IA

no me gusta que cuando dices "te extraño" el social norm sea responder con "yo tambien". siento que se extraña a diferentes tiempos. tipo puedo estar haciendo algo que me hace acuerdo de alguien y en ese momento le extraño y le digo, pero esa persona en ese momento no me extraña entonces si responde con "yo tambien" le esta quitando validez al sentimiento. siento que decir "te extraño" es decir, "te estoy pensando" o "quisiera estar contigo en este momento" y eso no se puede reciprocar asi no mas, porque el feeling no se siente siempre al mismo tiempo. 

tomemos de todo y vamos a coger.

nos hundiamos entre zhumir y ron. terminamos sentados al lado en el auto. haciendo contacto. inocente al comienzo. rozos de rodillas, toques de hombros. no me acuerdo quien inicio el primer beso. quien inclino la cabeza o cerro los ojos primero. no me acuerdo de como empezó. pero me acuerdo de tus manos, en camino a tu casa. mis ojos pegados al retrovisor esperando que el chofer no nos regrese a ver. que no sospeche que entre el silecio de nuestras bocas existía algo más. 

llegamos a tu casa, no creo que me dijiste que ese era nuestro destino final. pero te segui. te segui al parque donde esos contactos tan inocentes hace unas horas, ahora eran todo pero. termine sin zapatos. sin pantalon. y ultimamente, totalmente vulnerable a la noche. te pregunte si tenias. dijiste que no. tu respuesta no influencio nuestra decision. cogimos. no se bien hasta donde. que Marte y la luna sean testigos que el momento esta borroso en mi memoria. que no mas hicimos? no te podria decir. 

I want to know. Dangling off possibilities, waiting on texts, hoping for enthusiasm, simply won’t cut it. Do you think about me? Do you dream with me? Do you make up scenarios in which I wake up next to you to watch the sunrise? What do you want? I don’t want you to play me. I don’t want to be played. False hope, being led on, misinterpreting our situation, I don’t want it. Don’t make me look dumb, don’t make me feel pitied, don’t embarrass me, just take me by the hand and show me what love feels like. I analyse our encounters; do you do the same? Our hug, why did you hold on so tightly, for so long? Is that just the way you hug people or did you want to communicate something to me by doing it? I could drive myself crazy thinking about you –about us – … maybe I already am.

Volverás, pero ya no serás la misma. No sabrás si fue el lugar, la gente, el tiempo o la libertad la que te cambió. Capaz fue una combinación, o capaz no fue nada de eso. Capaz fuiste tú misma dándote cuenta de quién eres o tratando de crear quien quieres ser. Capaz, esta solo eres tú sin las opresiones de este lugar, fuera de la ceguera de esta sociedad, a falta de la dictadura de tu casa. Quizá, solo eres tú en tu estado natural, rodeada de gente que te comprende más de lo que tú te comprendes a ti misma. Gente que sin saber tu pasado logra entender quien quieres ser; gente que sin que les pidas, te ayuda a crearte.

 Volverás, pero todo será diferente. El cielo seguirá siendo azul y la música en la radio no cambiará. Las señoras que conocen tu orden en la tienda de helados de la esquina te reconocerán, pero entrarán en confusión cuando les digas que ya no quieres el helado de chocochip. La gente se verá igual, pero sus temas de conversación te parecerán ridículos, diminutos, superficiales y sin sentido. Te sentirás superior y luego te regañaras por sentirte así, sabiendo que la humildad es algo que quieres conservar, algo que es y seguirá siendo parte de ti.

 Volverás, pero ya no querrás hacerlo. La emoción de verles a todos se drenará lentamente de tu cuerpo hasta que solo quede un vacío, uno que querrás llenarlo allá, con ellos. Sin darte cuenta, un mes te parecerá demasiado tiempo aquí. La rutina de despertarte temprano para “aprovechar el día y verles a todos” que creaste la semana que llegaste, se desvanecerá y te encontraras apagando la alarma a las 9am solo para levantarte a almorzar a la 1pm. No contestaras tu teléfono. El hecho de que no funcione aquí ya no te molestará. Te cansarás de sus reglas, de sus exigencias, de sus expectativas, pero más que nada, te cansarás de sus mentes. Mentes cuadradas, formadas por el lugar y la misma gente. Mentes que no razonan, que dividen ideas en “bueno” o “malo” y “blanco” o “gris”. Mentes que no ven color, mentes que están programadas a aceptar lo similar y rechazar lo diferente. Mentes ignorantes que claman ser brillantes.

 Volverás, y agradecerás haberte ido. Te darás cuenta que de nada te perdiste estando allá. Que este lugar te queda chiquito y su gente, ya no ocupa un lugar tan grande en tu vida. Te darás cuenta que no todos cambian; que no todos crecen al mismo ritmo y aprenderás a aceptar que eso es totalmente normal. Volverás sin comprender como tú, hace solo unos meses, te sentías en casa en este lugar. No entenderás como viviste dieciocho años de tu vida en un lugar con tan poca variedad, ilusión, emoción, posibilidad. Agradecerás haberte ido a un lugar donde sientes que tu vida puede dar un 180º en un solo día; donde cada paso que das está lleno de eventualidad y cada persona con la que te cruzas te podrá enseñar el mundo entero desde un punto de vista distinto. Nunca, nunca te encontraras aburrida con la vida y ¿no se trata justamente de encontrar lugares como ese, que te hagan sentir así?

 Volverás y te darás cuenta que estar allá te hace sentir viva, te hace feliz.

 Volverás y lo único que querrás es irte.

 Volverás y no sabrás porque lo hiciste.

In one reality I wasnt scared. I actually committed to something other than my bad habits. I committed to you. To getting to know you, but mostly, to allowing you to get to know me. 

In another, I ran the other way at the sight of your affection. I turned my head when you leaned in to kiss me and kept my arms at my sides when you hugged me. I refused to let you in.

In one reality you made me happy. We went horseback riding together in the morning and got drunk at night as you played the guitar. You knew my every word before I spoke it and predicted my every move before I made it. You became a part of me.

In another, you made me anxious. I declined countless dates and made up excuses to leave early for the few I did show up for. I lingered on the fact that you hadn’t thought about your future and that your favorite type of music was salsa. I only brought you home when no one was there, and even then, the only room you walked through was my bedroom.

In one reality, I loved you. In another, I hated myself for not trying to.

But see late nights and friends layered by alcohol are the gateway for the inevitable truth we all secretly yearn, no, need, to let go of. And some truths are hidden deeper than others. And some tongues are more slippery. And my friends all unconsciously had their turn. They let out their deepest demons, tears accompanied. And everyone cried in sympathy. But you and me? We didn’t cry. And we didn’t surface our demons. We had pushed them down for so long we must have forgotten they were there. But when tears dried and confessions ceased, I rubbed my foot against yours and motioned towards the garden, you nodded. You understood. And so as we sat there, my ankles freezing from the cold, wet grass grazing them, and our butts burning from the uneven and much too small rock beneath us, I felt that yearn, that need. And I know you felt it too. “I might cry” you said. That’s fine I replied trying my best to sound reassuring. You went first. You told me. I had no idea. I didn’t know what to say. I hope you don’t regret telling me. I hope you know I don’t judge you. I hope I was helpful. I hope sometime soon we can talk about it again. And then it was my turn. I was so unsure. You didn’t force me, you understood. I explained that what I felt was that feeling you feel when you want to jump into a pool, but you know the water is freezing and even though your mind wants to, your body is not physically ready to make the jump. You sat by my side looking out into the darkness as I fought my mind and cursed at my throat for closing up and not letting me speak. You waited. Until finally, i blurted it out. All fast leaving no space for judgement between the words. You said you were happy for me and felt relieved. You told me it wouldn’t change our friendship. You know now. And I don’t regret telling you. By listening that night, on that rock, you have allowed me to be myself and I am eternally grateful.

Your eyes are still as captivating as i remembered them. Fuck.

I’m in my room, the rain echoes in my head, the darkness welcomes me. I could have gone out today. I could have gotten dressed and washed my hair. Seeing them didn’t seem like a bad idea.   But my mind has a bad habit of going over things a thousand times. You know how when you say a word numerous times, it begins to sound weird? It kind of loses its familiarity. Its like that with my thoughts too.   I think too much. I think until innocent thoughts are morphed into awful scenarios. And right then and there, they are just that. Scenarios. Possibilities. But if I were to leave my house, there’s a chance that these scenarios could become my reality. And I don’t do well with bad realities.   I’m in my room, the rain has stopped, the darkness welcomes me. I could have gone out today. I could have opened the curtains and had breakfast. But seeing them just seemed like a bad idea.

I was hit as a kid. I used to call it “domestic violence” and my parents would laugh and tell me I had no idea what I was talking about. They would tell me stories about parents beating their kids daily, sometimes even to death and remind me how lucky I was to have them as parents. Regardless, I saw no difference in what they did to their three daughters.

I remember this one time; I was probably nine or ten. I don’t actually remember what I did to “deserve” it, but I remember crying hysterically before my father even laid a hand on me, which is actually kind of ironic. I was crying before I got hurt because I knew what was coming and how bad it would be and how there was nothing I could say or do to make him change his mind. My father unbuckled his belt, untied it around his waist and folded it in two holding it in his right hand. This only made my crying louder. I apologized about fifty times desperately trying to make him back down.

I don’t even remember where my mom was. It didn’t really matter though; her presence wouldn’t have made a difference. She never stood up to him. Probably out of fear.

He yanked me with his left hand and pulled me towards him. I tried. I tried to get away, but there is only so much strength in a ten year olds bony body. I heard the belt against my jeans twice before I finally turned around and fell to the ground, crying. I yelled, he yelled. The burning sensation felt like it would never go away. That’s all I remember. I have no idea what happened next. I probably plotted one of my many escape plans that I never actually went through due to lack of nerve.