dive

it seems like everyone around me has jumped into life as if it were a pool of cold water: fearfully but swiftly, all at once and without hesitation, because how else are you supposed to get in?

they are brave and i’m still in bed, wrapped in the covers with the curtains closed. my body is warm but the air i breathe is stuffy and i'm mostly miserable, my mind crawling with doubt and my skin trembling at the thought of the icy cold water.

will i ever dive in?

my shoes

what’s that, you say? you want to know what it feels like to be misunderstood? even by your own self? please, step into my shoes.

there is a small triangle of sunlight coming in through the front door. it's not much, but it's enough to illuminate bits of the wood floor and the rug that covers it. the cat splays herself out on the floor in just the right spot and rolls around, her teeth bared, her tongue poking out and her yellow-green eyes flashing. she has sought out the light and the warmth- why haven’t you?

you ran a stop sign today. red, octagonal, reflective, you didn't even slow down. it was a three-street intersection. you weren’t sending a text message, you weren’t listening to loud music, you weren’t chatting on the phone. you weren't staring at a cute guy out the window and you most certainly didn’t blow through it on purpose. you simply didn’t see it until you were already on the other side, because you weren’t there- why aren’t you ever where you are?

here when you're there, there when you're here, your head is in the clouds. only happy when you are, hypothetically, somewhere else.

sopaipillas and churros, peanut butter and jelly, good grades and nice cars, pigeons in the plaza. english, spanish, tall buildings, the andes. none of it all matters, but you can't seem to see it. 

"my love, i'm going to be so sad when you leave."
"my love, i haven't even gotten there yet."
"but what about the night before, how will i sleep? knowing that in the morning you'll be leaving? and then, when it comes time, how will i get out of bed? someone will have to drag me... "
"don't get ahead of yourself."

mediocrity / my breath

is it just me, or is there something caught in my throat?

you know, i think there must be, because my esophagus is feeling scratchy and it’s actually getting a bit difficult to breathe.

it must be all of the words i haven’t said. or rather, the words that i have said, but only to myself. only in my head, never out loud. whether it’s because i don’t want to say them or because no one wants to hear them doesn’t really matter, does it? either way, my words won’t be heard. they won’t be voiced, they’ll only be thought. only by me.

what is mediocrity, anyway? is it a failure? am i afraid of it? if i’m mediocre, does that mean i will be unhappy? conversely~ if i’m extraordinary, if i’m ‘excellent’ (dictionary ‘mediocre’ antonym) does this ensure happiness? is that fulbright scholar boy in botswana happier i am because of his apparent superhero powers? (intelligence, motivation, drive, etc.) is he happier than apple-picking-off-a-conveyer-belt rosita who never complains of anything except her aching back? happier than iván, office worker by day and yogi, meditator, mountain-climber and lover by night, the man who smiles and laughs more than anyone i’ve ever met?

you would never know, really, because how could one ever measure happiness when it is so terrifically different for each and every person?

but if you’re sick and tired of being sick and tired…

i think you know this already, but it’s time now for you to do something. you weren’t meant to be mediocre, of course you know that? so stand up and walk to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, and keep on staring until you cry. you’ve seen a glimmer of an extraordinary, excellent person who looks remarkably like you, and you desperately want to meet her.

go forth.

just a few moments ago i was downstairs in the kitchen, making zucchini fritters (garlic, egg, sesame seeds, don’t wake the cat) and it was an enormous effort to not let my eyes close or my legs wobble.

so many questions, so few answers, and everything seems to happen at night as i try to fall asleep. if nothing else, at least the weight of my words pressing on my neck has been lifted, and my breaths come just a little easier.

rain sound

they weren’t calling for rain until tomorrow morning. the sun only just set a few minutes ago (the sky is still pink and orange and hanging on) and i can already hear drop drop drops on the roof. the weathermen seem to have been a bit off but in this case i really don’t mind, maybe because the rain is something that doesn’t make me miss you. i find that it’s best enjoyed alone, with open, focused ears and a large window.

dinner tonight was fun, but why do i always feel that i’ll never fit in? always, never. they loved my quiche, they ate it all, they said thank you so many times. i think that i’m just the nice friend- it’s good to know that i’m there, i’m an option, i’m a possibility. but no one really needs me.

why did god give me such a big heart? (i’m not wishing that he didn’t, in fact i feel that it suits me. i am my big heart.)

fast-forward, the snow is melting and naked tree branches are dressing themselves with yellow buds and green leaves and pink petals. grass is growing, plants are sprouting and flowers are blossoming. the rain, the rain, the rain, pit pat pit pat pit pat.

i will fall asleep and wake up to the sound. i will sleep easily.

the average dream

do you remember when we ate peanut butter cups for breakfast at a last-minute hostel in la serena? or when we biked down the elqui valley hills at light speed and didn’t for a second fear for our lives?

day trips to iloca beach and longer trips to valparaiso, eating beef chorrillana during holy week, pinching our noses as we walked around town because we didn’t want to drown in dead fish. accidental journeys through desert cemeteries, kicking up dust and trying to pronounce names that aren’t used anymore. playing cards on the rickety bench outside your house, me with my strawberry juice and you with your beer.

a hike up to the valley of the moon, you have to drink my pisco because i can’t stand the taste of it. a fender bender and impromptu ice cream sandwiches because our driver wasn’t paying attention and whatshisname was hungry. finding our way to a stream on horseback with a bald and chubby guide, stripping down and bathing in burning cold, rushing fast water. rubbing ourselves with mud, scrubbing away our dead skin and rinsing off our sweat.

rochester, philadelphia, curicó, santiago. leesport and licantén and lansdowne.

each and every airport reunion, awkward and clumsy, emotionally exhausting, better than anything else in the world. every goodbye, each one more painful and ugly and grey than the one before, but we do it over and over again because that’s love. our hearts burst and break, break and burst.

i lose my temper at jefferson station, yell and stomp and cross my arms like an angry toddler. you tell me to quit pushing you away, you’re not going anywhere, you love me too much.

getting to know your family, eating marraqueta with tomato and avocado. watching teleseries, chopping cilantro, sitting next to the space heater, sharing teabags with rosita. teaching her to bake cakes, learning how to make rice and empanadas, learning how to knit.

the first time we kissed, i stared up into your eyes and the moon was shining on them so bright. the day we met, my eyes were wandering over everything and everyone because it was all fresh and new, and they landed on your ripe-banana face and i said to myself “he’s cute.”

i read today that the average dream only lasts about twenty minutes.