Some Days

Some days you discover new things you never thought you would.

Some days everything goes your way, you are surrounded and you are strong.

Some days reality sets in. Facts. Cold truths.

And some days, you find the right song for your some day:

SOMEDAYS

- Regina Spektor

Somedays aren't yours at all,
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days
They come and leave you behind someone else's face
And it's harsher than yours
And colder than yours

They come in all quiet
Sweep up and then they leave
And you don't hear a single floor board creak
They're so much stronger
Than the friends you try to keep
By your side

Downtown, Downtown
I'm not here, not anymore
I've gone away
Don't call me, don't write

I'm in love with your daughter
I wanna have her baby
I'm in love with your daughter
So can I please

Downtown, Downtown
I'm not here, not anymore
I've gone away
Don't call me, don't write
I've gone away
Don't call me, don't write
Don't call me, don't call me, don't call me
Don't write, don't write, don't write, don't write, don't write

Somedays aren't yours at all
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days
They come and leave you behind someone else's face
And it's harsher than yours
And it's colder than yours...

F is for Friends

'Friends. They cherish one another's hopes. They are kind to one another's dreams'. - Henry David Thoreau

Sometimes, we forget how lucky we are.

I have friends.

Some have come and gone, and in their brief stay, they have provided ever-lasting memories that last through a lifetime. I've had friends, that have been in my life for over 20 years - and still we find ways to love and cherish each other. A way to celebrate something that is so rare nowadays. True friendship. I've had friends that I have somehow managed to detach myself from, and not a day goes by that I don't feel guilty that in my road to trying new things and finding peace, I have disregarded the faithful love they display for me constantly.

My mom had only one best friend her whole life. Carmen. They were friends from elementary school, all the way through college. Mom is not a person who opens up easily to people, she's always been very guarded and keeps her personal life close to her heart. I remember growing up, mom would sit with me on our giant hammock and bring with her an old tin cigar box full of letters her and Carmen exchanged from their late teens to late 20's. I must have read those letters thousands of times, unable to grasp that these two people were at some point VERY funny, loving and close. They talked about life and their future plans in some letters. Others dove deep into philosophy and religion, with both of them being at opposite sides of the spectrum. But Carmencita had this cut throat approach to humor...sarcastic...brilliant. I'd ask mom when were we going to finally visit her so I could meet her (she only lived a few minutes away) and she'd say 'Soon'. Was she afraid that her liberal friend would corrupt me, since I already had her on a pedestal?

Time passed, I grew up and stopped reading the letters. Mom rarely spoke of her friend. We moved to the US, and when I was around 17, Mom decided to visit Puerto Rico by herself - leaving me behind in the US with Dad. Before the trip she spoke of visiting Carmen, because she missed her a lot and life was in a rough spot...she needed to share with her best friend. Two days after arriving in Puerto Rico, my mom called me and seemed very quiet. I asked her if everything was alright, and she said she went to visit Carmen. I immediately bombarded her with excited questions and giggles, she waited for me to stop talking and said "She died 2 years ago". I felt like my own best friend had died, so I can't imagine what she felt. Her only best friend is now dead, and she never got to reconnect.

When I was 14, I went to a house party in a bad side of town in Mayaguez, PR. I had never been to a house party by myself (no parents) and was mingling around with my much older friend Rebecca. I saw things I shouldn't have but acted like they were the norm for me. That coupled with how tall I was helped in blending in and being able to relax while there. Everyone thought I was older, so I wasn't bothered or made feel unwelcome. While I was sitting there on a couch, watching people smoke and talk, do drug transactions like they were trading baseball cards, a guy in his early 30's came up to me. I looked up at him, in his Yankees jersey and baggy jeans, and then my eyes went from his multiple gold chains to the cane he was leaning on as he walked. He reached his hand out and said "Freddy", with a smirk. I shook his hand and before I could say anything he said "Yari. Carlos' daughter". I must've looked puzzled, because he limped over and sat next to me on the couch, putting his arm around me like he knew me all my life. He started telling me he grew up with my dad in Brooklyn from ages 5 until 14. Both his family and my dad's had moved to PR that same year, to this same town and they had remained good friends. Best friends he said. Dad had never mentioned him to me, which was odd. He said that my dad had changed before I was born, gotten all religious and such. This didn't sit well with Freddy and they stopped hanging out. But he had heard from the family that Carlos had a baby girl, and was living a clean life away from gambling and hustling in pool halls. He was proud of my dad, and said "If he and I would've still been hanging out, he would've gotten shot the same night I did...and maybe he wouldn't be limping". I felt a chill down my spine and simply smiled, feeling very uncomfortable. He could tell I was getting a bit upset and said "Just tell him Freddy said Hi, and thanks for making him wait 14 years to meet his best friend's kid". I nodded, he hobbled away. I told my dad as soon as I got home, and he looked over at my mom...some sort of quiet exchange. We never spoke of Freddy again.

I asked my dad later on if he had any best friends aside from Freddy, he simply said Roberto Patxot was my only best friend. I remembered him, and his three sons (who grew up with me and were in turn my best friends)...and then I thought of something else. When I was 5, I was sitting in the living room watching cartoons and heard the next door neighbor call my mom out to the yard. I saw them out there talking and heard my mom crying. She came in and told me Robert0 had died in a car accident earlier. I was 5, but I understood. I got up and turned off the t.v. and gave mom a hug. I felt very sad for his kids, especially Xavier who was my age and his youngest. Just then my dad pulled in, and he simply stood in the doorway looking battered. Mom gave him a hug and dad cried. He came over and picked me up right away and sat me on his lap and kept telling me he loved me and hugging me tight. I just patted his back and didn't really know what to do. When I was older I found out that Roberto was on his way to meet my dad for lunch, as they did every day, at their favorite restaurant. He never showed up and my dad was really pissed at him that he didn't call or say he wasn't going to lunch, so dad lost an important chance to meet with a big client. When dad found out he had died, guilt over being mad at him pretty much tormented him for years. He still talks about him, and we all get sad and miss him very much.

The friends I've made through life, wether it was the first day of school or a random chance meeting on Twitter, have always brought a lesson with them. I wouldn't change any of the people in my life for anything. Everything happens for a reason, and as the days grow odder and the world gets a little bit more insane, it is these people who bring the laughs and love to me.

I guess I was thinking of how sometimes, even when some friends do crappy things, I should feel lucky that I have them. That I haven't had to bury a friend, or stop hanging out with one because it would mean getting shot if we went out somewhere together. It made me think of how selfish I am, when I feel like ending it. How many people I would hurt, how I'd be THAT person they'd talk about to their kids or families...the one that died.

I'm not really sure where I'm headed with this...but as I enclose myself inside my head more and more these days...I miss my few real friends so much. I rather bury myself, than have to bury one of them.

So be it. Blessed be, all. You are loved.

If You Want Me Dead...

"At least you slept some...that's gotta be good, right?"

Yes. When you put it that way, I guess it is, if you consider sleeping periods of 30-45 minutes at a time, then waking up sweaty and bruised healthy.

I'm having a new nightmare, that started the third night I was in Iowa, a few weeks ago. I don't even know if it's a nightmare and, at this point, I'm beginning to question my sanity. Yes, I had some left.

The first night it happened, I was laying in bed with all the lights off and the window open, the moon was beaming through and giving my hotel room a peaceful blue/purple ambiance glow. I thought I was awake, because, how can a nightmare replicate the room EXACTLY how it looks when I was awake still? Maybe I was in that period where you're falling asleep but still clinging to the awake world for a few more precious seconds.

Anyways, I'm laying there and I feel my bed dip, on my right side (I sleep on the left side of the bed, always), and this big body just lay next to me. Heavy. Almost like a big guy, getting comfortable and sort of resting part of his body against me. Except I just felt the weight, no warmth. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I'm just looking at the ceiling, terrified to look next to me. The moving stops, but the 'body' is still there...and a few minutes later I hear noise.

At first I thought it was someone in the room next door snoring loudly, but the slower I breathed and stiller I got, it became very evident that the body next to me was the one snoring. I've never slept or been with anyone who snores like that. It was very human, which I guess, made it scarier. If it's a scary noise I can say it was a nightmare and in my head...but to feel someone next to you, snoring in a specific pattern and slightly stirring is indescribably horrifying.

Just then, my heart thudding in my throat, I tried saying a prayer out loud. My throat felt like I had strep. The pain was all over, it was swollen and I could barely swallow. My voice was raspy but I managed to start my prayer, and I guess I woke up. The room looked the same, but I didn't feel or hear nothing. However, my throat still hurt...which scared me. I went to bed feeling fine. I wasn't sick. Now it felt like someone had shoved a cactus covered in acid in there.

I guess I drifted off again, unwillingly. The body was there again, the snoring...but something else started happening. I felt myself being moved, very slowly, so that my body was laying horizontal on the bed, instead of vertical. I again, paralyzed by fear, could only be still as my body was completely moved and then slowly pushed up towards the headboard. I felt the cool wood press against the back of my legs and the back of my elbow, and that's all I could take without completely giving into fear and crying out for Mom, Dad...then God. When I said "God please please help me...", my bed literally started shaking, and I heard laughter, and it stopped.

Completely stopped. I'm awake again. My throat hurts worse, my body aches and I just want to cry. I made a few frantic phone calls, everyone was asleep. I told just one person what happened, via text, and he didn't really have any words for me except "Please, be careful". By the time it was over, it was 4 a.m. so, I just stayed up the rest of the night watching something mindless and dull. The room felt quiet, safe enough to sleep again...but I knew it wouldn't be ok.

Now, 2 weeks later, I'm having the same nightmare every night. Everything except the bed shaking and laughter. Mostly because I'm trying to wake myself up every time before it gets there.

I'm not sure if the lack of sleep is getting to me and causing these nightmares...or if the nightmares are what's causing my lack of sleep. It seems it's all in one. I don't want to take happy pills, or sleeping pills...they just jack me up.

One more day. Just have to remember, it's one more day. I love you, all.

"If heaven and hell decide they they both are satisfied. Illuminate the NO's on their Vacancy signs. If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, I'll follow you into the dark..." ~ DCFC

Godless Angel

Adriana Lima.

That's the first thing that came to mind as I flipped through the channels and the image of this beautiful young girl covered most of my screen. Her olive colored skin and light, almond shaped green eyes reminded me so much of the Brazilian model Adriana Lima...I wasn't surprised when I checked the title of the show I was watching: HDTV Discovery Atlas - Brazil Revealed. Of course.


They cut away from the girl...so I had no idea what her story was. But they dove into all aspects of Brazilian culture. Capoeira has always been something I'm interested in, so when they explained the whole background on it and musical roots, I was pretty much hooked. The documentary was beautiful, poignant...alive. I got lost following three people in their lives in different parts of Brazil. One servant became part of a large parade in Carnival, making her dream come true. This is her:

She was so happy, and I happily hummed along to the samba rhythm she was dancing to.


Then they showed the poor parts, where the life expectancy for males is around 25 yrs old. Either drug use, gang life or a rough home life will cut their future short. It was a bit hard looking at the young boys playing soccer down dusty streets and their bright smiles reminding you that the innocence now present inside that body, wouldn't be there much longer.


They switched back to the little girl, just then, and this amazing view of her little town with cobble streets and old architecture took my breath away. She was walking the streets on her way to her father's house. The narrator explained her parents were divorced, and she lived with her maternal grandmother. Neither parent was in any shape to take her in. So she spent her free time visiting her father or mother across town. Her grandmother is ill and couldn't leave the house much. So the little girl was always alone.


This was the first year she would participate in a big, Easter Sunday celebration in her town. Thousands of people dress up like biblical characters, the little girls like angels...and the participants get to make a 'rug' out of different color sawdust on the cobble stone streets where the parade will walk through. Her dad promised her he would help her with the drawing on the floor with sawdust...but he never showed up. They show her, the ONLY little girl working by herself on a pretty big sized rectangle on the street, carefully tracing in chalk her rendition of the crucifixion and then filling it with brightly dyed sawdust. She sat a bit on her heels, looked around for her parents, no one. She kept working all the way up to 3 a.m., and went home to sleep a bit until the celebration at 6 a.m. at church. The next morning, she looked so sad as her grandmother fixed her baby pink wings made out of real feathers, she combed her hair absent minded and headed to church.


They showed the procession starting, hundreds of girls in angel wings and robes, with pearls on their hair...and in the sea of heavenly creatures and Bible folk...the camera zoomed on those light green eyes, frantically looking for a familiar face...tears falling as she realized no one was there to see her. She pushed on, heavy steps and more tears flowing, and at the end of the parade...she looked up and a perfect, wide smile formed on her lips. The narrator says, in an excited voice: "Suddenly, she spots a familiar face in the crowd..."as the camera cuts to the object of her affection. Her grandmother, ill and barely able to walk, is standing there with a proud look on her face. I cried.


I have been there with my parents. I think we all have. Our parents aren't perfect, and they make their share of bad mistakes towards us. Sometimes, or most of the time, they are never there when we need them. Some of us have a mom and dad who've hurt us more than we deserved or could ever imagine. Some of us don't have any. But the disappointment has been felt across the board.


But in my case...I had my grandmother. She took care of me, and was at the end of my 'parade' when my parents weren't. I had the love I was missing from them, in her.


The camera cuts off as the little girl, holds grandma's hand on their way back home...her wings still on, slightly crooked. It was her parents' loss...


It was my parents' loss...


(Catch: HDTV Discovery Atlas: Brazil Revealed...It's fantastic.)

Fall is here, hear the yell...

The leaves are changing and the air is crisp, cool, even in the desert.

Holidays are on their way, memories are unrelenting as usual.

I saw my breath this morning and felt the sting in my chest at such a beautiful, breezy afternoon.

I reached for hands that weren't there. I heard laughter I'll never hear again.

My one year review at work is coming up quick, in 3 weeks. I'm nervous.

I haven't written here, because I find I have nothing to say, other than sad things you all already know.

My nightmares are getting worse, I'm sleeping less. I'm pushing. Pushing. Pushing. Receding into my own mind.

I feel like I don't want to go on anymore. Not really like harming myself...much. Just laying here, with my head resting flat against the couch's armrest. Staring at the bright screen and just closing my eyes forever.

I love fall, though. Winter, too. I wish I had more to share. Iowa was okay. Work is okay.

It's the time of year where everything gets ready to go into hiding...to fall asleep. I'm doing the same.

And in the dull, listless existence of it all... I chase the hope for good. New beginnings. The right ending. The one I deserve.

Happy fall, ya'll.