Thoughts Like Bullets

Ethnography.
Night.
Sister.
Papers on the floor.
Intimacy.
Highlighters.
Chamomile tea.
Pajamas.
Computer.
Thoughts like bullets.
Life is good.

"Esta sala de espera sin esperanza..."

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."
- Jack Kerouac

I left tía Kenia at Haverhill Station. It was hard for her. Papi says that the one who suffers is always the one who is left, never the one who leaves. Part of me hopes to always be the latter. After all, I'm an immigrant... and I do theatre. Parting from the things that I love is my life.

I'm at Boston South Station right now, doing my best to look as though I'm really focused on writing something on my laptop, because this young police officer keeps hovering around me after complimenting my pink laptop, as though mustering the courage to ask me something.

"I want that laptop," he said.
"Pink? Yes!" I smiled.
"Real men wear pink."
"That's true. I agree with that." I didn't lie. I do agree with that.

"What's your name?" he asked a couple of seconds later, but I didn't want to have to deal with the tediousness of telling him that I had a(n imaginary) boyfriend or that my train would be coming earlier than it actually would or that I didn't actually speak English, so I pretended that the sound of his question was lost to me in the noise of the station. Just a couple of seconds ago, though, he came closer and asked again.

"Alejandra," I answered without thinking.
"So next time I see you, I'll say hi," he said sternly and walked away.
I don't really know what that means. I don't really know what this little exchange represents in the bigger picture, where I'ma tiny pawn within a universe of possible stories.
Life is funny.

I'm waiting for a train... It leaves here at 3:45 pm and gets me to Providence. I wait for a train that will take me to where so much waits for me. Sometimes I wonder if that's a good thing.

My little sister just called. I'm on the phone with her now. She's so smart.

Back to waiting.
And being waited on.

...but would I rather have the option of going wherever I want to go without the guilt of leaving someone waiting?
I can't remember who it was, but a vague memory crashes in of someone telling me that life is the wait. Or maybe I read that somewhere? I don't know.
In any case, is that what we're doing, entertaining ourselves until death comes around?

The young police officer keeps trying to attract my attention by knocking things over and trying to see if I'm looking his way. I do. My face reads disapproval. "You're an idiot," my eyes say. He's not. He's just a young man, but hopefully, this'll get him to stop waiting for something that's just not going to happen. Hopefully, it'll get him to see something else... whatever that may be.

'Cause that's the thing. When you wait, all you see is what you're waiting for. You miss the rest.

You miss everything that could've taken you somewhere else.

The clock beats down on me from the sky of the station.
I'm getting antsier.
I can't miss that train.
I'm getting older...
I can't miss that chance.

palabras desagradables

Quiero un corazón de hule,
fuerte pero flexible,
gracioso e incomprensible,
que se ría de todo...

que flote sobre toda la mierda...

y que sea de hule,
material gracioso, extraño, asqueroso,
de lo que no se hace nada que se vaya a tomar muy en serio.

Set to Win the Battle

I've been having a hard time sticking to my goals this past few weeks, so I decided to look up information on willpower. Lo and behold, this really helped me:

http://www.stevepavlina.com/blog/2005/06/self-discipline-willpower/

I hope the same for you. 

"You don't want to know where we're going..."

Dead City
Teaser poster.

I'm excited.

"That... was when he saw her."

I hope you...

...care.

I hope you care.

A night in the 20's.

It's 1:52 am.
There's a cup of lemon tea on my desk,
there's a 2-page paper begging to be completed (just like all of us) on my screen,
there's a heavily annotated and highlighted book on my lap,
and there's someone on my mind.

This is being 20 in college,
confusing the morning with the night.

Hoy la mejor parte de mi cumple 19 años.

Hoy me levanté temprano

y, recordando a Teté, te busqué. 

Hoy seguí cumpliendo mis promesas

y, con mi pequeño orgullo, te busqué.  

Hoy uno de los chicos más bellos del mundo me hizo sonreír

y, para contarte, te busqué.

Hoy pensé en el futuro

y, conociendo la fortuna de mi presente, te busqué. 

Hoy tuve miedo

y, para calmarme, te busqué. 

Hoy cayó lluvia

y, para alejarla, te busqué. 

Y hoy fue perfecto

porque,

entre las imágenes de nuestra abuela,

entre mi felicidad ante mantener mis resoluciones,

entre mi sonrisa y la manera en la que me puso a tejer sueños,

entre los recuerdos de todo lo que soy afortunada de tener,

entre el consuelo,

y entre los rayos de sol que rompieron la oscuridad,

te encontré. 

Te encontré. 

Feliz cumpleaños, Lía. 

Gracias por ser mi principio,


mi hoy...

...y mi final.