Cuando hagamos las paces

I hope you kiss my cheek.

Triste Cancion de Amor

Ella existió solo en un sueño
El es un poema que el poeta nunca escribió
Y en la eternidad los dos unieron sus almas para
Darle vida a esta triste, canción de amor
A esta triste, canción de amor

How to apply a 13-year-old song to your current life

The recent link, explained.

My life at this juncture is suspended in constant motion. The overwhelming amounts of work to be done hasn't piled up yet, but it's come close to that in the past week. The greatest fortune for me is that I love the work itself, even if it feels slightly less humane in the cubicle and button-down spectacle. Dejame ver que hay para saborear esta vuelta.

The proximity to power, in its many battling forms, really does have an effect on the outlook of life. Loco de pensar que se disputa el poder y la gloria. Sanity long considered overrated, the struggle, and again I pause to consider the adequate uses of such word, is elsewhere. This world, in its most prudent management, is designed to make us feel comfortable despite our human condition, as battles over influence, resources, and rights rage around us. Cuanta verdad, cuanta mentira y cuantas palabras, y todo este motor para devastar tu inconciente.

In that sense, I know the target audience. If nothing more, I grew up in the middle of the road. The pavement, lighting, and landscape were different. But I was right where I could call myself average, with my only slight (or perhaps most meaningful trait) was that I belonged to a religious minority. Coming to discover that the most grandiose way to tackle big issues was to speak about small matters has been ironic at best, and perhaps heart-wrenching. Esta ironía con qué se cura, si el final es en donde partí.

The symptoms are familiar. Si, esta noche no puedo dormir. And the intrinsic solutions, too.

Because with rapid intellectual advancement, and despite garnering more confidence about the mission at hand, the capabilities needed, the fast-approaching results, and the way that it all connects within the societal experiment and the individual experience, reason does not seem destined to win in all counts. El corazón, tiene razones que la propia razón nunca entenderá.

And so I carry with trepidation because I cannot understand the entirety of this moment. Nor do I understand why the direction has shifted. A year ago, I contemplated an abandonment not only from the political system, but also from certain relevant interpersonal institutions. And now I am faced with an odd moment that can be very tragic. Y a donde voy , siempre voy a buscar lo que es mío. Yet a door remains open for surprising developments.

The person at the other end of this conversation is also asking this type of question in a self-managed conversation. At some point, maybe there will be courage for a dialogue. No llores más, dáme la mano contáme tu suerte...

The lesson is to give songs (or poems, or ideas, or proverbs) a chance, even if they never made much sense to you before, or only make sense to you after.

Palabras que se disputan el poder y la gloria

Y en que lugar, habrá consuelo para mi locura,
esta ironía con qué se cura
si el final es en donde partí.
Y a quién llamar a quién golpearle la puerta tan tarde,
con quien hablar cuando no hay nadie,
si esta noche no puedo dormir.

Dejame ver que hay para saborear esta vuelta,
la verdad, la mentira y la mueca de tu ingenuidad.
Cuantas palabras que se disputan el poder y la gloria
y cuantas vidas se pierden en el frío de un reino mortal.
Loco de pensar queriendo entrar en razón y el corazón,
tiene razones que la propia razón nunca entenderá

Una vida teórica

El enamoramiento es una ilusión que poco tiene que ver con el amor; es justamente su ausencia. - Cordera

Post-it notes

Undated, and collected with Stickies. Spanning a long period of time, a number of lovers, and a troublesome menagerie of writing inspirations. Implications abound.

Quiero ser academico, historiador, filosofo, muerto de hambre, feliz, quijotesco, padrino, soñador, amante, campestre, ciudadano, intelectual, cumbiero, traficante, sagaz, cocinero, hermano, futbolero, trabajador, escritor, atorrante, sabio, optimista, influencial, piropeador, sonriente, sorpresivo, libertador, guia, payaso, salame, tranquilo, consejero, hamburriento, abogado, carpintero, lider, humanista, politico, elegante, globalista, boyescau, cantautor, caballero andante, peluquero, tio, sobrio, desgraciado, dador alegre, intrepido, fulbolero, honrado, decisivo, campeon, medio bobo, acurrucador, simplistista, humilde, buen cabeceador, testosteronico, insolente, compasivo, buen mozo, piloto, armador, representante, honorable, maloliente, cachirulo, aventurero, parrandero, idealista, comediante, libertario, radical, senil.

Y tambien quería imaginarte junto a mi.

Pero sé, que en esta vida, no se puede ser todo lo que se quiere.

----------------

I have found the way in which I can be at peace with the Christian faith, as my intellect moves towards a higher truth in a manner similar to how my flesh already has. But as I move back towards discovering the absolute, the higher truth, and how you and i are going to shape it, the calling to re-examine the sacred texts becomes stronger.

Let's say, for example, that I could learn one hundred verses on the bible. Nothing fancy, but really just the ones that make up the canon. The ones that make the set core of beliefs. The ones that might not be politicized, but reflect the human ideals delineated in a spiritual realm.

It's the legacy of globalization on religion.

And I almost wish you could do the same, and then we could compare each other. And discover each other. And love each other.

---------------

i admit that i have a
seemingly everlasting
existential anguish based on the broader combination
of my life experiences,
but calling me emo? thats offensive

---------------

El libro era la frontera que separaba mis confundidos intentos y tu forzada apatía. Las paredes, semiblancas, entonaban un silencio tan profundo que se escuchaba todo. Acurrucado en tu hombro, escuché mis miedos, dos infancias, 7 años de sueños fallidos, tres de leyes, lo poco que te quedaba de Angelina, y al amor, que empacaba sus cosas despacito, porque no tenía ganas de irse. Y encima yo no creía en las fronteras. Que boludo.

---------------

Fundar una productora de documentales.
Fundar una caridad.
Ser fiambrero.
Viajar a cuatro paises, al menos.
Ir a Israel como parte de mi derecho judio.
Ir a los Emiratos Arabes Unidos para una conference internacional.
Visitar la biblioteca de Bs. As.
Ver una obra en el teatro Colon.
Free hugs.
Volver por Canada.

---------------

Maybe I did understand her. In the end, I knew she was going through as tough a time as I was, yet without any of us facing real suffering. A deep consciousness haunted us, because our connection to our respective background gave us a terrible sense of guilt about our privileged ways. Our simple privilege.

He was a strange figure, who I wanted to know more about. I also wanted to give him a snarky comment. Stab him with words. Pierce him with a stare. Destroy him with a handshake. But I knew that there would be no winners. Just three losers. Someone had to give it up first. And I didn't want to let it be me.

I'll remember the turtles, the drawings on your hands, and that big rock in Gayley.

Tysons Corner

Retrospectively.

The cigarettes spread out in the rocky decorations across the concrete. His hand gestures and lost gaze made him look anxious for the first time, despite his otherwise ever-present coolness and grace. For a moment, and certainly for the first time, I saw in his eyes a gleam of self-doubt. A bit of confusion. A sliver of anger.

Yet this moment was more about opposite observations. Who I was, perhaps, had eventually become more strange in his scope of understanding, wised by time and experience beyond mine. To me, this moment was already written out somewhere and the cloves just needed to burn a bit longer. I had not been surprised about anything for a long time. Certainly months, maybe years.

There had to be anger somewhere. He was too human to exist otherwise.

Cambiando de ruta

Bienvenidos a la ciudad del ajedrez. Los saluda el caballero negro.

Por ahora: seguir viviendo con una melancolía crónica y un espíritu independiente, explorador y bohemio. Enseñar y aprender, construír y destrozar, dormir bien y mantener la salud.

Dejar ir aquellas cosas que no puedo controlar. Moldear los ambientes a los que tengo alcance. Leer bien. Hablar mas. Escribir aquí. Volver a cantar?

Random thoughts

Things I thought to myself lately:

-"Pessimism" by Joshua Dienstag might have been the most important book I read during my college years. I ran into him yesterday.

-Pop radio: Why is the word "rubbers" (in reference to condoms) censored in Eminem's song "Crack a Bottle", but the words "condoms" is not censored when Asher Roth's song "I Love College" plays? I find this puzzling, and of course, do not condone censoring the slang "rubbers". Safe sex, please.

-Why are L.A. progressives who spent their lives working in community development, non-profit sector, coaltion building, etc, all up in arms and concerned about my willingness to go out to a dance club located in a low-income, mostly immigrant neighborhood?

-That girl Sophia. She's up and coming.

No se puede detener

Esperando el impacto

Maybe i'll go back to sleep

If I were to note this moment in history, it would make me seem vulnerable and unsafe. Pride and defensiveness are victors tonight, winning over the delicacy of admitting what just happened. I am just here to note that it happened.

Me puede, vieja, esa mujer me puede.

Maybe I'll go back to sleep.

While in Nevada...

I am a witness of nascent love.

A person of the utmost sobriety in character is transforming into an impassioned, irreverent, inarticulate victim of the enchantments of that exact feeling. It's enchanting, but also slightly cloying.

Meanwhile, I talk of the past and pretend to know the future.

Corporate

Can I ask you something?"

I think this may be an Americanism. In the midst of healthy, seemingly open conversation, the other person will stop to ask for an enquiry permit. It always throws me off, but I think it often has to do with the peculiarity of the conversation, and the fact that regularly accepted social norms of etiquette and restrain may not yet have been tested on the particular subject. Questions have usually abounded in the conversation, but something else is coming, and it needs a preface like that.

"What do you mean? Can I respond?"

For what is a question with such a prelude but nothing more than a doubtful statement, an admission of ignorance, a fear of painful learning? And what alternatives are out there? Suppose I say 'No' and turn the potential dismissal of that question straight into a complete rejection of the rights to enquiry itself. What happens then? Do you transfer curiosity over to me? Does that shy wonder become your ashamed secret?

"Oh, yea, nevermind, well..."

I am sorry I threw you off like that. I had been watching you play with your hair and fiddle with your hands as the train left the station. And I knew that the small talk was not going to persist if our eyes stayed intently focused on each other, with only sporadic stares out the window and through the real world, which jealously reminded us that it was still there. Still, I did not foresee the transitionary formality. We had just been asking everything of each other, without permission of train guars, bosses, or whoever that was who you mentioned was waiting for you at your stop. Yea, him. Oh, boyfriend, you say? I remember now. Lucky guy.

"Ask ahead."

I do mean it. Your original question was, in short, naive and out of place.

"Well, I was just going to say, do you think you are ever gonna go corporate?"

Hmm... is there anything from our conversation that hinted at you that such secretiveness was warranted for this question? Did you think that would offend me? I see you feel naked now, because I offer the killer, chilidish, pedantic smile that tells you I was in ESL class when you were playing the violin in Catholic school. The truth is I don't know what I could even offer them, if nothing more than validating their existence. I lecture you on how we should be safe enough to ask each other anything, and answer kindly that I do not plan my life too much in advance, at least not yet, and that I'll let you know if and when I do.

But I was lying, there are questions that we hold back sometimes. Here's mine:

"Are you scared of how I am judging you because I know how our lives are headed in different directions after we get off this train?"

Response not needed.

My dream world

My dream world is better off without me trying to describe it. It would rather inhabit exclusively in its natural habitat. My dream world, you see, is shy and humble. It doesn't really want to travel anywhere. My dream world is probably gonna stay in my dreams for the rest of my life, and maybe for longer.
My dream world says, "you got everything you need where you are standing right now, as long as you are standing with everything you need". It talks like that, so I can't really explain its intricacies to you. Plus, it would not want me to. My dream world likes it when I keep my words to a minimum so I can say more. Specially if I am talking about it to others.
My dream world does not like the big city, or even it's urbanized surroundings. That is why my dream world does not visit where I live. It stays back, mixing cocktails of childhood and progress; decorating cupcakes of irony with chocolate chips of joy. My dream world is corny like that. I don't know where it buys its ingredients, but it's a good end result in my dream world.
My dreamworld does not like the countryside either, nor the jungle. In fact, it does not care much about the soil. Or the sky. Or the wind. Or your family. Or your friends. Or your citizenship. Or your religion. Or what any of the aforementioned think when I tell you to escape with me to my dream world.
My dream world tells me it would love to pour a soft rain over our heads as we lean over for a kiss. It fantasizes about our love with a strength only matched by the rationality we have put into being apart.
If my dream world had wishes, they would be like me. It would talk, and talk, and think, and act, and love, and hug, and make love and pray. It would raise good kids and drink good wine. And it would not be able to help the abrupt endings to its nightly sleep. And it would die.
My dream world is happy where it is.

You promise?

"What year are you in school? What's your major? Oh, poli sci? That's cool, man, mom must be proud. You are almost done. Listen, I know what you are feeling, man. I have been called a nigger while in uniform. Sometimes, you gotta swallow that shit up and know, in your heart, that you are better than that. That you are better than them. Promise me you are gonna do that. You promise?"

I promised.

Backhandedly, I learned that I should have gotten in more fights in high school. After all, all it would have meant was to learn a big life lesson in a practical manner, rather than in a theoretical way. That way it felt emptier.

Always careful and rational, I missed the lesson that the classroom, church, or the bedroom could not have taught me. In essence, I understand the situation to be detrimental in a short-term: detentions, reputations, bad vibes, and distractions. And potential for it spiraling out of control.

My only fights, displays of anger, threatening shouting matches, and dealings with policemen were during my last year of college. And they were for all the reasons that the previous outbursts did not happen. It was the same desire to learn that prevented them before.

Hindsight, they call it.

Kites

Seasons of disillusion,
Kites of my heart,
Roam with no good reason,
Back to the place of our first love.

Scribbles in my notebook,
Remember the tone of your voice,
Evoking your ways of being,
A girl in woman vase.

But when the Southern wind blew,
Dragged me to your latitude,
And I look for you in the back of this bar,
Or the streets of any city.
Kites of disillusion,
Everything changes as I change too
I am afraid of that truth,
If I find you,
What will you see?

Give me one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Where did you hide,
And where are you going,
Send me a letter,
If by chance you remember,
All those days
They were only ours.

As this sensation floats on,
Just like that flying kite,
Nonetheless it’s all an illusion,
And I am a ghost in transition.
And today’s wind is not enough,
To push you in my direction,
I would need more than a hurricane,
Or the strongest forces of the Earth.

Give me that one hope,
Tell me one more thing,
Why did you hide,
And where will you go,
Do send me that letter,
Because I know you remember,
All those days,
They were only ours.

Seasons of reconstruction,
Kites of my heart,
Tied up on a light pole,
Like all our divine and blue dreams,
Kites of dissilussion,
Everything changes as I change too,
I am scared of knowing that truth
If I find you,
Then what will you see… in me?

It's here

It's in California.

The ambassador debates well. But he is just an ambassador. Still, he looks terribly familiar. I wanted to hug him and buy him a beer. While he was cool and self-restrained, those yuppies were there throwing caca in his words. Fuck you Ivory tower idiots.

Letter to self, circa April 2007

Found during room cleanup:

It is astounding that at this part of the process you still find yourself thinking outside the box of that which you represent. But, what do you fear? Where do you want to go? Whose ideas will you challenge and how much are you willing to give up?

Remember everything about this process because it will never happen to you ever again in your life. You are privileged to know these things and ensure that others can understand the life of multiculturalist movements.

Find answers for others and yourself. I don't want to forget where I am coming from nor who who has been there at the worse moments. Try to love but not fall in love. Learn people's names. Make people smile. Stay humble. Dress calmly. Smell good. Read more.

In more concrete terms, remember this as a moment of concientization about the powers of privilege, the balances of power, the way in which the things you say are perceived. Challenge yourself. Be an intellectual. Be daring.

Recognize that fighting apathy is nearly impossible, and doing so might have to be as complex as the tools needed to manufacture consent.

Be fair. Let go. Grow up.

Honor your father and mother.

Change people's minds.

Live on other people's shoes.

Remember we are a people of advocacy. No flashy promises.

Fight (with a smile on).

Retraction

I do have a different role in Public Allies.

I talk a lot and I have, given previous my previous apprehension to do so, opened up a lot. A simple activity of surface-level life stories where all participants spoke for an average of 10 minutes turned into an activity of its own that included Samy's death and my other cousins deaths, my being called an 'indian' in school, mom's hospitalization, my roamings around Westwood, and my eventual spiritual departure from the United States, as well as the last-minute drawback from whatever that was. The tirade lasted 45 minutes. I suspect I will still leave after Public Allies.

On Thursday, I texted ten friends with the not-so randomly selected word "breathe". Two former roommates of utilitarian tendencies asked "Why?", two reluctant lovers asked "how did you know", and some did not respond. I still don't know who won. I think I did.