Vacation report

Frustration, I got just the remedy: let it all through the written word. So, let’s shoot indiscriminately, for one I’m under pain, toothache, to be more precise. A molar pain can be one of the worst of all regular pains. It surpasses headaches (in fact, it is a cause for headaches); it is far more painful than anything I can think of, except maybe a grown-in nail. With a high tolerance for pain, I managed well. Besides, a mix of toothache paste and Motrin IB can send the pain into oblivion. Unfortunately, for many other pains which involve people, as in Sartre’s analogy of hell, well, it is far more complex. Enter my sister, who is such a poor host. Being that we will be here in her house for a few days, she spends the time trying to instill in us her way of life. This is our vacation; for one, we’d like to spend time outside any personal philosophy. I counter, of course, with indifference, aggression, passivity, insistence, persistence to no effect. She is just so self-absorbed and as selfishness has it, she can’t see it.
I will gladly elaborate just to be fair. We had just landed and were picked up by her snobby husband who mockingly inquired about my aviophobia and distastefully joked about poverty being his only fear, as a way of rubbing in his financial achievements and our poor choices. I remember listening as if he had said anything at all which is the way one ought to do in those circumstances: ignore them long and effortlessly enough and they will eventually vanish into indifference. What I did notice was that ambitious people have a way of linking everything to money and an irrational fear of scarcity that sometimes works against them. Wealth is something that all the riches in the world can’t compete with and a wise wealthy man once said that the key to financial success was gratitude. His demeanor, his tonality, are of someone who underestimates the intellectual capacities of his counterparts and proceeds as if those around really were acute to his bouts of arrogance. My sister spends most of her time harassing him, following on his steps, or maybe just wanting to make him part of everything she wants to do. Without a doubt, the guy is actually a motivated and diligent soul who has managed to acquire more in less time than anyone I came in contact with, and hence can be quite prickly at it. It’s not that he has no reason to be so but more to the effect of a beautiful woman displaying a conceited attitude: no matter how beautiful she can be the fact that she shows arrogance signals to an insecurity of some kind. Men who are truly successful in a few skills often show this sort of insecurity: they see the world around as an extension of their ambitions and can only serve to please their limited beliefs. Arrogance is a sign of insecurity, a flaw in character.
Back to my sister: where to begin? She can be so displeasing, and naturally that may work with the low self-esteem kind. Truly, I advised her on the spot: with that attitude you will lose all you have fought so hard for. You will surround yourself with people who either needs you somehow or are dependent on you somehow, and that is not the best kind of people. Also, she’s not the least bit interested in making any amendments to her way of being. Her attitude is that if I knew any better, I would be better by now. And since I’m not financially successful or share her own views on life, then I’m in no position to speak. Of course, she can be so sweet if she wants to. But mostly, she is igniting fires and then calmy asking you for a glass of water. It is as if she constantly remain on the border of anger, instigating and irritating those around her, and then like nothing had happened. Sad but true.

We take hours just to get ready to go to the beach. Since we first got here, she's been promising me to take me to party, and even though my pain has avoided me from insisting, the whole thing comes down simply because she wants to simultaneously please me, her husband, herself, and look good at it. Tonight, I have resolved to go out. She said it was because of my molar pain, but the reality is that anything throws her off. A couple of nights ago, in front of a nearby nightclub, her husband said he was not going to pay ten miserable dollars to get in. And yet, once we found ourselves the next day walking South Beach, he insisted on climbing on board a ship that navegated around the area and the charge was seventeen dollars a head. I went for a stroll solo after buying myself a cowboy hat to go along with the boots, anchored myself on an open air bar, and asked for a drink. I sat with my back to the bar and sipped off my long-neck glass, shades and careless attitude on; three girls sat right beside me, too young for my taste but nonetheless fashionable and cute alike. Since my plan was to drink a beer or two and then go back to joining my tumultous family, I simply ignored them.

Isabel asked for a Mojito, and politely, I asked my sister's mother-in-law if she wanted anything to drink; as I spoke, I knelt to her level and tilted my head lightly, as I gave her a taste of my own drink. She dissuaded me, claiming she didn't like the sweetness of mixed drinks. Too bad men tend to be so physical and rarely extend themselves to the veteran women: there's a world of wisdom to unearth there; gentlelike allurement and dalliance is what I exhort, something I practice to great lengths with all sorts of women: mothers, sisters, grandmothers, strangers, infants, teenagers, rich, poor, etc. Without as much as a thought, I want to make those around me as comfortable as possible, and punish them with indifference if need be. I bought a juice drink for my niece (her daughter) and then her drive to compete was set off and a little while later she asked if Isabel wanted another drink. Isabel looked at me, and I approved enthusiastically, just to cover up. By then, the pain in my molar was unbearable so a little while later we left. No mention of going out yet again this evening was made, so I did not insist on it. I went to bed with a single Tylenol PM pill.

On a conversation previous the trip, I told Paola that I was taking a precious pair of boots, and added: “I hope you take the good car. These boots were not made for walking” as an allusion to the famous song, and not surprisingly, she did not pick it up. Instead she moved on to say that she’d take both cars at which pointed I humorously interrupted her again: “Good. One for my boots and the other for us.”