Looking Through His Eyes

Someone had an emotional affair with me. Now... Please read that sentence again. Because it's not as black and white as you think. Someone had an emotional affair... With me.

This happened before I was married and I didn't realize it was an affair until it was rather late to call it out. See, I was getting rid of old information the other day (cleaning up skeletons out of an electronic closet, if you will) and the bulk of the relationship was just there. All the emails, the pictures, the promises of meeting, of a future, and... Why not... Of love, too.

I was going into my last year at the University back in Santiago. It was the summer of punk rock blaring out of my speakers 24/7. "Aliens Exist" and "Going Away To College" by Blink 182 made their way through my room every hour. It was also the summer of getting out of a two year relationship (and completely ditching a fresh engagement) where the first year was complete bliss and the second was complete bullshit. My ex-fiance, Kenshin, (nope, not his real name) was a complicated man, and maybe I will write about him someday, but my humility about telling stories of Yani at her lowest hasn't really shown up in a good while, so today will not be that fine day. 

Needless to say, I fell so out of love and it was such a sad, gut-wrenching break-up, that I was literally just looking to spend time with myself (as it should be when you get out of a relationship that kicked your ass so hard you'd question your self-esteem for at least the next six months after it). So finding Ethan (not his real name, either) was completely random, unnecessary and yet beautiful in a very unique way.

I'm going to blame my fascination with Ethan on three main facts:

1) He was in a band. Long hair, raised cheekbones, Midwestern hospitality voice.

2) He hit me up. I didn't reach for him. He slid into those DMs before it was mainstream. And boy, could he keep me on my feet. The banter was exquisite. The flow of mutual interest, flawless.

3) I had never dated a white guy, and having just visited Puerto Plata and spent some time on the sand being glorified by the gringos onsite looking for a summer something with my cousins (and the aforementioned Blink 182 obsession), they quickly became my new "type". Although, in the grand scheme of life, I have still never dated a white guy. That's just the way it turned out.

And so the other night I decided to go through all the back and forth with Ethan and just get rid of it. There was no point in keeping it. He had moved on. I had most definitely moved on. As a matter of fact I kept all of it because I held on to hope for so long that I just cluttered the whole thing into a "Hotmail" email folder. That's how old this whole thing was. Hotmail. It was obsolete in more than one way and it was time to just kill it.

Of course, you'd think I would have just checked all the emails and hit that delete button. Like a gambler at the slots, right? Nope. I read all of them, like the utter masoquist I can be. 

Looking though our relationship, our full blown gf/bf status while having never met physically, and being an ocean away at the time, several realizations came back that I had forgotten about through what I'm assuming was the kindness of my own brain repelling anything that would make me unhappy. A memory trick which I finally, as the boring adult I am now, truly came to appreciate. These realizations were:

a) Ethan would disappear without a trace for weeks at a time. We would have an amazing conversation one night. Stay up until 3am. And then I wouldn't hear from the guy for the following two weeks at a minimum. I gave him the nickname "Whodini" as a play on words between the magician and the fact that I didn't really know who Ethan was after all. And each time he'd reappear, I would be upset. But he would quickly win me over with his inadequate charm. 

b) He shared all his plans with me and included me in them. To the point where he was certain he'd go to Santiago to see me within the year. I secretly planned on packing up and moving to the Midwest with him and making this something everlasting, but since I wasn't trying to be "uncool", I never said anything to him about it.

c) Everyone in his posse knew me, but I knew no one. Yeah, I knew their first names and what instrument they played in the band. But if something were to happen to Ethan, I would maaaybe find out if I looked at the obituaries (which, given Ethan's talent to disappear, I did look at them several times during that whole thing). 

d) Ethan would always call from a restricted line. Which meant I never had his phone number, except for one time, when he apparently forgot to *67 prior to the call (or was it *69?). One day he disappeared for so long that I called that number back and, because of that wonderful memory trick I covered a little while ago, I completely forgot what happened. But I'll touch into that in a minute.

I must mention that I talked to Ethan probably a month ago. Mainly because it was his birthday and he claims he always remembers me on his birthday because I was the only person to ever mail him a birthday present. While I'm at it, after all these years, I'm finally going to call bullshit on that, too.

So picture me reminiscing and at one point even getting nostalgic, pseudo-sad and even wide eyed at how bold I was back then. More with words than with pictures. I really wanted to be with this dude. He really grew on me, and I was finally feeling like someone wanted me for all the right reasons.

... And then one email made me come to the conclusion of that mighty first sentence of this post. It was an email I completely forgot about. Short, to the point and completely merciless...

"Don't call my number again. Don't pick up any calls from it either. If you accidentally pick up, don't hang up after. Just say that you have a ton of customers in Illinois and you called that number by mistake."

Then the memory of what happened when I called that number came back like a shot through my right eye. I now remember that no one picked up. But it did go to voicemail. And now I remember quite vividly that the outgoing message said, in a beautiful, FEMALE voice, "This is Ethan and Melanie. We can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep. Bye!"

I realized that at my 21 years of age, I was still such a naïve fuck! My goodness. It was bad. It was so bad, that I actually almost got into a lot of trouble over this. I almost planned my return to the States to try to live with a guy that was married, or at the very least, living with someone named Melanie. And based on those emails and how ballsy I was being with the attempts to get his full attention, once again with my words, none of that nudes nonsense, I was going to do something insane. 

I know I'm letting Ethan get off easy by not calling him out on this. But that's what should happen when things lose value over time and it's not really worth getting aggravated over. I'd be no better than the Twitter community these days belching over TV shows that were not progressive enough 20 years ago. 

Rest assured though... Ethan paid. I came back to the States and we talked and I put the whole thing to bed. Mainly because I was in love and in a relationship with someone else, who actually never disappeared. But also because Ethan never really asked me otherwise. Never once asked me to come see him, or to prove myself to him in any way. There was such a specific, limited interest, such as that characteristic of an affair: you're mine, but only as much as I can receive you. I can't really bitch or moan if you move on. 

But man, did he bitch and moan. He was actually mad that I was no longer interested in waiting for someone that was clearly never going to be completely and only mine. It was actually funny to me because I had to pretend like I was pissed off while I just described a long distance relationship where no one was really making an attempt to see the other person, but somehow I owed him because he had given me some attention. Yes. I will agree with you. I let him off easy. But remember that this was Whodini we were talking about. I wasn't trying to have someone kill me over not hitting it off. People have gotten murdered for less of a reason. 

So that's my emotional affair story. I was young and naïve, and downright bold. And it's one more skeleton I'll have to put up with as long as my memory allows it.

... But coming to think of it, it's one of the safest because, let's face it. We were never close. Not physically and not mutually. I was but one exotic islander he talked to at some point. And he will never know this bold islander once thought of him as more than a skeleton gathering dust in an electronic closet. 

Yani DLC

12/05/2020.-

~ Bachata Rosa ~

Siempre que platico con mi tío menor, él se ríe y menciona la frase, "Este mundo está al revés." Se le hace increíble que yo, Yani, la santica, la que vivía con la nariz metida en un libro en TODOS los viajes a Jarabacoa, mientras que mi hermana y mis primos iban a lo que realmente se iba a Jarabacoa: el río, el dominó y los cuentos de camino, ahora sea más "tíguera" que mi hermana y sea tan amante de andar "en el medio". Creo que él exagera bastante. 

No era raro que yo fuera estudiosa. Vengo de una familia de universitarios, cultos licenciados e ingenieros en una que otra vaina que ni ejercen hoy (incluyéndome), uno que otro Suma Cum Laude, e incluso unos que pasaron a chepazo y su vida universitaria consistió en escapársele a los anti-chuleo. Pero yo era un caso especial. Durante la universidad fui a decenas de house-parties, pero NUNCA pisé una discoteca.

No era que no me gustaran. Simplemente tenía mi meta de graduarme en cuatro años, y creo que el no andar mucho en el medio influyó en que lo lograra. Y sí, los house-parties fueron extremos y en los "raves" fui expuesta (aunque no participé) a varias prácticas que harían sonrojar hasta a Samantha Jones. Pero así di'que una vaina de llegar a mi casa a "des-hora"? No. A menos que fuera por completar un proyecto, definitivamente no.

Hoy en día, cuando menciono que voy para Boston a partysear, mis amigos cuarentones, e incluso los trentones, me miran como que tengo tres cabezas. Empiezan a quejarse de tan sólo recibir mi invitación y seguido piden que la salida sea "más cerca" y que no vuelva uno "tan tarde". La mayoría de las veces me río y termino yéndome con los amigos milenarios. Mi hermana se lo achaca a que no quemé esa etapa. Pero es algo menos simple para mí.

Yo tengo todas las energías de cerrar todos los bares que piso. No es por llamar la atención, ni por "cobrarme las que no hice en los veinte". Simplemente conocer gente que anda en "el medio" me llena de positivismo. Puede que tenga que ver con mi ansiedad, pero en realidad me lo encuentro extrañamente divertido. Lo haré siempre que mi cuerpo me lo permita y claro, que yo sea algo agradable qué ver. No creo que una mujer que se respete va a estar metida en una discoteca a los cincuenta años.

... A menos que sea una mujer como Leonora. Mi amiga que me lleva diez años y es la sensación de toda discoteca a la que pisamos. Me encanta andar con ella y con su amiga, Bárbara, porque son mujeres bellas en todo el sentido de la palabra. Europeas y llenas de historias, no sólo son altas, rubias, con cuerpazos que no tienen nada qué envidiar a las de veinte (incluso en varias ocasiones he escuchado que les han preguntado si han filmado pornografía. Les prometo que la nariz de Bárbara crece cada vez que responde esa pregunta.). Sino también que con ellas no tengo tiempo ni para malos entendidos, ni para drama. Tienen una confianza en sí mismas que aveces se me transfiere a mí. Algo que NUNCA me ha pasado con mis amigas milenarias.

La última vez que anduvimos juntas, yo tenía mucho que no salía. Así que estaba un poco oxidada para simplemente pasarla bien. Habíamos hecho una fila lentísima en La Fábrica Central, una discoteca en Cambridge, por lo que a la hora que vinimos a entrar, ya el disc jockey se había marchado, y la música que se oía era porque se filtraba de la sección de atrás (La Fábrica tiene un "lounge" que es más como un bar en el que uno se acomoda y se aperrucha para conseguir un jodío trago. Pero como enganchan a un disc jockey, uno casi nunca cruza para la parte trasera, que supuestamente se enciende más, pero no importa.).

Leonora tenía el acostumbrado carajito pegado del oído, dándole muela (digo carajito porque aunque a lo mejor el pana estuviera en sus trenta, Leonora hace rato que cruzó por ese altar.). Bárbara, por su parte, estaba esperando que el pana que la tiene loca por un tiempo ya, le diera aunque fuera la hora. Pero el tipo no estaba en ella esa noche.

Yo aproveché que no había DJ y me encaramé en la tarima, que era más un escalón que tarima en sí. Oficialmente era del mismo tamaño que Bárbara, quien mide como 6'4".

Esa noche, como cada vez que salgo, conocí varias personas bastante interesantes. Pero ninguno como el chico de las gafas cuyos lentes eran rosados. El hecho de que llevaba gafas en un sitio que de por sí ya era oscuro me causó gracia. Y el hecho de que los lentes fueran rosados le agregó un toque de "WTF?" al asunto.

"¿Bailas bachata?", me preguntó desde el bar, como con cinco personas entre el medio de los dos. El tipo era inteligente. En el caso en que yo dijera que no, se llevaba su trago y no perdía su dignidad, y seguíamos felices como dos lombrices.

... Pero como aveces Dios se aburre y quiere darme una historia qué contar,  sucede que yo bailo bachata. De hecho, es lo único que bailo. Y el tipo no perdió el tiempo. Se encaramó en la tarima conmigo y bailamos ya ni recuerdo cuántas. Se sabía las letras de todas. No era de estos chamacos que al vuelo empiezan el interrogatorio. Simplemente la estaba pasando bien y su trago era el mejor del mundo. Pero lo que más me gustó era su forma de manejarse. Confianza, misterio y nada de dársela de que estaba acabando, como la gran mayoría de los Dominicanos que frecuentan esos lugares aquí en Massachusetts. Y nada de propasarse, tampoco.

Tenía tantas preguntas para él. ¿Por qué carajo escondía unos ojos tan preciosos detrás de esas fabulosas (pero innecesarias) gafas? ¿Quién cuidaba sus sueños? ¿Cuál era su inspiración? Pero como yo no soy loca, me limité a preguntar cosas un chin más "normales":

Y: ¿De dónde eres?

X: De Boston.

(Mentira, pensé. Nadie es "de Boston".)

Y: ¿A qué te dedicas?

X: A vivir.

(OK, punto para ti por misterioso. Pero ahora me callaré pa' ver con qué saltas tú.)

X ¿Que edad tienes?

(God, I hate that question.)

Y: Te puedo asegurar que podría ser tu mamá.

X: ¡Naaaahhhhh! No way.

Y: Una papeleta de US$20.00 dice que sí. ;)

X: Vas a tener que enseñarme el ID.

Y: *abre la cartera con una sonrisa maliciosa*

El chamaco apostó a que yo era más joven que él. Después de mucha lata, él sacó su licencia y yo mi MASS ID y evidentemente, le llevo diez años... diez añazos. 20 dólares para Yani. Luego pasó a repetidamente pasar su mano por mi frente, buscando arrugas. Él no entendía cómo me mantenía tan joven teniendo mi edad. Por un momento pensé en esa canción de Arjona, "Señora de las cuatro décadas" (aunque aún no las he cumplido). Le dije que simplemente no había llevado "mala vida". Se hizo el loco y me preguntó qué implicaba eso. No se lo expliqué. O sea, qué se supone que yo iba a responder? "No fumo, sólo bebo socialmente, nunca he jalado", jejeje... Agarré algo de confianza y moví una de sus clinejitas hacia el lado de su frente para poder seguir mirándole a los ojos. En una puso sus manos en mi cintura y sin reservas le dije, ves? Chichos. Las viejas tenemos chichos. Y con mucha razón me dijo que eso no tiene nada que ver con edad. En una (como si necesitara más) fui a chequear algo en el celular y el jevo reconoció mi background, el símbolo de Cadet Corps/Alas de Libertad de Attack on Titan. ¿Anime? ¿En serio? ¿¿Es de maldad?? No sabía si reírme o llorar, pero el corazón definitivamente se me derritió un chin.

Otra cosa rara que sucedió fue que mis amigas no quisieron cerrar el bar. Y las entiendo. Leonora se había cansado de la muela del pana (el que ambos fueran Europeos no le daba un pase automático al próximo round, por Dios.) y Bárbara había perdido las esperanzas de que el jevo la pusiera a vocear esa noche.

Y yo... Bueno, yo no voy a negar que estaba en una especie de trance. Y antes de que digan que es por lo liviana que soy con el alcohol, sepan que únicamente tomé un par de capirinhas, y esa vaina es prácticamente una Jugola. Así que el alcohol no fue. Era que simplemente este pana me tenía intrigada full. Legal, él parecía una celebridad. Era tan interesante, que me vine a dar cuenta que era hora de irme  porque las mujeres me estaban esperando al otro lado de la ventana del sitio, ya afuera.

Le di un abrazo como cuando uno era carajita y se a'fi'ciaba de un pana en vacaciones, y había llegado la hora de montarme en el avión. Y por ahí salí. Pero les confieso que en realidad no quería irme. Quería seguir aprendiendo de este joven tan lleno de vida, del que por causas ajenas a nosotros, prácticamente no aprendí nada.

¿Ven por qué me gustan estas shenanigans de andar en el medio? No es porque no tengo calle y me hace falta. Ni porque soy una "viejeba", ni es que no tengo lo que necesito en casa.

... Es que aveces, y sólo de vez en cuando, conozco una persona digna de detenerme y querer saber más. De vez en cuando la vida hace que el mundo realmente esté al revés, y que unos ojos increíbles se atrevan a mirarme tras unos lentes rosados... y a invitarme a bailar bachata.

YDLC

9/10/2019.-

I Know We're Cool

Why are you still in my dreams? I mean, seriously, after everything I went through, after all the anxiety and maybe even a little (OK, a lot. A ton...) of depression, and even more lack of closure. Why do dreams prevail and put you in a light I will most likely never know you in?

We will never be friends again. Sure, thank the Good Lord we get along really well right now. Professional AF, we jive, my loyalty hasn't changed, your eye is still on the prize. I think you're looking after me as much as I look after you. Maybe more. But it's just that. If either of us chose a different path, that path would definitely not include each other. Not only because of our history (which I probably remember a ton more than you do), but because of our personalities. I will admit at times I've thought you only have loyalty to yourself.

These dreams put you in a light that makes me think otherwise. They're... normal. There's a certain comfort between us. There's more than just the fact that we're looking at the same finish line. And I won't lie. I don't mind them. They're pleasant and kind and the type of stuff you talk about at the coffee machine because you really don't wanna get back to your cube.

But why so constant? Why so repetitive? And why my subconscious? That place where I have no control, yet I seem to be in much more control of what I say? Even though I don't mind the dreams, I don't think it's really fair. Because my conscious mind looks for reasons instead of just brushing it under the rug.

In this dream, I got to meet your girlfriend. Except she wasn't the girl I've seen in pics and videos. It was a foreign girl, probably Russian, but maybe Argentinian. I'm awful at determining accents. And you know that I loved? I was genuinely nice to her. Not kind, not just polite. I felt happy. For her and for you. Yet, she was shaking when I walked over and shook her hand. You had left her alone to go talk to someone at the bar. I asked her why she was shaking. She answered, I can't really remember what. But I actually comforted her. Told her she had nothing to be nervous about. That I was her girl. Just like I was yours. Even though she just met me, we're cool. It's just me. Yani. Loyal to the core. She wouldn't be an exception.

And right there, in my subconscious, I believed every word I said. I didn't say it so she'd stop shaking. Hell, that was my time to shine and intimidate the shit out of her. No. Instead I put her at complete ease. And the best part is, you weren't checking up on her, even though you saw me walk over. You weren't trying to overhear what I was telling her either. You knew what you had and you knew neither I nor the world could ruin it. You were happy, and that's all that mattered to me.

And now I write these words that are not even mine anymore, to hide three little wishes in here: I hope these dreams of an ideal comfort show up once in a while. I hope that you're genuinely happy. And I truly hope, that in a positive way, we're in each other's lives for years to come.

Yani
3/2/2019.-

Amazingly Anxious Adventures

When you're awkward and you don't belong... It's always there. No matter how much you think you've accomplished. No matter how much you believe you've overcome. No matter how many times you tell yourself you've come a long way. You simply don't belong. And sometimes people remind you of that. Fuck, sometimes they don't even try. But it's something you live with. You make the best of it. And you cope. And you survive. And maybe, just maybe... You thrive.

This isn't meant to be a sappy post. Or an attention-craving one. It's not even meant to get any responses. This is a post to convince myself in years to come, that I am feeling this way, because I'm hoping in a couple of years I will no longer feel this way. I want to be able to look back and take a deep breath, and just thank God that things are better. I want to say "WTF was wrong with you?" To my old self. I want to remember that I can be vulnerable, and that I'm humble and I want to prove to myself that I will not lose my humility, no matter what happens to me in this new job.

Oh, yeah, did I mention I took a new job? Same company, but sales oriented. I took a friggin sales job. What I said I'd never do. What I called the dark side for so long and what I'm officially naming the hardest spin off my comfort zone in my entire life. It all comes down to wanting to provide the best for my family, but man... My anxiety has sure spiked.

I should mention there's a group of people who, no matter how weird I am, and how I'll never really stop being this way... All accept me as I am. Because of them, I actually feel like "I belong" somewhere. They're not family, they're not necessarily friends, either. They're just... There. I'm so thankful.

Two years without writing in here. I can't pull that shit again. Not making any resolutions, just light fun, deep thoughts, enlightening conversations and solid actions. I can't mentally afford to lose myself again.

I am an adult. And yes, sometimes it sucks. But other times... I'm extremely happy I'm still here.

Yan
1/8/2018.-

[For The Record...]

(5/26/2016)

 

I've been asking myself such aggravating questions lately. Why? What's the point? Why bother?

 

Don't get me wrong. This is not one of those times when I want to do absolutely nothing and just let time pass by in an uneventful manner. No. I have far more important things to think about now.

 

This is a time when I'm feeling like my kindness has reached a new level and I feel like my face is toilet paper. And that it's the same people wiping themselves with me over and over again. 

 

I have been guaranteed that I am a good time. I have been told before that I'm good at listening, at making people laugh and at sympathizing with others, even if I've never been in a similar situation before. Even though most of my best friends live an ocean away, I do have many here that make sure to keep my around. This is because I'm ridiculously loyal, I don't sugar coat things and most importantly, I keep them around as well.

The importance is to keep a balance. To make sure things are said, that dates are kept and that somehow, somewhere, someone knows you're thinking about them. It's also the proverbial two-way street. It doesn't work if you don't get the same deal back. It might function for a little while, in a mediocre way, but nothing solid. Nothing meaningful or everlasting.

Which brings me to my next point. If I've been in a one-way street for years now, and there's no sign of opposite traffic anytime soon... What exactly is the point of trying? If it's so excruciatingly obvious and painfully exaggerated that I mean nothing to this person... Why do I continue to hang on to this friendship, that is clearly only in my head?

I don't want this blog to be about how I changed. I don't want it to be about how so many things got ruined for me because of this friendship. About how bitter I am because I cared just a tad too much, and it all turned to nothing. About how I'll never get close to anyone ever again, because of the doings of one person. I don't want this blog to be ruined for me, too.

I just want to get off this rollercoaster ride. I don't want to keep trying to let go. I want to be let go. I have done my part in keeping my distance. I want to be given the same respect. I want to stop feeling like a joke. Feeling like there must be a range of stories that are now public and I'm the only one that doesn't know they are. Feeling like I'm a burden. Like I'm a secondary deal to someone who's always been a priority for me. I want to stop missing and needing and giving so much importance to people who simply don't deserve.

I'm sick of talking about the same troubles. 

(12/29/2016)
 

I hate that I miss you even with everything that's gone down.

 

I didn't imagine what we had. It actually happened. Why did it end? I'll never understand. But I can assure you one day, you'll have mercy on this friendship that once was.

 

One day you'll tell me what I did wrong, why you made it disappear... why I'm nothing to you now. And on that day, when you're finally able to face me, to release that ounce of confrontational strength you've accomplished, I will listen. I will be there, just like I've always been.

 

Things will never be the same. But someday you will have to talk to me. Be it out of guilt, compassion or just plain boredom, you will reach out to me. And I will be, just like always, just around the corner.

 

And I don't ever want you to ever, EVER doubt that I'll be here. Like no one else has been there for you in this forsaken place.

 

One day I hope you believe in yourself like I have. That you realize that you have a heart. That you always did.
 

 

... Underneath all that ice.

 

YDLC
12/29/2016.-

Mala... Agradecida

Como es costumbre (para bien o para mal) cierro el año con un post en mi pseudo-olvidado blog. Hoy vuelvo a mis raíces publicando en Español. Total, los panas que leen en Inglés no se hacen sentir con el mismo fervor, y aunque me informan que puedo hacer maravillas con ese idioma, siempre he pensado que el Español ha hecho muchas más maravillas conmigo.

Desde hace ya varios años estos posts de fin de año han dejado mucho qué desear. Siempre hay mucha ansiedad en mí, varias quejas de amistades rotas, y una que otra resolución. Quizá perdí el toque, o quizá realmente no estaba al 100 por ciento dedicada a lo que estaba escribiendo. De hecho, ahora mismo estoy dando vida a estas líneas y no me siento conforme con lo que está saliendo.

Pero lo crudo del caso, el punto que estoy esforzándome por establecer, es que al final de la historia de lo que fue el 2015... Me siento increíblemente malagradecida.

Vivo una buena vida. Tengo una familia realmente excepcional. Tengo un buen trabajo y por lo general soy buena persona. No entiendo por qué me empeño en dejar que cosas que no debieran importarme, me hagan olvidar o descuidarme de todas estas bendiciones.

En algún momento, hace ya par de años, me olvidé de mí. Me obsesioné con situaciones en que nisiquiera viene al caso abundar y como dice aquella bella canción, "Me olvidé de vivir.". Perdí amigos, pero a todos nos pasa. Gané muchos otros, pero no he aprovechado diversos chances para hacerles ver que su llegada a mi vida ha sido importante. 

Incluso perdí muchas oportunidades de ver cosas en mi hija que sólo van a pasar una vez en su vida, por prestar atención a dolores pasajeros. Eso nunca me lo voy a perdonar.

Sin embargo... Dios me dio una hija! Me ha dejado verla crecer sana y fuerte hasta ahora. Mis cuñados no pueden decir lo mismo. Su bella hija se marchó al cielo este año. Se me rompe el alma al hacer la comparación. Pero es que simplemente soy dichosa... Soy bendecida... Soy verdaderamente malagradecida.

Hoy no les presento resoluciones, no me hago promesas a mí misma. Tampoco les digo cómo vivir su vida. Sólo recuerden que el mundo de cada quién, sólo esa persona lo conoce. Sólo tú sabes por lo que pasas, al igual que sólo yo sé lo que tengo de este lado. Abre los ojos, recuerda que siempre puede ser peor. No dejes que la vida te enrrede tanto la mente, que olvides lo bella que es. Recuerda que lo que hablas, dices, escribes y siembras, lo verás escuchado, recibido, leído y cosechado en tus hijos, y en todas las personas que te miran como ejemplo. Y si eres de los que se cree fuera de responsabilidad con los demás, recuerda que nunca sabes si eres el ejemplo de alguien. Es difícil percibirlo si te dejas agarrar de círculos viciosos y amistades de una vía.

Recuerda que estás vivo. Que no estás huyendo, peleando guerras que no son tuyas. Que no vives en el terror, y que es posible que tengas un futuro. Y claro, también es posible que ese futuro sea grandioso.

Sin más nada, me despido por este año. Que el 2016 te traiga todo lo que necesitas y mucho de lo que quieres. Y que Dios (o en lo que sea que creas) te guíe siempre por el camino del bien.

Con el cariño de siempre,
Yani
12/31/2015.-

Virgo and Moonchild

It's 3:30am and anxiety has once again moved in under my covers. When this happens, I usually have a pretty good idea why. From something heavy, like that a friendship is inevitably going downhill, to something that really shouldn't give me anxiety at all at this point, like public speaking.

However, this time around, it's a combination of both. Not one, but two of my dungeon buddies are leaving my department at work. You may think that my anxiety would be the inevitable workload growth, the difficulty of training, getting to know and dealing with new co-workers, and the fact that nobody has time for anything these days. If so, you couldn't be farther from the truth.

I will really, deeply, inevitably and unapologetically miss these women. They have been there for me in more ways than I could have asked for. They have lived things with me and trusted things in me that only friends of decades do. In a very short amount of time, we became dependent on each other without even noticing.

My pretty-eyed Virgo has so much love to give. Never admits out loud how beautiful she is, how strong she has become or how awkward I made things for her sometimes. Because she is all class. No judgement for me, even when she saw me at my worst. We share simultaneous experiences that I'm truly convinced had to coincide in order for us to become friends. We would have been just a little crazier had we had to endure these ordeals alone. But after that was over, there was so much more. There is still so much more unresolved. But all in due time. Now she moves on to new horizons, and I couldn't be happier. But it's an understatement to say I'll miss our talks so much, from reading our shared horoscope, to as over-thinking-ly as they could get. 

Sometimes I wonder where our "plan" sheet went. Operation Samurai or something? Then I realize I would only wanna see that sheet to burn it, or do something to it that I can't put here, 'cause let's face it, we're classy broads.

I thank God (or whatever she believes in ;-)) for knowing her, and I'm grateful for her coming into in my life. And rest assured if we do drift apart, I will understand. We kinda already have, but everything happens for a reason, they say. She was honest enough to answer me one day that when we stopped working together, inevitably things would change. It has happened with countless people before, but she was honest enough to pseudo-warn me. Doesn't stop being bittersweet, though. She has so many great things to accomplish and I can't wait to hear about them!

My ever so easygoing Moonchild became my sister in the blink of an eye. So gently honest, so humble, so modest, but yet so wholesome. And man, what a booty! Lol... I can't help dreading the thought that I won't see her amazing beach-waved hair every morning, wondering how the heck she manages to look amazing even in sweats, and how she's never had a frown that lasted over an hour in the year I've known her.

Always up for great conversation, never holding back advice and always having me begging for a video blog (can you please get on that already?), she made it fun to go to work again. Always coming up with reasons to throw cube parties, ten second dance sessions and shaking up the FMM. She is the epitome of the co-worker that effortlessly walks her way into your friendship circle. The kind of person you never wanna lose sight of. The one you look up to and can't help but wanna be like her. And exemplar mother and the true definition of "family first".

She introduced sex talking at our cubes first thing in the morning! Everyone assumes its me all the time! How could we not miss her, when all she's done is crawl into our hearts and set up camp there? I know, like she said yesterday, she will be around. But man, will I miss all her amusing stories (I'm still convinced all that stuff only happens to her) her incredible and apparently unbreakable sense of humor and her all-around easygoing manner. Like I've told her so many times already, I hope she always knows I'm here for her. 

Today I can't help but choke up at the thought that I won't see these girls every morning anymore. Yes, I've lost countless co-workers, and yes, I miss most of them very dearly. But these were different bonds. These involved similar sorrows, family growing pains, and situations we'll never forget. Situations that helped us grow, become, forgive, endure and enjoy life just a little more.

Go on and continue to make everyone that loves you very proud. We may drift apart, but we're friends. As simple or as complicated as life may be. I'm blessed you're part of mine.

Love you both,
Yan
07/10/2015.-