Red Lips

He saw her walk in.

Why did he see her? It didn't matter, he thought. Or did it? It wasn't as if he had noticed her before, but tonight, he saw her. She was standing with some friends talking and laughing, enjoying herself. He wanted to approach her but found himself unable to move.
"Who are you staring at?" his friend asked.
"Who?" He snapped out of it. "No one." His friend laughed and looked in the same direction. "They look nice don't they?" He laughed again, attempting to sound normal. "Do they? They all look the same, wearing the same dress and stuff." But that was a lie and he knew it, because he only noticed her. "Why don't you ask one of them to dance?" his friend asked in a daring tone.
"I will. Later."
"Suit yourself," his friend said and he saw him approach the group of girls. Again, he attempted to walk towards her and then stopped. His friend had asked her to dance, very well knowing that he had been staring at her out of the group, but why? It didn't matter, he thought, as he watched them dancing.

He saw her move effortlessly on the dance floor. She loved dancing. Her smile would glow bigger with every spin. He saw his friend pull her closer to him, she was having fun, after all. The song finally ended and she  walked back to her friends. That's when she looked his way and smiled at him.
The eye contact made him panic. But he never panicked, so he ran away, avoiding his feelings. In an effort to forget her, he made his way to the dance floor, grabbed the nearest girl to him  and unfortunately, didn't hear the girl tell him she didn't know how to dance. She was also a stranger who he had never seen anywhere else before, but he didn't care because he wanted to have fun. He tried spinning her and failed. She also stepped on him twice and nearly slipped once. To make matters worse, the DJ kept mixing in songs making the dance drag for what seemed hours. Finally, at the third song, he decided to ditch her and felt lucky he hadn't asked her name.

The party continued but he felt suffocated. Was it the dancing? The crowd? The heat? He didn't care, or at least he tried not to care. That's when he saw her. Again. This time, she was dancing with some guy he didn't know. That guy obviously couldn't dance and he could tell she was annoyed. The song ended and she smiled at the guy before walking away. He let out a chuckle and walked to the bar. "Scotch please," he told the bartender, and drank slowly, feeling the burning sensation of the alcohol in his chest. But even then, he could still see her reflection on the glass. She was coming his way, which made him panic, again. "I'll have the same thing he's having." She rested her chin on her wrist and smiled, looking at him straight in the eye. "Hey" was all he managed to say, trying to avoid her eyes. He took a sip of his drink trying to numb his feelings, effortlessly.
"You look lonely. That's not like you."
"I know." The bartender gave her the scotch.
"I didn't know you drank." He teased.
"Then I guess you don't know much about me." She smiled. He stared at her lips as she told him those words. Bright red and perfect. They left a print on the cup. "Why haven't you asked me to dance?"
"You looked busy."
"Busy?" She let out a laugh. It sounded like glass breaking, but so beautiful; it made him laugh along. He finished his drink and pulled her to the dance floor.

Her hand seemed so frail in his. It was soft and smooth, so he was gentle. When he put his hand on her waist, they started to glide across the dance floor in a synchronized rhythm, moving to perfection. He pulled her closer to him, close enough to smell her sweet perfume. The scent made him nervous, so he released her in a complicated spin. However, he was no match for her and took it as a challenge in which she came out victorious once they were face to face again. He noticed her lips again, red and vibrant so he pulled her closer to him, gripping her hand, feeling the sweat on his back, afraid to have her so close and enjoying the moment at the same time. He didn't even notice when the song ended and she slipped out of his grasp.

The water he splashed on his face felt cool and refreshing. It was only then, standing alone in the bathroom, when he noticed that he wanted to have her. Even if he tried to lie to himself, he knew that for the past few months, he had been thinking of her. Every smile, every fight, would replay in his head all day. No one knew, except for himself. But he could not tell her. He was aware that she had only wanted to be friends since the beginning. This time was different. Having realized this, he decided to leave. There was nothing else for him to do. Giving up on her would mean keeping her, at least as a friend. For some reason, he hated the thought of it, he just couldn't let go of her. He felt selfish for wanting her since years ago, he swore to himself to be alone, to never accept a girl's feelings, nor to develop feelings himself towards anyone.

But this time was different.

Before leaving, he watched her once more and remembered how they had met. It was at a party as well, eight years ago, they were so young and naïve, unaware of anything and with a desire to live life without regrets. She was looking for a dance partner and so his friend introduced them. She felt awkward and he felt clumsy. He tried to lead her but kept messing up and all she did was laugh. That beautiful smile of hers, he knew even on that first encounter that she was different. She was bold and delicate at the same time, mysterious and unexpected. This had always made him nervous, but he had managed to keep their friendship close. He could always trust her, she was a strong-minded person but mature as well. Nothing could stop her, and he loved that about her. Her only flaw was that she could never hide her emotions, whether it was anger or excitement, or fear or sadness, even joy.

She was standing in front of him and he hadn't even noticed.

"Where are you going? Its still early," she smiled.
"Where?" He wasn't aware that they were standing in the parking lot. She was standing so close to him, and they were alone, under the moon. Her eyes shone bright like fallen stars. She looked so perfect to him, with her beautiful gown and her wavy hair draping over her shoulders. He just couldn't hold it in anymore.

The moment suddenly exploded.

Without giving it another thought, he grabbed her hand, pulled her close enough and kissed her. Those gorgeous red lips, he had wanted to have those lips all night and finally he had her in his arms. His insides were bursting with fear and joy, wondering why he had waited so long to do that. He slid his hand down her back holding her closer while he caressed her cheek with the other hand and it was then that he noticed the tear running down her flushed cheek. He released her.

Her glaze was blank for a second, she wouldn't even blink, but tears were pooling in her eyes and finally he felt the shock on her trembling hand which he was still holding. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, trying to avoid her eyes. She pulled her hand and touched her red lips. No words came out of her mouth when she made the attempt to speak, so he did the only thing he could think of. He embraced her, and she finally started sobbing. His arms felt numb and a sudden anxiety rushed inside of him. What could he do or say? The action could not be undone, and that was his biggest fear, to finally give himself to her and not know what to do afterwards. Even though, he felt low and dirty, he wanted to make her stop crying. He wanted to see that smile again, the smile that warmed up his heart. She finally ceased and pulled away. "I... don't understand," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.."
"I know, that's why you hurt me. Because you didn't mean to." And with that said, she started to walk away, but he managed to grab her arm.
"Please wait, I'm sorry. I just don't know what came over me."
"That's always been your excuse."

He watched her go back inside, but didn't go after her. He felt so guilty but she was right. More than anyone, she knew how many times he had led on other girls, because he was afraid of commitment. And so, he let her go, knowing that perhaps he had lost her for good.

My week with the Poet

I got on the train this morning to go to class and I realized there were a lot of homeless people sitting, just riding around. This is normal for this city since we do have a lot of homeless people roaming around the streets. I see this one man wrapped in a blanket and across the row there was another man who was munching on some peanut butter crackers. I wanted to stare at them because they simply made me sad and I wanted to ask them so badly how they ended up homeless. If I had been in the same situation three weeks ago, my reaction would have been different. I probably would have gotten mad because these men, along with a few others, were abusing the metro system by getting rides all across town going absolutely nowhere. I would also say that they were probably mentally ill and could not afford medication. Lastly I would have been mad because I think anybody can get a job at McDonalds. But that was me three weeks ago. Today I feel pure empathy. What changed? Well, I met a poet.

I can say it one, two, three, five hundred times. I hate poetry. I realize that a few years back I posted a poem or two. I posted those poems because the person I loved claimed to be an excellent poet. I was still in high school trying to get a grasp at iambic pentameter so I thought that if I sat down and grabbed a thread of inspiration, I could come up with an equally amazing poem. Many years later I realized I would never be like him and therefore I assumed I was bad and my loath for poetry was born. I don't like reading it and much less studying it. I like fiction. I'll even go as far as liking nonfiction. In my eyes, poetry has a lot of gray areas of interpretation; you can think a poem is about a certain subject and in the author's mind it is something completely different. Then there's all that rhyme and meter stuff. I was told over and over that a poem did not have to rhyme and that is true but then there is the meter nonsense. And style. My goodness. I took a class last semester to study poetry and although I technically passed, I cannot keep the grade, so I must take another class to replace that credit. I had a great teacher, but the subject...I just don't like it. I don't like reading it, I don't like writing it, I don't like revising it, I don't like interpreting it, I don't like thinking about it, I don't like it.

And then there was him.

I will abstain to say his name for personal reasons, but we'll call him The Poet. This guy came in to our school and immediately, my teachers began talking about him. We were required to get his books for our classes and start reading them immediately. They went on and on about how great he was. Then one of my teachers said that he would give us extra credit to go meet him. And so, being a very dedicated student, I went. When I saw The Poet come in, I thought, "Wow, this guy looks so ordinary." I had imagined a very well dressed man wearing an expensive suit and maybe even a fancy briefcase. I imagined a man who talked with great wisdom and eloquence. A man that carried himself like a god. I mean, my teachers made him sound like this, but this guy was totally normal. He looked like one of us. A common man eating his sandwich talking asking us who we were and why we were in the university. Out of curiosity and more motivation for more extra credit I went to every event he held in the university. We got to know each other...very well.

I don't know what it was about him. It wasn't the way he talked or what he was saying. I guess deep down I just liked that this man was so normal. He wasn't arrogant or conceited. He lectured in two of my classes and picked on me constantly. He liked me, you see. And I liked him. It wasn't like I saw him as my uncle or grandfather. I guess he was just the voice I had inside. There are a lot of things that I want to write. Things that I am too scared or embarrassed to write about. I feel like in this space I have written about more personal stuff than I would ever dare discuss in public. However, there is still a lot inside of me that wants to come out. And then there is all the nonsense about the educational system that I am very passionate about. If I could take anything from my week with The Poet, it would be that I cannot give up. I should not care what anyone has to say about me being a high school teacher. I should not give in to the popular idea that high school kids are the worst. I should not judge people's present circumstances because everyone has a past. Even I have a past that I am not too proud of! Life is very hard and we live in a system that wants to swallow us whole. We cannot allow that. We have to fight in order to remain true to ourselves. We may be beaten down and oppressed, but even when times get rough, we cannot let the system beat us. Its all about survival.

I don't care if I never see him again, he left a part of him in me. I walk down the hallways thinking that I'm going to run into him. I feel like he's still here. I can hear him telling me "You need to go to Stanford, they'll love you there." Well I'm not going to Stanford because I cannot afford it. More than anything I want to write and teach. I have other goals, spiritual goals. Those are more important than anything else. But my desire to teach remains. My desire to write remains. One day I hope that I can be the teacher kids remember. For me, it was Ms. Purser. I still remember her as if it were yesterday. That's the thing about people that make a difference in your life, even after they leave, you still remember them.

When I got on the podium, I thought I was going to faint. I could feel my fingers going numb and my legs turning to jelly. My eyesight got blurry as I addressed the auditorium. I don't remember how I managed to read but I did. I remember feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride. It was a moment that perhaps many students wished they would've had. I don't think of it as my 5 seconds of glory. I think of it as my 5 seconds of light. In college, I want to remain invisible. I walk with my head low and only speak when I have something to say. I try not to socialize. Solitude is a better friend to me in this building. I like things this way, so having him ask me to come to the podium to read in front of an audience was perhaps the scariest moment in my life. It made me realize I don't want to be popular or famous. I want to be a teacher. I want to continue writing. I want to embrace my identity. I'm not only glad I met him, I feel at peace. I see people different and although he thinks of me as someone that will make some kind of social difference in the future, I think of myself as someone that will continue to see people with an eye of kindness and love.

The Love I Used To Know

It started with a dream.

I was a bridesmaid in some wedding. Well it was more than just "some wedding". It was in fact my crush's wedding. Weddings are supposed to be happy moments but in my dream, there was a lot of commotion. It was a garden wedding and there were very few guests. In fact, it was just the parents of the groom and my family and the other bridesmaid. And the bride. The bride was a divorcee. In fact, she had left her husband because she had a bad temper and couldn't stand that he was a nice guy. However, the groom was a nice guy too. He was the kind of guy that is everyone's friend. He was always busy because he's in every possible committee and he has all the privileges in the world. To me, he was Mr. Perfect.

Well Mr. Perfect turned out to not be quite as perfect.

You see, I mentioned there was a lot of commotion. Turns out the commotion was because Mr. Perfect was about to marry a woman who was divorced without proper biblical backup. The result would be obvious. Which is why there were no guests. His parents kept begging him to call off the wedding but he kept saying "No, I gave her my word". But he didn't love her. He assumed he would love her later. He was doing her a favor because he knew, we all knew, she could never get married again.

Plus she had a really bad temper.

I stood there waiting for the wedding to start. I was wearing a purple gown with a white sash. I had a white bouquet of flowers that I gripped desperately. There he was, the man I had loved from far away for years and I was about to see him get married to a woman with a bad temper. The worse part was that I would not be able to speak to him again. He would say "I do" to a woman out of pity and not out of love. I held back the tears saying to myself it would be okay. The misery would be over within minutes. I would eventually get over it. Its not like I wanted him to marry me, I just couldn't believe he was marrying the woman to do her a favor and he would risk absolutely everything for a woman with a bad temper who did not love him.

The judge told us we had to start. The bride would walk down the isle alone. The groom did not have groomsmen so the only two bridesmaids would stand at the end of the aisle opposite from the groom. His parents asked for a few more minutes before we started. The bride came out from where she had been waiting asking what the hold up was. His parents asked her one more time to not carry out the wedding to which she angrily replied "No! He gave me his word!" I looked at him. He looked lost and confused, almost scared.

More than loving him as a man loves a woman, it was a platonic love.

Its not like I wanted him to marry me. It wasn't even that I wanted him to not get married. It was the reasons he had for marrying the woman. It could have been anyone in the world. It could have been for any other reason. Except that in that moment, he wanted to keep his word as a man. I hated him for it. I hated him for breaking all his integrity over one woman who did not love him. He couldn't even lie and say he loved her. He just kept saying "I have to marry her. No one else will ever love her. She won't ever get married." It was obvious he was about to make the mistake of his life. I asked the bride how her son was doing and she bitterly replied "Why?!" "Well...because I haven't seen him in a long time..." "Oh. Well he's with his dad. He's okay". I mean, the woman did not even love her own flesh and blood! I was mad. But I couldn't show it. The reason why I had been asked to be a bridesmaid was to support this bitter woman who had no friends. It was a favor and he had asked me to do it for him, so I agreed. But at that moment, I wanted to run away, only I couldn't move.

I was holding on to a string of hope.

And then it happened. The wedding started. I held on to my bouquet until I could no longer feel my nails. I bit my lower lip and prayed for a miracle. The bride came walking like all the brides do. She held on to her white bouquet and marched with a fake smile on her face. I took a long, heavy breath and as she got closer he said it. He finally said it. It was moment of relief between all that tension. The anxiety all of a sudden wore off. The panic ceased. The commotion turned into cheering. He had come to his senses. Finally we could all be in peace. The bride threw her flowers to the floor and stomped out of the court. It had happened. Amazing things like that don't happen in real life. Only in movies and in dreams. And of course this was a dream so it only got better.

"I can't do this, call off the wedding. I'm sorry Julie".

But I didn't say anything. Like all the other guys I've ever liked, I've never been the one to come out with my feelings first. And with him, well, I knew he was out of my league. He was Mr. Perfect after all. But then he grabbed my hand. I felt goosebumps as he muttered some words that I cannot remember. And then, I was in the limo with him. It was just the two of us. No one seemed to care that he had dragged me out of the courthouse and into the honeymoon limo. Maybe they didn't notice, or maybe in my dream, it didn't matter. It didn't matter because he was sitting next to me and we were heading to get dinner. I wanted to yell and jump. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted to hear him laugh his beautiful laugh. It was a dorky laugh but it was one of the reasons why I loved him and why I realized it was more than platonic love. His smile. His beautiful smile behind those dorky glasses. I loved everything about his face. I loved his hands. I loved the way he talked and the things he talked about. It wasn't like he was trying to impress me, he was just being himself. He knew that he didn't have to give me any explanations of the events in the courthouse. He was just simply talking. Conversation. Like two friends that talk about important and unimportant matters. I looked at him both aware and unaware of what he was saying. It didn't matter because I had his attention. I would reply to everything he was saying and laugh at what he would laugh at. It was genuine though, I could feel my heart hurt of how happy I felt.

We went to a restaurant that seemed almost magical, in a garden setting, with lights on the trees and candles on the tables. The weather was beautiful and he was looking at me, not in a lustful way but in a relieved way. He was relieved he was not doing this with the bride but with me. His friend. And I loved him. I didn't care if he didn't love me because I loved him. I loved him so much that I wanted to cry of happiness. I wanted to make him happy and be with him. If I could have stopped time I would have. If I could have stayed asleep and continue that dream I would have. I don't think I've ever been that happy in real life. I looked at his eyes and smiled.

And then I woke up.


Beyond waking up I realized I want to be in love. I want to be loved and love. But above all things I want to see him smile, wherever he is.

You Asked If It Mattered?

It is raining.

It has been raining for the past few days.

As a matter of fact, it has been raining for the past few years.

I don't think I'll ever be an actual writer because I never actually finish my stories. I just leave them without an ending. I wonder if it could possibly be due to a childhood trauma. All I know is that at one point I was using this as an outlet and a way to write my analysis on anything I wanted and now I'm not. Why am I  not writing anymore?

I am embarrassed.

I've always had this rule where everything I write stays. Nothing ever gets deleted or unposted. Well I just unposted "Through the Eyes of  Deborah" because I was embarrassed of where that story was going. I never just think of stories in my head. I simply take a person in my life and create something around that person. Well it just so happens that I am not proud of my human relationships at the moment. The older I get the more solitary I want to be. I don't get it.

It could be because maybe I don't like the way I look. I've tried many times to change that but I feel like the harder I try the worse it gets. I'm sick. I need to accept it. It literally took four years to put a name on all my dysfunctions. I've cried and gotten mad and said some ugly things but the reality is that as long as we live in this system, I will be sick for the rest of my life. Oh and to make things worse, its only going to get worse. Chronic. Progressive. Done. I'm done. I am 21 and I am sick. I didn't make myself sick. I also don't say what I have because there are stupid people in this world who think they are doctors and want to suggest all kinds of antidotes. There are also not stupid people who will pretend to understand or actually understand and support me. Those people know what is wrong with me. Everyone else is on a need-to-know status. Or more like a don't-need-to-know.

I'm tired. Literally.

I'm tired of being confused and not knowing why I feel the way I feel. I'm a firm believer that emotions need to come out of people's bodies. Emotions that get bottled up make people sick and uncertain. They back up to become bitterness and denial. Those things contribute to stress and more sickness. No one likes stress. Stress makes you fat. Therefore, keeping emotions bottled inside contributes to obesity. So just let it all out.

I wish I knew very well how to tell my emotions apart. Like when  I'm sad. Am I sad because I am being a girl? An emotional girl? Or am I sad because I don't feel good?  Am I having a hard time focusing because I don't feel good or because I didn't sleep well or because I'm stressed? Do I feel good? Do I want to be around people today? Do I feel like being nice? Am I being rude? Can I just stop feeling?

That's it. I want it to not matter. I want to see people happy and be happy. I want to see people sad and help them feel better. I want to have the energy I used to have when I was 16. When I was 16 my life was beautiful. I was in school and I had good grades. I was on top of things. I was focused. I loved to look at myself and take pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. I liked how I looked. I liked my hair. I liked my friends. I loved meeting people. I loved everything that was happening. I loved my life very, very much. I looked forward to waking up and starting a new day. Back then I could feel and it was okay.

Then I turned 17. I wasn't 16 anymore. I was 17. 17. Why did 17 happen? 17 was the downfall. 17 was the  point past no return.

I remember that night when my life turned upside down. Well not my life. Just my emotions. It was November. I had a lot of doubt and uncertainty. I was also annoyed and very scared. That was when the testing all started. Doctor appointments and nurses and hospitals. God. That stupid hospital smell.  And of course, I couldn't talk about it then just like I cannot talk about it now. It was a secret because I didn't want anyone to worry. But then again, just like today, I also don't want it to be a complete secret to where one day something would happen and nobody would know how to help me. But that day I didn't want to talk about it. It was November and the sun was out. I was mad, not at myself but at the fact that I was filled with doubt. All of a sudden I realized how young I was. I realized how much I wanted to do with my life. All of a sudden I realized that all the goals I had would never get achieved. I would stop being human and ambitious. I was heading towards a very dull and stationary life. I realized where my life was heading and I panicked. I just wanted to run away and hide. I wanted my life to just briefly stop so I could think about what I wanted. But no, life kept going. What happened in November? It was a Friday night. I was coming home with my mom and I just started crying. I told her the truth. I wasn't in trouble, I was simply scared and confused.

My mom did the only thing she was able to do at the moment. As we drove she listened and when we pulled into the driveway, she kept listening. That's when she told me I had to let go. Why? Because she was being a mother. My mother. It wasn't all the quirks and things I couldn't stand. It was simply because I realized that I was 17 and my life was going much faster than what it was supposed to be going. So I had to put the breaks on things. That day I realized how young I actually was.

Boy...did I cry. And that's when it started to rain.

Its been raining in my head for the past four years. I keep on looking for a ray of sunshine because quite frankly, as much as I want to move on and accept my reality, sometimes I just can't. I'm still afraid like when I was 17. I've learned to control my fear but the pain comes and goes. I know we won't keep suffering forever...but on the meanwhile it just keeps raining. It doesn't mean I'm not happy, It just means that the storm is not over.

And yes. It does matter. And I do care.

Things and People that Matter

"It happens to everyone as they grow up. You find out who you are and what you want, and then you realize that people you've known forever don't see things the way you do. So you keep the wonderful memories but find yourself moving on."

I wish I knew who said that. Whoever it was is a very smart person. I've been thinking about this piece that I'm writing. A short story. Maybe I've said it before, but, I don't like to post short stories here. I'm afraid to get plagiarized. The internet is not a safe place for an artist of any kind, people take your work like its nothing. Its impossible to avoid it. Since I'm not a professional writer, its worse for me. However, I find that I've always written a story that is significant of every love interest I've ever had. Its not to say that the story is real, its just a figment of my imagination, sometimes in which circumstances are better. I don't think of myself as a writer. I simply write. Of course I'm aware of the contradiction there, but writers are better than me. I simply write for the fun of it. Have I been told my writing is awesome? Yes. Have I been told my writing sucks? In smaller words, yes. Have I been told I can improve? Definitely yes. I know I'm as good as I am bad so I don't expect much out of this blog. I have friends who have tried blogging and failed. Or some just quit. I guess it gets old, or people simply don't know what to write. Or they are embarrassed. I'm not afraid to write. Its something that I enjoy because no one ever brings it up. Lately though, I've been thinking and I've thought a lot about my friends.

Friends are hard to find and even harder to keep. The quote above explains it better than I can. That's why I decided to write about it. In my case, I see it as a protection when I stop being friends with someone. Sometimes it hurts and I may not even know why it happened. One day I'll be talking to a girl and the next day its over. Its crazy. Girls are so hard to be friends with. Guys its even worse. 500 days of Summer puts it like this: " A guy and a girl can be just friends. But at one point or another, they will fall for each other, maybe temporarily, maybe at the wrong time. Maybe too late or maybe forever." That is why. History repeats itself with me. I've been warned many times. Its almost like A Christmas Carol when the ghosts tell Scrooge what's going to happen if he doesn't change. Well, no ghost has come to visit me and take me in stroll through time, but I can say with true certainty that some things I can feel coming, so they are expected. I don't think I'm a horrible person because I have friends. I have my best friend, my close friends, my relatively close friends, my soon-to-be-close friends, my party friends and my acquaintances. By the way, I hate that word, I can't ever spell it right. Continuing. I can't imagine life without my best friend. She means absolutely everything to me. Even when she lets me down and when I let her down, we still get over it and continue to be friends. I do lover her beyond words. Everyone else is very much on a different level. Its like a cone that builds up. The lower levels have more room than the top levels.

What about when a friend stops being a friend. You know, when you try talking and they don't make an effort to talk. Or when they talk behind your back. How about when they never make an effort to hang out or always cancel? And what about the times when you do see each other and its awkward. You try to play it off like everything is ok...but really you wonder what went wrong. Then you try to talk it out but apparently nothing is wrong...so you continue to wonder what happened.

Its a pattern. Then sad thing is what happens next. Someone gets in trouble. I don't mean the person who is your friend, I mean someone close to them. Sometimes, its your friend. That's when it hits you. At least with me I feel like there was some kind of divine intervention to protect me. So now I'm scared. I have a friend that I've known for years. I think the world of this person and I thought we were really really good friends. Like almost best friends. We always had time for each other. This is when I realize that what I want in life and what this friend wants in life clearly are not the same things. Then again, they never have been, but that never stopped us from being friends. We had each other's back. I think, and maybe I'm wrong, but, I think I've been there for some of the toughest times this person has been through. So I wonder. What did I do. Again.

I do think its my fault. I don't care if its not, I still think it is. I think maybe I said something and then I think and think, what could it be. I go back in time and draw myself a timeline of events. I think of what I said and did and then what the person said and did. I think about it until it drives me nuts. Then, I think about it again. This time, I'm afraid to ask. Honestly, I don't think I did anything. Its always the same story. "She said you said." Well for once I wish they would ask me first before believing things. That's how I know who my real friends are. People that know me well wouldn't believe just anything that anyone says even if it sounds like something I would say or do. I'm not completely over it but I'm not losing sleep over it. If its happening I think something is about to happen. Something. Soon. Its not like all the people that have gotten in trouble since the Summer is not enough. So I'm scared. No, I'm more like anxious but the bad kind. I try to focus on my hair and face. Both of them are almost 70% clear. I try to focus in school and my pioneering. I try to focus on my platonic crushes. I try to think about the things that MATTER. This does not matter. Well, it doesn't matter yet. Soon it will. I wonder what's going to turn out of this one. All I know is that I'm probably going to get hurt very soon. And all because I don't listen to the thoughts in my head. Or maybe because I listen to them too much.

I just don't even know. Why do people change? That's hypocritical because I changed. I think I'm maturing. But if that means that other people change and mature...then who's wrong?

The answer is in the quote above.

In My Memory

In all honesty to heart, I would like to say that this blog is intended for a formality. I'm not sure if there is a legality tied to it, but if ther is , good, if not, then its ok. A while ago, a friend of mine died. She was young and healthy. Or so we thought. She was about my age at the time. Probably 18 or 19. I thought of her as an example to me even though we were not close. She lived in a little town far away from the city and she attended the French congregation. She was also a pioneer. I've probably mentioned before why I moved to the French, but she was one big huge motivation, and still is. One day, she went to the hospital for something minor, like a headache or stomachache. Something minor. She was released and then went back because she wasn't feeling well still and then she...just...died. It was honestly the most traumatic news I've received. Its really, really sad when people only call when someone dies. It was the spring of my senior year in high school and when my mom told us, it really shocked us more than anything. Even though we were not close, I still thought of her as an example to me and I had made plans to visit the French with her. It was so fast. No one had a chance to process. So we went to school and that's when I broke down. To make matters worse, my French teacher was being unreasonable and would not let me leave class to talk to another teacher. I really disliked that woman and more so after that day.

I've always told my Jedi Master that I would like to die in service. Yes I am writing about this with a little bit of sentiment and a tear in my eye. Death can happen so fast. Even in our sleep. So this morning I got a text from a friend in Chicago and he was telling me how much he appreciates me. I thought he was telling me this because he was getting disfellowshipped. So I panicked a little (everyone seems to be getting disfellowshipped lately...sigh...), then he told me that one of his friends died over the weekend. And so we got into talking about our death wishes.

I do think this is important and I am being very serious. I know it may seems morbid to some, but there is a specific way tha I want things to be carried out in the case of my death. No one wants to die or think about dying, but its a life fact. People don't die from being old. People die every day for any given reason. So here are my wishes.

1. I've appointed two people to verify that this is accurate and there is no need to mention them because only they know.
2. Dying is very expensive. So I would like to impose the least amount of debt to my family. I would like to either be cremated or burried in satin on a bed of roses. Also if, the latter, it needs to be closed caskett. No one needs to see me in my shribbled, decaying state. I want people to remember me as I was in life and not in death.
3. I want everyone to write their favorite memory of me and I want to be burried with those notes. When I wake up, I want to read them. So if my parents decide to cremate me, they have to get a box or jar big enough to put all my notes with me.
4. I really want people to remember me as the person that I was in life and not of a sad memory of my funeral or memorial service. Therefore, I would like people to dance. I want them to have fun because I loved having fun. I know people will want to cry and its ok to cry. However, an old friend told me we should rejoyce in the death of someone because their suffering is over. When they wake up, everything will be new and perfect. That is exactly what I want. I want people to celebrate my life accomplishments. I don't want people to go home and cry over me. So dance and rejoyce, for I have ran my race and finished it. I would love for all my loved ones to live their pain, but not the day of my memorial. I hate memorial services. They make me cry and then I end up hating the song we sang. Please. Not for me.
5. In this celebration of my life, I want people to eat mediterranean food, cookies, and tea. Because that is what I loved. This way, people will talk about the things they know I liked and they will remember all the good happy moments they had with me. No one needs to be talking about how I died. That is way too sad.
6. No roses allowed for decoration. I like lillies and orchids and tulips. The bed of roses is for my own self that one  one will see.
7. At the memorial, everyone wear pink or white. Black is again, too depressing.
8. I want all my things to be sold so that the money can be donated to the Watchtower. My sister might want to keep some of my stuff and she can if she wants to, but everything else gets sold. My mother has to keep my teddy bears. She will know which ones.
9. No Instagram vidoes of me or "RIP" pictures either. Or on Facebook. My sister and my friend in Chicago can make a memorial video of me but it is not to get published on any social website.
10. My best friend gets Where I Really Belong. My sister knows where to find that.
11. My friend form Chicago will be in charge of the maintenance and upkeep of my blog.
12. Coco gets everything back. My friend from Chicago knows why.
13. My friend from Chicago wants my diploma. He can have it...I guess. Its not important but he helped me through college, I suppose he deserves it.
14. My memorial talk will have to be given in Spanish and translated to English. My heart is in French but my family wouldn't understand it. Besides, I love Spanish more than anything. I cannot assing someone to give my talk. The Spanish elders know me best but I love my French elders the most. So whoever is capable but that knew me well.
15. The thing I hate most about memorials and funerals is when people ask the family and close friends "How are you?" as if that wasn't an inferred question. So. That is the purpose of 3,4, and 5. Also, I don't want anyone to attend the burrial. That is perhaps the saddest of all things in this life. So no public burrial. No sad memories of me. Where ever it is that my parents live, I want to be taken with them. When I wake up, I want them to be there. I don't know how resurrection is going to be, but this is the way I want it, just in case.

I realize a lot of this may not sound serious but I have my personal reasons for wanting it to be this way. Which is why I appointed two people to make sure it gets done. I also know that we live in the end of this system so circumstances may vary. In an ideal situation, the above is the way I want things done, but if it cannot, then I understand. Since this is a blog and I can edit it as many times as I want, I will probably modify my wishes with time. I just want to leave things in formal writing in case I die in the next few seconds. I want to take this opportunity to tell my family that I love them beyond reason. I want to thank them for being there for me in thick and thin and for all the good things they taught me, for all the kindness they showed me and for all they loved me. I want to thank my friends for being my friends and understanding me. I love them very much as well . I would like to apologize to anyone I've hurt and hopefully they can forgive me so we can be friends in Paradise.
To all my teachers, thank you for all the lessons taught. To my kids, for all the love and patience they had with me. In an ideal world, this would just be a silly blog. However, this is not an ideal world.

As closing, I would like to thank my audience. Anyone who wants to remember me can come to this blog and read my thoughts and feelings and emotions. Honestly, this is the way I want to be rememberd.

Cliques, Clouds, Clowns, Climate.

 When my sister and I were little, we were playmates more than sisters. In fact, we were lucky enough to get gifts from all our aunts, uncles, grandparents and strangers because we were the first nieces and granddaughters to be born. We were what you call "unofficial twins" because we are so close in age. Due to to the fact that we are so close in age, we've always been raised as if we were the same age, meaning that she gets treated like she is older than she really is and I get treated like I'm younger than I really am. It works that way because I am the oldest and I am my parent's guinea pig. Also we've been given the same things in the same amount and quality, we've shared friends and belongings, we've been to the same places, we've been given the same attention, we were born on the same day of the week, on the same day number and have the same initials in our names. Above all things, my sister and I do things for each other very much against our will because we have each other's back no matter what.

For example, sometimes I don't want to go somewhere because a certain someone is going to be there, but my sister will want to go, so I'll go for her. I will put up with the situation and the people and she gets to have a good time. Of course, she does the same for me. Its a very nice arrangement we have going. I have to say thought, ever since I got promoted at work, she's helped me out a ton. You see, she left the company we were working at to pursue a full time job. This gave me the opportunity to climb to her position even thought that meant I had to give up my kids.

Its funny how much I get attached to children. Maybe because I'll never have my own (not that I want to). But there is something about working with children that has always given me some kind of satisfaction that I cannot get any other way. Their smiles and laughter, their noise, their imagination and creativity; its so beautiful. Working with kids is the only thing I've ever known how to do well. So now that I'm not in direct contact with the kids, I feel like I'm going through this child-withdrawal. Like a smoker who gives up smoking. I miss my kids... Hopefully I'll graduate college next year and I'll be an official teacher, except for the fact that I'll be working with teenagers. Kids are too loud and messy and although I am aware that teens are dangerous children, I still want to work with them. Someone has to do it, and I'm not in it for the money. I'm not in it either because "those who can't do, teach". I can do a lot of things, I just chose to teach. Not everyone can be a teacher, it takes passion. Being the ambitious person that I am, I know my passion is more than I can begin to describe.

Something that I learned while working with kids is that kids are mean to each other. They are as mean as mean gets because they don't understand limits. Some children learn very early that some things you just can't joke about. Others, don't.
I'm not really sure why, but I've always been teased. Like literally, my entire life. When I'm not being teased by my family, I'm being teased by my friends and even strangers.
There's this one time that I will never forget...

When I was in the sixth grade  I was very strange looking. All children go through an ugly phase, mine was sixth grade. When I say ugly I mean physically because we start puberty and everything goes downhill. You get pimples and braces and your hair is a mess and your clothes are a mess and your personality is awkward and you don't understand your emotions and body parts are developing. Its an awkward phase. Well my phase consisted of me wearing a lot of clothes that had at one point belonged to my mother in the 80s and styling my hair the way I had seen my mother and aunts style their hair in the 90s. I didn't know any other way and no one told me how to dress...except my mom...but she was too impressed that I could fit into her size four clothes from years ago. Well, being in sixth grade, I would always see girls crying in the hallway or making drama. I was obviously not a popular girl so I was just an outside observer with absolutely no interest in the matter. So these girls would cry every time their boyfriends dumped them and when other girls would start drama with them. I would go home and tell my mom those girls were stupid because they were so young and shouldn't be dating. A few times I felt bad for them, but mostly I would just laugh in my head.

One day, I was reading in study hall minding my own business. There was this one guy in the 6th grade who was very popular among the girls. He was tall, black, charming, flirtatious, and his last name was synonymous to amour. Quite frankly, he got on my nerves. Like any guy getting too much attention, he thought he was the bees knees, a coke and  bag of chips, prince charming, Chris Brown in the flesh. I would always stare at him because he would just get on my nerves but I never spoke to him. I can't remember if he was in any of my classes but he was in my study hall for sure. So like I said, one day I was reading and he came and sat next to me. I tried ignoring him and just kept reading but he kept staring at me on the seat right next to me. I don't remember if at one point I actually asked him what he wanted or not, but I do remember like if it had been yesterday, what he did next. He grabbed my arm and started caressing it and he said "Baby, look, its not going to work out. I'm just not interested." I looked at his had on my arm, looked at him and firmly told him "Don't touch me. I don't like you." He laughed cynically, got up and walked away. I'll never forget that day because it was the first time a boy had disrespected me with such audacity. Later on I found out that one of my friend's friends who was also in that same study hall had noticed me staring at the guy so she went and told him that I liked him. When she told him, he was like "Who is that?" and she said "That girl from study hall" and he said "Wh...Oh! Ugh! Ew! Her?!" I guess I was not attractive enough for him (or anyone really, I can admit that). I hated the dude all the way until my senior year in high school. Actually...one time I ran into him because he lives a few houses down my street. I was walking with my sister around the neighborhood and he ran into us. He actually stopped to have a conversation. I don't remember exactly why but that was the only time that he acted normal and wasn't a jerk. We ended up in the same science class our senior year. One time I was trying to print something and he got in front of the printer to block my way and would not let me get my stuff. It wasn't the kind of teasing blocking like "try to get it", it was more like he was being a serious jerk and he was being mean. So one of the other girls that got along with him had to go around him and told him to stop being a jerk. By that time I had walked away thinking I could get my papers later or I could print them another day. But the girl got my papers and gave them to me and apologized for him. Yeah. He was the biggest jerk I've ever met and I didn't like him up until my very last day in high school.

Ever since that dreadful day, I've learned to put up with the teasing. Obviously I'm not 12 anymore and I can defend myself so if someone is crossing the line, I will not put up with it. However, I cannot stand when people who don't have permission to tease me, tease me or anybody I know. Or when you've asked someone to stop teasing you in the most serious manner and they continue. I will not put up with it. I don't care how close I am to someone, if I don't like what I am being teased about or if someone is teasing my sister or one of my best friends, I will not put up with it. Its one of those injustices that my ego cannot stand. Some things you just can't joke about. Some things are inappropriate to joke about. Some things are mean to joke about. Some things are hurtful to joke about. And some people, like children, just don't understand limits. That really gets under my skin. We are adults and yet some adults act worse than children. I don't care who you are, if you tease or joke around inappropriately, we are not friends. Period.

You know what else is hurtful? Cliques. I'm not saying this to get my sixth grade venting out of my system. I'm saying it because its been brought up to my attention multiple times by multiple people. Cliques make people feel left out. Cliques are showy, like "look at me and how much fun I'm having and look at all my friends and YOU'RE NOT HERE BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT COOL ENOUGH." Cliques also make people change. It makes people within the clique think that they are more fun or cooler than the rest of us "boring people." Cliques don't allow people from the outside join their clique. They have to prove that they are just as fun and just as cool. Cliques peer pressure themselves to be a certain way. Cliques instigate things and people and situations. At one point in my life, last year actually, I thought I had finally found a group to belong to. I felt accepted and loved and I was having fun. Too much fun. And then I realized...how hurtful it was to the people on the outside. So I left. On purpose. Because I didn't want to be a part of it. I may not have a lot of friends, but its better to be with a few good friends than a lot of bad friends. Some friendships are just not worth pursuing. I'm not saying everyone in a clique is bad. I'm saying that in all togetherness, cliques make outsiders feel bad. I'm just an outside observer who was inside at one point but I still have no interest in the matter. I have my sister and that's all I'll ever really need. I'm currently working in  filtering out my friendships and looking for friends that have the same goals that I have, friends that don't tease me and friends that will bring me up instead of tearing me down. Of course I want to have friends, but people change over time. And right now its time to learn to let go of people who are not producing any goodness in my life. I'm young and I want to have fun. But I never want to make anyone feel like they're not good enough to be my friend or that I'm too busy to be their friend.

On a very happy note, winter has been the loveliest it could be. Its been freezing cold, we've had two seriously horrible winter storms that shut down the city, and it snowed!