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.-

Before Something Great Happens...

The other day one of my really good friends said, "Before something great happens, usually a lot of bad things happen first.". She didn't use those exact words, but given the bitch-fest hour we had just accomplished, for lack of a better word, I knew where she was coming from. She was referring to hopeful idealism: When you've reached rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up.

While I've tried not to get my hopes up for this year (because I had outstanding hopes for 2014, and one of these days I'll puke myself into telling you how it went), once in a while, little phrases like these make their way into my thoughts. Good thoughts, for a change. In the middle of everything, those simple thoughts can save you from getting closer to insanity.

Anxiety is your worst enemy when there are just too many weird things going on. One instance is to feel like you're barely in control, and a very different one is to feel that your surroundings completely control you, your mood, your decisions, your view of every little thing or situation. It's not comfortable to second guess every decision, of ever minute, of every hour. And I'm feeling it lately. Ughhh, and it's a m'er f'er this time around. Wrinkles under my eyes, a few gray hairs and everything. It's here, full force.

A lot of our good friends have gone to better places, less like death and more like better jobs. We're left behind joking about slitting our wrists, jumping off a cliff, or setting the place on fire. It's all fun and games, and we keep the class, I mean, who doesn't joke about how miserable their workplace is? But damn... Something's gotta give. It's like people and processes are out doing themselves in the realm of difficulty, and we're left to wonder why we should even care about the whole thing.

For all we've been through this past year, my dungeon buddies and I deserve an awesome 2015. It's time for new stories, new people to accompany these stories, and fresh perspectives to go with the fresh personalities some of us have. And to awaken the calmer personalities of the bunch. ... Wait, never mind, we have none of those.

When my friend said that, and her pretty and inevitably adventurous eyes kinda lit up, I couldn't help but find myself hoping she's right.  Some would say we're just dealing with glorified first world problems. I think we're just growing up a little more. And I don't want it!

But at the end of the day, I'm just thankful. That we're going through this together, that it'll end at some point, and that it could always be worse.

We could be out of work, or being overworked... I could be prohibited from writing these words. I'm obviously all over the place. But that's where I'm supposed to be, I guess... Before Something Great Happens.

YD 3/26/2015.-

The Proof is in the Blogging

Yeah, I know. It's been a little a while since I've visited. But after this crazy season winds down, I promise I'll be back with a few pretty good ponderings, and maybe even some entertaining stories.

I just had to lock in this last post before the end of the year. Before getting stopped dead in my tracks, slapped right in the middle of my face, perhaps even mid-frolic ;-), by that new pseudo-hope that inevitably appears with New Year's Day.

And yes, I'm being extra concerned about something that most likely only matters to me, but that's precisely the point. Apart from my family and friends, you're one of the things that remains that I truly and genuinely care about. You're my blog, one of the strongest pieces of proof that I was once sane and then went insane, and have been in that back-and-forth ever since. How could I possibly let you go?

What would I have done without you when I went into those places so dark I would have never found my way out, because there was no one I could talk to that could so much as start trying to understand, or even accept?

Who would I have turned to in the times life decided to add in the shock factor of a surprise on top of another, even before I recuperated from the first? I would have never been able to handle myself and react as the classy broad I am!!

I promise I won't outgrow you, Blog. I don't think I ever could. Thanks for everything to you, my ever unconditional friend, and to your little sister, the password protected one, for helping me keep the secrets of a friend I thought would be just as unconditional.

And yes, you, reading this, you're most welcome to call me crazy for talking to something inanimate. But in all honesty... Do I look like I can afford therapy?

With that... Cheers, everyone. Here's to an outstanding 2015. May it be ever fulfilling, ever unforgettable, and ever unique.

... Just like my blog.

Yan
12/31/2014.-

The Secret Life of Pushovers (II)

Where was I? Ah, yes, my favorite pushover ever. For sh*ts and giggles, we'll call him Donatello, in the true spirit of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles making their much awaited comeback. Plus, our leading fella's name is the same as one of theirs.

Donatello was, at the time, shorter than I was. A bit darker than me, with soft eyes that made him look like he had been hurt (by something physical and simplistic, like getting hit by a car, not by, like, heartache), and in my entire life I have undoubtedly never kissed bigger lips. Twice my size (I know, right?!), plumped up like on God's Botox, and perfectly shaped like the healthiest apple. We were really good for each other because he boosted my self-esteem as best as he could, and I brought him out of his shell a little. (Get it? Shell? Half shell, cause he's Donatello?? I crack myself up...)

Anyhow, I wasn't exactly Miss Kind when I used to date him, so Donatello ended up taking a few bullets for me. Perfect example, I started some gossip about a mutual friend, blamed good ol' Donatello, and he took it like a man, even if it meant that our friend wouldn't talk to him for a while. To this day, I haven't thanked him for that. I know you're reading this, so thanks, D.!

There was also an instance where Yvette, a couple of new friends, Don and I were at Plaza Zona Rosa, when it used to be the hot spot for college kids, and he disappeared on us for like an hour. When he showed up, not only did I rip him a new as*hole, I did it in front of our new friends. It wasn't until half hour later that we realized he was doing it to stall us from heading home, as my mom was preparing a surprise birthday party for Yvette. And my mom LOVED Donatello with such a passion, that she counted on him to be in on the plan INSTEAD of me.

The decline in our relationship came when he took being a pushover to the next level. I was beginning to be super into him, and (with the help with my prying mother) picturing a pretty great future with him. But the boy took some pretty bad advice. One of his friends, of which I have never inquired the name, told him he needed to "show me 'what he had' a little more". This meant that, not only was it pretty obvious Donatello had money, but he now had to boast about it. He actually paid attention to that piece of... gold.

While out on dates, he told me he made the huge effort of not repeating the same clothing twice a year; he said he wanted to buy an original NES, "just to have it", not even to take it out of the box; the kicker was when we passed a jewelry store and I mentioned I really liked a diamond cross that was on the window, and he gave me that look that rich people give, like they can buy your soul if they wanted to. I stopped him dead in his tracks and told him not to even think about buying it.

But the glass that spilled the cup for me was the fact that he had the opportunity to enroll in an international program straight from the university he was attending (we didn't go to the same school, he was at the rich-kid university, PUCMM), it entailed a few years at the Rochester Institute of Technology.  And... he rejected the opportunity. Yup, he turned down a ridiculously positive experience... for none other.. than... me. I know it sound romantic as f*ck, but I was FURIOUS. I remember my throat hurting as I yelled over the phone. How could he throw away something so great, a truly amazing opportunity, over someone who treated him like total crap? Had I been more mature I would have realized he was trying not to be away from me and visualizing a future with me. But all he did was freak me out. Seemed like he just couldn't find a balance between making me want him for him, and making me love him I'm spite of him being rich. So he did what any pushover would do, push himself over and put me first. All he really did was what he thought was best, and I couldn't see past freaking out over someone wanting to give me everything. It was over within the month.

The last time I saw Donatello, we were having dinner in what's probably my favorite joint in Santiago at the moment. He said he was crushed that last time he called my house phone and Yvette picked up, looked at me, and not even lowering my voice, I said "Tell him I'm not here." I don't remember that happening, but the way I was treating him those days, I wouldn't have put it past me. I do remember Yvette sending him a letter through mIRC that she had found, where I was breaking up with him. He typed back that he was going to see if his parents would get him out of the country. "Oh, NOW you wanna leave??" I remember being so pissed, and freaked out, and overwhelmed, that at that point nothing he couldn't do anything to alleviate it.

He did alleviate things for himself, though. Became super ambitious, found a wife that's just a tad less ambitious than him, heheh... And is fulfilling his dreams as best as he can. That's not easy back in the Dominican Republic. Overall, I'm happy he's still my friend, and that he overcame this whole pushover deal. Which is truly more than I can say for a lot of other friends I have at the moment. But that, my friends, is another story.

So if you are a pushover, or know someone who is, and you are currently not happy with your situation, remember this: sometimes the other person is just waiting for you to take charge this time around. Don't sit and wait. For what you'll inevitably be pushing next, will be your relationship away, and your suitcases out the door. And it won't be to go to Rochester!!

Yan DLC
10/26/2014.-

The Secret Life of Pushovers

Growing up and while dating I wasn't very confident. Yes, I stopped being shy as soon as I hit sophomore year in high school, but confidence didn't really work its way into my repertoire of magic tricks until sophomore year in college. Up until that point, I had been drawn to dudes who were very sure (even full) of themselves. And super secure in me, too. As far as they were concerned, infidelity would never be an issue, because I was so self conscious, that I could never shoot for someone better for me.

Now, keep in mind I never thought I'd have a serious relationship, let alone become engaged or get married. My plans for the future revolved around a Mack truck with windows, looking as badass as "Lola La Trailera", never living in the same state for more than a year, and settling for being cool Aunt Yani for the rest of my life. I couldn't be bothered with the conversation of being a wife and mothering kids to some hot shot. Because I would be the hot shot. Whatever I did professionally would be BIG. Whatever I did romantically, not so much.

Life can definitely throw you in directions never expected. And the fact I actually found someone crazy enough to put up with my eccentricities (which I didn't know existed until my thirties, smacking me so hard that my chin gets smaller by the minute) is still some kind of a mystery to me.

But I digress. So I dated (defining dating as puritan, unadulterated, nonsexual and unapologetic fun) a handful of guys who were absolutely sure of what they were doing at the moment. Locking me down while they had no idea how to fix their own locks regarding self awareness. Clueless about their appearance and completely oblivious to the fact that other guys were looking at me. And looking pretty hard.

And then came the pushovers. That group of guys that inevitably made me realize who I had previously been and why I could never be that way again. The pushover had a few character traits that set him apart from the rest of the dating spectrum, and that still live worldwide today. (Ughhhh, "worldwide", I just totally sounded like Pitbull. Remind me never to say that word again...)

1) He is not enough for you, let alone for anyone else. The pushover is an expert at strongly believing you'll dump him the second he says the wrong thing. And once you leave him, he'll be alone forever, because let's face it, he's nothing without you. You made him, and you will destroy him if this happens.

2) Everything is unbearable. It's the end of the world when an argument comes about. He drowns in a sorrow so deep, his face can only be described by that little emoticon that has its eyes sadly shut and his mouth open oh, so wide in a ridiculous frown. Yes, it would be easier to paste the emoticon here, but I got you to exercise your imagination, didn't I?

3) Looks don't matter, but BOY, DO THEY MATTER! He looks in the mirror fifty times before going out, and seventy-five times before exiting the cab to go in the club. Yet, he has the audacity to say looks aren't important and thrives on saying he's with you specifically because of your personality. God forbid you getting a big head for believing you're cuter than you really are! No, he'll tell you that you're beautiful, but he'll never push it. Because in his eyes, the second you realize you're a lot hotter than he is, you're dumping his ass.

This last one is particularly curious because it's where the pushover tries to convince the world that he's not a pushover. He portrays a tiny bit of confidence, which is total bs, because he's secretly and dramatically dying inside.

I dated a boy who was probably the biggest pushover I have ever met. This guy was booksmart, the pride of both his (loaded) parents and teachers. He was the only one in our clique that went to school for what I like to call engineering on steroids, AKA Telematics Engineering. He was bright, and always put his studies over everything else. And a successful future could clearly be seen for him, no matter what he did... Until I came along.

... To Be Continued...

(Woa! I hadn't typed "To Be Continued" in years! Feels good. Why did I stop doing that again?)

Yani DLC
09/25/2014.-

If it wasn't for Her

There are certain days when I just want to let go. Just disconnect, not care, not worry about what'll happen tomorrow. Days that merit drinking, cursing, hurting myself, so I won't hurt others. Days where everything I've worked for, and everything I've obtained... seems so small, so insignificant, so irrelevant.

There are simpler days, when I need family, friends, the occasional flirtation, to make it through. These are NOT those days. On these I need absolute detachment, solitude, the sense that I'm battling my demons on my own, the sense of control that finds its way to perdition and kills everything it finds.

But as soon as I see her face, everything changes. All my worries, all my discourage, all these wrinkles and gray hair that all of a sudden invade me... Turn to nothing.

As soon as I see her smile, I remember why I have to do this. I remember why I get up every morning and put up with people. And bring home hard earned money, and try to give her the most comfortable, safe and happy life I can. As soon as I see her eyes, I remember why I live.

I always thought parents exaggerated when they said stuff like "They're my everything", or "They're my reason to live". I had come to think humans were so self-involved and utterly selfish that one could not live for another more than for oneself, at least a tiny bit. I had never been more wrong in my entire life. And she's the reason I understand. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have a reason to understand where I'm going, why I'm living and who I'm living for.

People have asked me why I've never posted anything about my daughter. The answer is quite simple. Nothing I ever write will do justice on how this child has changed my life. Everything I write seems so unworthy, so basic, so non elaborate.

So up until this point I had never tried. But don't be fooled: with this post, I will be content, because it's something she'll be able to read one day, and maybe I'll cheer her up somehow. But in no way, shape or form will I ever think this even remotely close to fitting, or even enough to describe what she has done for me.

And I'll continue to post about simple things to describe, of course. But going forward what is inspired by her, will only be directed to her. It's up to her if she wants to share. I know writing will be a part of our communication, and I'm very much looking forward to that.

So, Janielle, when you read this, know that Mami loves you more than words could ever so much as try to describe. I love you like the Earth loves the Sun, like our favorite foods love salt, and like we, as humans, could never fully understand. You're my all, my exception, my everything. My strength and my weakness, all at once.

I will love you through the worst. Through misunderstandings, fights, heartbreak and other more alarming failures. Through anything you may consider as the world falling on you, because I will try to feel it the same.

I will love you when you hate me. Because at some point it's inevitable. But more importantly, because you have made me want to be the best I could ever be. No matter what, I will continue to live with you, at least in my spirit, and for you, at least in my mind. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I plan on proving it to you.

And... Maybe someday, I'll inspire you a mere tenth of what you have inspired me.

... I still can't believe you started Kindergarten today.

Mami
08/27/2014.-

Drama-Keen

About two weeks ago I had a conversation that has put in perspective how I feel about my personality in more than one way. I was told I'm dramatic. Not in the usual "You're Dominican, so it's expected" way, but that I create drama, spread it, that it follows me, and that I can't get away from it... That I blow things out of proportion in very negative ways, and that this particular person had heard many things from me that he couldn't fathom me saying.

I'm laying here thinking about it still, because no, I'm not a robot, and unfortunately I tend to hold on to what a (I'm going to use a super heavy word for this person, so excuse me while I brace myself) friend will tell me, for usually one of two reasons: 1) that it's so shocking, I can't believe those words were directed toward me, and 2) that I've spent a considerable amount of time thinking, "Yeah, things are iffy, but not because of anything relevant or worth finding out about. Let's just all get along."

This time it's both. Because I had never heard those words being thrown specifically at me, and because the reasoning for them has apparently been going on for eight long months.

Some people have the ability to deliver words with such an impact that they reach your subconscious and mutilate it so bad you're left wondering what the heck just happened. And the words hurt with such a force, that for a period of time (in my case, sixteen days later) they keep coming back to you, kicking your ass a little harder, because apparently the initial beat up wasn't enough.

And I cringe at the thought of the aftermath. The fact that there are still so many unanswered questions. To which, honestly, half of me doesn't want answers. Half of me just doesn't want to know more. I just wanna go to work, and do my job, which I happen to be good at (mainly because I've been there forever, but you know what I mean); get my paycheck and keep things strictly professional. And for sixteen days I've managed to do that.

The other half of me is broken. It's tired and beat, and it wants to be frozen up for a while so she doesn't feel anything.  I want to know why this has been going on for eight months. Why was I not approached about this when it happened, or at least right after it happened; why the silence, the exclusion, the avoidance, the anti-bandage-ripping attitude that made me wonder so many nights what on Earth I did wrong. Does someone really deserve to live a lie for eight months, when she has proven to be open minded enough that you can tell her anything, because her skin is so ridiculously thick that, through it all, she will be OK?

I've said some rude things, I won't lie. But at the time, with the utmost honesty, I didn't realize they were rude. This is who I am, I push the envelope, I empower people to think big, to get their truths to their face and embrace who they are. To simply grow a pair, and to be able to take criticism. This world was made for the ready, for heaven's sake, not for the weak. And the people I'm with most of my time should already have figured out that I'm harmless. Yes, I may shock you with what I have to say, but it's only because I want you to be better, I KNOW you can be better. And it's none of my business, I was told. Guess what? If I consider you my friend, it is my business. I want nothing more than the best for you, and if I know you can be better for yourself and inspire those around you, and be as strong and beautiful as you can, I will find a way to tell you.

But apparently everything I've said around a specific clique has been taken in the worst way possible. My words and actions have been turned and I have been seen in a very unflattering light. I've been portrayed as manipulative, conniving, plotting, you name it, that was me. I feel like nothing I can do at this point can fix this. All I can do is apologize, hope that the wall they have probably formulated in their minds has at least a small window in it that I can at least leave my side of the story bundled up beside, waiting to be heard and believed.

When I discuss the issue with friends that know the matter, I'm inevitably told the same thing. "Let that rubbish go, you don't need to prove yourself to anyone. You have your friends that know who you are, and if these people have a preconceived notion of who you are, nothing that you say will change that". "They're not worse, but they're not better than you, either. They've probably said things about us, too, and they're most likely not stressing out about this in the least."

But I'm not one to just not care. I believe in the power of clarity, of closure and of acceptance. If I can as much as show at least one of these people, which I happen to respect for who they are, that above all else I never meant to make this personal or make to make them feel excluded afterward, or even so much as that my intentions have never had an ulterior motive, that'll be enough for me. And who knows, maybe they'll get and keep something positive from it too.

I know I'll never get answers to questions that have lingered for so long, and I'll figure out a way to make my peace with it. But it hurts. It hurts with an intensity, that I can't help but believe I must have been a VERY bad person in my previous life, and I'm paying for it harshly in this one. I've tried to confront, and to clear things up, and have had the opportunity denied to me like a door shut in my face on so many occasions. If this has been going on for eight months because of a series of misunderstandings, it would crush me. But I'll never know.

Eight months... Unbelievable. In the end, I assure you, I'd rather be called a drama-queen, than a coward. "This too shall pass.", they say. I'm sure it's correct. I just hope that by the time it does, no one's left wondering if what they did was right. Or wondering if they just threw away one of the greatest friendships they could ever have, all because they decided to keep quiet.

Yan
7/27/2014.-

Pesky, Little Bubble

One of my newest friends, who happens to live in a very far away land, taught me something last week. Most of my so called friends live "stuck in a bubble". They can't see past their own problems, happenings, and overall lives.

The only reason my new friend can be so sure about this, given he doesn't know the rest of my friends, is that it's unfortunately way too common these days. The monster that is egotistical social media, along with everyday undeserved praise, making everything "about me", and that newfound courage you inevitably get when you hit a certain age and all of a sudden you feel like you can take over the world in a second, can really take its toll on an otherwise super interesing personality.

We are, by virtue or defect, living in the era where Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and other hazardous chemicals have made it its focal point to legitimately have their users perform those virtual screams of "Look at me!", "Read my status!", "Listen to the point I have to make!", or even "I don't really have a point, or something good to say at the moment,  or really anything positive to contribute to society, but look at the annoying shape I can make with my mouth while I'm taking a selfie! That takes talent!".

Now, don't think I'm up on a condescending horse here, for I too have experienced being virtually egocentric. You're looking at the proof. This blog used to have a good two hundred followers, and it used to be the center of my life. The fact that people moved on to Facebook and all the other aforementioned ventures, doesn't make me immune to the fact I was once wrapped up in a bubble that was far less than noticeable by me at the time. People went from wanting to read, to wanting to be read, and that's very much OK.

So why am I bringing it up? Why state the obvious when it seems like it's only getting worse, and why even bother to write these words, if my followers are no longer there?

It's simple, and twofold: first, I didn't start blogging with the hopes of becoming a "blogstar". It soothed me, relaxed me and it still does. Second, I do have strong hopes that my friends who do take a second to exit their pesky, little bubbles, and enter this passive-aggressive situation I'm describing, do it in a way that makes them understand that at some point we need to think big.

There are wars going on in the world. There are people dying every day, for reasons we wouldn't even be able to BEGIN to understand, because we're just so stuck in what's happening a mere mile around us. You can call me uptight, you can call me "Debbie-Downer", and you can keep saying I'm "getting way too serious" for you, but the same way life is too short to worry about the (apparently) inevitable, life is too short not to. There's a time to have fun, and to make it all about me, but there's also a time to learn, to become aware, to know what's happening in this home we were given.

Egoism is strong, but not necessarily powerful. Not when we're accomplishing nothing. Maybe you'll read this, raise an eyebrow, like me a little less and close this window, because after all, you don't need anyone to tell you what you're doing wrong, because let's face it, you can do no wrong. Can you?

But maybe, just maybe, you'll start to realize it's not all about you, it's time to think big, and if you can't physically give anything back, at least give it your thoughts. After all, the world put them there. And that's what's truly powerful.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need go find a nice, thick needle. Time to pop this sucker into oblivion and live just a little harder.

YDLC
7/21/2014.-

This Old Knot

Stress is such a waste of time. I mean, seriously, what's the point? If it has a solution, why worry about the issue? And on the other hand, if it has no solution, once again, why worry?

It's like we're programmed to lose our hair (or have it  turn gray) over everything. Lack of money, lack of space, lack of privacy, lack of sex. There's a worry for each one of us, and it's bound to occupy our minds whether we like it or not. And no, gutter-heads, I don't have that last one!

I had this teacher in college, Professor Luis Santana, that would say he was actually able to decide what he was going to worry about, and when. If he had to have a nasty conversation on Monday morning, he wouldn't worry about it until that Monday morning. If he had a tedious ordeal to handle on Thursday afternoon, he didn't prep for it until Thursday morning.

I found it exquisitely amazing. And have always wanted to be able to do that. It's the epiphany of using logic. Not letting emotions take over you, not paying mind to the things that simply don't deserve it, not going insane over something that will resolve itself with time.

To have control over my thoughts, group them up and put them where they won't bother anyone, and decide when to ponder about them... is such a beautiful dream. A dream that someday I want to turn into reality.

Someday I want to get rid of this knot in my throat that's just so darned tight. I wanna be able to accept problems and decide if they're worth my sleep, my hunger and my above all, my tranquility. I want to show my brain that it doesn't rule me, that it's the other way around. That positivity can actually exist within me, and that I can portray it in my actions. I wanna be able to laugh at problems, challenges and issues, just like I have no problem laughing at myself.

This is beginning to sound like a sappy mantra. Sorry about that! Back to basics. One of my biggest flaws has always been worrying about people that are perfectly fine. In other words, don't need me to worry about them. And in even better words, haven't the slightest interest or consideration in the fact that I worry about them. And in the latest establishment on the issue, have been rude responding to my worry. It hurts, but in the grand scheme of things, what really can I do but stop worrying and hope for the best? What can I do but know about them drinking into oblivion, put their life in the hands of God, and hope that some day they realize that all I ever wanted was their happiness?

At what point do I just back off and realize that I'm no one important in this person's life? At least not important enough that there would be some sort of two way street when it comes to basic communication? Why invest my worry in someone that clearly doesn't deserve it?

So many questions I'll probably never have the answers to. But so little I can do about it. I need to know what the absence of worry is about, really embrace it, detach myself from a senseless friendship. Let go of someone who just plain doesn't need me anymore. And deal with the stress as best as I can.

This is something I think I've never done before. At least, not with a friendship that got to possess so much intensity. Maybe I'll write about it again. Maybe my reaction will make things change. All I know is I'll never feel this way again. And I shouldn't. No one should have to stress about something as beautiful as friendship. I've already lost too much time.

Yani DLC
02/24/2014.-

Poisonous Silence

It stings. It feels like I have seven hundred bees injecting their poison into each one of my veins, repeatedly. Like if a Mack truck decided to run over my knees, over and over again. It hurts like nothing I've experienced in a very long time.

It burns. It feels like I'm slowly walking along the hallways of a burning house, feeling the flames piercing my skin, excruciatingly tearing off my face. Feeling my lungs get inundated with that deadly smoke. Feels like it won't stop.

It insists. Just when I think it'll get a little better, it makes me remember, and it hits me harder than before. It reminds me that it can be stronger than me. It convinces me that it's bigger than me. That I can't possibly get rid of it. That it'll do with me whatever it wants.

It is here. It will not go away any time soon. It will make its house in the edge of one of my ribs, and just tighten, and strain, and break me, and be as painful as it can be. It will have no mercy of me. It'll laugh straight at my face whenever I think I can forget it.

It's trapped. It has found a home in my soul and taken over. And it will last forever. Not with the same strength always, but it will frequently show up to flaunt its power. It'll never really leave. It's a part of me now. And I will never know another pain comparable to this, ever.

It will make me stronger. Just like everything else. Yet I will be weak for a long time. Because I became a slave to this twisted dream. But it was my dream. It will never be a nightmare, because it's too beautiful to be called that.

It makes me weak. And it'll make me strong. It changed me, and I will never be the same. It passed the test of time, but not the test of circumstance. It is mine, but I'll never have it. It's what I'm made of, but I'll never embrace it. It's what I want, but not what I need.

It will not be resolved, because it's not a problem. It will not be measured, because I could never show it in full effect. It will never spread its wings... Because it never learned to fly.

It hurts, but it's mine, right? I can't die of this, correct? A body in pain can still live, can't it? A burned soul will still find it's place in this sick world, won't it?

This sweet, gentle poison of seven hundred bees traveling through me... It can't possibly kill me...

... Can it?

Overthinking It

In a conversation, supposedly when you keep quiet, you let the other person assume whatever they want to. If you want the other person to go totally insane, go ahead and ignore their comment, or make vague comments in return, or simply, just smile. It's the oldest trick in the conversation book, and after all these centuries, still the most effectively annoying.

If I had a dollar for every time one of my friends yacked away regarding how their relationship is falling apart, or how so and so dressed like a total slut today, or even how they can't figure out how to handle an issue at work, and I made it a point to let them figure it out on their own, and in turn they overthought about it and assumed I don't give a damn... well, I'd be out of debt.

When did silence become an insult? When did we stop hoping for the best? At what point did we stop assuming our listening friend has enough to worry about and just backed off? Have we become so egotistical that we can't see past what we perceive as the other person's thought, and it's so blindly that we may never get to truly gaze upon their actual concern?

I know what your must be thinking: her new year's resolution is to stop over thinking. But come on, like I (or anyone with friends that are so hard to read) could ever pull that off. This is more the usual rant about how we should really go the extra mile and simply communicate better!

If you know someone over thinks things, why in God's green Earth would you help them? If the second you turn your head they're biting off all their finger nails, shedding out more hair than usual or just not making eye contact... or making too much eye contact! Pick it up, be a pal, offer answers. And if you don't wanna ask what's wrong, at least make the effort to let your friend know you're there for them.

Help them stay off the premises of your business, by being very clear that there really is no business to be concerned with at all. Stop ignoring and start communicating. Words are definitely underrated. When was the last time you left voicemail for someone? No, ya didn't, cause it's too annoying, too time consuming to get through it. Send an impersonal, tactless text message instead. When did we replace feelings and tones with LOLs and emoticons?

God, this post is about as messy and as all over the place as I've been lately. I'm beginning to hate getting old. But if it makes you feel any better, that's it, that's my rant. On to bigger, better things. A completely new year awaits and is almost here. Time to shape up this old body now that I've lost the necessary pounds (now, there's a cliché of a resolution!). Time to offer a better face to these days of uncertainty. Time to stop over thinking so much, bring back asking, and doing everything I can to avoid being ignored.

Get ready world. Operation "Just talk it out" is in full force. Gosh... that is one lame name for an operation... Maybe I can pull something cool off, like the Ninja Report, lol... Ok, here goes... Operation Samurai is ready to be launched!

Hey, I promised less over thinking, not more awesomeness ;-)

Happy 2014, my great ones.

Yani
12/31/2013.-