Lo que jamás diré.

‘Short Story’

Robert turned the lights off as he closed the door behind him.

He was leaving all those memories inside, he didn’t want to look at them anymore. It hurt way too much remembering all those moments they spent together, immortalized in pictures, postcards and messy handwritten notes. They were proof of simpler times, times where he didn’t even stop to think about how it would feel at the end because, to be honest… He didn’t ever think it would end. And as he walked past the hallway, leaving the only evidence of her presence behind him, he promised himself he would never enter that room again. That would mean emotional suicide.

They had been together for eighteen years. And it probably would’ve been much easier to heal if those years were filled with heartache, and fights and day-to-day arguments, but they weren’t. If you were to ask him, he would say those were the best eighteen years of his life. He couldn’t remember how life was before her, and at this point it didn’t even matter. Now all he had were those memories, but those memories wouldn’t wake him up at night in the middle of his nightmares to tell him everything’s okay, as she used to do. As she always did.

He always had nightmares of her leaving, taking all her stuff with her without saying goodbye. And finally, those nightmares became reality somehow, leaving him alone wondering if he could’ve done something different to avoid all this from happening. But he knew it wasn’t up to him. Before, he was scared to death of his nightmares becoming reality, and now… And now he wishes they were true. At least in his nightmares, she was still alive.

He always dreamed of her leaving him. Starting another life, loving another man and giving him the children they always wanted. He wished he had just left him, instead of leaving everybody else, disappearing from the face of Earth. He never thought that she would leave like this, all too sudden, all too unavoidable.

He remembered how it all started. They were always so different from each other, from the moment they met until the moment she died. He was older than her by twelve years, but somehow he felt that she was much more mature, much wiser than him. And it wasn’t because of the fact that she was a woman, it was definitely something else. Her mind, her personality and her soul just screamed courage. She was curious, spontaneous and a little tenacious. And he loved her for that.

As soon as they started dating, her family went wild and crazy, all too opinionated. After all, she was only nineteen, he was already thirty-one. But there was something in him that called her attention, and something in her that prohibited him from staying distant. When she started arriving home late, something that never ever happened before, her mother asked her what was going on. She told her the truth.

And so, the opinions begun.

“You should stay away from him. In what world does a thirty-one year old chases a teen for something serious?”, her mom inquired.

“I’m not a teen, mom. I’m almost 20. Besides, it’s not… It’s almost as if he’s not his age”, she answered.

“Is he married?”

“What? No. I wouldn’t be seeing him if he was.”

“Well, you know… Divorced? Separated? Widowed?”

“No, why would that matter?”

“Kids?”

“No.”

“It’s almost as if he’s seeing in you the daughter he never had.”

“Oh, stop.”

But it never stopped. Her mom, her dad, her siblings and even some of her friends, they all thought everything was a little… Creepy? But she never paid attention to those opinions. In fact, somehow, they motivated her to keep seeing him. She always loved to go against the crowd.

Her dad thought that she would ruin her whole life. That she would stop working and drop out of school to be with him, and eventually become a stay-at-home mom with no career, no money, no name built for herself. Of course, that never happened. She graduated college and built her own business, and never gave Robert any kids. But that’s a story for another day…

He had never married because he wasn’t “that type of guy”. For thirty-one years, he had only flirted, dated, and hung around with several type of women, but nothing too serious. His longest relationship before her had lasted sixteen months, and so he convinced himself that commitment just wasn’t for him. Until, of course, he met her.

As in every relationship, everything was wonderful in the beginning. For them, their “beginning” lasted fifteen years. They traveled to different countries, discovering different cultures and ethnicities, at least twice a year. They lived the life every married couple with kids ever dreamed of. She succeeded at her own business, he also did well as the manager of a shipping company. His job ventured him to travel a lot, and so he took her with him every time she could. At first it was complicated, with all her work and school responsibilities, but eventually they found a way.

And so fifteen years went by in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, things started to change. His job required him to be even busier, and it seemed as if she could never find him in the right moment. And looking back at it now, now that she was gone, he begun to understand there was something he could’ve done differently. In the last three years, he could’ve been there more.

When they found out about her cancer, he didn’t think it would kill her too quickly. The doctors gave her at least three months. In reality, she only survived for two more weeks. When she died, all the weight of the years came upon him, especially those moments when he was too busy to pay attention to anything besides his job. They had finally agreed to have kids, even though she was already thirty-seven and the doctors said they couldn’t guarantee anything due to her age. They never got to have them. In part, because his on-going busy-ness kind of retracted him and made him think twice. “I’m too busy, maybe it’s not the right moment”, he said. It never got to be the right moment.

And now, he guilt himself for everything he did and didn’t do. In part, he wished they’d had children: that way, at least, he would have something left from her besides just the pictures, the postcards, the messy handwritten notes. In part, he was kind of glad they never had them. It would be too heartbreaking to raise them without the love of his life.

Robert closed the door behind him as he turned the lights off. And as he did, there was only one thing running through his head:

Take care of those you love, you never know when the last chance might be.

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love is…

Love is selfless. Love is looking at your side where he’s sleeping, cuddled next to you like somehow your warmth pleases him, and knowing everything will be okay someway. You both don’t have all the answers, but that’s not important at this moment. You both know it’s only a matter of time before everything gets complicated again, another fight, another misunderstanding, another act of jealousy. But you both also know that you’ll be strong enough to get over it together. If you’ve done it before, why not now? Your desire of being together is greater than the insecurities, the doubts, the questioning.
Love is sharing. It means knowing that his wants are just as important as yours, and not everything has to be the way you want it to be. Someone always has to submit, and sacrifices must be done by both parts equally. It doesn’t mean unfairness, it just means equality. It means working together so both of you are correspondingly satisfied, and not feeling like you always must succumb to the other. It’s okay if disagreements come along, as long as both understand that being right is not always the aim. On the contrary, the aim should be coming to a balanced decision.
Love is a decision. But it must also be a feeling. It means knowing that you have decided to stay with this person, because you’ve seen something in him that no one else has. And it doesn’t matter if no one else sees it: they don’t have to. After all, it’s your own decision and not theirs. Yet at the same time, love means staying with this person, not only because you have decided to, but because you feel it. It will not always be perfect, but at the end of the day, some type of excitement to be with them must still be there. It shouldn’t be a commitment where you feel like you must stay together out of pressure -you should be there because you love each other, enough to know that when the feeling ends, it’s time to break it apart.

a mi manera

todos los problemas inician cuando sigo a la multitud.
cuando ignoro mis propias convicciones y deseos, y decido escucharlos a ellos para satisfacerlos.
no hay nada peor que ignorar tu propia felicidad en el intento de hacer feliz a alguien más,
así nunca estarás satisfecho.
todas mis inconformidades y decepciones inician cuando silencio a mis propios planes,
y de alguna manera dudo de mi pasión, preocupada del qué pensarán.
y me olvido de mis propios deseos creando unos nuevos,
unos donde no me hago feliz a mí, sino a los demás.
pero ya basta de eso…
mi vida no tiene que ser una copia de la tuya,
mis deseos son míos, mis convicciones son míos, mi certeza también.
yo no quiero pasar los años de mi vida arrepentida de una decisión que tomé en mi juventud,
yo no quiero estar encerrada escuchando a las órdenes de alguien más por la simple obligación de ganar dinero para pagar mi existencia.
me niego.
mi libertad, mi felicidad y mi propia satisfacción valen más.
yo sólo quiero leer y escribir, viajar, descubrir…
perderme.
no sentir que mi vida se me va de las manos persiguiendo los sueños de alguien más.
porque este no es mi sueño,
y me tocó conseguir lo que creí que quería para darme cuenta que no es lo que realmente quiero.
ahora sólo quiero…
seguir mis propias órdenes,
hacerlo todo a mi manera.

libre
y
feliz.

all we need is just a little…

Paciencia, me gritan a los oídos.
No sé bien de dónde viene,
Y no sé si me lo estaré imaginando,
Pero me gritan.
Paciencia.
Mientras yo me ocupo haciendo planes,
E imaginando el futuro sin estar bien en el presente.
Paciencia.
Leyendo los escritos de hace cuatro años atrás,
Donde deseaba todo lo que ahora tengo,
Y aun así, sin estar satisfecha…
Paciencia.
Ansiosa porque ya se cumplan mis anhelos escritos,
Como una desesperada, loca e inquieta,
Escrupulosa ante el más mínimo detalle…
Paciencia.
Me lo grita esa canción,
Y hasta tú, tan sabio siempre,
Pero tú no sabes lo que se siente a veces,
Sentir que pase lo que pase, la satisfacción no llegará.
Paciencia.
¿Para qué?
No lo sé.
Simplemente…
Paciencia.

honest

I’ve lost motivation.
I’ve lost interest.
I’ve lost the will to get up and do something about it because, perhaps, once I get what I want -or thought I wanted- I will keep feeling as empty as before.
It’s not a cry for help, it’s not a cry for anything honestly.
I look around; I wonder what keeps people going on, waking up daily, making the choices they make.
Because everyone has a choice.
A choice to live, or a choice to give up.
A choice to stay at their boring jobs, or a choice to not give a damn and follow their own plans.
A choice to settle with someone whom perhaps they don’t even like that much, or a choice to be bravely lonely until they find the right person.
A choice to follow the status quo, or a choice to be rebel.
So I look and I wonder what makes people make their choices.
What pushes them -or pulls them- towards the direction their lives are going.
And what pushes me? What pulls me?
For a while now, I don’t know anymore.
But looking deeply into myself, and looking deeply outside of myself, I come to the conclusion:
What pushes me some days are my wants and desires -which still exist, even though sometimes I feel as if they abandon me…
And what pulls me other days are my laziness and lack of motivation.

-As honest as I can get-

True To Yourself

I’m thinking, why does life has to be so hard? It doesn’t have to be. And reality is that ideally, it isn’t. Yet so many people decide to live the opposite way, thinking that in order to be happy and successful in the future, you must sacrifice your happiness now. Work hard to save money to get that new car you would love to flaunt. Or don’t work hard and use all your credit card money available to get the newest phone, even though the one you have now is perfectly fine. Or sacrifice time experiencing life and doing the things you love in order to go to a job you don’t really enjoy, just so you don’t feel like such a burden, maybe. Just so you can make money to buy things you don’t really need or put a down payment to buy something that’s gonna put you in debt so you have to keep working in order to pay that debt and there’s no freedom ever. I’ve made many mistakes in the future, money wise. I would rather not have made them, but it makes me think… would I have learned, then, the value of working for the right causes and spending money in the right things? Maybe I had to make that terrible mistake in order to learn what I don’t want for my future. You see, sometimes I feel like I don’t belong, or maybe it’s that many people that think and feel like me don’t like to speak about it because they may feel misunderstood. Maybe I’m one of those people. But I want to speak about it. Even if I am misunderstood. Because at least one person would feel related, connected and comprehended. And that would make such a difference.

Knowing what I want for my life saves me so, much, time, and, money, that it is freeing. Just traveling and experiencing. That’s it. It’s so simple yet so crazy to think that one can live that way. Such relaxing, stress-free, true-to-oneself way. I believe many people live unhappy lives because they follow the crowds. Go to school, get a degree, work at a nice job that perhaps you don’t really like that much, but it’s going to give you three weeks vacation a year, some benefits and paid sick leave. When in reality, you could live in vacation forever if you chose not to have that job. Isn’t that crazy? But of course we need money. Money for food, housing, clothing, transportation. And all that. But living shouldn’t be that expensive, really. It’s just the way we decide to live that makes it expensive. Having the newest car, the newest phone, a big house or luxurious apartment with so much space we don’t really use. What for? To get into such debt that we must keep working to pay it off? To flaunt it to other people, because we like to make it seem like we’re oh-so-successful? To hide our inner unhappiness thinking that all those materialistic stuff will fill our emptiness, somehow? Hint hint: it won’t. The only thing that will fill your emptiness is being true to yourself. Whatever that is. Whatever it is you like to do, even if it means doing absolutely nothing at all. And I feel so lucky and freed and relieved to have found this inner belief at such a relatively early age. It saves myself from so many mistakes, mistakes that I must avoid at all costs if I decide that my happiness means more than fitting into society.

For many people, their reality looks like this: they graduate high school. They decide to go to college, because well, they have to. It’s just what you do. It’s just what you have to do to be “successful” -or at least that’s what people say. So they listen to their parents because they want to make them proud. They graduate college, ending up into such debt that they feel like they won’t even live long enough to pay those loans. They get a nice job, so they need to buy a car in order to commute to work. They get a new one because of all the pros: the free maintenance, the warranty, the luxury, and of course, the availability to flaunt it around. And with a car, they need to get insurance because otherwise, they would be fined by the government -or whatever organization that is. Also, along with the car comes all these tolls and gas expenses. But it’s fine. That’s what they work for, right? They need a car to go to work to be able to pay for that car. That way of thinking just seems crazy to me. Don’t get me wrong, I somehow fit into one of those people. But anyways, few months down the road, they meet the love of their lives and they decide to get married. And of course they need a big ass, expensive, 50 thousand dollar wedding ceremony, right? Right! Even if they don’t have the money for it. But they do it anyways. Because that’s what people do! So they celebrate the wedding by spending all this unnecessary and inexistent money. After getting married, they decide it’s only rational to buy a house, a big ass house because they know they’re gonna end up having like, three kids or something like that. So they’re already in debt from the car loans, student loans, credit car loans, wedding ceremony loans, and so on and so on and so on. But they buy the house anyway. They know they’re gonna be in debt for the next 30 years or so, but hey, they do it anyways. Why? Because that’s what people do. You must be crazy not to do what people do. 

Few years down the road, they’ve got three kids and their debt is consuming them apart. They decide to get a divorce because they find out they’re not happy anymore. The daily stress is tearing them. So, all that money spend into the wedding ceremony could’ve just easily been flushed down the toilet and it would’ve served the same purpose. It’s a stressful divorce, of course, with the three kids and the house and who gets what, who’s gonna keep all our debt-driven goods, who’s gonna stay with the kids. Doesn’t this sound like an amazing, free, oh-I-want-that-life lifestyle? Not for me. Honestly. Perhaps for so many people it is. I mean, for sure some people must really want to live in such way. Not stressed of course, but they feel like their marriage could work, and it’s just what everyone is doing anyways. So they decide to follow the crowd. You must be crazy not to follow the crowd.

Perhaps they don’t get a divorce. Perhaps they decide to stay together despite their unhappiness, for the benefit of the kids, you know. But either way, the conclusion of the story is the same: they must keep working all their lives to pay off the debt they got into at a young age. They must keep working all their lives and save money for retirement, for their kids college (because of course they have to go to college), for medical emergencies because they know with all the stress they might get a heart attack someday. They must keep working all their lives, they must, they must. They go to vacations three weeks a year and they think that’s good enough. Three weeks vacation is better than no vacation, right? Right. That’s what people do anyways.

I’m not sure about you. But that doesn’t seem like a pretty picture to me. I may sound exaggerated, dramatic or naive. I may sound like a rebel, like oh, you think you’re so special because you don’t follow the crowd. When in reality, I have followed the crowd. I have, and that’s what put me into such inner unhappiness and dissatisfaction. I like setting goals for myself and accomplishing them. I do. But I shouldn’t feel like I want to accomplish them to make someone else happy, proud, or jealous. I should just do it for myself. My true self. That self that just loves to experience, travel, be able to do whatever she wants with her time, not feeling like they have to ask to their boss for “permission”. Fuck permission! It just seems crazy to me that as adults, we still must ask other adults for permission to do whatever we want with our time. But hey, that’s work anyways, right? Right. That’s what people do. You must make money. That’s what people do. Remember to always do what people do… if you want to be unhappy.

But if you want to be happy:

Just be true to yourself

Whatever that is.

a ti, a él, a mí

a ti: a veces me pregunto si de verdad te quiero. a veces, las dudas me ganan y me quedo pensando, ¿serás tú? ¿es este sentimiento real? ¿o es sólo una costumbre, una representación externa del ideal que me creo de ti, de nosotros? a veces, es como si las películas, las canciones, las imágenes…, me producen sensaciones de lo que debería sentir contigo, por ti. es difícil explicarlo. y a veces me pregunto si sería lo mismo sin esas películas, sin esas canciones, sin esas imágenes que hablan del amor, del corazón roto, de la distancia, de la promesa, del compromiso, de una decisión. ¿te seguiría queriendo igual? ¿quiero estar contigo porque quiero sentir lo que veo alrededor, o porque de verdad estoy enamorada de ti? pero cuando veo ciertas fotos tuyas y sonrío sin pensarlo y puedo sentir la luz en mi mirada (así de cursi como suena, así, sin más, es que no hay otra manera de decirlo), me digo que esto no puede ser inventado. no puede, pero a veces dudo. de ti, de mí, de nuestra capacidad, de qué tan fuerte es nuestro deseo de estar juntos. y nos divertimos mucho a veces juntos, ¿no? sí. quizá sea sólo eso. ¿y qué importa si es sólo eso? la vida no siempre tiene que ser cumplir con una obligación, tener que quedarse allí porque así lo has decidido. me gusta pensar en nosotros como dos personas libres… libres de hacer lo que quieran, pero que al final de día, siguen escogiendo estar el uno con el otro. porque así lo queremos y así lo sentimos. no porque así nos lo obliguen un pedazo de papel, dos anillos al dedo, un par de hijos, unos cuantos bienes en común… ¡no! me gusta esta libertad –o quizá la idea de libertad- de lo que nuestra relación significa: no hay nada que nos ate, excepto nuestro deseo auténtico de permanecer juntos. nada más. y estoy bien así, así por un buen rato y muchos años, así… espero que tú también. y me gusta que las personas hablen, ¿sabes? que hablen de “lo bien que me la paso” y “qué buena vida tengo” y etcétera. es que así debería ser siempre, ¿no crees? no debería ser tan complicado… y para eso nos tenemos. para disfrutar el uno del otro, y lo que el mundo tiene por ofrecernos. no para quejarnos, aburrirnos de la rutina, arrepentirnos de una decisión tomada en un momento de emoción, desear que nunca nos hubiéramos conocido… no. no quisiera cometer ese error de complicarlo todo. porque sé que los sentimientos cambian, y quizá algún día ya no queramos permanecer, y no quiero que ninguno de los dos sienta que no tiene la libertad suficiente como para alejarse. entonces, creo que, sí… sí, quizá sí te quiero. a veces demasiado meticulosamente.

 a él: ya han pasado casi cinco años, cinco años desde esa casualidad un poco curiosa. y aún a meses después de nuestra última palabra, y muchísimos meses más de nuestra última conversación real, a veces pienso en él ocasionalmente. creí que jamás lo superaría. claro, eso es lo que pensamos siempre las personas cuando sentimos tan intensamente. creí que sería demasiado difícil dejarlo de querer, o imposible hacerlo. y aunque suene exagerado, no quería vivir sin saber cómo se sentiría tocar su piel, escucharlo en persona, mirarlo sin una pantalla de por medio. pero, ¿ya qué? ¿no piensan que es misterioso, y un poco curioso el cómo superamos tan rápido, tan fácil, y de manera tan indolora, a alguien por quien jurábamos que no podría ser así? es un alivio, si me lo preguntan… sé que, aún cuando algo duela tanto tanto tanto en su momento, no será así en unos años en el futuro. todo pasa. muchos han pasado. él pasó, llegó alguien más y así de rápido como vino, así de rápido se fue. no fue a propósito, y sin ganas de dañar ni herir a nadie en el camino. simplemente… así es. y aunque a veces me entra la curiosidad de saber qué es de su vida, simplemente ni siquiera me entran ganas de escribirle. ni aunque pudiera… porque ya lo eliminé de todos lados, número eliminado incluso. más fácil de lo que pensé… si hace tres años me decías que un día podría pasar meses sin comunicarme con él sin que me afectara en lo absoluto, no te hubiera creído. por lo tanto que lo quería, y sí que lo quería. sin importar si jamás lo hubiera conocido en persona… en fin. a él, por quien tanto lloré/reí/creí/soñé, solamente podría decirle que gracias y adiós.

a mí: sabes que puedes con cualquier cosa que se te ponga en el camino. cualquier sentimiento… cualquier persona. no hay nada que no puedas superar. sólo lee esos escritos de hace años atrás, y piensa en cómo te sientes ahora con respecto a esa persona. no sientes nada, ¿verdad? nada… con suerte, así te sentirás en un tiempo con respecto a la persona que te pueda estar haciendo sufrir en un momento determinado. sólo sé paciente y enfócate.            

A place in this world

There’s a place in this world where the days of the week don’t matter. Where there’s nothing distinguishing a Monday from a Saturday; where the weekdays and the weekends are the same. There’s a place in this world where the distance is nonexistent, where I can come back home to a cozy hug and a place in someone’s chest. Where my sleep is actually restful and I don’t feel like staying in bed as soon as I wake up. There’s a place in this world where something motivates me to get up off bed, besides just the fact that I must go to work, I must go to work because I need to get the money, I must go to work because otherwise, well, how would I survive?

There’s a place in this world where I live off creating. Where people see the talent in me, and decide that I’m worth giving a shot. A place where I don’t feel like all my effort and time is exchanged towards making someone else rich or happy. I want to be my primary priority, the thing on top of my list, my main focus and desire. Me. Making me happy. There’s a place in this world where all I do is for my benefit and not my mental detriment. This place is filled with the feeling of not giving a single fuck, I say whatever I want and I am not afraid of the consequences. My energy is not geared towards what are these people going to think of me. This is the happiest place on Earth, the place I always desired.

There’s a place in this world. There is. There is. And all of us have a place. My place is peaceful. It is not a stressful environment worrying about the money, the future, the debt, the needs, the consequences, the fears, the doubts, the insecurities, the being bossed around, not having enough time, time, time. Time for traveling, time for reading, time for writing, time for creating and speaking my mind. Always obsessing over time controlling my life, my life controlling my time. But there’s a place in this world where the sound of the waves surround me, and the invisible breeze kisses my red cheeks. The sun has done its job, I’m not my natural color anymore. That’s okay. It means that I’ve been outside, actually living instead of being confined to this office environment.

There’s a place in this world where I’m happy e v e r y  d a y of the week and not just when the week has come to an end. It’s out there. It exists. I just have to go find it.

And I encourage you to find your own place, too. 

21 de febrero, 1997.

Cuando llegué al mundo hace 21 años, 7 meses y 6 días, difícilmente comprendía el mundo alrededor de mí. Tenía ojos para observar, pero no discernía qué cosas mis ojos estaban viendo. Tenía oídos para oír, pero las palabras que escuchaba no hacían sentido alguno. Tenía nariz para oler, pero los aromas que me rodeaban eran desconocidos. Tenía voz para hablar, pero no había aprendido aún qué sonidos emitir de modo que la gente me entendiese, y lo único que podía hacer –inconscientemente- era llorar. Tenía el tacto para sentir, pero ya no sentía la calidez de la casa que habité por 9 meses, y todo me confundía.

Irremediablemente, poco a poco estos cinco sentidos fueron perfeccionándose y me fui habituando más a ellos. Conforme pasaban los años, aprendía a mover mis labios en direcciones específicas para hacerme oír. Poco a poco reconocía nuevos olores, nuevos colores, nuevos sonidos. Y entendía que aunque no siempre podía habitar en mi antiguo hogar, aún podría encontrar calidez en otras cosas, como una sábana recién secada, un peluche favorito, una taza de leche calientita.

No entendía mucho de la tristeza o el dolor; es algo que pocas veces como niños sabemos discernir. Creía que el dolor era caerme de la bicicleta y rasparme la rodilla; querer quedarme hasta tarde viendo la tele y tener que irme a la cama sin quererlo; pelearme con mi hermano y que nadie me defendiera. Ahora que he crecido, me gustaría que el dolor fuera simplemente eso. Ahora que he crecido, descubro que el dolor a veces se manifiesta desde afuera de nosotros, mientras observamos cosas que no nos afectan directamente pero nos gustaría ser capaces de cambiar.

De niña, nunca me afectó el divorcio de mis padres. Aunque sí el mudarme a un país completamente diferente a los seis años de edad. Me había esforzado tanto por comprender los sonidos del mundo durante los últimos seis años, y ahora me veía obligada a convivir en un sitio donde aquellos sonidos no significaban nada. Aprendí nuevas palabras, nuevas reglas, nuevas emociones. Y al volver a casa tan sólo un año y cuatro meses después, repentinamente tenía una familia más grande que la anterior. Con el paso de los años, nuevas hermanas, nuevos padres, nuevas personas. Y a todos los dejé entrar en ese mundo tan propio de mí. O quizá eran ellos los que me estaban dejando entrar en el de ellos.

Una vez llegada a la adolescencia, mi idea de lo que la tristeza representaba dio un giro de ciento ochenta grados. Ya no pensaba en el dolor como algo meramente físico. Descubrí la depresión, las decepciones amorosas, el odio hacia mí misma. Ya no encontraba calidez en una sábana recién secada, ni mi peluche favorito, ni una taza de leche calientita – la cual, poco a poco, se iría convirtiendo en café. El mundo que había conocido por los últimos trece años se volvía más frío, y ahora el dolor significaba mirarme al espejo y darme cuenta del disgusto que sentía, de las ganas que tenía de ser alguien diferente a yo.

Pero yo era yo, y no podía cambiar por mucho que lo quisiera, ni por tanto que lo intentara. Aunque para ser honestos, quizá nunca lo intenté lo suficiente –ni antes, ni ahora. Y mientras más crecía, más cambiaba mi percepción con respecto al resto del mundo. Me enamoré una, dos, tres, quizá cuatro veces. Y siempre era decepción tras decepción. Y siempre creía que era yo la culpable, ¡si tan sólo fuera menos… yo! Día tras día: las ganas de ser más atractiva, más delgada, más… diferente. Y el darme cuenta de que no siempre podría escudarme tras mi timidez tal cual lo hacía cuando niña: tenía que salir al mundo y defenderme. Eso, o ser atacada por los demás, por el mundo en general.

Y en un abrir y cerrar de ojos: la adultez. Quizá la etapa más desafiante de mi vida. Hace años que el dolor dejó de significar una raspadura en la rodilla, tener que irme a la cama más temprano de lo que me gustaría, pelearme con mi hermano y que nadie me defienda. Poco a poco la tristeza dejó de parecerme sufrir una decepción amorosa, no parecerle atractiva al chico que me gusta, que él se enamore de alguien más delgada que yo. Ahora entiendo que ninguna de esas cosas tiene importancia –en lo absoluto. Aprendí a quererme, y nuevamente mi percepción acerca del mundo volvió a cambiar.

Ahora, el dolor significa mirar alrededor y preguntarme por qué ciertas cosas pasan. Ahora el dolor es darme cuenta que por mucho que lo intente, quizá nunca estaré completamente a gusto en realidad. Ahora el dolor es fijarme metas y cumplirlas, y sentirme tan –o más- vacía que como me sentía al momento de imponérmelas. Ahora el dolor es sentirme esclava de un sistema con el cual no concuerdo, un sistema que nos obliga a intercambiar horas importantes de nuestro tiempo por la simple obligación de sobrevivir. Ahora el dolor es ser testigo de las injusticias del mundo, y darme cuenta que no soy nadie lo suficientemente capaz para cambiarlas. Ahora el dolor es luchar contra el tiempo, deseando que no pase demasiado rápido o que sí, esperando incesantemente por el próximo logro que quizá me haga feliz.

Cuando llegué al mundo hace 21 años, 7 meses y 6 días, difícilmente comprendía el mundo alrededor de mí. Hoy, 21 años, 7 meses y 6 días después, todavía siento que no lo comprendo lo suficiente; o quizá es que lo comprendo más de lo que debería. Y hay días en que me pregunto por qué ciertas personas hacen ciertas cosas, como el quedarse en una relación que no hace más que desgastarlas. Quizá debería cambiar el enfoque y preguntarme a mí misma ¿por qué yo permanezco en situaciones que no me apasionan en lo absoluto? Quizá es una respuesta que logre encontrar en la próxima etapa de mi vida. Quizá la respuesta ya está aquí y tengo demasiado miedo como para encarar la realidad.

(Continuará…)  

Dreams (Every day I do)

I have dreams of always getting better.
I have dreams of education, knowledge, success.
I believe in the power of our actions; The power of visualization; The power of conviction.
I hope one day, my words are read and listened all over the world.
I’m not scared of not being able to make it: I know I will.
I’m only scared of getting a little unmotivated on the way.
But my plans are clear. Every day, I work towards my goals.
Perhaps, some days I feel like I’m not going anywhere.
But I know I will. It just takes time.
Time, patience, focus, trust.
I know happiness is not something to find once I get there,
But the feeling that should persist on the way.
But I’m just human –therefore, I’m not perfect.
Happiness will not always be there. Sometimes, frustration might take its place.
Or boredom, doubt and tediousness.
Yet I will get back up; back up like I always have.
Read my plans once again, remember what I am trying to achieve.
Be a better speaker, a better writer, a person of inspiration and wisdom.
A prime example of persistence and achievements.
And I will not hold back, I will not look back until I get there.
Because I have dreams. Every day, every day I do.