My daddy and his rain of comments

My dad used to go to the cyber cafe to check his email and write to me and my siblings. And in the last few months of his life, to check his facebook. I knew exactly what days he went to get online, because I would find a ton of notifications on my fb page. Notifications of comments on my photos, mostly. I miss that. I miss communicating with him and hearing his voice. I miss the random, but sophisticated comments he would come up with. Some were so deep, some hilarious. Like when he said "Y ese travesti?" on the photo of me in Las Vegas next to a statue of Ceasar (wearing warrior clothing... so a skirt, basically). My daddy. One time he called me Papaya Hindu on a comment, because I was wearing a really bright orange shirt. 

Fuck the holidays. They remind me that I'm not getting a call from him. That I don't have my father sending light to me, sending me his blessings. It breaks my heart. 

My father has been dead for a year and ten days

Someone asked me if I loved my father. I find that to be a trick question. Why should I say that, yes, I did love him, when that has never changed. So the question is wrong. The questions should be if I've always loved him. But then it hit me. That the person meant if I loved him while he was alive.

I struggle to talk about my dad. Always. I resent people who talk bad about him. I want to scream at them, really loud on their face, with a crazy face of my own, as to let them know that if they continue to talk shit I will hurt them, and that they don't want to get to that point. 

I miss my dad. And I want to hear him. I want to talk to him and I want to say tell him that I love him. And I want my crazy, vivid dreams to be some kind of reality. Because we laugh together in my dreams. And I can see his drawings in my dreams. And I'm still a man's daughter in my dreams. 

There was a blue moon last night

And I received 18 roses (orange, pink, and lilac) from the boo. Just because. I smiled all afternoon after receiving them.

I am struggling with all the physical weight that I've been carrying. I am tired of it, but I'm impatient. I want it gone at once, but I know that is not the way it is.

I am awake and I am asleep.

Hot yoga wakes me up. Everything looks beautiful after practice.

I'm walking on dreams.

Yes.

Te extraño, Pa

Ayer de repente empecé a cantar esa cancioncita que siempre nos cantaste, desde que me acuerdo. Así, sin darme cuenta.

"Una estrellita en el cielo vi, dos estrellitas me ven a mi, tres y cuatro veo brillar..."

Y desde que me fije lo que estaba cantando, no he dejado de pensar en ti. Me haces mucha falta. Todavia no nos hemos dicho adios, ven a visitarme en sueños, porfis. Que no tengo espacio donde llorarte a gusto. No tengo donde. Y como lidiar con eso de que el ultimo abrazo que te dí fue hace cinco años? Se me hace un hoyo en el corazón... y se agranda hasta que llega al estomago. Quiza por ahi está el alma y se me escapa de vez en cuando.

Te extrano, papi.

Día del Padre

Yo no sé si mis hermanos le llamaban a mi papi para felicitarlo por el día del padre, pero yo si lo hacia.
Este es el primer dia del padre que no puedo hacerlo. Como extraño a mi papi.

Today is Loving Day

http://lovingfilm.com/

http://lovingday.org/

My dad's first birthday after death

Fucking facebook has been sending me reminders of my dad birthday. As if I could forget.

He would be turning 63 on June 2nd. But he won't. Because he died on October 11th, 2012.

I run out of words..

Rediscovering myself

I don't like earphones.

I have never liked them. The few times I've used them, they've hurt my ear.
Or maybe the dislike goes deeper than that, maybe I don't like to feel disconnected from the world, unaware of what's going on around me.

What other things do I not like?

I don't like country music or heavy metal... specially because the latter makes me feel anxious, because I just hear noise and can't really make up what instruments are being used.

I don't like messes. But I hate cleaning up.
I don't like clutter, but it is so hard for me to throw away some things. There are letters, notes from friends, concert stubs, photos, gifts. I keep too much, I remember too much.

I miss hearing my dad's voice. It broke my heart to say good-bye to him every time we talked on the phone from so many miles away, until we couldn't talk anymore.

I hate death.