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Unfortunately, many guys still need to see this….. (but ovviously it applies to everyone).

Dear God,

It’s me. Your daughter.

I’m writing you this letter in English because somehow it feels right, even if this is not my native language. Maybe it is easier for you to understand. I’m sorry I don’t speak Hebrew.

I’m writing you this letter because… well, I am pretty fucking lost. I seriously don’t know where I am standing right now and I don’t have this thing that other people have, that thing of talking to another human and getting some calming sensation over the words that another mortal can give them. I don’t have the ability to stop asking questions even when I might never get the answers.

I have a lot of questions, you know. There are so, so many questions. And I guess this is why I feel lost, this is why I feel so confused, this is why I am here writing a letter to you after drinking a beer and with the recorded voice of Otis Redding singing in the background.

I heard that back in the seventies, there was a man who wrote to you and got some kind of answer. So, here I am. Trying to be the second person in the world’s history to receive some kind of answer. That’s just how special I think I am. Or, at least I thought I was. I wanted to be special, yes. I spent a couple of years faking it because I thought that I would make it. I wanted to be one of those people who speak to the masses, one of those people who get to do what they love and make others listen.

I want to make this world a better place. But I feel like it is already too late to get a degree in politics. Besides, I guess these violent ways in which people say they are governing or protesting are just not for me. You know me; you made me. You know I am so soft and sweet. You know that the coldest temperature my blood can resist is barely enough to act indifferent — as if I didn’t care — but I always do. I care too much about pretty fucking everything.

I care about the lives of every little tiny animal and every dangerously enormous wild beast there is on the planet. I care and worry too much about global warming (a.k.a. climate change). I care about nature, and yet I have this egotistical desire to not die.

I am scared of death so much. I feel so young. I feel like I am a baby. I just want love and cuddles all the time. I want to live so much and do lots of things, but this crippling feeling stops me. There’s this thing that makes my body feel like a cage. I thought my family was the cage. I thought my mother was the cage. I thought my sister was the cage. I thought my past lovers were my cage. But this cage it just goes with me wherever I go. It is trapping me. It is making me captive. I want to break free, but I feel so ashamed to stand out on my own.

I am also scared that you don’t exist, to be honest. I am scared to think that we are all just a couple of atoms floating randomly all over the outer space. I know that there are lots of things that we are supposedly not mentally nor emotionally prepared to understand. But I wish you could just trust me and drop some hints at me so I can maybe get to fill in the blank whys that are constantly spreading all around my mind.

Please, don’t let me nor anyone die too soon. To be honest, I want to live a thousand years in this body, and I want my conscience to prevail with me forever. If I can ask you yet another huge favor, aside from helping me be famous so I can convince everyone to work together and achieve world peace, aside from helping me understand why are there people crying at night or being killed by another person in a senseless way, please, let me keep my memories. I want to keep my memories. I want to remember all the times I have felt love. I want to remember the people that have brought love into my life. I want to remember my mom forever. I want to remember all the times that I hugged my father, all the times that we laughed together, and I want to remember about grandma. Please, give me the strength, the chance, the opportunity to spend more time with her. Because you know that I am just going to miss her, too, just as I miss everyone who just goes away. And I want to spend so many more special moments with her. I am so worried that I enjoyed so much when my dad drove us almost all the way to Portugal and we were together, just as she said, mother, son, and holy spirit (or more like a rebellious granddaughter) because I was just so, so happy. I am constantly afraid I don’t get to have more happy moments with her.

I don’t want to be alone in infinity. I don’t want to stop existing, to stop remembering, to stop feeling love, to stop writing, which seems to be the only thing I am good at.

I really don’t want to die soon.

I have a lot of respect for the people who kill themselves, you know. They just have the guts to deliver themselves into the fucking abyss. They don’t know what’s out there. They don’t know whether they are going to see the people they love ever again.

I really love animals. I know I already said that. I just wish I could make all the living beings live a peaceful and loving life. No hatred, no harm. Just pure love and happiness, and knowledge.

I really do hope you exist and I really do hope that by writing this, I can ease my mind, I can wake up and go out and actually live without being depressed as a way of protest for all those things that are happening and that I can’t stop.

I really do hope you — my Creator — can help me out to achieve maybe even more than what you expected from me. I hope you are not like Chronos and I am kind of invoking an omnipresent god who is willing to eat their offsprings just so they don’t surpass him. I hope it is not true that gods can eat our souls. I hope it is not true that death is nothingness. I hope it is not true that we are all just going to kill the planet in 2030 or 2050. I hope it is not true that you hate Lilith so much just because she wanted to be equal to Adam; I hope feminism is not the real reason why you are angry and maybe willing to let us damage our mother nature.

But, most of all, I hope you are reading this in the same way that Santa Claus read all of my letters each year. Yes, I know it was my mom. But, I mean, she is with you now, so I hope she can intercede for me and make you read this.

I hope she is good. I hope she is happy. I am also tormenting myself every night thinking that neither me nor my father, her family, her other daughter and her one son made her happy during her stay on Earth. I am trying to let her go because maybe she has to transcend, and I don’t want to keep her here. But I do miss her. And I don’t want to forget about her.

So, well, that’s it. Thanks for reading. Thanks for every blessing I am too sad and too scared to see. Thanks for your love. Thanks for introducing me to the man I have loved the most in my life, maybe in a not-so-holy way, yeah, but I mean, you know that cuddling with him in a night like this might actually help my sleep.

Anyway, thank you.

wildflower ridge; los angeles, california

For someone who has been abandoned a few times, it must be ironic, but it is true. Whenever I sense the person behind me is losing the pace, I run. I run, I run, I run. As fast as I can. As fast as my legs and the rest of the puff in my heart that I was born with lets me.

Run.

My mom died when I was in high school. And I left home so I didn’t have to deal with my father’s grief. Or my own.

I quit college. 

Had a job. Quit, too.

Fell in love. Vanished.

Y ahora que ya no dueles.

Y ahora que ya no estás.

Tú dime: ¿cómo puedo