rising from the dusty constitution and progressing into an amazing thing of beauty. It’s metaphorically that I’m speaking of that floor. That it’s the sort of progress we must thrive to achieve. Coincidentally, I stumbled upon the former Treasure’s Division just two floors up on the 30th floor. It is completely destroyed and the only intact sign is the one reading “Treasure’s Division” in the same font and size as the one that presently precedes it. I was thinking that it’s not only on what isn’t that takes place here at Pfizer; it’s also demolishing old archetypes and infrastructure in order to make space for the new. That is also a sign of progress: being able to rid of the old and make way for the new, bringing down entire floors just like they have done with other floors in a matter of a week. Destroying what we are used to and not building on its place, it’s not reconstructing anything, and destroying is always easier to make it happen than creating something from scratch. Everything is silently evolving around here, and at times not so silently at all. I too am metamorphosing.

The Big Reunion

I was not surprised when I arrived to Antigua and saw Cristina, an ancient lover of mine, on the door ready to promote the night at hand. She approached me with an air of serenity in her voice, chicly dressed with a white tank top that revealed her charms and I was even spotted innocently eying her, although a bit distant and too casual for the occasion. Long gone was the effusiveness with which we would encounter each other in our forgotten Tuesday mornings by the Gap store in the lower lever of the former World Trade Center. I didn’t want to seem too festive either, it is not a proper way to deal with the opposite sex.
I had attended there with the intention of fulfilling a reunion gone awry, given that I didn’t make it quite the visualization I had in mind. As a matter of fact, I had given up on the idea of getting together with a bunch of friends and celebrating the recently released compilation book that includes a poem of mine. Like a manifested prophecy, just like I had insinuated on a latter poem (which, by the way, will be also published at the end of summer) named “Friends”, the only true friend that surfaced was Jorge, who happened to be also the first one informed about the event. In the poem, I had written that we will have a blast in the name of absence. Maybe that focus was the cause of my disarray. I did make a vague endeavor to gather a few other friends. I called Claudia and left her a message with my phone number and said that if anything I’d call her back, but never did call her back nor did she return my call. I tried Dalida but up to date she hasn’t answered her phone. True she doesn’t know who could possibly be but how can I ever tell her that it’s me if she never answers. I regret having called Claudia but not Dalida. The night we all coincided in Kaña, it was Dalida who picked me up from the bare pavement on which I had laid my arms and took me home. That is something I will never forget. Her absence shall be excused henceforth. Even if she is never to surface again. What a dire diagnose! If anything, nothing but friends is all there is. I will try again Claudia. She has a life, what can I say? I should have thought of inviting Michael. Nonetheless, it was Michael, Jorge, and let’s not forget Cristina.
Whatever the case, we did have a blast. I hadn’t counted on the company of another true friend, Michael, who showed up uninvited, a suggestion I hadn’t envisioned as a possibility even though another poem of mine, “(Untitled)”, reads in a particular line: “I get the suspicion that a friend of mine is going to appear uninvited at my doorstep”. Well, that wasn’t certainly the light on which things flowed. The reality always adds its sinister touch. He had, all of a sudden, called me to see what I was doing and I invited him. So, technically, he was not there uninvited but did surprise me that in the end I had ended up almost effortlessly with two of my closest allies in the existential arena, and celebrate we did!
The place did not lend itself to the magnificent unfolding of events. It was an Ecuadorian night, and there is no dancing in Antigua. We did attempt to escape. Our goodwill was not rewarded. The nearby places we chose to make our getaway were not full in the ideal sense. That is, no girls, no party. In the hunters/gathers scenario, my friends are gathers. They are neutral when it comes to hunting, frivolous, insecure. I too am a bit insecure at heart, but it rarely shows. I pound my insecurity with an eagerness that would make any modern age Casanova blush. I fight my “gathering” and “cuddling” instincts. Also, I do it with the ultimate goal of setting an example to them. I was pleased to hear Michael backing up my argument that in no respect I’m intimidated by the opposite sex (actually, among guys, the fancy rephrasing is purged, and what I explicitly said was, “I am not afraid of pussy”). It was a slow night, Michael conceded in the end. But there’ll be plenty of others.

Some more on the subject...

Just as I was writing a poem about friendship (for instance, just now, Maria called me back: we agreed to meet late tomorrow) in which Oscar, my friend from Jersey who not so recently moved with his brand new first wife to Miami, had not answered my call. I had written already the line of his absence and readying to publish it on line at www.poetry.com when he called me back. He had taken longer than he had said he would and he was not to make good to his word of meeting this past Thursday. But he had proven me wrong about friends and pretty much wrong about life in general. We never know how things are going to turn out but we must try to influence the balance to move in our favor. I once was asked what was it that made me so lucky with the ladies. First, was my response, I don’t think I am. Secondly, if I do get lucky, it probably has to do with the fact that I don’t rely on luck. It’s still a bit more complicated than that. I don’t exclude “luck” (whatever notion is understood by it); I don’t dispose of it. I treat the whole thing like with surgical mentality: in the operating room, I am putting my big bet on the skills and expertise of the doctor but a prayer from a family member wouldn’t hurt, would it? Yes, I know is a bit cynical but if I am not ready to apply all of my strength and the weapons I possess in this venture we came to call “love”. As the saying goes, “In war as in love, all is fair.” But I guess is that we don’t know exactly what we refer to when we say “love”. It takes so many shapes and it hides so much ugliness at times, that it’s somewhat tainted, flawed, and equivocal. I guess that the more you instruct yourself in the subject with other’s experiences and your own as well, and if you’re “lucky” enough in the intellect department, then love should come naturally. You shouldn’t stress it, though, because the more you aim at it the more it seems to evade you. And the less you want it, at times, the more it demands of you. It’s not easy to love. So, also, let’s start with us. Before this manuscript turns to oblivion on a thousand times foreboded subject and it all turns boring, I should stop… right about now!

Maria outside Pfizer

Last night, as I was getting ready to leave from work, Maria answered my call. As I readied to leave, her call got me by surprise because I didn’t expect a girl to answer a prayer on a weekend night, especially Saturday. I had already had my surprise for the day: I wouldn’t have to stay working a double shift until Sunday morning as I was scheduled to do, because the job I had agreed to had been canceled. That was quite comfortable to find, for I rather much go home and vegetate than stay through the night working. I don’t like night shifts even though I work whatever shift comes my way, I loathe nights working. Going back to my previous scene, the phone call, Maria, remember? Oh, yeah, I left her waiting to be written. What a pleasant surprise. More than pleasant, a bit surreal. Come to think of it, several occurrences have taken place throughout the year and I guess this is one of the reasons I insist on writing them down here. Now, to excuse myself, I have very little time to do this and not to mention I should be working (which I am). When I finally get back to Maria, waiting for me only in the passages of these lines, she said: “I’m on 42nd street and Second avenue, outside Pfizer. Of course, we hadn’t convened to meet up and she was not there to surprise me either with her presence. She had agreed to meet some friends on a nearby bar across the street from where I work. I calmly told her to wait out there for me to say hi. I greeted her rather coldly, I must admit. But it was due to the nature of the turning of events (there goes my syntax). She looked gorgeous. She had this nice cut jeans that showed off her glorious behind and her white milky skin exhales a tender, lethal perfume. We locked lips and I saw as she left. Not happy with my performance which had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me perhaps stranded there having to go home when I could have made time to be spent with her. Not regret, either, now that I rationalize it. I thought it was so great to have her there and then that all I needed to do then was make my way back home, buy a six pack of top of the line beer favorite beer, frosted cold Negra Modelo, and sit back and enjoy the magnificent coincidence (I make no excuse here, as I don’t believe, like most intelligent individuals, in such thing) listening to some great music. I had the intention of going back there. I was relieved earlier but I didn’t think it would have been polite to do so. Besides, I had already been granted a great deal of metaphysical luck and I could draw from it without the need of spoiling the turning of events anytime I wanted.

Kissing a complete gorgeous stranger

Before the fight, I had gone to Kaña as usual, intent on having fun. I did, in spite of having engaged in a physical brawl. I had witnessed the gradual deterioration of the party, the splendor of its beauty had succumbed to a crowd of lesser quality. It was full as a moon but rid of its gorgeous possibilities. It was a full of saturated feel. My aim was to make the best of it. At one point, I remember thinking that it wasn’t worth the fifteen dollars I had paid to get in. I stepped out and walked to the nearby deli two blocks up the fastidious street where I bought a couple of beers. I drank them rather fast. Later on that night, Jorge was to provide me with beer. I buy my beer usually but given the prospect of night, I thought it wasn’t worth any spending. I am not the only one inclined to such a vice. To be quiet honest, I have incur in the viciousness of getting drunk outside which is not only cheaper but it affords you with the opportunity of seeing the surrounding venues. In fact, I went inside another classier bar located on the same block but bailed out before ordering my drink. At the deli store, I saw the same guys that were sipping beer when I first got there earlier that night. It is sort of a punishment, I heard once, to Kaña’s owner for charging so much to get to the party. I think that one of the reasons the party is nowadays just a shadow of its former glamour, it is due to the idea of charging fifteen dollars a head. Back at the party, as I was making my way through the restless crowd, I stopped midway because the so-called dance floor (I have seen restrooms that are bigger than the referential place in question) was packed with couples dancing the night away. In the middle of everything, I am often brought to a halt and in the perilous edge of dawn, I get a scent of the night life which feeds me its voracity and nakedness. I can smell the sweat, the perspicacity displayed by the dominant males, the competition is fierce. A type “B” girl stopped me on my tracks with casual conversation. I thought to myself, what the hell! So I took her out to dance by merely moving a feet onto the dance spatial scene. We danced and then I let her go, just in case something else comes after. But she happened to be with a legion of friends which afforded me with ample promises. I danced and kissed her on the lips innocently (that is, I used no tongue but it was open) and she seemed perplexed in a positive light. I liked that. I moved along and when I came back, she took me by the hand and introduced me to her friends. One of them really called my attention and immediately, I took a whole infantry division to search for what no one had promised me. Both were kind of elated at my proximity, girls tend to display affectionate manners when a potential mate is in sight and not with the intention of securing the prey all the time but with the intention of seeing who is the one that the male at stake selects. I did select. Her name is Maria. I hadn’t danced with her more than a song and a half when I left to the bathroom and the DJ, my friend Jorge, and when I came back she stared blank at me and ignored me. I thought that was unusual but I kept right at it. Then she told me: “You kissed my friend.” I admitted it to her. “Yes,” I said. “But that was before I met you.” I didn’t expect that the other friend would go telling on me because she seemed happy already with another guy and as I passed her by several times (and seriously, not with the intention of calling her attention), she would glance nicely at me. But I had not seen Maria when I kissed her and I think a guy is entitled to make mistakes if they are honest. That sort of honesty seemed to do the trick because not long after she stood with me the whole night and her friends left the party and she still stayed with me there. We must have danced for at least two hours and if it wasn’t for the fact that someone put the lights on and called the party over, then we might still be dancing still. Of course, she insisted that I did not kiss her because, according to her, she had rules on the subject. But we did from time to time lock lips in the heat of the dance and rubbed against each other intensely, I traveled the distance between her thighs and her hips with my bare hands. I inhaled the perfume that emanated from the roots of her perspired hair. I ran the palm of hand through her face to make way for the light and see her docile staring eyes. She bit me on my right shoulder. So, it was okay for her not to kiss (which we did repeatedly) but what about biting. I guess we’ll let that one slide for the moment. I had asked her to dance with this proposition: "If we dance, we'll make the best couple dancing." We certainly did.