el mismo nuevo inicio

Ya falta poco para partir a una nueva aventura. Me siento emocionada y con un poco de miedo sabiendo que a lo que regreso no es a lo mismo que dejé atrás en algún momento. La gente ha seguido con su vida y ha cambiado, y por más que deseo regresar y encontrar todo como lo dejé, sé que es imposible. Esta vez tendré que empezar de nuevo y crear nuevas amistades, aventuras, memorias y por qué no, amores. No dejo de pensar en lo bien que lo pasaré ahora que estaré tan cerca del agua y las olas.

Se me hace difícil llegar y encontrar situaciones hirientes. Sé que no dependió nunca de mi, sino del paso del tiempo y el destino. Hoy puedo decir que no me arrepiento de nada pero sí me duele ver la realidad y me cuesta trabajo digerir el presente. Como siempre he dicho, el tiempo lo cura todo y supongo que el tiempo lo tendré de sobra en aquel lugar mágico.

Cuento los días para decir adiós a una parte de mí que desde hace tiempo ya no se siente mía. Estoy lista para darle la bienvenida a lo que se siente más mío y lo que imagino será parte de mi futuro. Me voy con los ojos vendados al lugar que ya conozco y sé que aún, conociéndolo como la palma de mi mano, tropezaré con nuevos retos y obstáculos que antes no estaban ahí. Poco a poco la venda se irá cayendo para que al final pueda caminar sin miedo, sin titubear, sin mirar atrás. Y aprenderé a mirar al mundo sin vendas, sin filtros, sin distracciones. ¿Será que logre ese utópico propósito? Hoy lo veo como una ilusión cercana, mañana quién sabe…

Ni hablar

¿Y cómo es que de pronto el amor se te vació? ¿Será que todo este tiempo, en realidad, tu corazón nunca estuvo lleno? ¿Es verdad que alguien te dio lo que no te pude dar? ¿Es cierto que mientras yo esperaba y pensaba en ti, tú te las gastabas con alguien más? Hay veces que la gente nos lastima física y emocionalmente, pero nunca creí que eso sucedería contigo. Ahora te veo, esperando revivir el pasado y me doy cuenta que tú vives un nuevo presente con quien planeas tu futuro. Y me duele. Y me duele demasiado. Y sufro. Y sufro por una ilusión inexistente, irreal y distante. Y lloro. Y lloro por memorias olvidadas, perdidas y aplastadas por la realidad. Y no se qué hacer cuando me doy cuenta que no soy más que un obstáculo en tu vida, cuando para mi fuiste un trofeo. Y el egoísmo con el que te mueves me lastima a cada paso que doy, no junto a ti, si no detrás de ti.

Me encuentro sin palabras y sin esperanza. Aun no sé si en realidad te quiero de regreso sabiendo lo que sé hoy. No sé si quiera luchar por tenerte de vuelta. No sé si quiero sufrir más de lo que ya sufrí. No sé si quiera tu indiferencia en vez de tu pasión. No sé si quiera tu hipocresía en vez de tu comprensión. No sé si quiera tus mentiras en lugar de tu amor.

Y me sigo preguntando si en realidad esas miradas que cruzábamos eran verdaderas. No dejo de pensar que esa sonrisa era sólo para mí. Me sigo convenciendo que esas caricias las aprendiste conmigo. Las lágrimas que ruedan por mis mejillas saben que todo fue un engaño y un disfraz que me hace pedazos con cada nueva mirada vacía con la que ahora me ves.

Me voy de tu vida tan rápido como llegué. Me llevo conmigo todo el amor que te di, todo el apoyo que te brindé, todas las alegrías que compartí, todas las lágrimas que derramé, todas las memorias que construí, todo el sufrimiento que provoqué, todas las pasiones que viví, todas las peleas que propicié, todas las disculpas que ofrecí y todas las ilusiones que nunca forjé.

marla singer (part III)

"You had to give it to him: he had a plan. And
it started to make sense, in a Tyler sort of way.
No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that
which does not matter truly slide." -N- (FC)

I am Xihomara's decidophobia and teleophobia. Interesting how fate can manage to be so unwelcome, inconvenient, unfavorable and untimely . The way the puzzle solves itself without my consent is so ironical, it kind of makes its way into the funny side. You see, one is not ready to face solutions and often misreads them as problems so one can feel useful before life. For the first time ever, I faced a solution before facing a problem. I faced my destiny before my future. I faced my life before living. I faced the end before the beginning. How is it possible? I have no idea how it happened, it just did. Confusion now has me questioning this life and my purpose; love has me questioning my future.

How do you make a choice with tangled emotions and a shaken heart? I've been waiting and wishing so bad an answer would fall down from the sky, nothing. I kind of stopped hoping and started accepting the fact that 'Marla' has that power over me. He can manage to change things so precisely, that saying no is almost impossible. His plan is so perfect and tempting, offering what I could only dream of. Saying no is defying fate and denying love. Yes, Marla chooses timing as perfectly as the sun chooses to rise or set, always the best timing for him but not necessarily for me. I've been making up empty answers to an already answered question only to find I don't need answers, I just need to let go and take chances, after all, that's what we're here for... right?

Marla. Will they ever find a cure for a tumor like Marla? Do I really want to cure that tumor? Maybe it's just my pms messing with me once again, but I can't help thinking that I finally found its true meaning. "pms" has always meant the same thing all along, for I am and always will be "Part (of) Marla Singer".

confessions of a dangerous heart

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." -OG-

I confess I'm a perilous heart. I haven't always been like this; the past experiences and betrayal have gotten me here. I've repeatedly been sent to rehab, but it doesn't matter how hard you try or what you use, a broken heart will never be as good as new. It's bound to change, evolve, scar and harden. A damaged heart forgives but never forgets. I have been owned by some, given away to others, stolen by a few and decieved by most. I didn't ask for it, I wasn't even taken into consideration. Now, I must confess that I have learned many ways to defend and protect myself, even when that means hurting other amateur hearts. I'm the most experienced architect when it comes to building wall around me for protection; I'm just not the best bricklayer and I tend to leave many weak parts that are brought down with the slightest touch of a meaningless kiss, smile or kind expression; the remains leave me exposed, defenseless and unguarded. After watching so many fragile walls come down so easily, I have learned to swallow my pain and pick up what still works and throw out what doesn't. This is a move I haven't perfected; I usually keep things that are best disposed such as empty memories and futile pieces of almost forgotten hearts. My past is responsible for all the pain I have caused and all the unfinished business I tossed away in search of something better. It's hard for me to let go of the past; ironically, the past has no problem letting go of me and when I look back it's almost as if I was edited from this unseen motion picture.

I have been accused of many different crimes and for most of them I will plead guilty. However, none of them were intentional and I might even ask for an appeal. I have many breaking and entering accusations, which I apologize for but not regret. On my defense, those hearts were not locked or guarded and they had it coming; they should have known better. I'm guilty of most injury accusations. I have broken, bruised, fractured, wounded and stabbed many hearts; it was not vengeance or will, it was never premeditated it was just the way things worked out. I confess to the betrayal accusation, in which I owned more than one heart at once. I had not confessed to this crime, maybe because I just thought they would never find out. I plead innocent for most lacerny accusations. I didn't steal the whole thing, it was just a piece which I still keep somewhere; I promise I will give it back as soon as I find it.

The past has built my present and my indifference, hardness and scrupulousness is only the byproduct. I have learned to amend corrupted emotions to help me out in this inevitable trial. I have managed to turn pride into empathy, vengeance into forgiveness, apathy into excitement, greed into devotion and deceit into truth. Love has never been corrupted before and it's the one thing that keeps me going. It's what helps me heal and what gives me strength to start over. It's the only immortal star that guides me through darkness. It's my very own defibrillator that brings me back every time; it keeps me beating and it will keep on doing it as long as I have you to beat for.

marla singer part II

"I felt like destroying something beautiful." -N- (FC)

I am Xihomara's deep feeling of remorse. I found myself in a torturous trance thinking about Marla again (and again). My tumor, Marla. I can't get him and the last time we saw each other out of my mind. I really should have put my brains before my mouth, but lets face it, I rarely do that and I get over regret way too quickly (maybe not this time). The most surprising thing about all this, is that the same day I woke up with him on my mind (well, I didn't get any sleep that night, really), he showed up just like that. I honestly hate when those freaky things happen; it makes me uneasy to think that there is such thing as a connection between two people, strong enough to transcend space. Maybe, the real thing that makes me uneasy is that I threatened that connection, I hurt it, I betrayed it.

I never wanted to hurt Marla; it was never my intention to wreck what we had or what we had built. He had never hurt me before and I felt guilty right after I answered his stupid question with cold-hearted honesty. It was that look he gave me, the most sincere look someone has ever given me, that made me want to turn back time desperately. A look that doesn't stop when it meets your eyes, but goes deeper, much deeper. A look that strikes your heart and soul, leaving them surrendered and drowning in your own cold sweat of guilt. A look that doesn't need a look back. A look that makes you hate your unwelcome words. A look that reflects your complete lack of empathy. A look that makes you wish you were blind. A look that's a stranger to forgiveness. A look that haunted your heart then, and haunts your karma now. If I could blame my coldness and indifference on anybody, that would be Tyler Durden. I guess things aren't that easy and, the truth is, I can't really blame it on anybody (not even my alter ego) this time.

Marla came back. Now that I think of it, Marla was never really gone. Marla, my tumor. Marla, my heart tumor. Marla, my soul tumor. He is part of me as I am part of him. Repeatedly, we have been apart and always end up back together (talk about destiny and fate). I feel we all have this built-in compass affected by our soul-netic field that, throughout life, attracts what we need the most at that very moment in our lives, and repels what we don't need at all; but I believe there is something that you'll always need and will keep being attracted to you no matter what. Maybe for me, that "something" is Marla. Maybe it was Marla who fixed my broken compass. I was surprised to see that he came back and I couldn't stop thinking of the letdown, pain and disappointment my pride and stubbornness had caused to an innocent heart. He made everything worse by doing what he does best: saying the right thing at the right time. I'm still wondering if now is, in fact, the right time. Maybe I'm not ready to hear those words; I honestly didn't expect to hear them from him again.

I'm confused all over again (go figure). It feels wierd to be forgiven like this, with no need to explain, no need to fight, no abuse, no questions, no remorse, no hate, no unwillingness, no looking back. Have you ever done something where you find yourself in a prison guarded by guilt? Where you are still doing your time even when you have been granted amnesty? Where you can't forgive yourself even when the one hurt already did? Where everytime you look back you wish you had done things better? That's how I feel now. Will this feeling go away? It's hard to tell. When you hurt someone so important in your life, it's like hurting yourself. It's as if you're the one being tortured and betrayed. I guess the real question is: will I ever have the courage and fortitude to do the same unselfish act for someone else? I can't answer that right now; time will tell. I just hope that when that time comes, I'm ready. All of this is confusing, perhaps it's just my pms talking and maybe Marla has given it a whole new meaning once again. This time "pms" definitely stands for "prostrated (before) Marla Singer".

prince charming

"And what I dream of is a man who will discover her, and that she will discover a man who will love her, who is worthy of her, who is of this world, of this time, and has the grace, and compassion and fortitude to walk beside her as she makes her way through this beautifully called life" -B.P.-

Ok, so maybe I haven't been the best, but I have surely tried. I know that's hard to believe but those who know me, know. As one of my favorite songs says, "I haven't memorized all of the cute things to say, but I'm working on it..." I was really trying my best to learn them but I guess I'm a slow learner and some people just don't have enough patience or time... It's ok. I, myself, am not very patient and I tend to get bored with stuff like that. Aaaanywho... I think what I'm trying to say, is that I have learned some of those things throughout my life and maybe, just maybe, I'm ready to share them... This time I know I'm looking for something different; something worth it; something real. This time, I feel different, capable and whole. For the first time in months, I feel complete and great about myself again. It's as if the sky is clearing up after months of bad weather to warm up my life and future; as if I finally stopped staring at the closed door and found out that I own a keychain full of keys that unlock all those doors that guard the rest of my life. (Ok... there goes a déjà vu). I believe this is my queue in life.

I have grown quite a lot, spiritually and emotionally, and I have learned from my mistakes. I really don't ask for much; I just need enough. I know that soon I'll find that person who will turn my world upside down and who will make me fall head over heels once and for all. I know he has to be authentic; be himself no matter what. He must be proud of himslef and be in love with what he does. I want him to enjoy life and everything that comes with it, even the sad and difficult moments. I want him to trust me and not be afraid to be vulnerable once in a while. I want him to open up to me and help me open up to him. I want him to call me in the middle of the night just to say he's thinking of me and that he wishes he was lying beside me. I need him to be there when I feel the world is working against me; I need something to know we are on the same team. I need a pair of open arms waiting to hold me tight and tell me everything will be fine, when life is getting thorny. I want him to feel safe with me. I want him to say, "I miss you" and really mean it. I want to call him and hear him answer with a smile on his face, knowing I may have brightened his day just a little bit. I want him to surprise me with my favorite flower, even though I don't like flowers. I want him to cook me a romantic dinner, even if it's only mac & cheese and coke. He must love the ocean and the rain; he must be willing to kiss me in the rain every time we get a chance and run away with me to my beloved paradise once in a while. I want to learn new things from him, even if it's only a new way to tie my shoelaces or blow a kiss. I want him to look into my soul when we look at each other's eyes. I want him to live and let himself be lived. I want him to let me win some of the fights. I want to go bowling and surfing with him. I want to stay up all night with him, gazing at the stars while we imagine our own constellations. I want him to be as crazy as I am about travelling to Africa. I need him to be patient with my pms; he must try to understand that the best way to make it better is a kiss on my forehead and a bear hug. I want him to steal kisses from me when I least expect it. He should have imagination and an adventurous spirit; always willing to try new things, even if they look real dangerous. I want him to never be embarrassed to be with me even if I have a fake-permanent marker-drawn moustache and unibrow on my face. I want him to be afraid and comfort him when he's facing the unknown. I want him to be proud of me and I want him to support my choices. I want him to accept the fact that I love Elvis, that I dance like Elvis and that I ocassionally, dress up like Elvis. I want him to dress up as a fireman, and... well... (heheh) I want him to be the first one to remember my birthday and the first one to wish me a happy birthday surprising me with a chocolate cake baked by him and a pint of cherry garcia ice cream. I want to show him new things, from an invented word to a different way to wear a tie. I want to go to the movies and not care if the movie sucked, because all along we were holding hands and that made it worth it. I want him to choose a quiet night in, over a loud or pathetic night club. I need him to understand that I love costumes, and maybe even dress up together and crash a wedding dressed as Elvis and Chaplin. I want him to listen when we talk. I want him to learn the right way to talk to me when I'm being stubborn. I want him to be my partner in crime. I want him to be my best friend. I want him to make the best out of today. I want him to live our moment.

You might think it's too much to ask for, but it's only based on perspective, really. You might think that there's no one like that; that there's no such thing as prince charming. Well, you see, I am willing to do all of those things for someone worth it, maybe even more (I mean, let's face it, I've done it for a few that weren't). I am willing to live my life and live my moment with that special someone. I don't necessarily expect it to last forever, but I don't discard the possibility, either. I just feel everything is about giving and receiving; I must warn you: it won't be simultaneous. I often give more than I have without getting anything back at that very moment; later, someone comes along giving me more than I can take and I find myself not ready to recieve it, for I am caught up thinking of the past, and missing out on my present. Now, I feel ready... but then again, so did I the last time. Timing has always been my biggest issue. Timing has a way of twisting my plans so lavishly. We might not be ready, and we might be afraid, but we only get one shot in life and you either take it and learn from it, or spend the rest of your life wondering what it would have been. When you least expect it, when you're least ready, you are face to face with someone better than prince charming. Will I take a chance this time? Will I be so selfish again and think about myself before my wounded heart? I may not be ready, and I may not be sure, but that's how fate works. That's how life goes. That's how love grows... go figure.

caras vemos

Bueno, pues me lo encontré otra vez. Sí, iba acompañado de ese hostil ser peludo: una beagle gorda con ladrido grave. Lo saludé como siempre y me sonrió con una sonrisa que aún no he descifrado. En las manos llevaba mi compu, el cargador y un DVD de Friends, el cual vio con curiosidad; supongo que se acordó de algún buen capítulo, como el de los pantalones de cuero de Ross. Me despedí cuando llegamos a la planta baja y usó la misma sonrisa cautivadora para decir, "Hasta luego."

Estaba en Starbucks más tarde, estudiando, cuando se me ocurrió contarle a mi study buddy sobre mi mystery neighbor (así le puse desde hace un tiempo). Le conté que me intriga demasiado lo poco que lo conozco. No sé mucho de él; sólo que vive en el piso 19, tiene una perrita beagle excesivamente gorda y siempre está en pijama (él, no la perra). Es raro ver a una persona siempre en fachas, acompañada de un perro malhumorado. Cada quien disfruta la vida a su manera...

Saboreando un té verde frozen alto sin crema y un café americano venti con espacio para leche, estuvimos imaginando su vida y a lo que se dedica. Creemos que lo dejaron plantado en el altar y vive en una depresión permanente, en donde lo único que tiene es su perra, la cual, irónicamente, fue un regalo de aniversario de su ex novia. No se ha suicidado porque no hay quien cuide a su perra, que creemos se llama Natasha (igual que la ex novia). Está siempre en pijama porque su vida sin esa mujer no vale la pena y no tiene para quién vestirse bien. Mi study buddy cree que él espera que yo sea su shoulder to cry on y que en cuanto se encariñe, se suicidará dejándome su fortuna y a ella la perrita.

Si esa no es la historia, creemos que inventó las tapas para café y vive de una fortuna inimaginable, alimentando a su perra a más no poder. En caso de que esa tampoco sea la historia de su vida, estamos casi seguras que es un gigoló; trabaja por las noches entregando su cuerpo a mujeres (y hombres...) insatisfechas que buscan un poco de diversión y romper con la monotonía de su vida sexual. Está ahorrando para irse a vivir a París, en donde los latin lovers son codiciados (y allá pagan Euros). Creemos que en algunas ocasiones Natasha lo acompaña a estas citas de pecado y participa en juegos que preferimos dejar a la imaginación.

Si su profesión no es vender su cuerpo (con todo lo que ello implica), suponemos que es dueño de alguna franquicia importante y demandó a Wal-Mart en EUA por resbalarse con aceite en uno de los pasillos, rompiéndose el hocico bien y bonito. Ahora recibe cifras ridículamente grandes de dinero a su cuenta en Suiza. Él no tiene que trabajar y es por eso que siempre está en pijama, paseando a su perra y dándole croquetas de caviar con salmón y trufas blancas.

Bien, si ninguna de las anteriores se aproxima a su realidad, suponemos que es viudo. Heredó una fortuna de su difunta mujer, que ahora le permite disfrutar de una vida de excesos y lujos que sólo Donald, Carlos y Bill podrían gozar. Su perrita, que fue un regalo de la reina de Inglaterra, duerme en un colchón de seda y plumas de gansa virgen, diseñado por Gianni Versace, que en paz descanse. El mystery neighbor es una persona altruista y el mes pasado donó millones de dólares a la Asociación de Perritos Sin Sangre Real (APSSR). Vive aquí para disimular y porque le caigo bien.

Sin duda, una de éstas es la verdadera historia de su vida. No puedo dejar de pensar que mi mystery neighbor también inventa mi vida. No sé si se aproxima tanto como yo, considerando que las pocas veces que nos hemos visto he estado vestida con tirantes y sombrero de bombín, de cocinera, de mesera, de hawaiana, de Elvis y una que otra vez como gente normal con un par de jeans y una camisa blanca que dice: I LOVE TO FART. En fin, habrá quien también me considere una mystery neighbor, pues, al final: caras vemos, vecinos no sabemos...