Wednesday, September 27, 2017

I needed to write

Age is irrelevant. Ask me how many sunsets I've seen, hearts I've loved, trips I've taken, or concerts I've been to. That's how old I am. - Joelle.  
I take my time with sunsets, the moon, the stars, the clouds, the colors of the cacti and all the plants with the names I can't never remember. I like to feel the grass between my toes and under the soles of my feet, the sand too, and cold rainwater hitting my head under a summer storm. I scream of happiness when I see rainbows. I love live music, it takes me places. I've met so many strangers and made tiny connections while sharing a laugh, or a high five, or a hug, or a dance to our favorite song, or tears. And I love my family more than anything, our blood stronger than the ocean's tides. I've walked streets and trails in cities and towns I hadn't even dreamed of... The colorful calles of Antigua, San José, Managua, Coyoacán, Oaxaca, Portland, Seattle, New Orleans, Detroit, St. Louis, D.C., Denver, Chicago, all over California, Arkansas, Missouri, Florida... How could I have ever dreamed of the places which names I couldn't even pronounce?

I've hugged trees since I can remember and rested under them looking up their branches and leaves. We're all connected. I've felt the earth shake under my feet, my heart gone quiet for seconds, felt the loss of others and felt my loses too: abuelita, abuelitos, my dad, my friends. Sorrow and love, the vacancy and fullness of both. I've loved and been loved. I've written, painted, drawn, built, and gotten lost in the power of each moment. I love sunsets more than sunrises, we all have favorites. I've cried at concerts and walked until I couldn't take one more step. I'm a daughter, a sister, and aunt, an a servant to my cat most days. I can name all my nephews and nieces and I will never be a mother. I'm a friend. A good friend. I have a bad temper, and patience is torturous, maybe because I've had to wait too long already for so much. But I found yoga and music and they keep me calm.

Dwayne rescued my heart when he came to my life during a sunset in a cold January in Arkansas. Injustice makes my blood boil. I'm not an angel, no matter how much good I've done. I don't know if this is a manifesto or a confession, but "32" doesn't quite translate into this life I've lived and it looks like I needed to write.

Tuesday, August 08, 2017

Love

I just read a thing about love
http://erinoutdoors.com/love-is-like-that/

I'm always reading things about love. Listening to songs about love. Watching movies and TV shows about love. Listening to podcasts about love. I write, and draw, and paint about love. I have the word tattooed on my body. It gives me hope, fuels my dreams, makes me smile, and makes me see magic and beauty everywhere.

But it also hurts me.

It makes me question myself and the world. Love makes me ache. It makes me feel empty. There is a place of emptiness inside of me and I'm not being metaphorical, I can feel it when I feel the punch of Love. It's right below my heart and above my stomach. It feels empty and cold, and and it's so familiar. It's always there, but it screams its existence at me when I least expect it. The other night it was in the middle of a Lyft ride, when I was reminded that love isn't coming back to me. I felt the cold hands of mt Love grab that empty place and squeeze it, reminding me to know better next time. My Love demands love, but I can't seem to figure out how to make that happen. Every time I feel it will be different, life proves me wrong and my Love screams at me: not again, what have you done?

I'm sorry, Love. I don't want to be sad either. I try. Every time I feel like, maybe, this time my Love will come back to me joyful, but it doesn't. This isn't insanity. This isn't the same mistake over and over, I'm learning and growing, but my Love has come back bruised every time.

All these battle wounds don't stop me and my Love, we keep going. But how much longer can we go? How much longer before my Love stops me from loving in self-preservation? Before the grip on the empty place becomes permanent in self-love? I used to think those cold hands I felt were loneliness... It took me a while to recognize the grip, to know it was Love itself, trying to hold on to life, to learn, to heal. Love really is like that.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Finding light

No clear line to follow when the heart has been broken so many times in saw many pieces, and I'm not talking about romance or lack thereof. I'm talking about life punches. 
What am I writing? Typing? Why here? There are little notebooks and pieces of paper that have received my lines, my questions, my cries, and then have seen the trash. Like the poems I threw away while back at my mom's house. There were so many poems. I was sad and heartbroken in days when I didn't know what sadness and heartbreak really were. 

Last weekend was good. Celebrating J's life with new places, new flavors, and sweet live music. With all the punches, I'm really thankful for the moments of light life brings. 

Monday, March 20, 2017

Treinta y dos

I'm so alive. This new year of my life has started in a very positive note and I am so thankful for that. My mom sent me flowers the day before my birthday, and then it was all magic. I saw a shooting start the night of my birthday, I had been hiking and painting while making a new friend earlier that day, and I slept by a lake under the shine of an almost full moon. Later that night I woke up to the surprise of the moon setting over the mountains and the lake. It was a very special moment.

I have also been painting. After that petition package went out on the 9th, my world got lighter. I'm thankful.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

So much has changed

The world, this nation, my family, my circle of friends, and my life is so different since the last time I wrote here.

The political reality of the country is chaos, hate, and fear. But also, an amazing uprising of love and resistance.

I am tired.