I AM THE CLOUD

I am the rain loaded cloud.
I am the cloud full of promises, of riches.
I am the messenger of fulfillment.
I am the cloud with a silver lining.
I am your Cloud.

MELANCHOLIC MOON

The moon is shining high,
its light spreading all over the sky,
smiling in a sad, benevolent way,
watching us all,
wondering why.

WINDOW I

Massive white clouds like pregnant women walking in the park.
An airplane jets the sky.
The tree top peeps like a little girl that tiptoes to reach the grapes on the table.
The blue sky shows through holes in the cloud lace.
The airplane is gone, when will it come?

ALZHEIMER

Now they are like dolls
the roles are exchanged.
Now the children dress them,
now the children feed them,
now the children change them,
now the children clean them.
The difference: they used to smile,
their children cry.

TEARS

Sometimes tears wash away hurting sensations:
I needed to change my eyeliner and my eyes were hurting
I had an awful experience and I started crying
the pain in my eyes ceased.

JUST A LITTLE BIT SILLY...

I'd like to be a songwriter
and write you a song
but that was already done
by Elton John

I just want to thankyou for
being in my life
for wiping away my tears
before they even appear

for making me laugh
when I want to cry
for sharing my laughs
when I feel like that

for being silly
and letting me be
for being there
when I need you most.

BROWN

dark chocolate
spicy cinnamon
my eyes fixed on you

SHADOW

Black and silent
Always by my side
Happy or sad
You always knew what to do
You knew when to be there
when to keep me company
when to leave me alone
when to push me softly with your tiny head
when to meow me out of bed
when to be the reason for me to get up from bed if just to feed you
when to play snatching my pen to give me a rest from work

You are no longer here
and maybe you are
maybe you will be forever near
closer to my heart.

SNAKE

sliding wispering wishes silently, solemnly since sixty-six seconds sufficiently close I listen.

LILAC

the jacaranda trumpets announcing the coming of Spring.

GREEN

Psychotic and empathic nature
tea
windowplants
headwall
your migrainy face
jealousness

PINK

Friday sweaters
lip gloss
the piggys of a lost collection
my camera
your finger tips

BLACK

Times New Roman on the laptop screen
64 X 25 on a typed page
punctuation marks
the ink I prefer in my medium ballpoint pens

the dress you dream of taking me off
the high heels that combine
my long, luscious hair,
my deep set eyes,
my batty eyelashes,
my arched eyebrows: my glance

YELLOW

morning sun
watching sunflowers
underlining highlighters
steaming chamomile

ORANGE

The big warming setting sun
citrus morning juice
carrots, papaya, yam
magnets on the fridge

BLUE

February sky
The rim around your eyes
being away from you

RED

satin rose petals
jewel-toned wine
soft caressing velvet
parting lips hungry for a kiss

THE DARK BEING

There was a being who had no questions,
Thus the surrounding darkness.

CITY RAIN

It's raining in the city--
outside the ghosts of buildings are hidden behind the mist,
the grey backs the towers and the antennae of the valley,
the raindrops slide sadly and slowly down the windowpane,
a woman insists on hanging the just washed clothes to dry,
cats, dogs, doves and birds can't be spotted anywhere at all,
cars drive like a procession going to a funeral,
few umbrellas walk by clutched by hurried hands.
The mood inside sways between cozy and mad, between warm-hearted and longing.

DON'T STOP BELIEVING...

Hold on to that feeling!
(How longer?)

EXPECTATIONS

One shouldn't build on them, they can always be washed up by life's brutal reality.

YOU CAN'T ALWAYS HAVE WHAT YOU WANT

Why!?

RELATIONSHIPS

I've come to the conclusion that I don't understand men.
Or women.
Or friends.
Or family.
I guess I don't understand humanity.
Or maybe I just don't understand myself.

ALONE

Walking in the street
people come and go,
They ask and answer
in the market
food smells
vendors offer their goods.
It's chilly although sunny.
I'm in a soundproof bubble
alien to their world
I hear but I don't listen.
Your words still hammer my ears,
my eyes,
"You deserve better."
What do you know what I deserve?

BOING IS BOING

Love is love
sex is sex
love is not sex
sex is not love
love might imply sex
sex does NOT imply love.

Ok, let's have sex!

THE QUESTION

To write or not to write, that is the question.
What to write?

FOUR BIRDS

Four birds stand on their wire contemplating what lies ahead.
Suddenly, three birds fly away, to the next wire.
The fourth bird stands. Watching, waiting, weighing.
It turns. Decidely it flies. Away, away, away, beyond the next wire, further.

S-E-X

Making love is totally apart.

Then we have all kinds of sex:
kinky sex
sexy sex
casual sex
pity sex
routine sex
wild sex
animal sex
married sex
older sex
younger sex
teacher sex
student sex
cyber sex
drunk sex
do-I-know-you sex
know-you-so-well sex
boring sex
surprising sex
new sex
one night stand sex
customary sex
pushy sex
adultery sex
guilty sex
free sex
careless sex
safe sex
just sex
suddenly sex
planned sex
seductive sex
morning sex
late night sex
dawn sex
easy sex
quick sex
immature sex
passionate sex
master sex
mature sex
cinycal sex
pseudosex
any other ideas...?

SOMEWHERE

The valley between the mountains that nourish passion.

The bowl that receives the first tremors that shake the peaks.

The space that yearns holding your head between acts.

The channel where sweat runs through, emphasizing the perfume of love.

The hall where the beating echoes.

The runway where your fingers and your tongue, after and before.

The nest where my desire waits to be satisfied.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ONE DRINKS GREEN TEA

A word.
mmm...
A
word...
A phrase.
Mmm
A
phrase.
I know!

A word= love
A phrase= I love you

Mmm, too cliché. Overused.
Ok, let's see word by word.

I= object pronoun, first person singular. It is curious to note that in English this word is always written in capital letter, regardless of its location. This tells us a lot about language and thus culture, I mean how the people that speak and developped it see life. "I" is the individual, it is so important that even in English graphology, a person who writes it in small case is considered to have a low self-esteem. But it is important to see the lesson here -- "I" is written in capital letters because it is always the protagonist of the story, therefore each and one of us should feel we only have one life to live and therefore live it as if we were writing the best story we could. From a stylistic point of view "I" lets the writer hide his/her name thus making its identity be easily substitutable by the reader and therefore allowing for the written experience to be shared easily.

love = transitory verb. This means it has to have a grammatical object, its repercusions have to fall on someone (or something, although this is a bit sick). Love has to be shared, it cannot be just happening out there. Love can start with oneself. If I don't love myself, how can I love anybody else? If one ought to love something, well, life is a good object. People who hate life are bound to hate everything and everybody else. So loving a "you" is the next option to be discussed.

you= object personal pronoun second person singular. Ok, I'm cheating here because "you" is also a plural and also a subject personal pronoun singular and plural. Whatever, for the effects of this... mmm green tea effects, "you" is the substitute of any object of love. Therefore "you" can also be easily replaced by the object of affection of the reader who first identified with "I". Now, this couldn't be possible if I wrote "I love him". Anybody with different preferences than mine would change the pronoun or would relate to the experience.

Anyway, this is just mere rambling and exercising the result of drinking, not exactly green tea, but matte herb from Argentina during one of my classes with Carlos who is always experimenting his tea mixes with me.

MISSING MY MOBILE

I lost my mobile.
It had been mine for several years,
not a fad but a part of me,
full of stories in its short memory
compared to a laptop's.
Four lovers texted me,
only kept the texts of the last one.
Phone numbers of countless friends
who took a time to be gathered
acquaintances
relatives

brother
mother
daughter.

Ringtones, images, pics.
A companion through difficult years --
of the worst abandonement,
of new found lovers,
of crazy and wild moments,
of settling down.

Where are you?
My little black notebook?
My little black diary?
My memory.

CARDBOARD

Sturdy, grey, constructive.
Not beautifully, certainly, but productive.
From different types it can produce many kinds of articles --
boxes, cards, folders, book covers, more.
Useful, resourceful --dull.

THE BACKSEAT OF A CAR

It's not the witness of love.
Might be the witness of many starts,
of many ends -happy or sad,
of plenty of sex,
of crying, of sighing,
of pleading, of moaning.
Might be the beginning of a relationship --
that might end up in love,
and then again not,
but after all it won't tell.

NUISANCES

there are

little details

that don't let

people

live happily ever after

such as:

the past.

Porn Poetry

When I see your eyes, or just your typing on the screen,
suggesting all the ways you will love me when we meet,
you ignite the till then dormant passion in me.

I feel your hands all over my body,
Your finger exploring my caves,
Your eyes savouring my nudity -in an almost perverse way.
Your tongue tasting my salty skin,
going up and down my slopes and valleys,
running all through,
memorizing each and every inch
while I enjoy, enjoy, enjoy and delight in your delight.

TO REPAIR...

My soul... unbelieving because hurt,
My heart... softened and hardened,
My eyes, almost blind,
Mi skin, covered with wrinkles,
My hair, chronologically silvering,
My memories, unmercifully attacking me,
My longings, not letting me live today,
My breathlessness, my desires, my hunger, my thirst,
My poverty,
My uncertainty.

wonderwall
wanderwall
warmerwall
werewolf

WONDERWALL

And after all.... you're my wonderwall... (What on Earth is a wonderwall?)
I know who is my warmwall.

AIRPORT HUG

Now, this is the hug I needed. Winter, almost, already cold anyway. Clad in my red coat and my high-heel black boots I stood there among all the ther people like a small female Santa Claus waiting for him while my best friend was parking his car. He had very kindly offered to go with me to pick him up. The flight was coming on time, the date had been delayed for a very long time. Soon the voice announced the plane had landed. Excitement grew in me, I was jumping and clapping and terribly nervous, constantly asking Mau if I was looking good. "Great," he answered each five minutes whether I asked him or not.

He was terribly taller than I ever expected. Tired and sleepy he outstood among the crowd, his face moving back and forth looking for me. Our eyes met and instantly our smiles appeared. No more screen between us. We ran towards each other as in a corny Hollywood film. Then I stumbled... right on his arms. He carried me, flung me and hugged me, oh so tight. All that pent up passion was still repressed but could be felt, the hunger in his arms, the way he rubbed his face against mine like confirming I was there, he was there, together, finally. It felt like recovering a long lost friend, like a promise, like an oath, like having finally come home never to go again. Like arriving to where you belong. How many times I had pictured this encounter.

We stared at each other and could have easily got lost track of time hadn't Mau interrupted us with a slight cough asking if we had already collected his suitcase. He went to fetch it while I told Mau what he had lost while parking the car. Sean came back and Mau asked if we wanted to go and have something for dinner, but we both refused almost too hastily. We all laughed and Mau left us in front of my flat building.

THE HUG

He clung to me as to a wreckage board, to survive while he reached the closest piece of land. Never before had he hugged me like this, not even when we were together, not when no one's eyes were on us. It really took me by surprise. There, after three years and three hours, in front of everyone. I could feel his tenderness, his need... or was it mine? I only know I felt how my heart started beating again, I remembered how vulnerable I am, how much I need his hug, but not his, but his. I cried and went to sleep.

FENÓMENOS ATMOSFÉRICOS SIN TI

Llueve...
Y no estás aquí para brincar sobre los charcos
para besarnos bajo la lluvia
y exprimirnos en un abrazo
para llegar a casa
y bañarnos
para escuchar las gotas golpeándo las ventanas
mientras las empañamos con nuestro calor.

3. Niece.- When you are born to the youngest sister of six sisters it is as if you have five other mothers who love you and criticize you the same, only not all day and not everyday. You learn many other things. From Carmen, the eldest I learn it is a good idea to spend big money on houses; from Rebeca I learned the importance of children; from María I learned the importance of cleaning your face before going to bed and of never ever going out without being perfectly made up and brushed; from Magdalena I learned that it is nice to get everyone together at least once a year and from Lydia I learned the art of independence.

2. Granddaughter.- Now, this was one of the coolest roles in my life! Being a granddaughter is being doubly loved, just by being born! You are loved because you are the daughter of a child and because you are you. There is no grade of acceptance compared to this greatest love!

And, I was lucky, I had three grans: my great grandmother, two grandmothers: my father's mother and my mother's mother.

My great grandmother was my father's gran. She was very old, very wrinkled and very thin, but she was very serious, very mysterious and an imponent authority. She is the image that comes to my mind when I think of mathriarchy. The sole support of her family after her husband was killed in the Revolution. She saw that my grandmother and her brothers received some education, a work and a means of earning their bread. She saw that my grandmother married my grandfather in a tough way, the only way to be certain it was for real. She was never weak, nor emotionally, nor physically. She taught me through her example that you are never too old for anything, you are always strong and able. She taught me the importance of earrings when she had hers welded when she saw she was terribly ill. She was not very demonstrative of affection, so when she tried it was awkward.

My father's mother was my personal favourite. I was her only granddaughter, her only female close relative. She had many nieces, but I was her direct descendant. I was like her, dark-haired, brown-eyed, same face shape, same eye shape. She loved me dearly. She always bought flowers for me in my birthday. She told me stories from the Revolution and from her youth and all about her life. Always the same, always fascinating. She was always busy --ladies of past time were always busy-- mending socks with a wooden egg, or praying, or sewing things on her sewing machine, which is now in my bedroom, or cooking, or washing dishes, or washing clothes, or folding clothes, sometimes she read the newspaper and on the evening she would watch a couple of sopa operas on TV. She was a simple woman and she was happy just because when I was born I was born a woman, someone who would understand her, someone whom to share her stories, someone to pass on her secrets. And when my daugher was born, she loved her trice.

My mother's mother had many grandchildren, so I was just another one. She had granddaughters and grandsons, I didn't represent a huge difference for her, but still she loved me as she loved all of us. And I had my moment of glory, just as I was born. She even moved to the house next door with my grandpa to be close to my mother and me. She knitted a blue blouse just for me. And I loved staying at her home to listen to her stories about the Revolution from a different perspective than my other gran. I loved listening to her young years, to all her life. She was a very tender and loving woman, also a very happy one, she was always in a good mood and she never let anyone ruin it. She would just erase bad moods around her. It was like not allowed to be in a bad mood when she was there. She was alwyas so jolly it was unavoidable to be the same. She was wise and had a very simple philosophy: "If you can change things why worry? If you can't change them, why worry?" and it worked fine. Quite Buddhist in a way.

So, my grandmas were cool. I learned I was worthy, I have a strong and creative inheritance I can't deny :)

THE TWELVE ROLES OF ME

1. DAUGHTER.- That's something I achieved just by being born.

It's not easy to be a daughter because you are supposed to understand your mother just because you are a woman and that does not mean a thing. Women share the monthly cycle of the blood, only. And even that is different, some suffer, some don't, some are regular, some aren't (like verbs).

The point is I am very different from my mother. To start with I am a firstborn and she is the youngest of a long thread of children. I am tough and she isn't, I am spoiled and so is she, hehehe.

Ok, I may not be that different, I know, we are similar, but we are not clones, ok?

Being a daughter is a difficult job. When one is young and obedient, everything is or can be charming. Mother is the role model and there is no one to compete about anything. I only hated the fact that I love my hair long and my mother loves short hair, so while I was under her orders I was subject to having my beautiful and luscious hair constantly chopped. You would think it was out of laziness from her part, but no, she also has her hair short (maybe for the same reason, who knows?) Anything else was just fine. No, she had me eating disgusting things such as liver and fish (she always prepared it the same horrible way) and she wouldn't let me stand up from the table until I had finished. Of course I would stay there until about 19.00. I am perfectly stubborn and I guess she is too.

Being a daughter is about being subject to your mother's ideas of what is good and bad while growing up properly, her ideas of what being feminine implies, her ideas of what happiness should be for you. Living up to her expectatives. And then failing unavoidably because yours are not hers, or because hers are hers and not yours. Anyway, there's no escape.

But being a daughter is also being brave, and with time it also brings understanding and tolerance because no, you are not your mother, but you learn to bear it. With time, many daughters become mothers and then they understand, some others don't, but they also understand.
Being a daughter entails knowing many secrets that are not necessarily spoken, things men will never be able to access to.

EIGHT

I had intended to post an entry on March 8th, having been the International Woman's Day, but I didn't. So here I propose the eight women who most deserve a tribute:
1. Mother Theresa of Calcutta
2. María Montessori
3. Marie Curie
4. Virginia Woolf
5. Each of the dead women lying under the lands of Juarez
6. Digna Ochoa
7. My grandmothers
8. My mother and my daughter

PARENTHESIS

Life is a parenthesis between birth and death.

CRAVINGS

Lately I discovered I had put on weight. I was worried, not about weight, but about my clothes not fitting. During the past three years I've been up and down the scale with terrifying speed. I was even on a diet to gain weight after none of my clothes fit. On one side I felt gorgeous, like a runway model, but on the other I missed filling my clothes and the lack of whatever I was lacking showed on my hair, my skin and my nails. I started filling up. I thought, "Mm, so if I am underweight I should eat well and might even overindulge once or twice." Now I'm over-filling my clothes and I don't like that either. I started thinking what I did to lose weight the first time and I realized I was so sad and then so happy I simply didn't care for food. Then the thought of not being able to fatten started me on the eating track, and one day I had a craving for bread, but luckily there was none. I thought, "Am I really hungry? I just ate, and it was very satisfyng and I'm really not hungry, I just have a craving." But the key was that I was not craving for food, but for company, I was craving for sex, not wild and unridden, but kind, soft and loving. I am eating on an impulse, not because I'm really hungry, but because I'm really lonely. So, that stops my "hunger". I generate my endorphines with moderate exercise, with work, with writing, with friends, and of course with Sean, whom I miss most, for whom I crave, he is what I really crave for, for his company, his touch...

A woman's diary is secret, not so her soul.

AWFUL SILENCE

Once you are used to talk and chat and make your voice sound loud and clear it is very difficult to stay silent, more when this condition is due to a sore throat, the damnation of teachers and whoever depends on their voice to earn a living. Ok, this thing of the sore throat has been haunting me for a few weeks now and I have been putting it aside with garlic tea, green tea, lemon, honey and other home remedies. Apparently it hasn't been enough. I know all I need is a holiday, just resting a whole day on bed, but I can't. This does not rise from a feeling of guilt not to do anything, but rather from a terribly lonely feeling of no one in my bed to keep me company. I know Sean is there, on the other side of the world, but I need him here, by my side, physically present. Last night I went partying and I was surrounded by many couples professing their love for each other. No problem with public love expressions, rather, envy, pure and putrid. Once again I am put in a situation where I can not show my love, I mean, I can talk about it, but I cannot hold hands, stare into each other's eyes, feel his prickly skin against mine, feel his warmth or his kisses on my cheek. Maybe that is what sickens me, the lack of physical proximity. And the sadness, the loneliness and the hormones.

THE ROPES OF LOVE STORIES

In the film Paperheart Charlyne Yi interviews a Romance writer who after having said there is no formula for a romance, describes what a romantic story is about, yes, giving away the formula. She more or less states that it should include the lovers (of course) a basic attraction, an obstacle and both's will to overcome that obstacle that once conquered will let love triumph and the lovers live happily ever after.

Ok, here we go:
1st story:
Lovers: A female teacher and her 21 years younger, terribly hot and handsome student.
Obstacle: Both go to the same school, the age gap and the small size of the school.
How the obstacle is overcome: Teacher leaves school, student graduates and becomes a legal adult who woos the teacher on the internet and texting.
Outcome: For a month both are very happy, but after all the age difference is too much and they cannot continue together. He gets bored.

2nd story:
Lovers: A male teacher nine years older than his former ultra sexy female student.
Obstacle: Mmm, none? He's recently divorced and still bitter, he doesn't want to committ, not even to risk falling in love.
How the obstacle is overcome: It's never really overcome.
Outcome: After three casual sexy dates the relationship dissolves.

3rd story:
Lovers: A recently divorced man suffering his mid-life crisis in his late forties. A not so recently divorced woman in her early forties.
Obstacle: The Atlantic Ocean and a great lack of money from both parts.
How the obstacle is overcome: Through a scholarship won by the woman to study a Masters in his homeplace.
Outcome: No idea! Probably new obstacles will continuously arise, but surely they will be continuously overcome until they can appreciate that happiness is not something to be achieved, but something to be savoured each time they share.

Which is the best love story material? 1st story has been widely reviewed lately and usually given artificial, not possible results. 2nd story might have a happy ending after the male teacher overcomes his pain for having been left alone. 3rd story is my personal favourite, it's characters are more mature and liable to share a real story... if only it weren't for the sea thing!

Love is everywhere you look around, and I mean everywhere and it is possible among everyone. Is love a feeling, a group of feelings or a belief? I don't know anymore. Once upon a long time ago I believed in love for life, in the real love, in Platonic love, now... after many experiences.... I don't know. I decided there is another kind of love, which I have decided to call today's love, the love I feel today for someone which I felt yesterday and I am sure I wil feel tomorrow, although I'm not sure about next month. I'm not cynical, just plain sincere, I think love is something to be built everyday, not something you promise to keep today and never work on it again. That's why I don't promise myself anything, I allow myself to dream, without illusions nothing's worth, there's no point of ignition, but, not promises that can be so easily broken. Well, that's love between me and men, or now just one man. Of course there is love between me and my mother, between me and my daughter, between me and my brother, between me and my friends. Love is bonding, caring, worrying, helping, tolerating, forgiving, believing, trusting, relying, laughing, drinking, sharing, remembering, dancing, crying, understanding, staring, glaring, listening, shouting, holding, preparing tea, feeding, excersising, asking, respecting, admiring, smiling, thinking, wandering, wondering, giving, receiving... many things, between many people. Many stories.

THE SHOPPING LIST

6.00 Mom wakes up. Today's Matty's party. She has a lot of things to do, but luckily she has Maria to help her in the house, but mainly with the shopping. The house needs nothing to be done because the party will be in a rented place where everything will be taken care of, they just need you to bring the food. Mommy asked Matty what he wanted to eat besides the big birthday cake and he replied cheese-macaroni, hot dogs with relish and ready made fries with lots of ketchup. "Ok, " said, Mom, "We will also need something for dieting mommies and... I guess dads can have the same as kids." So she took Matty to school and came back to make a shopping list for Maria to buy at the supermarket before she left for her own job.

"Ok, listen Maria, I need you to go to the supermarket and buy what is listed here. I already told Sam to take you whenever you are ready, he won't be going anywhere because I am picking Matty from school today. Sam has the party's address, so we will meet there at 15.00. As you can see the house is perfectly clean and nothing needs to be done here, so don't worry about the laundry or the dishes, you can spare those for today. See you at three, bye!"

Maria had a few months working for the family. She didn't understand the language very well yet, besides, she had a hearing problem and it had been several days she had lost her hearing aid, so she mostly nodded, she knew what was her job and her place. Bueno, lo que entendió fue algo de los dishes, la laundry, Sam y las three o'clock. Ya sé, tengo que lavar los trastes y la ropa para las tres y luego tengo que ir con Sam, él sabrá pa' qué. ¡Ay! Dijo algo de la party, ¿me habrá invitado? ¡Qué va! Seguro quiere que le ayude allá. ¿Y la lista? Ni sé leer en español, menos en inglés. Ya sé, a las tres se la llevo a Sam y él que me diga que quiere decir.

So she went into the bedrooms and made the beds, dusted the furniture, vaccumed the rugs and then she went to the kitchen to make something for her and Sam for breakfast. Sam was a good man, they hardly spoke to each other because she didn't know a lot of English and she was shy and he barely knew any Spanish and he was a silent man, but he always took his hat before her, and he pulled the chair for her, and he opened the doors, and helped her carry the groceries. Maria was not young and she looked older because she had had a hard life, and Sam was just being as polite as his grandmother, who had raised him, had taught him. Maria reminded him of her and he felt some kind of affection for the poor old woman who seemed at a loss when she wasn't working. They ate in silence. Maria wanted to show Sam the list, but she was shy and a bit scared of this gentle black giant, so she just smiled at him, showing her yellow teeth, and then looked down at her café con leche. Sam finished and while he was washing his dishes he said in his firm, loud, but gentle voice, "Gracias, Maria." He knew some words and when to use them.

Maria rose almost immediately to stop him from washing the dishes, that was not a man's work from where she came. But Sam had finished. She continued washing the dishes, they were not so many.

She went back to the rooms, picking clothes here and there, Matty's, Mom's, Dad's and she went downstairs, to the washing room, where they had a washer, a dryer, shelves for the low foam detergent, the bleacher, the softener, the starch for the father's shirts, the spot remover, etc. There was an ironing board with a very modern iron on it that spitted water or vapour depending on where you put the dial. So many things for washing clothes. Back in her town she had a pile of water next to a stone lavabo where she would bend and with her own hands she would wash alike clothes and bed sheets and the jerga used to clean the whole house. She only needed extra strength to make dirty clothes really clean. And did her children leave clothes dirty! These fine clothes were not really dirty, they were barely sweated. Her children worked in the land and building houses, their clothes were soiled, grey with hard working sweat. Her children were so far away now! While the clothes were dancing inside the washer she decided it was a good idea to go and ask Sam about the list. ¿'Onde dejé la lista? ¡Ah! Seguro en la cocina. And she went upstairs to the kitchen. She looked everywhere, on the counter, on the table, on the sink, and finally she nearly slipped with the list which was half-hidding on the floor next to the sink. She took it with some difficulty and again she went downstairs, to the garage. There Sam had a small bed room with a TV. She knocked softly and Sam came out. She showed him the list. Sam opened his eyes very wide, the party! They must be there at three with the shopping! It was five to three! There was no time to do the shopping. He took Maria and opened the car door for her, who confused stared at him. She got in and he quickly took the remote to open the garage door and dashed through.

They arrived late and without the shopping. "What happened?" asked Mom in a rather worried tone.

Maria started speaking, "Ay, señora, es que no le entendí nada. No sabía qué tenía que hacer. Me daba pena con Sam, pero lavé los trastes y la ropa como me dijo. Pero no entendí lo de la lista."

Mom stared at Maria, she didn't undestand a word, just the worry in her tone, the shame, and she felt sorry for her. She turned to Sam who said, trying to help and having been a witness of what had happened, "She says, I didn't have a lot of time, so I didn't do the shopping."

Mom ordered pizzas and the kids were happy.

LONG-DISTANCE ROMANCE II

He went back home quite disappointed. He looked for his passport and it was exactly where he had remebered he had left it. He went back in his own car to the airport to buy his new ticket. It didn't cost a lot of money. It was only a small difference. Everything was ready for the next day. He was leaving at the same hour and he would arrive at the same hour to the other side of the ocean.

On the other side of the ocean she got the text explaining what had happened. She was just beginning to get ready, but all of a sudden she felt sad, like that time when he had told her he was coming in August and then cancelled because he had changed jobs. She understood, but it broke her heart. All the expectation had accumulated and it was difficult to just push it away. Today it was the same. Well, it was just a day, it was settled, a matter of hours. Now that she thought about it, it was crazy. She was going to admitt a perfect stranger into her flat. What if he was a murderer? What if he was weird? What if he was her prince and she was a frog? She caught her reflection in the mirror next to the door. She was not that young anymore, she knew the cam softened her features, but in broad daylight each of her wrinkles could be seen, she was 42 and did not look her age, she looked younger, but... she was not. She took a book and started reading until it got her dizzy, then she went to bed and watched TV for a while, reruns were boring when they were about solving mysteries. She turned it off, she cried a little, she didn't know if out of sadness or excitemenet or both. Tomorrow she wouldn't sleep alone.

Next day she was twice as nervous, what if the flight was again delayed? But no, there were no texts cancelling. She went through her daily routine and then she went to market to buy fresh food to cook. She went back home and put everything in place. She had a shower, she took her time getting ready and she waited patiently for Mau to arrive. He had offered himself to take her to the airport and then either disappear or take them home. He was such a sweetheart.

He came just in time. The traffic was not heavy. They arrived in good time to the airport. Mau and Clau looked at each other, remembering another encounter they have both shared and that now was part of the past. They smiled and blinked sadly for a second, now it was a different occasion. Mau told Clau he was going to walk around while she waited for him. Suddenly they announced the arrival of his flight. She was very excited. She ran to the reception gate. She was expectant. Already in her highest heels, she was still trying to tiptoe and jump to see above the bunch of people. No need to jump, he was really huge, he outstood above the rest, in his dark jacket she had so many times seen on screen, his eyes looking here and there until they fixed on hers and his smile appeared. Yes!!!! He was just as she had imagined --sweet, smiley and kind.

Was she whom he expected?

Suddenly he saw her, among the people, jumping up and down, in her red coat, the colour that suited her best. She was smiling, that smile that kindled him from the inside. She was just as he had imagined her, tiny, cute, dinky, so beautiful and sexy.

They ran to each other and suddenly she tripped, but he ran to catch her and she landed on his arms. She stared at his blue-rimmed hazel eyes and they were sparkling, he was drinking her with them. He hugged her so tightly she couldn't breath so when she tried to catch breath it was like a sigh. He loosened a bit and looked at her, she stroked him and he stroked her smooth face, he started kissing her shyly, almost asking for permission, she smiled and kissed back. After a while, someone coughed with his baggage on a trolley and asked them, "Shall we head home or would you rather have something for dinner? I'm Mauricio."

"Mau? I have heard a lot about you. Glad to meet you, mate. Mmm, home?"

"Home, it is. Thanks Mau." replied Clau.

LONG-DISTANCE ROMANCE I

They had been cyber-dating for more than a year now. He had finally saved more than enough money to finally meet her in the flesh in her own country. He had arranged everything for his holidays to be spent there. He had interviewed several nannies to take care of his children, but had finally decided that they would be perfectly taken care of by his parents and occasional visits from their mother from whom he had finally divorced in April.

He had gone to take the photograph for his passport, days before the appointment at the government office in charge. He hadn't had his hair cut too recently, so he didn't look like a soldier, his hair length was just perfect and he looked smashing. He had decided to shave off the moustache, after all he had let it grow because of a former girlfriend who never came back, it was time to let that go.

He had bought the round airplane ticket after an exhaustive search and comparison between different airlines, asking for dates, hours, stops, requirements...whatever. He was not a planner, so this behaviour was quite unusual. He was very excited. He made a list in his mind of the clothes he needed. Clean shirts, socks, underwear (maybe he needed to buy some new items), a pair of trousers, comfortable shoes (she had threatened him with walking all day long), should he buy a pijama? He slept stark naked, well not completely, but...he fell asleep.

Next day he checked his suitcase. It had been years since the last time he used it. It was dusty, rusty and plain old. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he saw the same, he felt dusty, rusty and plain old. He knew the camera was kind with his features. His nose was too big, he had too many wrinkles, at 46 he looked older. Would she take him? Was he whom she expected? Mmm, if the camera was so nice with him, how nice would it be with her? What if all this money spent in the trip was not worth it? What if she wasn't as gorgeous? Was this trip a good idea? My! What was he thinking? He must be crazy. He was terrified. But he had this power of turning doubts and bad expriences into happy moods just by purpose.

Next day he felt fine. He had a last check at everything. Suitcase dusted and polished with clothes neatly packed by his daughter. Passport... the phone rang, his mother wishing him good luck and asking him to be careful with the swine flu... airplane ticket... his son rushed in with something about Jac Jac. Apparently the dog had a stick stuck in his throat. He took it out and sighed, would they be ok when he got back? It was the first time he would leave them alone. Ok, the taxi was here to pick him. No need to bother his brothers, they had things to do. He kissed the kids good-bye and set for the airport.

There was a traffic jam. Apparently because of the weather, it was so nice that everyone was headed for the lake. Once they passed the lake, it would surely be faster. And so it was. Soon, they were in the airport. He had arrived two hours before to check in his suitcase. That was the requirement for transatlantic flights. He waited in the queue until his turn came. In the meantime he was observing people. He liked airports. All the people arriving and leaving. All of them hugging for one reason or another. Many people crying, happily some, sadly others. Many people rushing to meet each other, to finally clash in a kiss. That was the plan, she would be waiting for him and they would rush to each other's arms...

"Sir? Can I see your ticket, please?" called a young female voice.

"Sure," he said, woken from his daydream. He started searching in the pockets of his overcoat. He searched in the small bag he was carrying with him with stuff he might need in flight. The ticket was nowhere to be found.

"Please, stay aside while I ask for the rest of the passengers." the clerk said.

"Sure, of course," he said quite embarassed.

He suddenly remembered he had put the plane ticket in... an envelope that stayed in the kitchen when Will had asked for help with Jac Jac!!!! He explained this to the clerk and she said, "No problem sir, the ticket for today was lost, you'll have to pay a difference so the airline can give you another for tomorrow, I just need to see your passport."

In that moment the voice of his mother echoed, he had forgotten the passport on the phone table.

How could he explain his sweetheart that he wouldn't arrive today because he forgot his passport and he lost his plane ticket?

A DAY IN HER LIFE

Almost everyday she opened her eyes around 7.45 and got up to feed the cats, then she would go back to sleep for another couple of hours. At 9.30 she was up. She put water to boil for her tea and then she would read a chapter from whichever book she was reading. She would finish chapter and tea and start exercising. She would take a shower and then start her computer while she cooked herself something for breakfast --usually some fruit, bread, eggs and cranberry juice, more tea and water, plenty of water. After having checked her mail shortly, she would connect to chat with her long-distance boyfriend. He was nice, handsome, with a beautiful and warming smile and a special sparkle in his eyes. They would chat for about an hour. Then she would check thoroughly her mail, she would write some entries in her blog, in her diary and study some stuff she was interested in.

Around noon she would take her notebooks, books and folders and she would leave to teach all around the city, wherever students needed her. She didn't have a car of her own, so she walked to the subway station, a fifteen minute walk from home. There she would change lines to take the one that took her to a bus which left her on the middle of the highway to a nearby town. There, under a bridge, she made her stop. She walked for ten minutes to the suburb where three of her students lived. There she stayed for two hours. It was usually dark and cold when she came out. She walked to the nearest bus stop and there she took one to the subway station nearest the outskirts of the city. Thanks to her good luck she had only once travelled standing in more than a year she had been teaching there. She would read on her way home, trying to make some notes. Once in the city she would take the subway to the station nearest her home. She would change lines in the first station. She would go downstairs, then walk where her line was and then she would go upstairs, two times. She would take the train and read again while she got to her station where she would step off. She would climb the stairs and then go past the ticket teller, climb other stairs and come out next to the lady who sold boiled corn. She would go past the church, cross the street, walk past the park, watching the moon and the skaters there, and then cross the street to the site where they were building a new flat building that never seemed to be finished. She went past the ice cream shop and the vegetable shop, the gas shop where once she fell down and nobody helped her, and then she crossed again. She walked past the cleaner's, the stationary, the key makers, until the bakery where she sniffed at the recently baked bread and watched at all its varities through the window, next to where another old lady was selling boiled corn (why is it that apparently all corn vendors are old ladies?). She crossed the street where the beautician's was already closing, she walked past several new and old flat buildings, past the grocer's, her friends' stationery and finally her flat building. She took the keys from her bag, she opened the general entrance and climbed the set of ten stairs up to her flat, on top of all of them.

She opened her door and the cats came meowing with news from the day, she stroke them. She wasn't tired, so she didn't go to bed. Instead she threw herself in her favourite arm chair, she opened her book to take some more notes and she fell fast asleep.

RED OR WHITE

He didn't bring a bottle of wine. He brought two. When I opened the door, there he was, showing me two half a litre bottles of wine, one red and one white. He simply told me, "I wasn't sure which one you would prefer." I was moved. He didn't have to bring anything, and he had brought not only one, but two bottles of wine. I decided to open the Cabernet Sauvignon. It was good. But improved by his company. When he was kind he could be really agreeable.

That day I was devastated. I had found out that a work mate, with whom I've had an affaire, to call it something, was leaving the place where we both worked. I had sort of developed a crush on him and was crying when he phoned me with any pretext --to ask me if I wanted to work at his friend's Elementary School. I had already told him I was not interested in elementary schools and that I had other plans. He noticed my voice and he asked in a rather worried one what was wrong. I could not tell him the truth so openly, so I told him I had just lost someone. He asked me whether my daughter was ok (why do people always assume that when something's wrong with me it is because of my daughter?). I told him nothing was wrong with her. He decided he should be with me to comfort me. I was rather taken aback, but I accepted.

Of course I didn't stay with my pjs on and the ruined face after having cried. Besides, I had no more reason to be sad. I was kind of crazy in those days. I really didn't know what or who I wanted. I got all excited and had my clothes changed, dabbed on a little make up and had a brush at my hair, I didn't want to seem over made, but neither too undone.

Apparently it worked. In spite of me tranquility he inisted, "You still seem a bit stressed, want me to relax you?" Once again we ended up in my bedroom. This time he didn't stay all night, but we enjoyed our moment.

Once he said, "We over forties are kind of cynical, aren't we?"

"I don't know," I answered, "I've never been with anyone my age."

This relationship is hardly a relationship, we only meet to chat, argue about literature, language, life, former spouses and bringing daughters, then we have wild sex and that's it. We never know when we will meet each other again. I never know if coffee, wine or Gatorade will be involved.

HOLIDAY

It didn't rain a lot during our holiday. However, we made the most of it. Whenever it rained we would get all over excited, shut the windows and watch the rain smearing down the window pane while we started undressing with a sort of teenage fever. Soon the windows would be all steamy. Our moaning and panting would excite us even more. His big hands would run over my back, trying to memorize every curve, slope and valley of my geography. He would kiss me with his eyes, not only with his lips and mouth. He drank me wholly with those blue-rimmed hazel irises. He wanted to etch me so when he went back I would still be there whenever he closed his eyes. I would try and memorize his smell, his feeling, his prickly skin, his tautness, his softness, his gutural voice, his taste, so when he left I would still have him in my bed.

Other days we would go walking holding hands to the park. There we would pick a bench, sit on it and make plans for our very remote future. We would buy bread crumbs for the ducks and feed them until fed up. We would buy ice cream and devour it. We might end up in a cinema theatre or in the supermarket, buying something for dinner. We would cook, serve, eat, wash and then go to bed. Going to bed was a marvelous experience. I would talk and talk until he could no longer pay any more attention. Then I would watch him sleep, on his side and roll back and forth. I could barely sleep, giving no credit to the bliss I was living at the moment. When I woke up he was usually watching me, the house already smelling of coffee and he by my side, perfectly naked, ready to take advantage of the shining hours.

Sometimes it would rain. But no, it didn't rain a lot during our holiday.

AN AROMATIC CUP OF COFFEE

Tomorrow was her birthday. It was Wednesday, her busiest day, she was up from early morning and didn't arrive home until late at night, well, after the 21.00hrs. There was simply no time to meet and spend a moment together. By the time he would wake up, she would have gone and by the time she would arrive he would still be at work. Good they knew each other so well. He knew she didn't care much for big celebrations, but that details were extremely important for her. He knew what he would do. He would have dinner ready for her , so that way, when she came back, something made entirely by himself would be waiting. He slept soundly after that.
Next day, when he woke up only her scent was left in her pillow, he hugged it trying to absorb the last of it. He got his sneakers and got dressed for a short jog. On his way back home he went to her favourite coffee shop to buy a quarter of freshly ground grain. They had ran out of her favourite variety. Mmm, it was still good time to look somewhere else. There was another coffee shop not so far. He went home and picked the car. He aimed to the other coffee shop. Not open... yet. He had to wait half an hour, he saw his watch. No problem, he could read something in the meantime and advance with his research. Problem was, he hadn't got a pencil with him. He asked for a stationery and got one. When he got back the coffee shop had opened. They didn't work that kind of grain there, but they knew a place on a nearby neighbourhood that did. He decided to go home and take his shower, and on the way to the office he would pick up the coffee. It was late now. No time for breakfast. Never mind, he would grab a bite somewehere, an OXXO, a Seven Eleven, anywhere.
On the way to the office he spotted the coffee shop. Finally they had the grain she loved. Great! They even packed it in a cool aluminium can so he could refrigerate it and not damage its delicate perfume. He arrived to the office and put the can in the fridge. He went straight to his place and his secretary gave him his messages and his schedule for the day. She was a good lady, like a mother, always there to help him through. She had even brought him a sandwich. He had forgotten to buy his own breakfast.
At noon, he decided to go downstairs to the small bistro and have a soup and a sandwich with some salad. The sandwich was so good he asked if they made to take out and they did. He took it home and placed it on a special occassion plate with a nice napkin and he decided to set the coffee machine to prepare the coffee. Their coffe machine was very special. It was programmable. You put the ingredients --water and the coffee-- and then it had a clock which started warming the water and filtering the coffee at the time you wanted, even if you weren't there. This was a tricky task. Mmm, what time would be a good time? Her time was around 21.00, but she was never there on time, so he would set it at 21.10 to give it ten minutes to cool, she didn't like hot stuff, just warm enough. She didn't like it too strong, neither too weak. He knew how many teaspoons were correct. He took out her favourite cup, the one painted with cats all around, sure she would enjoy her cup of coffee. But as soon as he took the coffee to add it to the machine he realized there were no more coffee filters. Gosh! What was wrong today?
He ran to the supermarket and there he found them, neatly packed. He had a few minutes before going back to the office. A woman with what seemed constantly sprouting children was before him. The baby was crying, a toddler glared at him, the twins were struggling over a robot, another was on all fours crawling and bawling like the baby and tugging at his mom's skirt, the poor woman was on the brink of a nervous attack when the cashier told her she was missing fifty cents. The poor woman couldn't hold the bay and the purse any longer, he was so desperate he paid the woman's bill, he helped pushing the cart and then with the bags to her car. He gave the children such a stern look, they all crawled into the car in perfect silence and the mother couldn't thank him enough. He just wanted to leave to make the coffee.
He was exhausted. He turned on the radio and a soft jazz came in. It soothed him. He ran upstairs and prepared the coffee. One teaspoon and a half. A cup of water and a bit more. Set the clock at 21.10 and go. He was at peace.
When he came back at night, he found the plate empty, the coffe jug full and a note with her perfume and her handwriting saying, "Thanks honey. I didn't drink the coffe, but I ate the sandwich." She had had too much cake AND coffee at her own office.

LYDIA

My aunt gave me a birthday present. It wasn't even my birthday, but she does that, she gives presents when she sees you, not on the date, because most probably she won't be there on the exact date, but she always thinks of you whenever she sees the ideal present. She is not tall, rather short and fatter than thinner. She used to have a very nice figure, always fashionable my aunt. After her first divorce she was still young and glamourous. She would hang out with my cousin, twenty years younger than her, and his friends, many of who fell deeply in love with her. She didn't have a dull personality as her sisters did. She was charismatic, beautiful, wordly, she had read, and travelled, she was so beyond what many twenty year old girls were, that in comparison these boys were dazzled by her joy de vivre. But she was forced out of her sister's house by the husband, a typical hypocrite who disapproved of her "scandalous" conduct.

She had to find a job. And she did, quite successfully. She started out as a sales agent at a handcraft store and soon she had it under her charge. She was even commissioned to open a new store at Cancún, where the new frontiers were being opened. And there she went, all alone, by herself, to seek adventures and a completely new life.

And did she found one! She opened the new store and she made it flourish. She also dealt with the artisans directly and found out about many injustices. She decided to open up her own store, she already knew what was needed. She was again, successfull, she knew the ropes of the trade. And then it was love's turn to knock at her door. It came in the body of a 30 year old, when she was already 50. He was perfectly shaped, educated, cultivated, innocent and fresh in the artistic and commercial environment. They made a perfect couple. That is, until 11 years later, after living together, when she found out evidence of his sexual preferences, he was gay and it broke her heart. She sold store, flat, car and came back to the place she had ran away more than 20 years ago. Now she has a pristine and dinky house in a nice and clean neighbourhood in Metepec, away from her sisters, and not from a nephew who comes and visits her often. She is alone with her dog, her memories, her pieces of art and her photographs.

Now she wears typical Mexican clothes, always beautifully embroidered and in the best fabrics, she wears according turqoise and silver jewelry and she loves buying presents for the people she loves. I'm lucky, she loves me. We are fond of each other.

WHY?

I didn't know the answer. Which teacher knows all the answers? I know we would love to, but we don't. Sometimes kids ask things because they are curious, sometimes to test us, sometimes because they really want to learn further and then we don't know. The most difficult question is usually posed by our own children, when still very young, the eternal and ever sprouting "Why?" And that is the same question I keep asking myself about life in general: "Why?" Why did he leave me? Why do I still care? Why do these things happen to me? Why can't I forgive? Why has life developed as it has? And yet, sometimes I think life is too good and wouldn't change a thing of its deviations, sometimes I am so sorry how it has developed, I feel that I have lost so much time, but then again I'm not sure. Back when I was twenty I wanted to be a writer and came to the conclusion I had nothing to write about, so I devoted myself into reading some other writer's experiences and way with words. Now I have the experiences and here I am, complaining because I had them. Maybe I should stop complaining and start developing the stories.

No, I don't have all the answers, those who think they do are still young and arrogant, I know, I thought so, I was. And, between us, I don't think I'd like to have all the answers, it's quite entertaining watching where things come from and where they will take us.

DRIVING TO WORK

She drove to work. Every morning she would step on her red Tracker and drove up to the laboratory in the middle of the higway. There she would show her teacher ID and park her car. At night she would show again her ID and pick up her Tracker.

Early morning she would climb downstairs and her red Tracker was already there, out from the garage waiting for her. It was part of the duties of the gate keeper to have the cars ready for the flat owners. She loved the sound of the engine when she turned it on, it was like a brief and wild good morning. She would then see her just made up eyes, still perfect on the rearview mirror, and she would step on the accelerator. She loved speed, although she was a bit anxious about it, it was like a game for her. After the extremely slow street where she lived, a block from a school, she would increase the speed through the long avenue which connected the city to the highway. Again the bottle neck there due to many people commuting made her decrease speed, but she knew this and instead of going mad shouting or getting desperate she would turn on the radio and laugh at the commentator's silly jokes or sing along to the eighties songs set on the same station. She would look then at the soft and pale morning colours, at the evergreens surrounding the highway, at the tall skyscrappers being constantly built, at the people waiting for buses that reached further into suburban neighbourhoods, at the... HONK!!!!! Oops, again caught in reverie. She woke up and fixed her sight on the cars and the highway, no more bottle neck, full highway speed, not a vertical though, this was the exciting part, this was where she felt the air running through her hair as she swerved on the curves to take the verticals again. And soon the lab was to be seen, waiting patiently and tall.

At night she came back to her red Tracker. She would put her books, her lap top and her recorder in the back and she would walk to the front seat tired, sleepy and hungry. She looked at her eyes on the reareview mirror, smeared rimmel and mascara. She stepped on the accelerator and watched the soft hues of the sunset, the yellows, the purples, the greys, the bright glow of the sinking sun. Them slowly, the lights would start sparkling from the small houses in the highway, from the lamp posts, from the twinkling stars above. Again the bottle neck, cars coming back and into the city. The air was cool, the night was calm. No need for speed. Soft music would come from the CD in the car. Soon the trees and the the grass turned into concrete sidewalks and houses first, then the school, the hospital, the subway station, the street to her house and the friendly gate keeper, ready to open the garage with a kind, "Good night, Miss X. Another hard day?"

CABAÑUELAS - THE FIRST 12 DAYS

It is a Mexican tradition to believe that the weather in the first twelve days of January will reflect the weather of each month. I have carried this tradition further, like a forecast of my life during the year. I like traditions and superstitions and forecasts to be calm or... if I don't like it, to change it, hehe. Well, here we have the predictions for each month according to the day. I'll try to make it short

1st - JANUARY

Cold. Day spent with Mum and daughter. Went to the movies to watch "Sherlock Holmes". No news from Sean.

2nd - FEBRUARY

Colder. Again day spent with Mum and Ame. Watched movies on TV and slept over at Mum's. 1st text from Sean in 2010.

3rd - MARCH

Cold, rainy. Breakfast at Mum's. Lunch at bro's. Dinner and Rosca de Reyes at Maru's. I got a sleeping baby.

4th - APRIL

Cold. First class of the 2010 at Carlos's. Ame and I at home.

5th - MAY

Cold. Ame and I at home. We had Rosca de Reyes at my place. We both got a lilac baby each.

6th - JUNE

Cold. Late breakfast at Mum's. More Rosca, no babies, I got a fire and Mum a pine tree! Ame returned to her Dad.

7th - JULY

Cold and rainy. Finally chatted with Sean again! Lovely! Ame came after school.

8th - AUGUST

Colder, rainy. Sean cancelled our chat. Mum picked up Ame at school and I went there straight from Carlos's.

9th - SEPTEMBER

Colder, rainy. Sean cancelled again. Ame stayed with me. Couldn't sleep well.

10th - OCTOBER

Coldest. Wrote Sean a message asking for an explanation early morning. All day waiting for a reply. Ame was here when I got it. Not nice. He hadn't signed the final divorce papers. Broke my heart.

11th - NOVEMBER

Terribly cold. Terribly down and depressed. Carlos was nice and funny. Ame came to visit me from school.

12th - DECEMBER

Cold. Decided I didn't care about Sean's situation after talking with Mirtha who told me why should I care if anyhow he lives across the ocean. Wrote him I missed him and loved him and never to let me alone in this world. Happy again.

CONCLUSIONS: I'm demented.

WHAT ON EARTH IS LOVE ABOUT?

And yesterday I got a message from Sean in FB telling me he hadn't signed the final divorce papers because he had chickened out. Quite out of context I know, but striking. I felt cheated, disappointed, sad, broken hearted and everything a good Romance heroine should feel before the great obstacle. The question is to forgive or not to forgive.

Many were my reactions --I thought about sending him directly to hell, to be mean and make him suffer and pay each and everyone of the tears I shed for him, to accept his apologies only under certain conditions, to accept him without delay or any further explanation or... or. And then I remembered. I cheated on him and I didn't tell him, I even enjoyed it, I even provoked it. Who am I to point at him and look down at him? After all he told me the truth, not exactly on time, but he did. He risked everything we have (whatever that might be) by telling me the truth which I asked for in the first place. They say that if you can't resist the truth better not ask for it. I cried, yes, I suffered, yes, but...guess what? I didn't die. And guess again... I still love him, or the idea of him loving me. Am I generous or on the contrary plain selfish? Do I love him or do I love him loving me? He has been in contact, desperate and quite lonely. He is suffering and I am glad, not because he suffers, but because he is not a cynical man who said, "So there, take it or leave it." He really does care. And I don't want him to suffer, but I need to know what I need. Is love related to what one needs?

Ana says I shouldn't take any drastic decision, that I should keep the friendship, but try and go out with some other guys here in Mexico. She might be right. Would I like him to do that? I know I am not in the best moment to take any decision because I am in my period and I don't think clearly, I react. I have to wait to be less passionate and more rational. In the meantime I write and talk. As Luz Aurora used to say, "The more I explain, the more I understand." And I do, I'm getting the whole picture, or well, maybe just a glimpse. I miss Seany, but I was growing dependent on him, I need to know if I really love him and for that I need to touch him, I need to be without him for a while to see if I can live by myself. I need to be happy with who I am before being happy with anybody else. I have removed the earrings he gave to me and now I am wearing my golden loops with pearls that my aunt Lydia made for Ame. I need to be available, but not 100%, I need to have a life of my own and not a life spinning around him, ordered to suit his moods and schedules. I need to love myself in order to love him even more.

I miss him terribly. I want him back now. I want to sleep hugging him tightly, snuggling and cuddling warmly and lovingly.

I can't hide the fact that our relationship is mostly based on fantasy and that maybe, when we finally meet, we won't stand each other and all this love will be a wonderful joke. That's a possibility. I know I can't stand how much he depends on the acceptance of people, I know I am too selfish. There will be things he won't stand about me. Will this love survive? Will this turn out to be real love or just a fantasy made to survive some hard years?

Once again, stay tuned.