THE BEST AND THE WORST

Last year, my then young lover gave me a simply red card written in black ink saying, among other things "May next year be full of success and failure". It was a bit shocking for me reading someone wishing me failure so when I asked him what he meant or why he wished such a thing, he answered, "So you may learn and grow up." The year that started then, last year, was not easy, it was full of changes in my personality, I had to accept many things I was not exactly mad about. This year I had learned a lot, not everything, but enough to learn to be humble and continue expecting more successes and more failures. This year was stabler than last. I had not so many men jumping into my bed, not so many plans scattered all around. I focused on one man and on one plan. My plan was on finally finishing my thesis, so I quit my job and launched my new business, Briathar Language Group not as an extra income, but as THE income and it worked. I was able to support myself and my share of my daughter's, independence was huge and tasty. I had more time for my thesis, university and the General Hospital visits, and of course for my man. I don't know what is going to happen between Sean and me. We are stable, we take our time to share and even though there were critical moments, as he put it one day, "We still persevere." Influenza was decisive in my failures this year. Since then things started going down, although not immediately. The final coup was given when Liz and Alex decided to end their classes with me. I have not yet recovered from that stroke. However, I finished my thesis and started to plan on a masters on Creative Writing for next year in England, at East Anglia. Lately money has not been flowing exactly and my mother has been helping out of her own will. I have asked for help twice, but I have managed quite well on my own, I have learned the importance of things and not to strive fo futile stuff. Who am I kidding? I know that, as soon as I have money flowing again I will start spending as I used to, but maybe not. Who knows? Who cares? Life is unpredictable and that is what I have learned. I used to depend on controlling situations, but life and Sean have taught me otherwise.

A CHRISTMAS GIFT

The last class at Cuajimalpa, Blanca invited me for dinner. I accepted because it had been a tiring day and I was hungry and the food smelled simply delicious and Blanca's family is terribly kind. We had a nice dinner and then, just about leaving, she asked me whether my daughter was spending Chistmas with me. She wasn't, but in that moment I decided to see things in a positive way and answered, "No, she isn't, but I plan to enjoy the Christmas I am spending, I still have my mother and my brother is still single and I plan to enjoy both of them while I still have them." Later on Mau organized a Christmas supper at my flat, only he, Fer and me. He made a toast starting, "We don't know where we'll be in a year, but right now here we are and I want to thank you for being more than my friends, my family..."

Just a day before Christmas Eve my mother called, all flustered because she had had a hard day, practically demanding me to go and help her cook and then go to church with her. I couldn't do both things, either help and get all greasy or get ready for the Lights Service. She chose the Lights Service. But she wasn't very nice, she told me she had to come and pick me and then I would be there without doing anything at all and that hurt me, I told her I wouldn't go then and she told me she was just too tired, we did have a fight, but then again I thought what Mau had said, "We don't know where we'll be next year" and I decided to go and spend Christmas Eve with her. It turned out to be a very jolly Christmas Eve. My cousins asked if they could spend it with us and my mother agreed. We even played games! I received my text from Seany and I was very happy. We didn't go to church and I thought that nobody mentioned what we were celebrating, but then I thought again, we received the gift of life, of faith and love. My cousins are orphans and they have the luck to have a loving aunt and cousins who gladly and happily receive them to spend Christmas Eve with, I learned that the future is unpredictable and became tolerant because of that, instead of mourning not having my girl with me, I realized what a lonely Christmas Eve her father would have spent had I insisted on her spending it with me who was surrounded by so many loving people.

My brother spent scarcely an hour with us on Christmas, and when I asked why he said ,"Claudia, things change, don't grip to the past." And he is right. We are getting ready for things to change. I know next year he will probably be married and spending Christmas with his wife and maybe I will be in England and my mother might go there or maybe it will be my cousins turn to receive her in their home. Who knows what the future will bring? But I'm sure about something, there will be love, and life and faith. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

GUADALUPE AND ITS RARE EFFECTS ON MY LOVE LIFE

Yes, I had made the purpose of writing on the odd days of the month, but then again many things happen on dates when they weren't programmed. Last year, Guadalupe's day dawned on me having sex with my former Theatre Seminar. It was actually a happy and quite unexpected experience although highly fantasized about for a very long time.

This year things were a little bit different. A little bit. Again unexpected things happened. I went teaching a class, and my student, who is planning on a Master's in Contemporary Jazz, invited me to a concert he was giving. While teaching him I realized I was the only one he had invited who was actually going. I had even cancelled on a later date with Sean to go. The concert started two hours late and everybody was quite annoyed except me who is always carrying a book and get advantage of spare time by reading. When the concert started it was still within that uncomfortable vibe, but soon afterwards, the music itself broke the upsetting frequence that had settled and time flew by quite agreeably if it hadn't been for a single and constant growling in my stomach, in everybody's I guess --we were hungry. So, as soon as Carlos finished playing his compositions and melodies, we fled to the nearest restaurant to have some food. We were starving. We had more than enough. Then we strolled a bit around Tlalpan's Centre and discussed philosophy. Mhm, me discussing philosophy. But it was quite interesting. Then all the way back we continued with the same topic. After all it is about wondering how it all started and how it will all end. Specultaion.

We still spend some time chatting at the gate. Then he left.

And as soon as I entered my flat sadness hit on me ferociously. I missed Sean so much I was about to cry. I had missed him in the sense that we hadn't been able to chat, neither in the morning nor in the evening. I was sad and lonely. And then I went to FB to check if there were any messages from him and there was one! He was also sad for the chat missing and because with Christmas on, more and more reunions would be organized and more tables would be booked in advance and it would be almost impossible for us to communicate. (Mmm, it just occurred to me he could book the same table for a couple of weeks...hehehe, I know it would be silly and expensive and weird). He told me the lack of communications made him want me even more (mmmmmmm, purrrrrr). Fact is I was sad again. And then --the noise! the lights! the singing! Guadalupe's birthday was on in full display! Suddenly, images of Guadalupe's Days' gone past started flashing around me. Hahahahahaha. Same light, same sounds, same chants, a kiss and passion aroused. I couldn't help myself but laughing my heart out. All was well, all will be well, all is well.

THE LONELY MAN IN EYEGLASSES

He was a former student of acting and former football player, I guess he was a quarterback. He is now a reknown translator of Shakespeare and other plays into Spanish. He lives alone in a two story house almost empty of furniture. His room is cold, his house is cold, he is cold. Cynical. Defensive. Hurt. Lonely.

He has suffered, true, but he is also arrogant. He has many achievements, true, but he also wants to have a good laugh.

He always wears his black rimmed spectacles in spite of the new comodities of contacts. He might love the effect of them framing his naked grape green eyes. He dresses in jeans, sneakers and sweats, usually covered with a suede jacket in winter. I always seem to meet him in winter. Somehow destiny does not allow us to meet in warmer days. Maybe those are the days he is not lonely. Maybe he is not lonely but he seems to me because he is always between lovers when we meet. Maybe he seems lonely because I am lonely and I see in himself what I refuse to see in myself. Maybe he isn't even lonely, maybe it's all in my imagination.

AN AVERAGE ENGLISHMAN

He lives in Wolverhampton. He wakes up at 7.00 a.m. He wakes the kids so they will get ready for school. He then prepares breakfast and three lunches: for Lauren, Will and himself, usually chicken or ham sandwiches, and an extra package of ginger nuts for him and fruit for the kids. They usually make it on time, unless Lauren forgets where she put her glasses last night. He leaves them at school and he heads to work at Shrewsbury where he starts work at 9.00 a.m.

He works at Housing Communications as a Softwear Developer. He wanted to major as a Furniture Designer and he even draw the plans and actually built a chair for camping, but marriage got in the way and he had to get a "real" work. He hated it at the beginning, but he later saw the creative side to it and now he is happy, well, sort of. Sometimes there is a lot of pressure in carrying out the projects and he always meets the deadlines, but with a three-day migraine as consequence. He has a break around noon to have his lunch and a cup of milky coffee, not too sugary, just a spoon. He loves cantaloupe and whenever possible he takes some for lunch too.

At 5.oo p.m. he's usually out. Mondays and Thursdays he heads towards wherever the team is getting together to practice snooker or to actually play against another team during snooker season. He is the team's champ and quite responsible for the rest of them. This is the moment he cherishes the most --when he feels a relief of all the day's stress. He is highly competitive and this is a good way to be so without harming anyone else's self-esteem. Even though he is very good, sometimes the other team is better, or they are relaxed and he is too tired and he loses. But it doesn't matter because on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays after work he heads towards the nearest pub where they already know he will ask either a Coke or an orange and passion fruit juice. He will open his lap top and get on line around 5.15 p.m. when she will appear on the screen, directly from the other side of the ocean --his gorgeous, lovely and sexy ladyfriend as he calls her. They respect these virtual dates as if they would actually meet at that pub. They have been like this for almost a year. After a half hour or an hour he has to leave --he's got kids to look after, shopping to take home, a dog to walk, a cat to take to the vet and all the other duties a divorced man has.

He arrives home near 19.00 tired, exhausted. All he wants is to chill off. He usually does, he sits on the sofa and stares blankly for a while. He then comes back to life slowly. The kids come to meet him and the dog barks demanding his walk. He takes all of them and they go around the block walking and talking, discussing what their day was about. They come into the house again and while they watch whatever on the telly, they have dinner. They usually watch a comedy or sci-fi film, which are his favourites. He reads to the children and then, when he thinks they are sleeping, he sometimes texts his love before going to sleep. He hugs the pillow imagining it is her. One day, one night it will be her.

KEEP YOUR FEET ON THE GROUND

In order to do this, the ground you try to keep your foot on is as important as the kind of shoes you're wearing. Maybe for men things might be a bit easier, they don't usually wear high heels, sometimes boots with a small and broad heel that seems to have a good grip at the ground. But, walking through the different paths of life I've found that it's not always easy to keep my feet on the ground.
The ground has to be smooth but not so that it turns slippery, it has to keep a certain roughness that attracts a hold of the shoe. If, however, the ground is too rough, keeping oneself on the ground will also be kind of difficult. Holes, imperfect pavements, stones, rocks, tufts of grass and hidden turds will complicate strolling. Of course chains to prevent the passing of taxis or any other car makes it quite easy to flip and end up with the feet high above the ground and over one's head.
The other important factor is shoes. Apparently sneakers, flats and some kind of boots are levelled and stay put. Wedges like to trip occasionally causing feet to trip or twist and therefore shout. Hig heels...well, it depends on how broad is the heel. If it is not too slim, it may work and be actually comfortable. Stilletos on the other way are made to jump from the car onto a comfy rug, definitely not for the streets. Maybe the old fashioned ones, the steel soul ones who are stronger than Britney Spears herself!
So, keeping your feet on the ground is not just a matter of being famous and remembering who you are or your background or any other stuff like that. It also means, learning to walk in whichever path life takes you and on top of any vehicle.

MOON IS UP

Or rather was up. Last night, as I was coming back from Cuajimapla I saw a massive, glowing, orange ball hanging from the sky. "What the hell is the sun doing up at this time?" I asked myself realizing as I had finished formulating the thought that what I was actually looking at was the moon. I was in a trance. Even since I was a sleepless teenager I used to stare out of my window at either the stars, the planes or the moon. I have pics of those times, of the moon, where it appears as a little white dot somewhere at the corner of the nighbour's house. Not a good photographer.

Then at the university the magic increased. I used to go in the afternoon, so it was common to have classes after sunset and commonly these classes were attended by the moon peeping through the curtains of the classroom that were never fully covering them. I fell in love with three things at the same time: the moon, Spenser and my Renaissance teacher. I still remember quite vividly the night he read , "With how sad steps thou wanderst oh Moon". He was Spenser himself back to life. I was young, he was young. It was postpuppy love.

Twenty years later we met again and after a cup of coffee to catch on with all that had happened in that span of time, we ended in my bedroom, unveiled by curtains and with a huge and white moon cynically spying on us. It was impressive.

A year later, the moon was white, round, and luminous. This time it could not stare through my new curtains.

HELL

I guess I just booked a place in hell.

WTF

Sex is sex and love is love, together they are sexational, in the meanwhile, just enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!

CATS & DOGS

As I was coming from the park, just around the corner, a dog was coming towards me. He was a quite ordinary dog, kind of skinny, tongue out and apparently friendly. On the other side, a small Chihuahua skipped past me yapping. When both canines became aware of each other they reacted and of course I also did. Dogs are kind of bi-polar, you never know how they are going to behave --they can be friendly and lick your hand or aggressive and tore it apart.

On the other hand, cats are, well, mostly indifferent, they couldn't care less. That is, of course if we are not discussing Shadow, my cat, who reminds me of my mother, as Sean once told me, "She's got the right name, she does act like your shadow, always by your side." I'm sure that if she wouldn't be so scared of coming outside she would tag along into and out of my classes. Right now she's staring at me with her round questioning eyes, kind of mad because I didn't bring her food. She's right by the computer and almost on top of it, but she knows me too well to know there are certain boundaries that should never be crossed. And that way she never gets me crossed.

ON TRYING

Re-reading Virginia Woolf's "A Room of One's Own" I've remembered many things about my youth and the then future dreams of becoming a writer and living by my wits, as Woolf would say. But --there's always a but-- apparently that is not as defying as it used to be and it has never been like the best option. Mmm, maybe not. I don't know what I need to start. My daughter says there's no such thing as a writer's block, only insecurity, maybe she's right.

When I was young I used to think that time would make things happen somewhat. Now I know that I have to make things happen. I have to pick the pen, or attack the keyboard --that would be better-- to start writing. I have to look within, no matter how corny that may sound, and start developing a story. J.K. Rowling (excuse me from going from Woolf to Rowling) had no choice but to believe. She was waitressing and her daughter used a fruit box (or something like that) as a craddle, she only had one toy. Now she's one of the richest women in England and I daresay in the world. Take Stephenie Meyer and her twist on vampires. It is amazing how many people, women mainly, all ages, read, and carry! those heavy books in the subway. I still have to read that one and her bio. Want me to quote more serious writers and not best-sellers only? Ok, take Doris Lessing. She was a secretary who had an idea and decided to take a year leave to find out if she was good. Last year she won the Literature Nobel. No, she doesn't write about wizards or vampires, but still she writes in a way everybody understands and enjoys and I don't mean easy reading, but touching deep chords reading.

So far my greates hits have been my Influenza Diaries and my cooking recipes. I have experience in writing diaries since I was, what? 9, 11? A very young girl. And cooking has always been a part of my life. My grandparents, my parents, my brother, my aunts, and not just the basics, great laborious meals!

Should I write a new kind of literature involving cooking? Novels around recipes have been written, I've read them. Should I write about women in the XXIst century? Wow! What an original idea! Should I write yet another cook book? Girls nowadays are forgetting how to cook the basics, although some others are taking gastronomy classes.

How can I make money and be happy? How can I make money and be free? How can I make money without stress? Any ideas?

By the way, I prepare you for the TOEFL if you're interested :)

ON SUCCESS

"You're not trying, you're complaining."
I heard this said by Nigel, Miranda Presley's right hand in "Devil Wears Prada". It's so true. I decided to do something, to stop complaining and start looking for more students, to invest in material and to be patient.

CONTROL

Some people think I'm a controller because of my obssession with time. I always ask, "When?What time?" and then I write it down in my agenda. Yes, I'm a control freak, but of time, and not of other people's time, but of my own. If I know how long to wait then I know when to move and go on. If not, I get really anxious. I think it is important to respect time, other's and my own. Some people live carelessly, without a regard of time. Not me I can't. By the way, gotta go, it's time!

DECLUTTERING

It is known by updated currents in positive thinking (not to call them philosophies) that clutter, being it physical or psychological stops one from moving on. Due to the great news I've received lately I should declutter in order to receive the new flow of events that are coming my way. So, as tomorrow I have a new class at home I'm clearing the table to make it work as a desk, again. I have to clean the whole flat to make room for the new man in my life, not that he is coming to live with me, but, just to be with me for a few days. And in order to get away from the past which seems to have a grip on me (or me on it) since the mattress afair, I have to take many steps, to let go many grudges and many anchors which --gulp-- are not easy to let go.

SURPRISES

Who doesn't love them? I mean the good ones. There are so many. Unexpected and simple or simply ellaborated. For example when you plan a surprise party nothing compares to the face of the surprised person. But I'm not lingering with those surprises. The ones I'm dealing with are those which are everyday surprises, those little unexpected things that just happen. For example, the other day I was chatting with Sean. There's nothing unusual about it, I know, only that his camera hadn't been working and I was getting used to not seeing him, so I sent a request for a video call for him to see me, I mean when we started dating-chatting I was the only one who could see because I didn't have a cam and he couldn't see me, suddenly the image went blank and when I sent the request again BAM! there he was! In full view, whole smile and all. It was such a beautiful surprise! Then Ame's party, I expected it to be a terrible experience for me, and I acually had a great time. Or what about the mobile calls from Adam in the middle of the park? Or Krow appearing on msn? Or even better Alexis chatting for a while!

But the best of all is when you are secretly wishing something and it happens. Many months ago now Sean and I stopped chatting during the weekends because he started working with his brother and once I told him I missed our weekend chats. Long time ago. Since he cancelled his visit in August I had been wondering when he would mention it again. Patience rewards. Well, today he told me he is finishing his work at the brother's, he has saved enough and he's planning not to touch that money in Chistmas so he can come. "For health's sake, for love's sake" he said. So, we're having back our weekends and he has already a plan. I couldn't help but remembering what Mau told me about a year ago, "I don't know why, but I'm sure this guy will appear one day at your door with a bunch of flowers." Well, if that's the case, I'd better be dressed! Or not?

WHY AM I SO OBSSESSED WITH TIME?

I was writing another entry in my diary today and I noticed I was worried because the battery in my mobile had gone flat and I didn't know what time it was. Each time I write an entry or tell an anecdote I mention the time it happened, sometimes, if I rememeber the time the rest will follow easily. But I wonder, why do I get so obssessed with time? I've been reading this book about "The Power of Now". The cafeteria owner asked me what I thought. I still don't know. I am not very convinced... about the book, not about the owner. Anyway, what is important about this is the mention about psychological time and physical time. According to it, psychological time (it looks so psycho) refers to our constant travelling to the past and to the future either for refuge or dreaming or blaming. Physical time there's only now. Ok, agreed. I live too much in both: psychological and physical. I am constantly remembering my past, I write my present so it will be reading subjet sometime in the future. I am constantly dreaming about things being better in the future... with Sean, when I finally end my thesis, when I get to publish whatever, when....

And I am constantly worried about getting on time to my classes in the physical time... or is that also the psychological time? Worrying about the near future?

I don't know, I just noticed I am quite obssessed with writing down the time in which things happen when I write what is actually going on, when I write what happened a few days ago I just write the date of the day I am writing.

Anyway, I was trying to deepen on the subject but Adam's constant intromissions don't let me concentrate.

WHY DO WE FOLLOW THE PATHS WE DO?

What compells us to choose one over the other? To choose one street to get home and not another? To have a baby instead of following a major? To leave a safe paid job for an uncertain career in teaching independently? In my case I'm positive it is not out of survival. Nearly a century ago this poem was written:

Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

1. The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

The only problem is you can only tell what path was better when you die.

However I'm still alive, let's say in the middle of my road. Sometimes I'm sure I made the right decisions, sometimes I wonder what would have happened if or what would happen if. You can always change. Then, when you are about to swerve, something happens that lets you know why you took that path and then you know and things are al right. Sometimes it's time to wait, some times it's time to act and make things happen.

I take my paths compelled by impulse, by a desire to experiment, sometimes to explore, always by adventure, I seldom think, I always accept the consequences although not as easily as it may sound.

THE FUTURE IS NEVER AS WE IMAGINED IT WOULD

Last night I had a nice encounter with myself. It was Ame's birthday party. I felt so alive watching so many young kids for a second I wanted to be so young again. For a second only. Then I witnessed how one of them was walking gracelessly in her high heels. I then saw another girl crying and surrounded by her friends. Then Alma sad, "Look! One of them is crying! What might have happened?" I answered back, "Only one thing could have made her cry now: she broke with her boyfriend." But good thing was in a few minutes they were making up again. I felt happy for being me, for being my age. I know how to walk on high heels for a long time with grace and without having aching feet, I no longer cry for boys, I no longer wake up with shameful pimples on a paty day, I no longer fear what people may say or the future. The future is finally now and it is so much better than I thought it would be.

I know, being divorced doesn't sound like the ideal future. Being apart from someone who hurt me badly is. Being able to pick my life where I left it is. Being able to know I walked through the fire and came from the ashes is. Being able to see my daughter dancing gracefully and happily all night is. Knowing that life does NOT end at 40 is great! Knowing that there is love after love is. Knowing that I can have a one night stand and no parent is going to kill me is. Being able to come home at 1.00 and saying, "Oh, it's still early, I need Mau" is. Having my own flat is. Deciding how to spend my own money is. Writing here instead of doing home chores is. Knowing Sean loves me across the ocean and knowing he's coming some day is! Having been afraid of last night and having had the guts to go and having come out gloriously is! Having been able to cross the room to say good-night to Rafael is. Having locked myself in the bathroom to dance wildly is!

Certainly this is not the future I had expected, this is so much better!

GRAMMAR, PHILOSOPHY OR PSYCHOLOGY?

A subject might be an object and otherwise depending on where they are.

12 DE OCTUBRE NO SE OLVIDA..

Y no por el descubrimiento que hizo Colón.

THE COMPULSIVE MIND

How can I stop thinking, when all I want to do is sleep!?

AWARENESS

I was writing and suddenly I knew.

WHAT IS FORGOTTEN AND WHAT IS REMEMBERED

Having such an ego as mine it is frustrating to read a poem about reminiscense and knowing I might be there but not because the title says so: memories of some but not all of them. It tortures me knowing I was important and I might have been forgotten and at the same time, I feel terribly selfish and mean because I know I mean so much for some who at the same time mean so much for me. Once Carrie Bradshaw said, "Why do we worry for what we don't have?" or something like that. If I have so many blessings in my life: freedom, health, exercise, time, my writing, friends, family that cares, a wonderful and loving boyfriend, why should I worry for a daughter that ocassionally remembers I exist, an ex-boyfriend who writes criptic poetry that might include me...? I guess it's a matter of ego.

It's clear I can't remember what I have forgotten because it is forgotten, I only rememebr when I read my past diaries. I know things that used to hurt me don't hurt anymore and that is great.

Maybe what I share with this mean poet is the desire to be immortal through memory, through having etched such an important impact in his memory that I won't die after I have left this world.

2 DE OCTUBRE NO SE OLVIDA

Eso escribían en la pared de la esquina en la casa de Observatorio, muy cerca de la Prepa 4 que tenía los recuerdos más tangibles: los hoyos de los balazos que una serie de monigotes dispararon contra estudiantes hace ya 41 años, "obedeciendo órdenes" de un imbécil que todavía llegó a ser presidente de nuestra República. No entiendo cómo estas cosas pueden haber pasado. ¿En qué cabeza cabe que matar estudiantes por conservar el orden iba a dejar a México bien como país bajo control ante los visitantes en los juegos Olímpicos? ¿Cómo puede ser que la gente creyera,

--Ah qué bien controla este dientón a sus muchachos, los mata para que no hagan desorden, muy bien. ¡O sea! ¿Qué tenía en la cabeza? Lo mismo que el ass hole que mata a su esposa porque no es buena consorte para un político y espera llegar a ser presidente. Lo único que el 2 de octubre no olvida es que los asesinatos por poder, por control, son idiotas, no convencen a nadie que el mejor modo de gobernar es asesinar.

WHY I DON'T USE SEX TOYS

Easy: I am a skin fan. I like its smell, its temperature changes, its touch, its appearance, its salty taste. I like flirting with words, with gestures, with glances. I like hands sliding over my curves, exploring, looking with fingers. I like the weight of a body on top of me. I like myself heaving against another. I like all the sweat, the heat, the warmth, the shivering of the whole process. I like the slow movements and how step by step, subtly they increase their speed until unleashing a wild animal. I like feeling the maleness growing, thickening, hardening against my tighs, into me. And then I like how it grows tired and rests caressingly on my tummy. I like the sound of water flushing while I'm still warm in bed. I like how he gets colder and shivers and seeks my warmth, how he embraces me, not wanting to let the feeling go. I like men beside me growing old and young and then their real age again. I love feeling like the queen of whores.

THE REBOUND

I love common movies, commercial ones, Hollywood classics. "The Rebound" is such a movie, with this new tendency I find so fascinating about MILFs or cougars or whatever. I was one and I find these films touching. It reminded me of so many things. It was well structured, lacked a bit of imagination in some situations and it was terribly fantasious in others. It has a happy ending. After years where they both grow older, mainly the guy, they meet again and the story suggests they live happily ever after, even his parents give in to the relationship. It doesn't happen like that in real life. MILF or cougar love stories have an ending, happy, sad, but never together forever. I should know.

FAMILIAS

Sin una familia, el hombre solo tiembla con el frío. --Criminal Minds.

Sí dijeron quién lo dijo pero no pelé. Pero me dejó pensando. Seguro fue un hombre quien lo dijo, porque usa la palabra "hombre". Y sigo pensando. ¿Qué tan cierto es? ¿Es lo mismo una familia que una red? ¿Tus amigos van a responder del mismo modo que tu famlia? ¿Por qué escribo en español si siempre escribo en inglés? Mmm, da igual. El punto es, ¿qué tan necesaria es una familia? ¿Para qué? Vi "Fireflies in the Garden" traducida como "Retrato de Familia". Nada fuera de lo común: una madre pasiva y cariñosa pero no muy valiente ante un padre impositivo, loco, inseguro y que hace sentir su poder sobre un pobre niño indefenso por su edad. Este niño crece intimidado y se convierte en un escritor lleno de rencor y muy chafa. Cuando por fin decide escribir algo serio, es sobre estos aspectos nefastos de su familia. Lógico, su exorcismo. Pero ante la muerte de su madre y varios descubrimeintos y cierres de ciclos decide quemarlo y no lo publica por no perjudicar a la familia. Mmm, creo que fue cobarde. El punto es, de nuevo, ¿qué onda con la familia? Todos tenemos una, todos salimos de una y aquí en nuestro México querido, las familias son exteeeeeeeeeensas, incluyen tíos, tías, primos, abuelos, etc. Y me atrevería a decir que es más matriarcal que patriarcal. Sólo nos unen los apellidos impuestos por los hombres, pero en realidad son las madres quienes nos han impuesto un modo de pensar y actuar, bueno, tal vez no.

Con el accidente de mi hermano redescubrí a mi familia. Tenemos oscuros secretos a voces y nos queremos y nos ayudamos y no nos toleramos por momentos. Y es curioso porque tanto Marco como yo vivimos solos y somos felices. ¿O no? Ayer que vino --¡mi hermano vino a mi casa! wow-- me dijo que el accidente lo había hecho comprender que ya era suficiente de estar solo, que a fin de cuentas él sentía que era natural vivir con alguien y no morir solo. Me dijo que quería a Alma y que le había propuesto vivir juntos. Me gusta que no nos consulta qué hacer, nos platica las decisiones que tomó. Y yo también. Hace unos días, meses quizá, que vengo pensando eso, ya estuvo suave de estar sola, pero no por no querer estar sola, me gusta estar sola, pero quiero estar con Sean. Quiero cuidarlo, cocinarle y escribir. Sé que América va a estar bien. Sé que tenemos una buena relación y que si nos quedáramos juntas nos dedicaríamos a pelear y ni ella ni yo queremos eso. Vernos en vacaciones será mejor. Y quién sabe, quizá algún día vaya a estudiar a Inglaterra. No se trata de estar harta de dormir en una cama medio vacía, no se trata de extrañar hacer el amor y caer dormida, se trata de dormir en los brazos cariñosos de Sean, se trata de platicar y de reir, se trata de ir al súper a comprar la comida, se trata de ver cansados la televisión, se trata de lavar las verduras, se trata de compartir la vida. La familia se trata de compartir secrertos oscuros y momentos luminosos.

DON'T LIKE IT WHEN THINGS DON'T GO MY WAY

I need many things, but the most important for inner peace is certainty. I know I can't control everything in my life, because many things that affect me are out of my control or even out of my reach. I must understand that living a long distance romance based on technology is not easy and not typical. But I deeply hate it when there is no communication. All my basis for joy and self-control crumble down when he doesn't appear on the screen or when there is no text or even a small message on facebook. My fantastic mind, or rather, tend-to-fantasy mind starts whirring and making up stories which I don't like. I just wish him to text me or facebook me telling me he loves me and that's it. Dependency leads to despondency.

JOY

Joy is knowing the people you love, love you and are ok.

UPS AND DOWNS IN A SINGLE WEEKEND

Thoughts, reflexions, what might be, what could be, what could have been, what will be?

Friday changing schedule let me time to think and reorder, to fully appreciate what I have and how to keep myself surviving for some more hours before having money. How to change my schedule without sabotaging anything at all.

Saturday viewing that families are all alike --they all have their disfunctionalities and their way of working and supporting each other. Everybody works together and everybody criticizes something or other, but at the end everybody loves everybody. And home will always be home, and my bed will always be the best place to sleep, regardless of the comfort of any other bed. It showed me the importance, the luck of being who I am and made me wonder how much is the product of our own decisions and how much is one's life affected by our surroundings, our family, our parents and many other factors, many other ifs as Michael says in "Fireflies in the Garden".

Sunday and many days and many readings before told me that you never know what will happen, how things will turn in a moment. Mau and I know, by self experience on other's head, to avoid drinking and driving at night. Everybody knows it's not a good combination and people keep doing it, always convinced it's not going to happen to them. My brother. My wise and careful brother had an accident and although he was unharmed, the girl with him wasn't. This is a tough time for my mother. And all I can do is write. I got no money. I got no influence.

But I got a text. I'm Sean's ideal of a Sunday, walking in the park and curling on the sofa.

Life is so weird.

WHY I EXERCISE

Because I don't want to run out of breath while making love.

THE UGLY TRUTH (film)

GOOD DREAMS GRANT GOOD DAYS

Today is Thursday, Snooker day, therapy day. Today I don't chat with him, I talk about him and about other things. I'm moody. Last session I was. angry, now I am elated. Yesterday was a glorious day. It is always like that when I chat with him. But besides that, I had dreamed about him! That was a real bonus. Feeling his lips on mine, the wetness, the freshness, the tremor in my skin. Waking up to grasp the air, to realize I was bitting my own lips did not make me feel disappointed but inspired to make it real. I told him and he also wanted it for real. He told me our place would be as the place I had dreamed about. Our place. He said "our place". The rest of the day flowed on beautifully, no cancelled classes, no rain on me, food, sleep. Everything perfect. Today I don't know, it's been ok, so far. Surely he will text me when the session is about to end. And if he doesn't, tomorrow we'll chat :) Life is good.

A GOOD WAY TO GET DRUNK

Really, I can't think of a bad one. I like getting drunk, rather tipsy, with red wine, whiskey or vodka. Mojitos are the exception to drink rum and together with good music and plenty of dance, why not? Beer at the Balkan beat is nice too. But I'm not discussing alcoholic drunkness.

A good way to get drunk is through the eyes of one's lover. When he drinks you, you get drunk... by him. Isn't it a good way to get drunk?

MOODY HORMONES 2

And once again, what started ugly turned pretty. After the meeting cancellation in the late morning I got a sweet text early afternoon telling me that Seany had told his boss he had to leave work at 5.00 tomorrow. Up till now all men I had met were afraid to tell their bosses whatever in order to be with me, it had always been the other way, they yielded to them no matter what they had promised me. How can anybody NOT love Sean?

MOODY HORMONES

Are to blame for my ups and downs. Aren't they? Or am I bi-polar? Or life is testing me or what? Whatever, I'm fed up with things apparently going well and suddenly gone berserk or the contrary. It's not fun. I don't like planning for glorious mornings just so a meeting spoils everything. I hate getting ready for a working proposal only to get a text saying, "Sorry! I forgot!" I'm fed up with people always cancelling on me because... whatever. I always move my plans to fit into someone else's and nobody seems to have the least bit of respect for dates, appointments or plans.

AND... I am the one who sounds wrong, who sounds like a crazy lunatic raving for, demanding, respect. I don't get it. I'm terribly angry. That's all.

RECIPES

I might start a blog on recipes. It's a good way to carry them wherever I go. Today I started on facebook with black beans.

SUNNY PICTURE OMENS

My brother used to say, when we both were younger, that there were days when the sun seems a hot-cake add, just like in a picture, sunny and shinny, but not warming at all. Today is one of those days. Sun is up, smiling its shine upon a blue day, but not casting its warmth. I wonder if that represents something. Things are not what they appear. I have plans for today and so far it has been a nice day. Wake up not so late, stayed in bed reading a couple of chapters before getting on Skype to chat with Maru, getting a seanytext as soon as we finished--a happy text that made me laugh joyfully-- and now a day that invites to wash clothes. Mmm? A day that invites washing clothes? Why should that be something good? Because I get to wear freshly washed clothes during the week, and because I don't have to wash them a day before wearing them! Last few weekends have been so cold and cast with ominous clouds I couldn't tear appart from bed, therefore having to wash barely a day before wearing the clothes which caused me stress! Afternoon vaccuming because my vaccum came back from the dead; correcting thesis, at least two chapters to show them to Charlotte on Monday.

Evening at Sanborn's discussing wih Carmen a possible job (won't say more to avoid jinxing it), and then closing the day with wine Chez Moi with Mau. Hahahahaha, I love my "stressfull" life!

FRIDAY

And sometimes the generated expectation was bigger than the actual happening--nothing, or well, not what was expected, happened.
I still haven't learned to live without expectations, without planning. Then again, why should I? Whatever.

THURSDAYS

Best thing about 'em is the expectation they generate over Fridays.

ODIO QUE MI HIJA SEA UNA ADOLESCENTE

EL GRITO

También en estas noches se ve cómo ha pasado el tiempo.

De niña mi abuelo hacía pambazos y organizaba una cena donde iban los Cirinos. Los pambazos los envolvía en papeles de China de colores vistosos. Mi mamá no nos dejaba oír música en inglés, ni ver películas en ingés ni nada en inglés. Era noche de Pedro Infante y Javier Solís. Luego veíamos el grito en la tele. Luego se murió mi abuelo.

Con mi papá íbamos a le delegación de Miguel Hidalgo a ver los puestos de comida, de bromas: de bigotes y huevos llenos de confetti y harina --que mi papá detestaba pues se le hacían de pésimo gusto--, de pestañas postizas y apuestas con canicas. Comprábamos pambazos y luego volvíamos a la casa a ver el grito en la tele. Luego se murió mi papá.

Luego de adolescente íbamos los primos a Coyoacán: Samantha, Jaime, Juan, Judy, Gaby, Marco y yo. Comíamos, comprábamos bigotes, pestañas y sombreros. Llovía y no íbamos a la casa de mi tía María a cenar y a ver el grito en la tele. Luego se murieron mi tía María y mi tío Alberto.

Con Rafael íbamos a la delegación benito Juárez, enfrente del Parque de los Venados a lo mismo. A veces había cantantes y siempre quemaban un castillo de fuegos artificiales. Ahí veíamos al delegado gritar y gritábamos con él. Luego íbamos a casa de Carmen a cenar pozole. Una vez fuímos a Coyoacán y me estafaron en las apuesta de canicas cien pesos. Me divertí. América era pequeña y le gustaba ponerse la s pestañas postizas tricolor. No se ha muerto n América ni Rafael. Ni modo (Rafael, digo)

Hace unos tres años cenamos en casa de mi mamá. El menú varía según su antojo. Pero siempre subimos a la azotea de su edificio a ver los fuegos artificiales de todas las delegaciones y creo hasta del zócalo. Luego bajamos y vemos el grito en la tele. Y segumimos vivas. ¡VIVA MÉXICO!

MOVING ON

And as I have been on the ground for so long the only way is up, but slowly, to enjoy the trip.

THE JOYS OF READING

Last night I went to sleep with a book. Today I have no classes, so I started the day reading until I finished the book. In bed, warm, while the cloudy cold wrapped the day outside. In a few minutes I'll start reading the next. I'm an addict.

MAD MONKEYS

Mad mokeys swing from trees and have to steal things because they are not allowed to have bank accounts and they don't have pockets to keep their money. What is politicians pretext?

7 DE SEPTIEMBRE

mecano. canción. cumpleaños. división. recuerdos que ya no duelen pero aún así siguen ahí y me hacen sonreír con cierta melaconlía, aunque ya no sé por qué.

WRAPPED IN BED SHEETS

Covered all day long, peeping eyes to watch the warm, soft light coming through the closed new curtains.

HEADACHE/HEARTACHE

Haven't slept for three nights in a row. Too much to think. Nothing happens. Nothing moves. All is stagnant. Is it before moving up?

DESPONDENCY

I'm growing fed up with arriving to an empty bed every night...

CHANGES

Everybody is changing schedules, cancelling classes. I don't panic, I'm sure a big change is coming and things are setting for it to happen.
Big panic: What is that BIG change?

INFORME PRESIDENCIAL

¿O sea, desde cuando el informe se da el 2 de septiembre, perdón?

WICKED WEDNESDAY

It was not, it just sounds nice, like Manic Monday. It didn't start nice, though. Or well, it started normal, but then I received the wicked text:

Hi my sweet darling. Cant make it 2nite. Working late :-(. Just keep me in ur
heart...and keep on giggling. I love ur laugh. It keeps me alive. Big wet
kisses. Seany xxxxxxxxxxxx [10:30:04]

Ok, maybe it's not that wicked, but I hate receiving cancellation texts. They make me sad. Although, how can I not smile with such words?

ENJOY THE SILENCE

It depends....

PHONE INTERFERENCE?

I dislike politics. In extreme. But something weird is going on with my phone. Last Saturday daughter was here. She used the phone in the morning. We went to buy her school books. When we arrived she wanted to phone a friend and couldn't get through, the line was plain dead. We tried to fix the wires, the cables or whatever those things might be, without any success. My mother called me to the mobile. I told her what the problem was. Sunday was the same and Monday too. On Tuesday, Carlos changed his class to Sunday so I had a few spare moments which I took to report the failing phone directly at Telmex. I went to my other classes, and by night it was working properly. My mother reported it too, on Sunday and on Monday.

Well, today I called my mother, it is Grandparent's Day. I didn't find her. Time went by and I decided to call again. The phone decided to committ suicide. It was dead... again. My brother called to my mobile to see if I knew anything about my mother. I asked him to report my phone. He did, quite successfully. A few minutes later he called back to say he had reported it and to give me the report number in case they asked for it.

No, when my phone rang it was not from Telmex, it was a terribly disgusting recording of a female voice telling me how wonderful the president is. I mean... is my phone being interfered or what? Does my phone die in order for it to be resurrected by a phony president publicity? If they are trying to impress me, well they did, negatively!

ENDING RELATIONSHIPS

Ricardo erased me from his friends because I didn't want to take a class in Polanco. Because I didn't even know if I could take it! Again he's behaving like a stupid teenager, but this time I'm not coming back. This is the end. It's good.
The doctor said, "As soon as you close the thesis cycle, you'll see many other circles will start closing" This is one. I'm glad. There was no point in continuing with it.
I'm sorry, yes, because of the stupid way it ended.
Now he can be as unhappy as he wants with his wife and his children.

THE RING

I was dreaming.
A story.
A woman had a ring. She was an old peasant. She had to pay taxes and another woman, a rich woman who was I don't know who, bought it for a hundred coins. The old peasant's wife was happy and sad. They would have money to pay the taxes and some food.
But that ring was special.
A few days later the rich woman came back with four more hundred coins and gave them to the old peasants. The husband was happier even. The woman was still sad. The man asked her what her problem was. She answered, "I wonder how much might she have gotten for it?"
The problem is, I don't know what the ring looked like, or what it was made from. I know it had belonged to her mother and grandmother. The old peasant asked her husband, "Now tell me the difference between costly and valuable."

SHOES

I had never realized how much attention I pay to shoes. Not only mine, but those of others. Women, mainly. Men's shoes are quite similar and boring. Lately, as I have been walking quite a lot around the city and mainly in the subway I have noticed the kind of shoes most working women wear. Some are proud to wear nice shoes. High heels, fashionable, combining with the rest of their outfits, mainly young women between their 20s-30s. Younger women, students usually, wear colourful flats with details like bows, buttons, straps, buckles, floral or animal printings; they might wear very low heels and open toes or tennis shoes out of pure commodity.

Older women, mothers mainly, wear comfortable shoes. Not much personality to them, they are square shaped, monochromatic, no-nonsense shoes --designed to walk and resist running after children and carrying sweaters, bags, toys and whatever.

Aged ladies, who walk slowly and heavily, wear flats and also very old shoes, already shaped to the feet they carry, or cover, they might wear tennis shoes or the square kind, cushioned if they are lucky to have a little more money. Usually aged ladies in the subway are not exactly well-off. They are mostly beggars, really poor. Sometimes they wear sandals with a tire sole.

Children, poor children who beg for money, always for money, are usually barefooted or wearing tire-soled sandals.

I can't decide where to locate myself. I wear my old black boots. They are already shaped and domesticated. They are water resistant, and the wedges are high enough, and comfortable to walk and climb steep slopes. They are old. The leather is peeled off and they need new heels. Or rather, I need new boots. The time to wear new things will come. Someday.

DONNE

Suddenly I see compasses everywhere.

SHOPPING

Once, Adam and I were discussing about what makes a couple A COUPLE. I had told him the dream Sean had had a few days before. He had dreamed he and I had gone shopping for the food of the week. He had told me he supposed we were in England 'cause I was so excited at the new and different brands. He remembered I was very happy throwing things into the cart. Adam didn't let me finish telling him the dream because he interrupted me saying, "There's nothing more couplish than doing the shopping together." True. When romance is over, I mean all the possible romantic scenes Hollywood offers, common life pervades. It instills and settles like another piece of furniture in the home. Romance gives way to common everyday life and then the misty vapours of a veiled existence lift and show the daily routines and habits of common people that work and struggle to make ends meet. Can love survive in such a graceless surrounding? Well, there is exactly where it starts growing.

Sean had a sequence to that dream. We finished the shopping and arrived home. We lasted hours taking everything from the car into the kitchen because we were chasing each other and having fun. We even let the ice cream melt, which is a sin for both of us. He has been married, he knows. I used to live with someone, I know.

Recently, Sean had another experience. He was awake. He was shopping. When his turn in the queue arrived to pay, he was surprised to see he had bought frozen food, fruit and nuts. He told me, "It was as if you had bought them!" And yes, I buy fruit and nuts whenever I go shopping. And when I used to go to the supermarket and buy meat I used to freeze it. Of course Sean and I hadn't talked about this. He knows, because he has seen me eating, that I like to eat fruit and that I am a nut addict.

I don't go shopping any longer, what for? I buy what I need in the corner store. But whenever I feel like the need to write a list of food I think, "What would Sean like eating? What should I prepare for him?" Each time I pass by the vegetable stand, the tomates catch my eyes unavoidably and I imagine the smell, the taste, the texture of a tomato soup, Sean's favourite, and I always think, "I should start practicing my tomato soup."

Shopping is not just buying food to store in the fridge --it implies planning a balanced meal, not just of nutrients, but of tastes, of flavours. It implies sharing and thinking of the other. Sean doesn't like nuts, he hates them, and he is not a fruit fan.

LONELINESS

You are really alone when there's no one to whom to say, "I love you."

THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A HAPPILY EVER AFTER

There is only a string of brake ups and make ups.

DECISIONS

Today I was woken up by the sound of a text in my mobile. No, it was not from Sean cancelling today's date --thanks God-- it was from Liber. She was on the train to Sttutgart and she asked me to remind her why she had gone there. I answered that she had gone in search of freedom, experience, and learning. Then I went to my early class at Observatorio and on my way back home I got another text --again not from Sean cancelling (God! Am I paranoid!)--, but from a furious Mau who was fed up with some problems.

Ok, these two texts kept me thinking about the decisions we take in life. So many! We never know when we choose to turn left what we are leaving on the right path. They remind me of my own choices. Years ago, when I was about to finish my Bachelor's degree, I chose becoming a mother instead of finishing it and of traveling for a scholarship to England. I chose to work in order to help my daughter's father, then my partner, to raise our girl. I worked a lot. I worked in schools, in English institutes that send you to offices to teach to executives. There was a moment I was teaching from 8.00 -9.00 in a nun school, then from 10.00 -14.00 in high school, then I would pick up my daughter at kindergarten, and then I would cook very quickly to be able to go to my afternoon classes at Glaxo from 17.00 -19.00. I was so tired all I could do was to arrive home to watch TV. I often wondered in those times what would my life be like if I had chosen another path, but quickly would erase those thoughts as soon as I heard or saw my girl beside me.

Now I'm alone. The opportunity to face new decisions has arrived again. Now I have the table set before me: finish my thesis and leave to England to study, to meet Sean in flesh, and to see if what I had thought was as I had thought it. I want to study a Mastership in Narrative, to meet and smell, and touch Seany. And of course I'm afraid of leaving all I've got here --my daughter, my cats, my plants, my mother and brother, my family, my friends, my flat. But one has to do what one has to do, so one won't blame others for not having done, because it's better regretting having done than not having done. I also search for freedom, experience and learning.

FOUR STORIES BY DORIS LESSING

Recently, my mother has learned quite a few things --to live alone, to depend on herself, to read, to write, and even to swim. Ok, she knows how to read, that is to decode graphics into words, but it was until a couple of years ago that she took Literature as a subject in her Senior classes at the Culture House. She still reads in Spanish, translations and all. She surprised me when she started reading The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing. It's one of my all times favourites, not an easy one. Since then she became a fan. She started recommending me books, which is something I feel really proud of. One of those was The Grandmothers, a collection of four not so-short stories by Lessing.
The book opens with "The Grandmothers", maybe the story I identified the most with. Usually, people consider love affairs, or mere love relationships between people, more or less the same age, or the man being older; but thinking about older women being in love, and loved by really younger men, is many times a not so comfortable subject. For those people, this is an uncomfortable stroy. Not for me. I find it endearing, reminiscent, and a little bit cruel.

"Victoria and the Staveneys" is another uncomfortable love story. Victoria falls in love with an image, a house, and a dream of a better life. Victoria has the luck --neither good nor bad, just luck-- to spend a night at the Staveneys, looked after Edward, the older brother who is then 12. Later on, she establishes a relationship with the younger brother, Thomas. She finds out through time and experience that not all that shines is gold, and that sometimes, a second glance is more revealing that a flashing first impression.

"The Motive" starts one thinking about choices and decisions. In this election time, one wonders how to select a representative that will really care for the wellfare of the nation. And then, after the deception, one wonders why this chosen person, or group, has disappointed us so badly. Set up in a different time and space, "The Motive" offers an intelligent, although maybe obvious reason.

"A Child of Love" sums all the other characteristics: it's uncomfortable, it forces to look twice, and it questions choices. How real can love spring in the middle of such a graceless age as WWII? How real can love be in any unhappy situation? What is love? What moves one to love another? Is love the desire of not being alone, of a wanting, and needing of belonging? Does love answer to the need of coming home and not feeling it void? Is it a way to silence the fear of death among the dead bodies, the dead hours, the dead opportunities? Is endless love an ordinary and sick obssession?

In all of them pervades the illusion each main character makes of another, except, maybe in "The Grandmothers". The only thing I didn't like that much was the translation. Being myself a professional translator, I noticed certain Spanish grammar details that break the atmosphere, otherwise, metaphors and tone were a good achievement.

Lessing, Doris. 2004. Las abuelas. Trad. Dolors Gallart. Barcelona: Editorial Afluentes

HAIR AND AGE

Today in facebook, Ric's statuts made me think of something. He asked why men let their hair grow as they get older while women cut it short. Not in my case, both men and women.

Here's the explantion I wrote to him.

Not all women cut their hair short when they grow up, meaning adults, I guess it's the other way. And I remembered my story with hair. Ever since I was born my mother cultivated in me a long and luscious hair. But at the age of four, she got possessed by a weird spirit, and she decided to cut it short, horrible! I looked like a boy. I hated it, and I remember I cried when I saw my ebony locks being swept away by the hairdresser's assistant. I vowed I would never do that to my daughter and I didn't.

Then, during grade school my hair went up and down according to my mother's fancy. There's a nasty pic with me in jeans, my new green, eyeglasses, and my hair I guess shorter than my brother's. I looked so much like a boy.

Then, from junior high to.... university I got hold of my hair. I wore it long. Not so long, but long enough, just below the shoulders. I would take care of it dutifully and lovingly, convinced as I was that it was my only beauty. Again during univeristy, I got fed up with it getting trapped in the chairs of each classroom and I decided to have a drastic change. I had it cut to the nape. Then it went to the shoulders and up again. In one of those ups and downs I met my daughter's father and I had it cut. Then we had my daughter, and I had it really short in order to look after her. I had no time for both, my hair and my daughter, besides trying to order my thoughts to write some thesis. I got used to short hair and whenever I tried to grow it longer I had forgotten how to take care of it. It was too much work, I didn't know what to do with it, and I ended having it cut once and again.

Then the terrible news came. Ame's father was dating someone else. I threw him out of the house, and then I had a new cut. But I decided that short hair is simply comfortable and easy to take care of, definitely NOT sexy. I started to look for a change. First I had it dyed. I had bleached streaks which took six hours to be completed. The hairdressers ended so tired I guess they closed the shop for the rest of the day. I liked it, but I decided it was not worth keeping. Then, while the roots turned black again, I decided to dye it a dark colour, a reddish tone. It suited me fine, but it wasn't me. Then, when only the ends were reddish, I had them cut and my hair has been long since then. Long and hanging. It doesn't have the spark it used to. However, I like it so much better than when it was short, I wonder why I had it short.

But, mine is not the only case I know. As a matter of fact, my grandmas illustrate different cases. My grandmother Elodia, who wore her beautiful hair long most of her youth, had it cut short when I met her. There are many pictures of her with long hair and rolls to the sides, but I don't remember her with long hair. Although it was always very black, until maybe seventy years old.

My other grandmother, Luz, had her hair long all her life. I wonder why all my aunts, mother included, have their hair short. Since the old pictures she had taken, her hair hang below the waist. I remember her old and tender, towel drying her hair with care and even tenderness and then braiding it to the very end to later pin it on the back nape.

My daughter loves her hair long, although, once, out of pure boredom she took a pair of scissors and cut it shoulder length. however she's letting it grow again.

I guess most women like their hair long and when they cut it, it's to mark the end of a stage in their lives or because they need a change.

IDEAL LOVER

Never will fiction get close to reality, or can it be?

Well, dreaming is good to establish goals and visualize probable future scenarios.

My ideal lover lives next door. Nope, he doesn't live with me, he lives next door and travels frequently, but he is all mine as I am all his and I also travel a lot. But casually we are always here. Why? When you live in the same space problems and conflicts arise from the colour the walls should have to how clean the space should be, to who has to do what. Who needs that? He lives in his space as he wishes or as he can keep it, and I do the same myself. For example, my bedroom is my sanctuary, it has two purposes only: resting and lovemaking. No work, no watching news, no eating on the bed, just relaxing watching nice programs, before going to sleep, reading in calm, foreplay, and let the good times roll! I would never deprive a smoker from the pleasures of smoking, but not in my flat. One thing is you may smoke when you visit --windows wide open-- and another quite different is allowing a mate smoking and stinking everything. So each to their space is good. Want to share lunch, breakfast, whatever? Fine. Don't? Fine!

My lover keeps fit and is healthy. I don't mind big muscles or trophies. Just healthy and fit. I don't want him to fall asleep before finishing a love act. Or to stop because he can't resist it any longer. I don't want huge bellies on top of me. Too gross. Sorry for the extra info.

I love sense of humour. A man might be gorgeous, but if he can't make me laugh, or if he doesn't laugh at my jokes (which might get extremely stupid) he's well off.

I love openness and sincerity. I prefer someone telling me what's wrong from the beginning than having someone confess me a terrible secret after a month or more or less.

I love a good pair of eyes. I don't care the colour, the size, or the wrinkles around them. I like the expression, the ability of saying "I love you" just with a glance that pours feelings, that wants to grab you and hold you and never let you go. A glance that can't separate from you. Eyes that have a spark.

I love a smile that appears as I appear. A smile so frank and open it provokes you to smile too.

I like a laughter that gets you laughing. I love making people laugh and when they do I enjoy.

I love details, cards, mails, texts, messages. Simple and forgotten courtesy. Punctuality. Constancy. Creativity and a wide imagination. And of course being a writer I really appreciate someone good with words. Someone who uses them, who plays with them, who handles them as I do. I feed on words and I love being fed.

MOVING ON

Since the attack of the scary mattress I've been tossing and turning on it and in my head. What should I let go? I have Sean in my mind so set that I thought I should let him go in order to move on and continue with my life, but I was wrong. Totally and awfully wrong. What I have to let go is the past, and even the present, in pursuit of happiness and a future. That is so against me. I am so obssessed with certainy that the sole idea of opening towards an uncertain future terrifies me. So, how did I arrive to this conclusion? Writing!

I know, I write so many things everyday how could I get to this conclusion just today? Well, I write many things, but THE writing takes place in my diary. It's the utmost confessionary where I write my innermost thoughts and where I just let the pen flow and connect with my desires and fears that are the same after all. Yes, I was afraid for a sec to have to let go Sean after all that has happened... in my mind. He's been having troubles with the divorce and I don't know what kind of problems. That's another thing that has me terrified, not knowing. I depend absolutely on trust and faith. Something I have never done. It is safer to stay put, guarded, here in my little flat with my kitty kats, my plants and all kind of past souvenirs. The key were the sheets.

1st part of the dream means: stop to think, hold on.

2nd part of the dream: let go.

2ns part looked closely: I was facing the matress, the sheets were the same my mother bought for Rafael and me when we decided living together. America would look at them and smile at the flower printing because, later on I discovered, they resembled smiling faces. I was facing the sheets, but I was not smiling, I was begging, demanding the thing to let me go. I am demanding my past to let me go, I have to let go the past.

I have to finish my thesis, apply for a job in the UK and fly to meet my future. What I have to let go is the past. Forever.

GOD IS GOOD

And yeah, yeah, yeah...God is good...!

I'm saving for America's school fee, so I can't spend money. I had some Quaker oats cookies for lunch today. I was starving when I arrived to Alex and Lis's office. Luckily, they were, too. They had ordered lunch, and they invited me half a roast beef ciapata... plus a cup of frapuccino topped with whipped cream! Oh! I felt so good in my stomach! As they said, glucose increased our studying potential, and we finished a whole unit in the class time.

Earlier in the morning, Sean had texted me saying he wouldn't be able to get on line due to whatever. Chatting is importanat because he's the only one who make me feel embraced during the day. He gives me my emotional high, my daily sensitive fix. Just chatting is like feeling his strokes. His glances fill me with love and his smiles and laughs with joy. So when he can not get on line I feel divest of warmth.

As soon as I got out of Lis and Alex's office, a woman dressed in pale blue offered me a free massage on a termic bed. It was quite early for my next class. I had plenty of time. I accepted. The bed, the music, the aromatherapy were like an embrace sent through the ether from far away isles. I felt my Seany on my neck, on my shoulders... It was warm and cuddly.

So I had been hungry for food and embrace. There is a passage in the Bible that says that God knows before you what you need and He provides. He relieved both my hungers, my aching knee and my swollen guts--God is Good!

P.S. Just about to finish my last class, at a very weird hour (20.35 -for him it's o2.35, pretty late), I got a text from Sean. I felt so good in my heart!

MIND READERS

"So, if you can read my mind and I can read your mind...what's the use of speaking?"

WHY I DON'T SLEEP OVER AT MUM'S THAT OFTEN

And...after the scary episode of the possessed matress I did spend the night at Mum's. I was happy to see her 'cause I hadn't on the weekend and to see my Ame. But, as soon as we arrived at her's she started dispatching housework. "Claudia, while I finish cooking, you make the lemon ade, America, while we are doing our chores, pick up all your mess, please." Ok, ok, her demands were reasonable, but I can't understand why she can't be anxious to communicate instead of anxious to control and order. Whatever. It turned out Ame hadn't done her Kumon homework, so she turned to me and said, "Ooops, I forgot. Well, I'll just don't tell her." It's funny, we are like sisters. She trusts in me not to tell on her with my mother. Of course I gave her "the look" and told her, "Of course you are going to do your homework as soon as you finish picking up your mess." And she did, quite dutifully.

We started eating. Ame started speaking. She reminded me of myself. I would never finish eating properly 'cause I always preferred chatting. I can imagine my child, an only girl thrusted in an adult world full of tired people not exactly willing to listen to her stories. I listened. I laughed and then I told her as soon as she finished a story. "Now eat something, honey, you still have your homework to finish." And she would eat. My mother just observed us from behind her plate, threatening and fearsome. Haha, we're afarid of my mother. If you stop to think it, it's funny.

She finished her homework and I went with her to the Kumon, which is crossing the street. I chatted with my mother in the living room and when the alarm screamed at me telling me it was time to pick up my babe I left for her.

We were about to cross the street when Ame saw my mother. She had waited more than enough. I mean...!

We went back home and as Ame had no homework due to the last week at school we spent a good evening listening to music in the I-Pod. We listened, danced and sung. Yes, we are like sisters. Suddenly my mother shouted from her bedroom, "Please, stop the music. That's enough!"

She urged us to watch TV. You see, at Mum's home it's forbidden listening to music, watching TV or spending more than half an hour on the internet. And apparently talking in a loud voice too. I am a teacher and Ame is loud by nature. We don't exactly speak in low voices.

Unfortunatedly, Ame chose to watch MTV which meant MORE music. I was happy recognizing some of the music I have been given by Mau and some of my daughter's faves. My mother wasn't. She simply told us, "At 9.00 I'll turn off the TV." And she did --at 9.00pm.-- in the middle of a song Ame had just said she liked. And then my mother asked why Ame was complaining all day long. I answered. "All those rules and lack of flexibility can't make someone feel very happy." And we discussed politics. As I stared raising my voice she demanded silence and quite cunningly told me, "You haven't worked on your thesis, why did you bring your lap top for then, huh?" Oops, low blow. Saved by the bell, in that moment Ame's father came to pick her up. I then started my lap top and working. I went to bed few minutes before midnight.

No doubt, once you live on your own, with your own rules, it's better to deal with your own problems than to sleep over at Mum's.

THE TALE OF THE SCARY MATRESS

Good it's not a tale from the Crypt. Last night I was peacefully sleeping when I suddenly felt someone...or something thrusting my covers with such strength that it turned me on my side. I just couldn't turn, the force was so strong I had to fight it in order to finally thrust myself on the other side. Of course, I immediately turned on the light and nothing was there. Weird thing is my heart was not accelerated, nor my hairs standing on end, nor was I sweating cold in fear. I was not afraid. I was stranged. Years ago I would suffer from panick attacks. Once, already living alone, I told my doctor about them and she explained this kind of fear comes from a lack of sexual intercourse and that it is the body's weird way of announcing it. So, maybe that is why I am not afraid anymore, I tried to give it a reason. I saw the hour --4.35. Sean must be up and working, is something troubling him? Mmm, I decided to concentrate on sleeping precisley because next day we had a date and I wanted to be on time, without dark circles under my eyes. Whatever.

I was dreaming some weird dream sleeping on my belly when suddenly the scene changed and I saw my matress, I felt a wavy motion coming in it and I only thought, "Here we go again!" and this time it stuck me on the matress. I had a hard time trying to separate from it. But I tried to scream, that always works, screaming sort of breaks the spell. I managed to push myself off the matress and triumphantly told it, "Let me go!" Again I woke up and ran to the mobile, it was 5.53. In a few minutes dawn would be officially on. But I hadn't slept well. I went back to sleep. Again no sweat, no heart pounding, no fear, nothing, just a weird feeling of something wrong.

Today morning I chatted with Sean and asked him what was going on at 10.35 and after giving it a thought he answered nothing particular, but that lately he had been concentrating on getting in bed with me. I laughed heartily.

A while ago I went into my room. It's as messy as always. Nothing is whirling around, no lights shine through. Normal.

Anyway, I'm sleeping over at Mum's tonight.

SIN TI....

I was here, checking my e-mail when suddenly the music notes of the classic "Sin ti..." started filtering through my window. A sudden rapt of nostalgia invaded my spirit. I miss you. I was so used to waking up to chat with you on weekends that now that you are no longer here to fill my empty screen I feel lonely. I remember when we would be happy to meet for fifteen minutes on msn now and then during any other week day. Then we established a relationship and a schedule. We became addicted to one another. We would spend hours chatting just about everyday. But the best was the weekends. I would simply jump out of bed to meet with you. My dates with you were taken so seriously...

I miss you. I miss your smile, your blue-rimmed hazel eyes, your big nose pointing upwards while you shout at the kids for silence. I miss your laughter whenever I would start or follow a joke. I miss our time together. I know it's temporary, I know you are woking on making some more time for us. I know you are there thinking about me and missing me, because you find other means to tell me so. But I miss you. Beyond missing you. I lack you. I am divest of your presence. I want you, not only in the sexual mood, but in the dictionary definition:

want vt. 1. to lack 2. to crave 3. to desire 4. to wish to see or aprehend 5. [Chiefly Brit.etc.] to require vi. 1. to have a need or lack 2. to be destitute n. 1. a shortage; lack 2. poverty 3. a craving 4. something needed

I feel destituted of you. I have found that I need you to feel alive, to feel I mean something for someone.

THE KING IS DEAD...

Yesterday I went to teach Fabio and Tatiana. While Tatiana arrived, Fabio received me with the news that Michael Jackson had died. I was shocked. No, he was not my heroe, but he was an ikon, a milestone in my life, as in any other 80s teenager. I came of age listening to his songs. I fell in love with Ben and the poor kid who befriended him. I remembered the whole process of a sweet African-American boy transforming into a weird production of his own madness. His nose jobs, his slow depigmentation, his marriage to Elvis Presley's daughter, his balancing his child from a high balcony in a hotel, his Never Land, his participation in World Aid, his fondness for Diana Ross, his depravation. His was not a normal life, but then again, whose is?

He became the King of Pop and Madonna was his Queen. His songs, from "Ben" to "Heal the World" have been ringing through life. He was not an example to follow, which king has? Dead or alive, fictious or real, kings are human, they take good decisions and fatal ones. I don't excuse Michael Jackson, but I don't encapsule him into one deed. WE're all human, we are bound to commit mistakes.

ZOHAR VISITS BALKAN CENTRE

Last night I was not feeling exactly well. I was particulary sad because I am not Hiro Nakamura and I cannot stop time and I can not teletransport. That is I cannot go to Sean's and he has been behaving weirdly. The phone rang and my super friend Liber asked me if I wanted them to pick me at La Salle: I was so despondent I almost told her no, but she was so jolly, she infected me with it and I accepted after she offered to come to my house and pick me up.

Zohar is the little book my cousin Sara gave me for her birthday. She is a kabbalist and does weird things, or well, not common for the rest of us. This little book is of ancient tradition and it brings light just by possessing it. The book she gave me is to bring protection and healing and therefore I carry it everyday in my purse, along with my keys and my mobile. That's why it went to visit Casa Hilvana for a Balkan night.

It was a good night. Good music. Good dancing. Until the Klezmer group, that is. They were not bad, but people stopped dancing in order to take pics and videos, and the group played for so long I started drifting in my mind towards Seany and his last minute cancellations. I just dropped my good mood and it was impossible to recover.

Zohar stayed downsatirs most of the time. I hope Zohar enjoyed the music. Well, there were no dangers, but I can't say there was healing.

SEEKING REFUGE, FINDING DEATH

I went to teach a class today. Crazy Summer weather freaks me out. It was cloudy all morning, so when I showered and went out I dressed with a sweater. As soon as I got out the sun decided it was a good idea and it also came out. I was melting.

I was about to finish the class when the wind did that thing of turning the weathercock with a cold gush of ...er...wind...and then the rain! Yes. It started raining, just in time to soak me. No, it didn't rain all morning while I was in bed watching "Heroes", it didn't rain while I was in teaching. It is not raining now I'm in my flat writting this. No, it had to rain just when I was about to leave. Cool!

But, as I teach a doctor, we were at the front door of the hospital waiting for the rain to soften a bit, with his assitant, and another lady. The doctor had his car parked in front so he decided to take a quick leap and soon he said good-bye.

We, girls, decided to stay a little longer. I caught glimpse of what I though was a dry bugambilia flower being pushed by the wind very slowly. My companions saw it too and asked what it was. We went to have a closer look.

On the other side of the glass door there was something we couldn't define. "It's a spider!" "No, it looks more like an ...ant? But a huge one!" "NO", said the other lady. "It's a Jerusalem cricket!"

Yes, it was a huge, amber coloured, and ant-looking Jerusalem cricket walking under the door to take shelter from the rain. I was fascinated by its crawling movements, how it instinctively was looking for a dry place, not bothering anyone at all. But the older woman started asking for the cleaner to do something. Another man, quite gentlemanly, came to the rescue, and a bit scared, he struck the insect with a plastic waste basket. Of course it was not enough. The big crawler resisted and moved away, but the small man struck again, and again until a white liquid came out from the creature. Finally it lay there, dead.

What changed? Nothing. We were still in the same condition. The rain was not pouring as heavily, but certainly not because of the sacrifice. I decided to leave. If taking shelter meant I'd soon be dead, I'd rather venture into the rain. Soon after, I heard the assistant's voice inviting me to share her umbrella under the rain.

I don't like creepy-crawlers, but I am certainly against murder.

ENJOYING THE RIDE

Now I'm down, so the only possible next is going up. :)

MISPRONUNCIATION CAN MISLEAD YOU...

"What if you shouldn't end the concert with trumpets or violins, but just like this, a small room, with a lamp, a baby and loads of loneliness...?"

This is what Simon is told by Itsak in "The Band's Visit" (Bikur Ha-Tizmoret) as a reflection on his own life.
This sweet and sour dramatic comedy directed by Eran Kolirin is deeply moving. It makes you laugh in order not to cry. Full of human situations, of loneliness, of desperation, of deprivation, hope still lures arround.
An Egyptian band is invited to perform at Bet Hatikva, but the bus that ought to pick them up at the airport, never arrives. The leader, Tewfiq, determined to carry on with the show, decides to take things in his hands, but sends Khaled, the Casanova, to find out the next bus there. However, Khaled is so charmed by the eyes of the ticket seller that he mispronounces and says Pet Hatikva instead. When the band finds out they are in the wrong place and that they have to spend the night there, they introduce us to a range of characters led by Dina, the beautiful and single restaurant owner who falls immediately for Tewfiq.
A film full of emotions, laughter and stories that mix and open new horizons..or not?
Check the trailer at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzpJf8Eonyw&feature=related

WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT ?

Reading my daughter's blog I stumbled upon the question, "What's love?" and she ended her text daring to whoever read it to define it. She thinks it's just a marketing invention to sell in February. I thought it sad. Can't be. I know it isn't. So I accpeted her challenge and immediately set out to answer her question. I must confess I had problems. It was not easy. But I remembered two quotes from two films and my present love state and it turned out fine. At least not as commercial.
Quote one: "If he thinks you are the most wonderful being in the world don't let him go."

-Juno

Quote two: "There's a kind of love that makes you feel better about yourself."

-Nights at Rodarthe

About quote one.

Love is acceptance before anything else, of oneself and of the others, particularly of the loved one. Beyond, more than acceptance --because it sounds as you have to put up with-- it is about taking the person as is, because that's the way you like it, no changes needed. When you start looking for what he could change, it may be just attraction to certain point. But it is both ways. You are taken as you are and you take him as he is.

About quote two.

Love makes you feel better, not worse, not stressed, not worried. Love lets you discover how great you are. And of course it lets you discover how great he is.

Warning.

Do not confuse love with dependence, attraction or sexual chemistry. It's all of that plus. Well, not dependence.

FAITH IN FATE

If Macbeth had had faith in the Three Weird Sisters' prediction, his fate would have come anyway without the need to hurry it up, wouldn't it? I don't know, I'm not sure. That's why I'm so desperate for something to tell me to move on, to move forward or to wait. Yesterday I was watching "Heroes", they said, "The future's ahead, the present is just expectation" Yes! Noooooo! I don't want to live the present just waiting, I know I have to wait and to solve many issues before starting the rest of my life, to avoid washing my hands in the future, if you know what I mean, but what can I do now? it's difficult waiting without the constancy, without a certainty, without a presence. That's where faith comes in. Faith is the certainty amid the uncertainty, faith is the strong belief fate will come, faith is what unshakeably makes us -or should make us- believe, accept and be terribly sure things that have to be will be when they have to be. And while waiting, faith makes us continue with our lives happily, in spite of all, come what may, being sure that what will come will be the best, while living each day to the fullest, making of each day the best. It's not easy to meet your fate, that's why you need faith.