tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15547939635936789882023-06-20T06:07:44.461-07:00Está Nevando en TenochtitlánMarielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-69127802626688683542011-01-04T20:45:00.000-08:002011-01-04T20:45:01.468-08:00Chiaroscuro Sans Nom<div>Je chante, je chante</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>et je pense à toi... un peu plus fort. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Merci j'ai recommencé à rêver. <div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>tu vois? renaissance. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>demain je danse. </div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe width="480" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nWrU4We1Nq8?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-11264028418337402172010-12-13T15:26:00.000-08:002011-01-05T04:26:49.764-08:00Of Home and Other DemonsThe <i>papalotls</i> started to fly again. I envy them, I envy them, I want to take them, I cherish them, I envy them. One of the voodoo dolls I made months ago was dressed up in purple, in the same colour she dressed me up over a decade ago. It was then when she should have figured that my wings required immeasurable length, that my heavy soul seemed impossible to carry. And the problem here is not my heavy soul but asking the always-avoidable question: taking your soul where? Tlacotzontli came and visited me once again. Je viens vous voir parce que j'ai entendu que ils vous appellent Yolihuani...<div><br /></div><div>I should have been born in a different decade; in a different space, maybe in Macondo when Ursula used to say that the time didn't go as fast. I wanted my life to be full of Magical Realism but sometimes I took the realism too far. Today it has become pragmatism and the only magical part has stayed between my non-existent gods and my dreams. Je ne comprends pas pour quois Yolihuani... il faut m'appeller Necahual si ils veulent me donner un nom. </div><div><br /></div><div>I saw her before I met Tezcatlipoca, in her always breath-taking splendor, take me with you, I told her and she smiled at me as if I had said something naïve. Vous êtes très petite, mais il paraîtrait comme si vous étiez millénaire. She told me I would regret it; she told me that for a decade I would enjoy it and then, well... then became the present. She was right it was all beautiful, to the point of being addictive, toxic, a constant ecstasy. It was when I saw my wings shrinking, when the colourful <i>papalotls</i> flew in front of me and I couldn't touch them. It was then that I made my deal with Tezcatlipoca feet for light, light for feet... I forgot to ask about the little print referring to the darkness in between. </div><div><br /></div><div>I built my home here, you were my home while there was light. During the darkness I romanticised what became foreign lands but I kept on calling them home. I did not understand that I was absent during the equinox, until it started snowing in my own equinox, until i felt my feet covered in snow while I was walking in my imagined Tenochtitlan. That was home, but it took me too many years to understand its lack of commitment to established geographic borders, I guess it just reflected who I've become. Sorry, I still don't know how to explain myself. I just find myself in so many random situations, bizarre scenarios in which I often feel that I still am an SDF; I came to understand that I am and that probably I will always be. But let me be clear I don't think I am homeless anymore. Between the reverse culture shocks, the melancholic dreams of what we could have become, the smile-making memories of our past, and my wondering future plans you were gone and I... I died and reborn. I traded my soul in a non-fair trade environment because that's how I grew up; I gave everything for those purple wings... to save them I even gave up my feet. I reinvented myself expecting that you would show up and you would not recognise me. </div><div><br /></div><div>You showed up, in the way I wanted to see you, the way I expected you for so many years. But for me it meant nothing; I had become a foreigner, a backpacker, a wanderer, a gypsy. We walked around the ruins of our empire we weren't holding hands, just walking with nostalgia with hopes of new paths, peaceful wars. Sitting facing the Fountain of Tlaloc you said that my hair was growing again, you touched it and smiled at me, Ya entendí por qué Yolihuani, you said. Its not what you think, I said, it is because of the rebirth...</div><div><br /></div><div>A white <i>papalotl</i> flew around my hand and stopped on my finger... white wings to fly back to my imagined Tenochtitlan dreaming about new wings made from colourful Quetzal feathers with no attached nostalgia, with no understanding of set commitment. You saw me and smiled, you took my hand and made me touch the water saying that it would push the demons away. It felt familiar but distant, just like us, just like our featherless home... demonically foreign. </div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-31969399336210934222010-10-02T11:17:00.000-07:002010-10-12T16:26:39.885-07:00Yolihuani et sa bicycletteMaybe it is just that I have not met you; our paths have not taken us to the same place... maybe later but not yet. As the leaves start to invade the sidewalks I try to recap again; because that is what I do now, recap so I will not forget, so I will not select certain memories. This time, I want to notice the different seasons so when the spring comes I will not find myself sitting on the sidewalk with my white coat thinking that winter is perpetual. I am doing things differently this time just so the ride to the airport will seem shorter than it usually is. I am taking a different path this time just so if we ever meet I'd smile at you and hopefully I'd be able to ask you what you have to say. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Maybe we did meet, but you did not see me biking and I did not noticed you walking. I don't blame you; I was biking with no inspiration, following everyone on the bike lane on Harbord St. Probably I assumed that you were walking, just walking, and you were just another number in this city with nothing new to tell me. You need to understand that I was his feet, he was my light. To me you could not understand me, no one could, and that is why I did not even tried to explain. Sorry, probably you could had; you see it was more like I spent too much time with boring, plain, selfish, superficial people that I just decided that it was not worth giving it a try. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>J'ai vu tes fleurs et je ne savais pas ou j'etais. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>C'est un reve, je m'ai dit meme</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>C'etait quoi cette connerie et la byciclette? </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Je ne l'avais pas compris a ce moment</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Pardon, je l'ai compris trop tard. </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Comme tout la vie, merci. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe it is simpler than this; perhaps you saw me daydreaming on the subway while I was going to the opposite direction. Perhaps we smiled at each other at Sherbourne station but because for me it is already too East, I did not notice you. Tezcatlipoca warned me about you, he knew that you were going to follow me, find me, desire me, enchant me, love me, and take me. He knew you wanted me now that our contract is over... you see I think he gave you the wrong description. You couldn't hear the black hills nor see the long black hair, I lost my Quetzal feathers and the silver chain along the way. Parfois il t'a parle de mes reves, de mes amours, de mes desirs, de mes frustations, de mes voyages et de mes pieds aussi. He told me that your beauty was going to blind me, that your voice was going to enchant me, that your touch would make me follow you... I am sorry to disappoint you, the omen was broken. Tezcatlipoca lost me during the summer and you were three months too late. I didn't want it to happen that way; they saw me crafting flowers in the shape of papalotl sitting on the ruins of another empire. "Yolihuani" they said, Pas Yolihuani, je m'appelle Mariele... et comme ca ils m'ont donne l'equilibre et la bicyclette.</div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-9010595486003534042010-07-13T20:41:00.000-07:002010-07-14T14:45:13.123-07:00Joyeux AnniversaireYears pass by, days become forgettable, minutes change lives, and seconds sing along their tragic song. Now and then I miss you a lot, de temps en temps je suis heureuse de te voir sourire... virtuellement. Je rêve d'acheter un gâteau au chocolat que je mangerai jamais, je me suis reveillée après une nuit entourée par cauchemars sur le mondial... il n'y avait pas de pyramides. Should I cry? No. You have given me no reasons to do it, only irrational moments under the rain waiting for a train going somewhere, taking us anywhere.<div><br /><div> </div><div>Est-ce que je peux encore parler en pluriel chéri? Maybe not, et au même temps je crois que on devriez pas penser qu'il aura un moment où nous pourrons dire "voilá c'est tout, je m'en vais". Et donc c'est pour ça que aujourd'hui je t'ecris en français, comme ça si j'ai quelques regrets, je les justifierai à cause de mon mauvais ecriture en français.</div><div><br /></div><div>Joyeux anniversaire. Tu me manques mais je ne peux pas te voir, je ne veux pas te promettre que je t'attendrai ici... je suis partie, il'y a beaucoup d'anniversaires... bien sûr il paraît que je passerai tout ma vie a t'ecrire, nous avons été toujours spéciaux, même si personne ne l'a jamais compris. Allez! Volez mon petit hibou! moi je reste ici pendant l'hiver.</div></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-2689307455637794582010-06-08T22:24:00.000-07:002010-06-12T22:10:53.353-07:008, 760 hoursI am breathing... oui Mariele à 2400 m le vent est plus froid... es el hecho de no estar a esa altura en un avion sino mas bien sentada en una tierra mística... here is your closure.<div><br /></div><div><b>CRONICA QUASI-DETALLADA</b></div><div>Hour -720: Gin and Tonic, I am going to Argentina. Life does not develop as I planned any longer, plans are there to be destroyed, to be laughed at, to be written so they can be forgotten when they are replaced with reality. </div><div>Hour -254: I am selfish, but if I don't take it today who knows what is going to happen tomorrow. I will miss you, I am missing out, what did I just missed?</div><div>Hour 5: Please refer to the post "The Culture of Magical Realism"</div><div>Hour 89: Las Madres de Plaza de Mayo. As minutes pass by I wait for the next <i>subte</i>, Plaza Italia, 10 <i>cuadras</i>, the hostel, Anglophone music, ipod on Gardel, confused Mexican calling to Toronto to talk to her Dutch-Peruvian-Italian best friend. I should have visited a psychologist since week one in Buenos Aires... you know to fully live the <i>porteño</i> life. </div><div>149: Joyeux anniversaire, ni idea que hubiera hecho esos tres meses sin vos, perdon si no estuve despues. </div><div>1440: Pampa del Indio: no Gurruchaga, minus one friend. WOW I do love what I have, I am happy, I am learning, I am doing... doing something, living, breathing, feeling.</div><div>2160: Tears, tears, emptiness, confusion, restlessness, broken dreams, empty horizons. Welcome to Toronto, Bienvenue à Toronto. </div><div>2328:........ chaos.... chaos..........chaos.......who do I call now? I am not crying, I am trying to find myself without your help but it seems to me that everyone in this damn city is so stupid or my English sucks so much that I cannot explain what is going on.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>DEAD HOURS</b></div><div>Double standards; this country is the land of double standards, pseudo-academic integrity over human rights. Hipster nation; please give me an organic fair traded soy latte, while i try on my new American Apparel t-shirt, read about environmentalism in a main stream magazine and dream about going to exotic Thailand. Hypocrisy nation; "so different than any other Western country" I think the Toronto Star reports three more Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan, they died liberating these oppressed nation and bringing democracy... less than 50% Canadians vote. Fake Multiculturalism; you are so exotic, so do you miss South American food?, do you salsa? Ignorance, when I went to Cuba (read the resort) it was so different people where so poor like but they were so happy. <b>I LOVE CANADA </b>and that is why a privileged upper-middle class Mexican girl gets to over-exaggerate her non-Western personality, romanticize her quasi war-torned country, play her global south epistemology, openly critique Western supremacism, excuse her mistakes through an overemphasized accent and justify misbehaviour through cultural differences. So... I don't love hockey, but I will be walking around with my flag on Friday, I cook Mexican food for my white friends, I teach them couple of Spanish words now and then, I've taken them to a Latin Club, I hate Harper, I ride a bike and complain about lousy Torontonian drivers, and I shop in Kengsinton Market.... Can I get my Permanent residency now so I can freaking move on without thinking about the future??... Wait you are right for the past 5,000 hours I have lost myself... maybe it means that is time to run once again...</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">REENCUENTRO, RENAISSANCE Y POTENCIAL DESPEDIDA</span></div><div>7, 440: Dear facebook, (since my blog got mad at me due to my lack of inspiration and my rather emo posts, I can only express this message through you) I am going to Peru, I am going back home, I am making it to the wedding, I am... doing what I love. Hopefully, you will share it with my friends; hopefully, that way they will know that after this trip I should be better, I will be better. </div><div>Unknown hours: reality check, reverse culture shock, reality check, reverse culture shock, nostalgia, happiness, wow that tastes amazingly!, weird accent, energy flowing, crush, self-esteem boost, adrenaline, lack of sleep, touching the forbidden, tears, beauty, life, stereotypes, taboos, social rules, wake-up call, wake-up call, wake-up call... let me keep on dreaming I want to keep on flying before I have to crash and fall into the dead grass.</div><div>8, 759: One year, one year... I think the storm has passed... or might have found a new umbrella.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>AMANECER</b></div><div>The cathedral in Cusco is one of the most impressive things I have seen, the Spaniards incorporated mirrors in the altar piece to attract the indigenous nations into catholicism. Just as they did in Tenochtitlan, they built a massive church over sacred temples. I saw myself in the mirror of one of the chapels; I was so attracted to Northern mirrors that I forgot that an entire foreign Church was smashing my brain. As I de-froze from seeing my aged image in the main altar I felt the cold air of Cusco for the first time, left the headphones, sat outside and started chewing the coca leaves that were left. That night there was light, it wasn't the reflection of the glitter over my face; that night I smiled again like I hadn't in months; that night I rediscovered my forgotten ruins, pinté mi espejo azul rey con motivos prehispánicos y decidí que mi siguiente amanecer seria uno nuevo, uno diferente. 22 hours later the sun started to light up Machu Picchu, as the magic energy of the Inca city invaded my body, I felt the necessity to climb Wayna Picchu... à 2400 m le vent est plus frais...et moi... je respire, je vis, j'y reviens.</div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-39262761403264602722010-02-11T20:55:00.000-08:002010-02-28T08:03:20.055-08:00Thank you, Si lo rompe lo pagaI started shaking, I tried to breath; not even the most intensive Yoga class would have helped at that moment. My heart started beating so fast, once again I did not feel any air going into my lungs. You broke me, but you couldn't have done it without my help. Yo ya estaba quebrada y tu solo llegaste a romperme. By now I have no idea how many nights I have not slept, how many nightmares, how many tears... I am still in pain. <div><br /></div><div>I was afraid to destroy you. I do like you so much. Because I was afraid I ended up destroying you. I know you love me. I destroyed myself and I am afraid I will regret not picking up your pieces from the mess I made. I don't understand either how did we end up in this point. I've realized it is all those nights I want to call you, the nights I spent here, just so you know one day when I know where I am standing I will let you know about my blog.</div><div><br /></div><div>... I just need to talk to somebody; She would not look at me, she saw my pain, but she would avoid becoming a witness. There is no one you can talk to, maybe you can come back tomorrow, I can give you a card with an emergency number. It is OK if I wanted to kill myself I would have done it already, nunca lo haria: ironicamente me da miedo fallar porque no me gustan los hospitales. I sat down and started crying aqui frente a una extrania nuevamente siempre pense que no lo necesitaria, era sola yo y mi loquera con mis libretas, cualquier profesional de la salud me aterroriza. Abrame el cerebro, quiteme la parte que me molesta y regreseme a donde estaba antes, si el seguro lo cubre por favor reactive la capacidad de concentracion. </div><div><br /></div><div>... I did leave, but you never came to find me, it is not my social construction from a stupid romantic comedy. I waited 4.5 years and you never came so now don't come up with your cheesy no-distances well-memorized discourses. Thank you, you did not break me you kept me sane, you kept me healthy with a non-sense (or non-rational since we both live in the West) hope, until you decided to become like everyone else. We had something special, but you and your iPod had to ruin it. If you care go and fucking fix it, I am moving on soon, if you were wondering -just as a friendly reminder- I never promised what you are now requesting.</div><div><br /></div><div>... I can see that you are very attached with your family, Maria, and it is important, it is hard(er?) when you are away... </div><div><br /></div><div>... You would have loved my graduation pictures you would have been so happy to see them, to see the website you would have loved everything about it even if you didn't speak a word of English. I will never get over it, I refuse to... I don't want to let you go... not yet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Freedom of expression, fear to fail, academic integrity, personal values... do you seriously think that is my priority now? you did not break me you did not; I did, and while I decide whether I want to remain broken or start picking up my pieces please shut up, it would be good if you and you apply the only teaching I like from your colonizing background... el que este libre de pecado que aviente la primera piedra. Thank you, you don't owe me anything, and I didn't break it thus I don't pay.</div><div><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-60901609301682991362010-01-18T19:33:00.000-08:002010-01-19T03:35:13.828-08:00Old empires<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Our gods fight against each other while we pretend we are in love mine usually win, in the game of paranormal warfare death remains unbeatable. We are the same souls, descendants of great empires, conquered without a choice, adopting a foreign religion that eventually became a domestic curse. Both at the end immigrants to a country where we constantly feel we will never belong.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">While you pretend I am yours (yes, I still have a problem with private property), I continue on playing my will-never-commit-will-always-run-away game, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">where are your gods? mine by now just go and get drunk out of the blood of</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">the less-fitted survivors of global capitalism and neoliberal North America.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We are so similar and yet you seem like you don't want to see it, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">you want your pain to be unique, incomparable, exclusive, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">remarkable, rare, indivisible et héroïque.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Your gods should have thought you that everyone's pain is. Sorry to kill your dream, mine didn't tell me, I just read it in an article on a pagan magazine. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Can each one go back to our smuggled heroine?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Technicolor walls become obstacles between us</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">they were built while we slept, in silence, secretly, obscurely.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Your schizophrenia will make you think I betrayed you by building them</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">my paranoia will make me believe that someone is trying to break us.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">They were built by our own gods, and our fellow followers, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I used to love you with an immeasurable passion I devoted all my time to you. I guess this is the infidel's and the heretic's pain, now I hate you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Why did you have to take over my nightmares too?</span></div><div><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-85408724181892699872010-01-04T23:22:00.000-08:002010-01-05T00:15:52.283-08:00Subtitles and (emo) Latin Pop<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Where do I start translating? Maybe I should give you some background information before I start writing subtitles and you misinterpret them... Oh I'm sorry I didn't know you are just used to songs in English, so you don't want subtitles then? ok so it will be like a transliteration.... yeah I will save my background info, and the history and my social constructions if you don't want me to. </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Quizá no fue coincidencia encontrarme contigo, tal vez esto lo hizo el destino....</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"> ''</span>Maybe it wasn't a coincidence running into you, maybe it was destiny...''</div><div style="text-align: center;">If it wasn't a coincidence why you've been like following me for several days like, are you a psycho or something? </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Quiero dormirme de nuevo en tu pecho</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">... ''</span>I want to sleep again on your chest...''</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ok listen it was a one night thing I mean like it didn't mean anything it was just sex...or do you have some sort of like obsession with me?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Sabes que estoy colgando en tus manos, así que no me dejes caer</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">..</span>. ''You know you hold my heart in your hands, so don't let me fall...''</div><div style="text-align: center;">No, seriously you are taking this to intense I mean I haven't even told you that I love you or anything like we are two individuals doing our own thing like, and we like to have fun together...</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Te envio poemas de mi puño y letra</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">... ''</span>I am sending you poems..' /ENOUGH!!! Poems? Are you fucking kidding me??!!! what are you like a poet now?? what the hell just buy me dinner... why would you write these things like I barely have time to have sex like; you do get that I have to wake up at 6 am every day to go to work and I want to rest on the weekends. You seriously need help from like a specialist.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Y así me recuerdes y me tengas presente; cuidado, cuidado, que mi corazon esta colgando en tus manos..</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">. ''</span>So that way you will remember me and keep in mind that you are holding my heart in your hands... be careful...' WHAT!!!??? are you threatening me?!! I am so calling the police like seriously you have an issue it is not my fault that you have issues you know...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">No perderé la esperanza de hablar contigo....</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">We do have to talk... you see I think its not working... I mean like we had our fun.. buuut you started acting like, all weird and psycho like you are really obsessive and I can't date someone like that... you know what I mean right?...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Hoy amanecí con ganas de enviarte algo que te guste y pueda regalarte, te hice esta canción que es para recordarme, esta es una excusa para declararme hoy quiero decirte voy a adelantarme que mi corazon yo quiero regalarte. Y los 14 de febrero regalarte mil flores...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Why do you keep on doing that? like... you know I don't speak Mexican!!!!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Sorry I am being (E)stupid... </span></div><div style="text-align: center;">You like it when I shake it?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Shawty on a mission, what your name is?</div><div style="text-align: center;">What, you want me naked?</div><div style="text-align: center;">If you like this position, you can tape it on your video phone....</div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-33407442239186138862009-11-30T00:38:00.000-08:002009-11-29T22:28:14.280-08:00Meeting with Tezcatlipoca<div style="text-align: center;">I have played your game and I am satisfied<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In the masquerade of eternal night</div><div style="text-align: center;">I did not take off the pink mask,</div><div style="text-align: center;">you said the night would lead me to the waltz.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I played the game as we agreed:</div><div style="text-align: center;">I dance across the land wearing <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">the</span> black high-hills</div><div style="text-align: center;">you let me look through the black mirror</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am your feet, you become the light.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not what you think I am,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew I had to moderate my opinions from the start</div><div style="text-align: center;">you were not going to tolerate my blasphemies</div><div style="text-align: center;">I anticipated you wouldn't play otherwise.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Let it be clear; this was a 'fair' game</div><div style="text-align: center;">it was inherently based on reciprocity</div><div style="text-align: center;">I used you, you used me</div><div style="text-align: center;">there were no hidden promises nor unfulfilled expectations.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">After four years your feet were swollen</div><div style="text-align: center;">after 52 months my eyes were blinded</div><div style="text-align: center;">the black light merged with the rocky floor</div><div style="text-align: center;">I was frustrated and you were bored.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We sat down together on the red couch</div><div style="text-align: center;">and gave up in order to make voodoo dolls</div><div style="text-align: center;">I joked about my dreams of changing the world</div><div style="text-align: center;">you laughed about your idea of selling my soul.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I confessed that I do envy them for having what I gave up</div><div style="text-align: center;">you suggested that I should cut the crap between us</div><div style="text-align: center;">when our contract is over it would be only me and the sun</div><div style="text-align: center;">wake up Mariele, your essay still has to be done before dawn. </div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-60443903271021142292009-11-15T05:47:00.000-08:002009-11-23T20:42:58.875-08:00El Porvenir de mis Recuerdos<div style="text-align: center;">Suddenly the fog appears, invading the leave-less threes. </div><div style="text-align: center;"> Last Farsi class, research for that big essay,</div><div style="text-align: center;">$30,000 short for the "project of my life", presentation on the last class</div><div style="text-align: center;">I did not even know there was going to be a final exam.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Do you tell people the truth of how did things happen if this is going to ruin their memories?</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Am I romanticizing my memories as an excuse to get back to you?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Is your memory blurring the decisions we are taking?</div><div style="text-align: center;">When did we stop memorizing each other's words and started focus on something else?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> This once self-imposed Alzheimer took control over my memories</div><div style="text-align: center;">at first I was sure it was me who was classifying the ones I wanted to see,</div><div style="text-align: center;">your eyes, their voice, their smiles, the napkin, that subway line, the train ride, </div><div style="text-align: center;">her face, our stars, my two books and the purple shoes.</div><div style="text-align: center;">It all ended when I started to over-analyse what do those memories mean</div><div style="text-align: center;">I alienated so many memories so they would not hurt, so I would not miss you </div><div style="text-align: center;">and somehow here I am not only forgetting them but also myself.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The oppressed rising up against the oppressor, </div><div style="text-align: center;">the oppressor managing to silence the oppressed... </div><div style="text-align: center;">we all know how does the story end. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><you>"You must a very bright person" No, I am just bored. </you></div><div style="text-align: center;">Toma de fotos, incesantes flashes, sillas vacias, y una esquina sin retorno</div><div style="text-align: center;">Movimiento transnacional de personas con constante nostalgia de lo que alguna vez llamaron hogar.. et ca se passe comment si je suis une SDF?</div><div style="text-align: center;">where is my plane ticket? I don't like this electronic excuse!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Jugar sobre el tablero del cosmpolitanismo tiene sus complicaciones</div><div style="text-align: center;">¿soy yo la que lo veo muy tarde? ó ¿simplemente me olvidé de tomarlo en cuenta?</div><div style="text-align: center;"> El recuerdo de mi porvenir previsto bajo las estrellas intermintentes lejos está de acercarse a lo que le espera a mi memoria del presente cuando el porvenir se acerque al pavimento lleno de nieve.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">11% out of the 200 Years of Solitude were well lived.</div><div style="text-align: center;">What do I do with the other percent that will take more in the years to come?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Do I get my USB to save the memories I need to narrate the story once again?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh yeah... I should just upload them that way you do not need to see my face. </div><div style="text-align: center;">"Félicitations, Maria" For what? I was just doing my job.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-50362328815284322252009-11-03T19:48:00.000-08:002009-11-03T20:43:51.072-08:00Keys to the last supper... sorry last breakfast.I actually started laughing. Maybe I shouldn't have. It was just the entire day, how could it get more bizarre? You saw me lighting yet another cigarette dressed up as a flapper girl. <div>Why did you call me? You asked, and I realized I truly had no problem with being up front.</div><div>I didn't have anyone else to call, I knew you would open the door and I know your number by heart. I had been in this situation more than once, having no where to sleep is like falling off the bike or being in a car accident. Random thoughts travel across your mind (wait... my mind). </div><div>When I didn't find my keys, I remembered the winter when I stayed in a hotel and the time I got off the first cab I took in Paris. Cab over hotel; 50-50 chances. I called you because I was sober, because I needed someone to talk about my day, someone that would stimulate my mind without making me feel like shit, I needed someone who would just ask me if everything is ok. You were the closest one to whom I could share my not-so-important undergrad student drama who has no "worries" no plans, no boyfriend, and oh yes "has not experienced real life" even after the fight even after all the pain... no... I am hiding the entire truth I just ran out of battery so I couldn't wake up my sister get in my apartment and make the usual international call... to be fair I missed our breakfasts too, but I did not fully miss you. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You smiled at me and I guess you understood at that moment why my decisions had been like that over the past days, months... has it been a year? I hugged you as I would hug my best friend. "I <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">am</span> bipolar" I said as I started crying. I wish I had loved you, I am sorry if I ever hurt you, I shouldn't have kept you waiting, I just didn't know what to do with myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>You started cooking our last breakfast date at 4am. We talked... we just talked... It is never going to be the same if you go to Paris,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> tu sais?</span> I am not expecting it to be, that is why it is only for some months. Is this about the pub night? No, I wish it was just that its about everything... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">she</span> said once that after a certain time of feeling constant frustration people loose themselves. I don't want to get into that point and I am two centimetres away from passing it. I am becoming depressive when I don't have anything to be depressed about... at least not that seriously yet. I am attached to Garcia Marquez' tree and I want to break those chains to develop wings and start flying away from this non-sense... I miss believing that those chains could be broken, my wings are being inhibited before they even start growing. </div><div><br /></div><div>The water did not turn into wine for our breakfast and I did not multiply the bread. You should sleep, you said. Awkward moment, seeing your room again felt like a new encounter to a new galaxy where I had not been. 50-50 chance tails you stay on my bed. I got the sofa, you said something about a bird. My mind was to busy thinking about self-control and the chains. You started talking about the myth of a bird sitting in the couch. "I don't get it", of course I wouldn't my body was melting in your bed. We finished our last breakfast; before my old spirit made room for the book ready to be closed. You are like la Malinche, Josephine. "No I am not, at least she did love Cortez" </div><div><br /></div><div>With that the door went into flames, one less chain remains, I am only 11 months away...</div><div><br /></div><div>Merci.</div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-28786903475136436762009-10-22T07:48:00.000-07:002009-10-25T14:09:35.906-07:00The Buenos Aires Posts<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:13px;"><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(255, 204, 102); font-size:140%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); line-height: normal; font-size:13px;"><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 140%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; color: rgb(255, 204, 102); "><a href="http://entremateyvino.blogspot.com/2009/06/culture-of-magical-realism.html" style="display: block; text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">The Culture of Magical Realism (June 8th, 2009)</span></a></h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">"Culture is like an iceberg." Maybe it is, but in the times of global climate change, at least my iceberg has been melting. "Icebergs melting? It must be magic!" -my grandma would have said. Reality has met magic today.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>I was born and raised in Mexico, that was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">my </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Reality. Magically, I never felt part of the culture I grew up in, I questioned it too much. My upper-middle class Mexican life never made sense to me. My parents, my sister, and I are all Mexican, no background questions are asked. We are </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">mestizos</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> in case a Canadian asks. Inside us, I don't think we have ever fitted in the Mexican stereotype.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>My sister and I lived the (superficial) "globalization" of our little city. NAFTA brought about McDonald's, unemployment, accute class polarization, and foreign TV. Yet, we could not afford that globalized -rather developed-worldesque- life style. I did not grow up with main-stream pop culture, be it Mexican or foreign. As opposed to many of my friends, I guess you could call me a confused and contradictory teenage nerd. I hanged out with the Mexican version of the popular junior-high girls. However, most of the time Latin American literature was my real best friend. They called the genre "Magical Realism" for expressing the Latin American 20th Century reality mixed with magical scenes, situations and characters. By the time I was 15 I had travelled and been shaped by Latin America without ever taking a plane heading to the South.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>Contradictions.... that is my culture, a culture of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Realismo Magico</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">, for how can it be Magical and yet remain Real?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>I had an enviable life in Mexico, great family, loyal friends, good school, did not need anything else. That, my upper-middle class life always felt like a cage. I was happy but not satisfied. Every time I am there I cry when I say good-bye but I am always so eager to go back.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>I went to Canada when I was 18, leaving my 'perfect life' behind. A life of contradictions, indeed. I proudly hold a Mexican passport and love my country; but every time I go back I feel frustration, anger, happiness, excitement, and sadness ALL at the same time. Am I really Mexican? In paper I am. In practice, I have not fitted in the Mexican society for quite a while. I have been in Canada for four years. No, I refuse to become Canadian. However, I know more about the country than many citizens that I've met who do not yet understand my rather emotional defence for bilingualism. After four years I have not been able to have close anglophone friends; yet I am always hesitant and afraid to speak in French to my Quebecois friends.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">I think multiculturalism is overrated, ironically only when I am in Toronto I feel like I can be both Magical and Real. Talking about France gets me nostalgic, I miss my life there, I know if I had stay I would be someone else. I miss the life in Montpellier, I fantasize about going back to Europe; at the same time I can't cope with the supremacism and discrimination disguised under the (real) freedom of expression. Nothing compares to Egypt, but I can't go back without sharing it with my best friend trying our best not to impose our undefined cultures while stealing an incomparable culture ourselves.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Who am I? Je suis qui? ¿Quién soy? I am definitivamente un mélange. That cannot siquiera encontrar une response dans un même langue. On peut toujours hear the thick accent of my native español.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>I have been six hours in Argentina, four sitting at a little restaurant in Palermo writing and sipping white wine trying to answer that question that I have refused to even ask for a while.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>What is my culture? I have been writing about that without knowing where to start. The more my iceberg melts, the less I care to even ask, the more I enjoy not thinking about that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>Magically, the reality is that I am obsessed with cultures. Other contradiction of my life. I cannot stop thinking, studying, reading, overanalysing, experiencing, ad trying to understand cultures. The more I do, the less I identify my own.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>I have been the Numbian girl in the little village along the Nile delta, the Algerian immigrant in Montpellier, the latina in Toronto, the enriched Mexican exploiting the indigenous and at the same time fighting against the system where I belong. Today I am the girl with the unidentifiable accent absorbing everything she can from sitting in this corner in Palermo writing in English, on a question that confuses everything of my life. <br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "></span>No, I am not a global citizen. I find the term pretentious and unrealistic. I am just a girl whose Real life has been shaped by the powerful Magic of culture, resulting in identifying her culture as one that is only about contradictions. Appropriating other's Magic identifiable culture without creating a real one for myself</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; "><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 140%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; "><a href="http://entremateyvino.blogspot.com/2009/06/getting-more-lost.html" style="display: block; text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Getting (more) lost. (June 11th, 2009)</span></a></h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">It is not chaotic, it is just real; I said as we start laughing. I feel like I am alive again, remainds me of Cairo in a way. I do not know her name, I did not bother to ask. Our conversation did not let us exchange pasts, names, ages... </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">rien.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> To me so far, she is Emiliano's mom. I have not met Emiliano yet. He is supposed to show me an apartment that is four blocks away from the hostel. The hostel... my house so far. Well can you call it a house if you don't have a key? I guess yes, you could call it like that.<br />We talked about the favelas, the Latin American "Golden Years" -those ones that I never lived, our respective crisis, our stolen present and our forgetable past. "This is my soul. I am </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">latinoamericana.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> I tried the US, tried Europe. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Je suis toujours une étrangere </span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Where ever I am in Latin America I feel safe, I feel that I belong North to South.</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">América Latina es mi patria</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">" She tells me, I wanted to cry too.<br />I went to CEDES on my first day; took the right bus, got off at the wrong stop. It is all good, until I realized I forgot my map. Here I am in Buenos Aires not knowing where I am. For any Westerner tourist this exactly where there is nothing to see -you know, poor and real argentines. This girl from Lyon at the hostel asked me why would I go there. I work there. "Just for fun", I said.<br />It is good that Western women tourists are adviced not to go overthere, they would feel sexually harassed. I like to call it a terapeutic shot of high self esteem. I forgot how interesting is to walk around. Men say random things, as opposed to "bad areas" in Mexico City, here they are harmless. "You make the winter a beautiful season miss", "Thank you for the beautiful smile" "If I saw you walking everyday I would be poorer than now" "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">No te acomodés el vestido, negra, asi te va re bien"</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">"¡Qué guapa que sos!"</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> And it was almost when I was getting to CEDES that a man went on his knees "Marry me please" when I laughed so hard, Thank you you just made my day; I said. I came back to the hostel, Ignacio, my boss drove me here. As I was finally getting to the third floor where my room is, I heard some American guests singing Akon's "smack that on the floor" the ultimate western female sexual emancipation song.... I sat down in my room quite confused.<br />Is my culture really the label the West has impossed on me? Am I Huntington's homogenic Latin? Or do I simply see things all in terms of the West vs The Rest? Am I part of the Rest?<br />"The Mexican people are the most noble people, miss." The taxi driver said -the one I took when I got lost again because I really wanted to go and watch the football game. "</span><em><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Your</span></strong></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> people are simply the best I've met. Look I have one of the 20 pesos bills the plastic ones" I smiled, said nothing. Are they? Are we? Am I? I got off to watched the game, "Nice to meet you Mariele" he said "I hope we Argentines treat you as well as Mexican have treated me". I wanted to cry, does the taxi driver loves more </span><em><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">my</span></strong></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> people than I do? I feel at home here... and at the same time I do not.<br /></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Bueno acá en la América Latina al final todos nos vamos a joder ¿viste?</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> -Emiliano's mom said.</span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; "><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 140%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; "><a href="http://entremateyvino.blogspot.com/2009/07/carrefour.html" style="display: block; text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Carrefour? (July 3rd, 2009)</span></a></h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">So what are you cooking tonight Mariele? The owner of the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">carniceria</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">, the butcher says. I was cooking a simple pasta with some meat. He does not yet believe that I am Mexican I showed him my passport today. He laughed and said that I only say one word in Mexican Spanish. I do and I say it a lot. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">During my YIIP interview I was so confident about coming to place "similar" to home that I said that it would be so easy. Confirmation that I am not a global citizen: it has not been as easy as I thought. Buenos Aires is a big city and when I say big, I am not saying Toronto or Montreal big I am saying 11 million-big. I love it, and now and then I hate it, specially when I get so distracted in buses and keep on missing my stop. I expected Buenos Aires to be so similar to Mexico City, it is not. I realized how different it is, and how North-American-wanna-be my country is. Buenos Aires is so Latin American but if you are walking on some districts you will actually believe you are either in Madrid or Paris. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">No, there is no IKEA here, I have not seen a Walmart yet buuuuut there is Carrefour!!!! As I was walking to see Plaza de Mayo, I saw Carrefour, and I smiled. I went in thinking perfect I am so going to find some Mexican brands and cook or maybe I can find this or that. WRONG AGAIN. I naively thought Carrefour would be like in France or in Mexico. I went back to the hostel and some Americans were complaining about the same thing, I heard them saying exactly what I thought... supermarkets in Argentina suck. But when I was listening to them I realized how stupid my anger to Carrefour was and how mistaken I am. They don't suck, I do. I do for assuming that everyone in Latin America will consume Mexican products, that I will find what I have found in France or in Toronto. Why would Argentines like what I like?, and why should I get so annoying about a supermarket? I do my groceries in the little family-owned supermarket, they have spicy sauce from Mexico... go figure.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">People from Buenos Aires are called </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Porteños</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">. One of my friends told me that they were rather unique characters. So far I have not been able to relate to them, specially the girls. My Argentine friends are not </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Porteños</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> they are from somewhere else, and I am in love with them. Two weekends ago we went to a little town outside Buenos Aires called La Plata, it is only one hour away and people are so different. I had the best time there. However, after living 4 years in a country where parties start at 10pm and end at 3am I have noticed that I have been Torontonized. Here dinner starts around 10pm going to a bar is 12pm, going to the club is around 2 or 3am... want to know at what time does it end? We went back home two Sundays ago at 11am. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">¡Vaya Fiesta!.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">.. I don't understand how people do it. I guess I will have to learn or drink (more) coffee at La Havana</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> -</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">an Argentine coffee chain and more </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Alfajores</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> to have more energy... Maybe I should eat less Mexican hot sauce and more </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">chimichurri</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; "><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 140%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; "><a href="http://entremateyvino.blogspot.com/2009/07/sdf-trying-to-build-home.html" style="display: block; text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">A SDF Trying to Build a Home (July 19th, 2009)</span></a></h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">I opened the door and smiled, left the grocery bags on the purple kitchen counter and took a deep breath. As I was singing to electronic tango followed by some Lebanese music I started cooking. It was just me, no more travellers in the hostel, my music and me. I felt so lucky, so greatful and so... complete, that is the word.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">He asked me where did I lived. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Je suis une SDF</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">, I said. I did not say it in Spanish or in English </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">ni </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">vagabunda</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> nor a homeless. I just did not have a fixed address at that point, I wanted to say it in French. After living in a hostel followed by being a guest in my friend's apartment I finally had </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">my</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> room. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">My</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> room? I thought... why am I obsessed with privacy and private property, they are both human constructions. There are people who do not have either, and here I am getting all excited about having </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">my</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> room. I could have dance to Lebanese music on a park or started singing tango in the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Subte</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">, I did not had to wait. I already had plenty of reasons to be happy to do it. Here I am in Argentina, an unbeatable opportunity and an amazing experience. I do not need to have </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">my</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> room to enjoy it, I was enjoying it from the beginning.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">I come back from my placement everyday feeling like a thousand days have passed outside the studio, that I have learned in 5 hours what I could never learn in 10 months. I want to be an academic, I said and they looked at me surprised, No ambassador? No lawyer? No MBA? No... I just want to be an academic, teach and learn, write and read. An internship in a research centre? Why not? I am not going to lie, I wasn't so sure about the internship. What do I know about Public Health? I can tell you now, I did not know anything but what I did know was closely related to Health. We work at my boss' studio every day, there is not a fixed schedule, research is not done from 9 to 5. We are only three, Ignacio, Marcelo and me. At the beginning I was so intimidated here I am working with someone who has been a university president, who has multiple publications, who knows so much. Next to my co-worker who is the most articulated M.A. student I have ever met, he always has an answer, he is always committed and involved. What could I bring to such a good team, me who did not know anything about Health? I did my undergrad in International Studies too, Marcelo said; Do you know what are you going to write your dissertation on? And somehow I felt at home talking with one of my friends in Toronto. I started talking. I saw he was interested in what I had to say, me the Mexican girl living in Canada who has a random accent, had something to say and it was worth hearing it. I do not longer feel ashamed to say anything in fact, if I don't know something I just ask. I often stay longer or come back home and research more.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">I just need an apartment with two rooms, I told my mom. I just need one to sleep and the other one to be the studio, when I grow up I won't need a car or an amazing office, I won't need the expensive work clothes. Hopefully, I will make out of that studio my home, not</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">my</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> room but where I know I can sit down at midnight without worrying that the next day I have to work from 9-5. I guess even if I am away, as long as I am happy I will always be at home.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; "><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 140%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; "><a href="http://entremateyvino.blogspot.com/2009/08/words-on-field-trip-to-pampa-del-indio.html" style="display: block; text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Words on the field trip to Pampa del Indio (August 10th, 2009)</span></a></h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Catalina is 67 she hopes to live till 109 like her aunt who lives in Paraguay. Catalina did not want her son to spend money in buying her a fridge, she lived over 60 years without one but now she enjoys a cold glass of water when the hot summer comes up to 45 degrees. Out of the 13 rural settlements, Fortin Brown where she lives is one of the only two where there is electricity.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Lino lives with his granddaughter, she is 15 and does not longer go to school, they don't have the money to send her to high school because it is 45 km away. He used to live out of the the cotton crop, before it stopped raining 3 years ago. He believes it is going to rain again and her granddaughter will go to school and get married. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Ramon Garcia has three kids. He does not take them to the hospital in Pampa del Indio which is 35 km away, his eldest daughter died there. She had stomach infection, he thinks it was a negligence; some people said they did not treated her on time. She wanted to be a doctor. He drives all the way to the next town when his kids get sick. He can't sleep at night thinking he might loose one of his kids.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Ramona's husband died four years ago. She has two daughters. She sleeps outside because she is scared, two of her horses were stolen the ones she used to go to town. She thinks more of her animals have been stolen, they haven't come back. When she goes to town she walks over 5 km to the road waiting for a car to stop and give her a ride. She knows that they will keep on stealing her animals because they are three women and she has no family living close by. She misses her husband but she says she is going to keep on working hard so her girls don't have to go through the same things she is living.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">Mariana has Chagas she was diagnosed before she had her second child. She is my age. She doesn't know yet that her kid has Chagas too, because she does not know anything about the disease. Her dad is sick, her grandfather too, the nurse goes and visit them once a month. The last month they called the ambulance twice. Her mom takes care of everything now. She thinks she can be cured. She can't.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; "><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="margin-top: 0.25em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 140%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; "><a href="http://entremateyvino.blogspot.com/2009/09/so-i-will-remember-how-it-felt.html" style="display: block; text-decoration: none; font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">So I will remember how it felt (Septemeber 1st, 2009)</span></a></h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; line-height: 1.6em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">I don't like to write on my blog before writing it on my notebook, I like to have the first, the second, the third, all the way to the last draft. I like to see how I have changed and in a computer I tend to erase it, Only for the first assignment I was able to write just one draft.<br />I don't update my blog that much because I have a notebook full of comments that I intend to type on the way home and then publish them on my blog the moment I leave my suitcases on my apartment's floor. But right now from the corner of Palestina y Estado de Israel, I wanted to writte the last words that I will type in the studio's computer.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> I can't leave!!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);"> I finished my work and I can't turn off the computer, ask someone to open the door for me, go downstairs and see the green door closing after me for the very last time. I don't have the strenght and my legs are on strike... they don't want to move. Three months that felt like the time was not running, the world outside stood still while my mind expanded. I want to cry,<br />laugh, memorize every single corner, every smell, every sound from the street... I<br />wish I could stop time and make this last minutes perpetual.<br /><br />I will miss it so much... the walk on Córdoba, the coffee in Havana on the way herethe always-packed subte all the way to Medrano Station, the bus. The hours in thestudio, all what I learned. I guess many are happy on their last day at work, I am happy please don't get me wrong it is just that... I wish I could do that walk tomorrow once again<br />It has come to an end, this time I don't only feel it, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">ahora ya lo sé. </span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 0);">She has come and asked me at what time am I leaving, I only need to turn off the computer, I said.... I only need to turn off the computer but I am taking the studio with me.</span></div></span></div></div></span></div></div></span></div></div></span></div></span></div><div style="clear: both; "></div></div><div class="post-footer" style="margin-top: 0.75em; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; color: rgb(85, 119, 153); text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 0.1em; font: normal normal normal 78%/normal 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.4em; "></div></span></h3></span>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-4223610569885699592009-10-20T20:18:00.000-07:002009-10-20T20:36:01.148-07:00El Sótano de los Espíritus<div style="text-align: center;">No pensé que pensaras eso y al no pensarlo asumí que conocia lo que querías.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">No creí que alguna vez creiste en mi y al creerlo intenté probarte algo que nunca fue requerido.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No quise que me quisieras y al no quererte permití que me dejaras de extrañar.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No esperé que me esperaras y al desesperarme te deje de buscar para nunca reencontrarte.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Un día llamaste para platicar como platicamos todas esas noches, y yo había querido desaparecer y por lo tanto corte mi única cercanía a ti para pretender que ya no existía(mos). Una noche te odie tanto que quise gritarte tantas cosas para alejar a tu espiritu que me sigue visitando. Una madrugada me senté en la acera frente a mi casa esperando que aparecieras para no esperarte más. Una tarde quise dejar de escribir pensando que así volverias preocupandote por saber si se había terminando esta mentira o si simplemente era mentira la verdad. En medio del infinito nunca nos podremos encontrar. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Encuentros y despedidas, esperas y angustias, sueños y desvelos.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sentí tu aliento soplar sobre mi espalda </div><div style="text-align: center;">quize tocar tu pelo para confirmar que a mi lado estabas</div><div style="text-align: center;">desperte y vi las paredes rojas junto a la cama vacia</div><div style="text-align: center;">mi cabeza baja y el nudo en la garganta.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Culpé al dios en el que no creo,</div><div style="text-align: center;">maldije mis decisiones y tus desenfrenos</div><div style="text-align: center;">tire la toalla para caerme de boca sobre el hielo</div><div style="text-align: center;">y de pronto apareciste, como siempre sonriendo.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Que bueno que dentro de las platicas monotonas</div><div style="text-align: center;">de hijos, plata, noviazgos, dietas, vocaciones y sortilegios</div><div style="text-align: center;">no hay más de dos minutos para el sótano de los recuerdos</div><div style="text-align: center;">para explorar el sótano de los espíritus con alma de murcielago.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-91674791661068734232009-10-14T22:35:00.000-07:002009-10-14T23:15:35.084-07:00Irrelevant...<div style="text-align: center;">...and now I cry... took me fucking 6 weeks.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">...and now I cry... in front of a total stranger, </div><div style="text-align: center;">time went by while I kept on going</div><div style="text-align: center;">verbal diarrhoea or endless music?</div><div style="text-align: center;">how the fuck would I know?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My hearth is not longer broken nor ripped its just static</div><div style="text-align: center;">I became what I did not want to, what I promised you I will never be</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am on the floor, please do not show up randomly</div><div style="text-align: center;">I broke my promise, I AM INDIFERENT.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I imagined it in so many ways, so much different; </div><div style="text-align: center;">I need you so much and I've been trying to find you for so long</div><div style="text-align: center;">in the process of finding you I've lost myself on the way</div><div style="text-align: center;">waking up in unscented beds, </div><div style="text-align: center;">no clothes, no smile, no pleasure, no love,</div><div style="text-align: center;">no hate, no regret, no shame, not a single feeling.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You told me I should be excited, </div><div style="text-align: center;">I told you I was, I lied, </div><div style="text-align: center;">she said what you used to say "I am exceptional"</div><div style="text-align: center;">I was wrong, you lied.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am not scared because I have no direction,</div><div style="text-align: center;">because my motivation is gone,</div><div style="text-align: center;">because I am too weak to talk</div><div style="text-align: center;">and too arrogant to write about it</div><div style="text-align: center;">who said that it is wrong to be both? </div><div style="text-align: center;">what the fuck is wrong anyways? I should maybe shut up.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I JUST FEEL LIKE I DON'T CARE ANYMORE</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have so many things to tell you and you are so far away,</div><div style="text-align: center;">what was I thinking when I decided not to stay?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Should I wait another 6 weeks until you see me crying?</div><div style="text-align: center;">should I keep on pretending I am just stressed?</div><div style="text-align: center;">who do I tell about my nightmares, my sleepless nights, my constant body-pain ?</div><div style="text-align: center;">where do I find the strength to concentrate once again?</div><div style="text-align: center;">how can I articulate that I am just looking for a way out?</div><div style="text-align: center;">IT DOESN'T MATTER THIS IS THE LIFE YOU CHOSE</div><div style="text-align: center;">DON'T BE MISLED YOU WERE ALWAYS BY YOURSELF</div><div style="text-align: center;">"we all go through that cut the drama" you will say.... yes, the difference is that when you were dealing with this useless bullshit I was there listening all the random thoughts you had to share.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I hope, next time you are able to explain why you helped to materialize the "all by herself", so please next time when you call at 1am just cut the bs. Are we ok, then?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-19744245321209971812009-09-28T20:38:00.000-07:002009-09-28T20:53:06.532-07:00A date with the pavementLight... no control... the floor... restrained tears...<div>FEAR, HELPLESSNESS, SHAME, SELF-COMPASSION</div><div>pain... loneliness... stupidity... life-long flash-backs...</div><div>my photo, your canvas, her picture, our movie, his book.</div><div><br /></div><div>Are you ok?, she says... thick Canadian accent</div><div>I... I am not sure, I say with my thick "Latin" accent</div><div>I did not look at her, I will never remember her face,</div><div>your voice is still in my head.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did not accept her help, rode my bike once again</div><div>pain, tears, anger, self-blame, clumsiness, </div><div>What the fuck am I doing with my life?</div><div>I pretended to ask myself, </div><div>waiting to hear a "you've done everything right" </div><div>one of those kinds of answers that are full of shit</div><div><br /></div><div>The water from the shower mixes up with my salty tears</div><div>the pain is there, it will remain here</div><div>I like the physical pain better, it hurts </div><div>but at least I know it will go away.</div><div><br /></div><div>Big-time reality check:</div><div>The reality struck you right on your face, Mariele<br /></div><div>your elbow protected you from the pavement</div><div>but whether you like it or not</div><div>it was the pavement what made you feel alive again.</div><div><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-87697676607059050132009-09-13T21:32:00.000-07:002009-09-13T21:56:34.273-07:00Find Me<div style="text-align: center;">Phonecall at 5am... what time zone am I in again?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">tears that don't stop; <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">the</span> weakness that has always been there</div><div style="text-align: center;">your mind, your heart, your hands, </div><div style="text-align: center;">my feet, my stomach, my airless lungs.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Can't breath, can't think, maybe I should not speak.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No money to escape, "responsibilities" to fulfill, </div><div style="text-align: center;">a long-expired unofficial promise that keeps me here.</div><div style="text-align: center;">My dried sentiments are exploding, absent thoughts, non-existent words.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">HOW THE FUCK DID I END UP BEING HERE?</div><div style="text-align: center;">I cannot see you and it is obvious that I cannot see myself. </div><div style="text-align: center;">My clumsiness made me lose my Auryn,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have no army to fight The nothing</div><div style="text-align: center;">there is no Atreju, no Fuchur... just The nothing. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I cannot hear the oracle and I can't wake up from this Ende-like reality</div><div style="text-align: center;">that has invaded my destroyed dreams.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I should sleep to see if someone rebuilds the hope</div><div style="text-align: center;">that we shared for so long; but I have been long gone;</div><div style="text-align: center;">do you remember how long ago?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Je suis perdue, tu n'arrives pas </div><div style="text-align: center;">c'est quoi ton histoire?</div><div style="text-align: center;">3am international call</div><div style="text-align: center;">foreign nostalgia</div><div style="text-align: center;">domestic romanticism </div><div style="text-align: center;">internationally-displaced love.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-43451484195339472252009-09-11T00:01:00.000-07:002009-10-22T10:57:40.296-07:00Plesse do not stop timeThe same excuse comes up, Mariele, you go out for a cigarette. Can I smoke outside?, You say because you have to ask so no one would see your tears... <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">everyone</span> thinks they have more reasons to own those tears, even <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">you</span>... you who "have been there since the beginning". Many have more to say than you do, don't they? Then you cry, you cry because there won't be anything... again... this is the life you chose but you never thought it would hurt, did you? Tears in solitude... solitude that you thought you were so used to it; you were never by yourself, were you? But you pretend that you are so good in saying good bye, I will see you again, I will miss you, I was, You were. I was not, You were not, WE WERE and I COULD NOT EXIST WITHOUT YOU THAT IS THE FUCKING TRUTH, you constructed me in the person I am today and I am happy <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">YOU</span> did. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">After four years I am glad it wasn't someone else. Will I cry? Yes. Will I be happy for you? Yes. I am not pretending; this is me... naked, there is no fancy dresses, no make up, no politics, finally there is no rhetoric, no catchy discourses, no words, no psychological excuses... this is the same girl trying to survive four years ago with no intention to be heard but desperate to hear what you had to say... the one who needed someone who could count on.... </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I will be alone and I will overcome not because I am too strong but because I know that if I want to see you again I know what has to be done. This is the life I chose, the one of not setting roots, we made a mistake we started loving the blossoms of something that could not grow during several freezing winters, at least I know that our plant grows in the dessert, it doesn't needs water, it feeds from hibiscus tea.</span></span></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-15435080889698034552009-07-12T10:29:00.000-07:002009-07-12T13:51:51.048-07:00No es una cuestión de borracheraQuisiera que no me molestara estar callada<br />excuse ME; yo <em>NO</em> puedo estar contenta sintiendome ausente<br />si yo me saboteo sola que sea mi problema<br />si sos vos a quien le gusta estropear mi vida<br />no me importa que tanto entiendas mi dilema<br />aquí habrá más que una pelea.<br />Yo vine acá por mi ¿viste?<br />y sacrifique el tiempo con la gente<br />que en verdad me importa<br />que en verdad tengo que darle bola<br />mis hermanas sin tener la misma sangre<br />its not that I think I am so much better<br />I just don't care if you are so much less<br />who am I to judge your decissions?<br />I am not judging, I am not, I will not,<br />I am just trying to survive in this agony<br />that I did not choose<br />but you do not care<br />whether I got here by myself or not<br />you just need those words... those acts... those...<br />caprichos así lo digo yo en español<br />la perseverancia es una cosa, es no aceptar un no<br />y trabajar por un sí<br />I know you will not understand what I mean.<br />Tu sólo <em>DEBES</em> tener todo<br />tenemos personalidades muy fuertes dijiste<br /><em>NO</em> if I had it you... you would be fine<br />y mi puto hígado no estaría lleno de bilis<br />and I could give you the self esstem you so fucking need<br />pero no la tengo, ni la tendré, así que mi hígado se llenará<br />de bilis mientras tu buscas tus mil y unas noches<br />para que despiertes sin saber dónde perdiste todo<br />yo perdí lo mío el día que TÚ lo arruinaste....<br />ojalá aún funcione para que la pueda recuperar<br />disculpá pero yo no me lleno de 5 mill y tres noches<br />yo no, yo me llenó de una canción de reggeaton, de leer un blog,<br />de la arena del desierto, de discusiones coherentes...<br />de más que amistad, me lleno de saber que no soy<br />tan como tú me dijiste.... no one is terrified of me<br />me gusta al menos mentirme que respetan tal cual soy.<br />Can you see yourself? you said<br />No, no puedo no tengo un espejo enfrente de mi....<br />mis espejos los dejé colgados en Canadá.Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-83615182898447848132009-05-10T07:17:00.000-07:002009-05-10T08:21:28.789-07:00El Reino de Tláloc es un Matriarcado<div style="text-align: center;">Simpre decía que no quería tener hijos<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">mi excusa justificaba el miedo al posible fracaso</div><div style="text-align: center;">mis multiples sueños no estaban para lugares fijos</div><div style="text-align: center;">y las familias 'disfuncionales' comprobaban my egoismo</div><div style="text-align: center;">Cuando escogí este camino que piso</div><div style="text-align: center;">por el que seguidamente me caigo, corro y maldigo</div><div style="text-align: center;">no te pregunté si estabas de acuerdo, no pregunte qué sentías</div><div style="text-align: center;">te enseñe un papel con cifras y presupuestos</div><div style="text-align: center;">lleno de sueños que mataban todos los sentimientos.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Como toda la vida me apoyaste sin jugar al antagonismo</div><div style="text-align: center;">y como es de costumbre yo lo justifique con mis 'logros',</div><div style="text-align: center;">con comparaciones innecesarias donde es en verdad todo narcisimo </div><div style="text-align: center;">No tardé mucho para regresar derrotada, perdida y la cabeza baja.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No soy yo la hija pródiga, no soy yo la futura celebridad, no.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sé que no hable por varios años, se que guarde todo</div><div style="text-align: center;">y aunque pretendo saber tu inquietud</div><div style="text-align: center;">no tengo la menor idea de tu preocupación</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yo viví en mi mundo de polly pockets, el barco de vapor, barbies</div><div style="text-align: center;">contradecido por la incomprención por parte de las amistades, </div><div style="text-align: center;">la clase superficial y normativa, la escuela marista, el materialismo mexicano, </div><div style="text-align: center;">todos casi siempre vencidos por la familia perfecta</div><div style="text-align: center;">De pronto decidí encerrarme en Camus, Fuentes, Allende y García Márquez<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">mis plumas, mis cuadernos,</div><div style="text-align: center;"> mis realidades paralelas en las historias de mi cabeza.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Si no hubiera sido por tu apoyo, que yo creí incompredido... </div><div style="text-align: center;">esas altas y bajas me hubieran consumido, </div><div style="text-align: center;">si no hubiera sido el deseo por tu ejemplo a sobrepasar...</div><div style="text-align: center;">nunca hubiera tenido el coraje para hacer lo que estoy haciendo.</div><div style="text-align: center;">No se si llamarlo adolescencia, pero viendolo hoy conscientemente años después,</div><div style="text-align: center;">yo soy feliz, no por lo material, no por un novio, </div><div style="text-align: center;">no por un lugar en <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">su</span> 'so(u)ciedad'</div><div style="text-align: center;">porque tu me diste un arma que la gente nunca tiene, </div><div style="text-align: center;">siempre podemos regresar a casa, sin ninguna pregunta, sin ningun juicio.</div><div style="text-align: center;">podemos regresar sabiendo que nos equivocamos,</div><div style="text-align: center;">para que nos abraces y comenzar de nuevo.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yo por fín he sobrepasado lo que mi lenguaje político me permite llamarle</div><div style="text-align: center;">'casi una década de terrorismo psicológico' que hoy lo veo y doy gracias de haber salido</div><div style="text-align: center;">no lo pude hacer sin ti, sin tu apoyo,</div><div style="text-align: center;">sin tu progresismo, sin tu gran capacidad de entendimiento;</div><div style="text-align: center;">pudiste adoptar la actitud de las vecinas, </div><div style="text-align: center;">de las mamas maristas, de los padres de familia</div><div style="text-align: center;">gracias por no hacerlo, gracias por enseñarme eso,</div><div style="text-align: center;"> si soy algo feminista tu me enseñaste a serlo</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yo no quería tener hijos, </div><div style="text-align: center;">me daba miedo que vivieran </div><div style="text-align: center;">las 'tristezas y las injusticias'</div><div style="text-align: center;">de este mundo. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Yo no quería que mis hijos vieran</div><div style="text-align: center;">como fui yo y soy parte del elítismo discriminanción y explotación</div><div style="text-align: center;">como dejé que el mundo siguiera contaminandose</div><div style="text-align: center;">cómo puedo ser tan hipocrita y tan inconsistente.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Y de pronto te ví a ti cuidando a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Ella</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">a la arquitecta de todo este progreso, de toda esta emanticipación</div><div style="text-align: center;">y aún hoy me salen lagrimas de recordarlo, </div><div style="text-align: center;">sin embargo no tengo palabras para describirlo.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Como tú, yo no pude tener un mejor ejemplo maternal</div><div style="text-align: center;">como tú al final del día solo hay una mujer en quién confiar</div><div style="text-align: center;">como tú yo tengo un alto estadard que superar.</div><div style="text-align: center;">para mi también tienes un lugar difícil de explicar.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Y quizá fue ahí, en ese momento, cuando me sequé las lagrimas</div><div style="text-align: center;">que entendí, quiero tener hijos, no por ser mamá,</div><div style="text-align: center;">sino para que en verdad tengan lo que tuve yo</div><div style="text-align: center;">para que me escuchen diciendo que te voy a 'cuidar'</div><div style="text-align: center;">sabiendo que eres tú la que siempre me a cuidado a mi.</div><div><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-4204829142557689562009-04-21T06:41:00.000-07:002009-04-26T17:25:09.478-07:00On est toutes la Malinche<div style="text-align: center;">Stop pretending, it fucking took you one comment.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Don't lie, deep inside you know it was a matter of stupid pride</div><div style="text-align: center;">like always, you say you don't care but sure you do</div><div style="text-align: center;">I recognize that predictable face,</div><div style="text-align: center;">that arrogant smile, there is no humility</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">no... it is you, it is me and my never-obsolete self-preservation laws<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You are starting to feel something else don't you?</div><div style="text-align: center;">You felt it that night</div><div style="text-align: center;">No breakfast? No movie? No coffee?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Je te téléphone quand je finis</div><div style="text-align: center;">11 heures le soir... rien</div><div style="text-align: center;">you know you are walking around because you are mad.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">That is why you are running</div><div style="text-align: center;">you are feeling, you can't concentrate, you need that edge</div><div style="text-align: center;">Same feeling every time, toujours la même histoire</div><div style="text-align: center;">Paris... tu es vraiment hypocrite!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Buenos Aires... siempre lo más fácil</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mexico... no, simplemente no.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Otra vez ese vacio en el estómago</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">El sol ya entra por la ventana del sótano,<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">tú sigues aquí Mariele, sentada en la misma mesa de la biblioteca</div><div style="text-align: center;">sin leer, sin concentrarte, sin hablar,</div><div style="text-align: center;">con solo ganas de tomar todos los libros...</div><div style="text-align: center;">¡todos!, tirarlos al piso correr entre ellos y</div><div style="text-align: center;">de pronto del piso tomar uno que diga</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Toma de Decisiones 101."</div><div style="text-align: center;">Una hora entera ha pasado sin que si quiera saques tu libro</div><div style="text-align: center;">piensas en él... como cada vez que escribes...</div><div style="text-align: center;">sientes un escalofrio... ¡Vete Mariele, empaca y como siempre vete!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Si sentiste de nuevo esa insatisfacción,</div><div style="text-align: center;">hace ya 7 (¡mierda 7!) años que encontraste la solución.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Time is passing and you cannot write </div><div style="text-align: center;">You look across your room, see those green hills?</div><div style="text-align: center;"> those were the ones you were wearing,</div><div style="text-align: center;">when you gave him <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">that</span> good-bye kiss</div><div style="text-align: center;">now look to the floor, </div><div style="text-align: center;">you didn't think those red bulls were here for so long</div><div style="text-align: center;">It was like that, lying on your naked mattress,</div><div style="text-align: center;">for who cares? is not like you need the red sheets </div><div style="text-align: center;">Air France, Toronto-Paris, Confirm your flight</div><div style="text-align: center;">green hills, empty red bulls, no red sheets. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Then you looked at that wall of yours,</div><div style="text-align: center;">pictures of your past, most of my real friends are not even there,</div><div style="text-align: center;">you look to the other one, maybe it was your obsession with art.</div><div style="text-align: center;">What the fuck Mariele just decide!</div><div style="text-align: center;">it doesn't matter if in January you said 'never again'</div><div style="text-align: center;">just take a decision and that's your closure.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Alo, c'est quoi la Malinche?</div><div style="text-align: center;">And you smile, you just smile full of happiness</div><div style="text-align: center;">La Maliché... C'est pas facile a comprendre</div><div style="text-align: center;">Alors tu veux prendre un verre et comme ca tu m'explique? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Your Air France session has expired please log-in again</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry I have to finish writing my essay</div><div style="text-align: center;">yeah Mariele exactly the one you have not even started</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Suspiras... como si más aire te fuera a ayudar,</div><div style="text-align: center;">an other hour has passed</div><div style="text-align: center;">quisieras ser el angel azul de la pintura de Chagall</div><div style="text-align: center;">'I'm going to start making decisions that you might not like'</div><div style="text-align: center;">he smiled, 'I think you've been doing that for quite a while'</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">¿Qué decidiste?, podemos irnos a Grecia por dos semanas</div><div style="text-align: center;">Alors tu pars en Argentine?</div><div style="text-align: center;">We should go to Dominican for a week</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tu sabes que quieres, quieres sentarte a ver caricaturas</div><div style="text-align: center;">todos los tomos de Charlie Hebdo,</div><div style="text-align: center;">leer a Marquez, leer Fuentes uno que otro cuento de Cortazar</div><div style="text-align: center;">quieres estar haciendo nada para pensar en todo</div><div style="text-align: center;">1am el espejo... I don't want to end like that</div><div style="text-align: center;">el boleto más barato, ahí vas...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-15280356377487418322009-04-13T06:47:00.000-07:002009-04-13T09:11:45.310-07:00Prochain Arrêt... Lycée Daudet<div style="text-align: center;">Believe it or not almost five years have passed<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I never thought I would be so fucking fast</div><div style="text-align: center;">August 29, we were so young </div><div style="text-align: center;">2004 I guess we were also strong.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I was not afraid back then, </div><div style="text-align: center;">at least we did not have the "responsibilities" we have today,</div><div style="text-align: center;">you said let's go to France, I just said When?</div><div style="text-align: center;">I did not even care if I didn't speak French.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bienvenue, moi Je suis Emmanuelle</div><div style="text-align: center;">Rumy ¿qué dice?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Vous mangez tout?</div><div style="text-align: center;">No, Eva n'aime pas les legumes!!</div><div style="text-align: center;">I think it's almost 10am</div><div style="text-align: center;">That means il faut prendre un café</div><div style="text-align: center;">ask if anyone is going chez le boulanger</div><div style="text-align: center;">Rumy me traes un palmier.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Our afternoons drinking café viennois</div><div style="text-align: center;">sitting in La place de la Comedie</div><div style="text-align: center;">looking at the people who walked by</div><div style="text-align: center;">fumándonos un "gar" tras otro "gar"</div><div style="text-align: center;">Thursday is almost here, </div><div style="text-align: center;">¿ya sabemos a dónde vamos a ir?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ryan air says...</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ce weekend... on'y va en Italie</div><div style="text-align: center;">I see the elevator chez Espace Langue</div><div style="text-align: center;">going up by the time we just opened the door</div><div style="text-align: center;">I still hear your voice saying we should wait, </div><div style="text-align: center;">while I give you that "we-are-taking-the-stairs" face.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Te debo dos euros Rumy, tu pagaste en Monoprix</div><div style="text-align: center;">Shit! I just lost my debit!</div><div style="text-align: center;">No Rumy tu pagaste antes el croque monsieur,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Merde! That was my stupid train!</div><div style="text-align: center;">We hear the Andean music while we are waiting for the tram</div><div style="text-align: center;">Polygone plays the music from La Star Academie every time</div><div style="text-align: center;">We are going to the Australian tonight</div><div style="text-align: center;">On peut prendre L'Amigo à Port Marianne</div><div style="text-align: center;">I can still feel the excitement of braking the rules,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I can still hear Danielle saying fermez la goule!</div><div style="text-align: center;">I will never forget our cigarettes at the window's edge</div><div style="text-align: center;">ni las bolsas de plastico para protejer tus pies.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now that we think we are all grown up</div><div style="text-align: center;">I look back and maybe it was that little town were we belonged</div><div style="text-align: center;">I think today I am as happy as I was back then,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm sure you know what type of happiness I'm trying to explain</div><div style="text-align: center;">You often said that it was a trip to the beach what changed me</div><div style="text-align: center;">I can tell you it was that fall without hesitating</div><div style="text-align: center;">That is why you have an intrinsic place in my heart</div><div style="text-align: center;">one that was perfectly constructed by my mind</div><div style="text-align: center;">You are the only one who has not questioned</div><div style="text-align: center;">the random decisions I have made</div><div style="text-align: center;">because you always believed I was doing it for a better end</div><div style="text-align: center;">your advice and support got me here</div><div style="text-align: center;">una servilleta de la desti me hace seguir.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We need to go back,</div><div style="text-align: center;">be roommates again,</div><div style="text-align: center;">pretend the years have not passed</div><div style="text-align: center;">share une tarte aux pommes</div><div style="text-align: center;">and each one have un café au lait</div><div style="text-align: center;">comme ca j'oublierais toutes mes défaites.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We will go back, we are still young</div><div style="text-align: center;">on est aussi plus forte</div><div style="text-align: center;">soon we will be sitting back in Antigone</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-25354348724829861172009-03-31T17:22:00.000-07:002009-03-31T20:56:35.330-07:00Please Identify Me as a Happy 'Emo.'<div style="text-align: center;">My currency is valued on coffee beans<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">kallos</span> is defined on the number of pages I read</div><div style="text-align: center;">your opinion about me is not worth a cocoa leaf</div><div style="text-align: center;">my soul is far away from the place it used to be.</div><div style="text-align: center;">My lips want to move my feet,</div><div style="text-align: center;">my breath wants you to kiss my legs</div><div style="text-align: center;">wearing those red hills.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The idea of buying a last-minute plane ticket</div><div style="text-align: center;">does not longer make me sick.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I said I was going to be part of the equation,</div><div style="text-align: center;">please put your art on the side</div><div style="text-align: center;">and understand my politics of self-preservation.</div><div style="text-align: center;">My happiness is not longer drowned in a glass of rum</div><div style="text-align: center;">I no longer wait in the valet-parking line for a tequila shot,</div><div style="text-align: center;">your jelousy and paranoia can not touch me anymore, </div><div style="text-align: center;">my emptiness has been fulfilled like never before. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Let me confess that I've found a different kind of love</div><div style="text-align: center;">one that is here every night and I don't even have to touch.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Please let us cut the bullshit, let us not keep on waiting,</div><div style="text-align: center;">leave me alone with my rhetoric so you can go back to your painting.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I've found a family that I can trust,</div><div style="text-align: center;">for the first time I don't feel alone</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm not longer hunted by an incoherent normative judge,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I don't longer hide behind my books,</div><div style="text-align: center;">my friends could care less about my bizarre looks.</div><div style="text-align: center;">We share what they would call intenseness</div><div style="text-align: center;">but with them I'm not afraid of being myself</div><div style="text-align: center;">we are so passionate and they so careless</div><div style="text-align: center;">I feel so full of life that there is no space for emptiness</div><div style="text-align: center;">for they are so intelligent that I'm never bored,</div><div style="text-align: center;">excuse me, my intention has never been rhyming all along.</div><div style="text-align: center;">My doubts are forever gone,</div><div style="text-align: center;">I found in an address-less space</div><div style="text-align: center;">a place that I can call home.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry if I'm hurting you</div><div style="text-align: center;">that was by no means my intention, </div><div style="text-align: center;">but time has passed, and as opposed to many I had no </div><div style="text-align: center;">plans to wake up and finding myself in the old routine,</div><div style="text-align: center;">friday after friday, night after night. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I can't pretend that we are still in 2005 .</div><div style="text-align: center;">I was tired of that fake and shallow life.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The only reason I'm thankful of Frosh Week,</div><div style="text-align: center;">was the colonizer effect you had on me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Por favor sigueme inspirando al escribir</div><div style="text-align: center;">tu apoyo hasta ahora es lo que me permitido seguir.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Je sais pas si c'est a cause de la caféine </div><div style="text-align: center;">mais tu es vraiment devenu mon meillieure amie.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ese cigarro cambió para siempre mi vida </div><div style="text-align: center;">ahora esta llena de pastries, spanglish y es híbrida,</div><div style="text-align: center;">no me importa si nuestros planes nunca se realizan </div><div style="text-align: center;">al menos por ahora son esos sueños los que me reaniman. </div><div style="text-align: center;">This has been so hard, but now it is paying back</div><div style="text-align: center;">Don't take it personal; my love will always be there</div><div style="text-align: center;">it is just that at least for today I can say that I have found</div><div style="text-align: center;">what I was looking for when I left, a place far from you </div><div style="text-align: center;">where I could actually be happy while being myself.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-69600028031680092232009-03-22T19:29:00.001-07:002009-04-03T15:08:45.336-07:00Le petit café<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I said that the next time I would choose my battles better.<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">they have been choosing me for quite long, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">'Underneath all these layers of cloths,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">when you take away the heavy armor,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">there is nothing...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">just nothing that resists an insignificant walk in the cold.'</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You told me that and I believed you </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">for why would you lie? For why would you make me cry?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I was already crying that night I didn't want to say goodbye,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Je ne veux pas dire au revoir.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">y ya no querré despedirme nunca más. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I took my passport and my suitcase and looked straight down to the floor, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">No me bajes la mirada Mariele, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm confused whether or not I wanted to know,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">¡Pídeme que te siga!, Don't you dare to ask me to stay!,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">you will be frozen by the first step,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> and I'm the one who is ready to melt.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">yo te prometí un palacio de arena, jamás un iglú para una princesa. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Prochain train à Montpellier</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">... that's my train... </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">pas de tout ca c'était hier</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You looked at me, knowing that I knew you were right</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">our time had passed, long ago our marvelous summer had indeed died.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">it was then while we were sitting just </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">en face de la gare</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">¿significa que me vas a dejar de escribir? Quizas.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Un café et un café au lait SVP</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, I think we should not talk,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">we can try to do what everyone does, pretend we never met,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">lets pretend there was no need for an end, Nos deberíamos casar,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I mean I'm definitely going to start seeing someone, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Tu es vraiment une Néo-Canadienne quois?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> nos deberíamos casar,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I gave up so much already, there's no way I'm getting married!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I left once, I'm getting out of this </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">encore une fois</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It is not like I ran out of love, I guess I just needed something more,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">¿qué va a pasar?, ¿qué vamos a hacer Mariele?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">we, we, we, how about me, me, me? </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I don't speak in plural, you know I haven't ever since. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then there is no point, it is better for me just to go, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I will walk back without you, like I did three years ago. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The night is falling upon us,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> and we are still here struggling for invisible soft power, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">fighting an already-settled dispute, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">looking for a criminal using a law that we can not enforce,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Coffee, after coffee, laugh, tear, tear, laugh,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> l'amour, l'hostilité, un beso y tres odios. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Why are we still here? Can't any of us just leave? </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We can't undo what is already done, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">we can't go back to where we used to belong. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">¿quieres ir a un bar después de que pongas la maleta en el hotel?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Lets get room service and stay there, otra noche más para que me veas dormir,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">bajo amenaza de ser la última, de tomar la maleta empacada e irme, llegar a la Promenade des Anlaglais y darme cuenta que no soy yo la que debe partir, subirnos al tram y llevarte casi de la mano a la gare. Un último café para no irme con nosotros mal, para no tener solo lo malo que recordar. Un último café para hablar,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> notre dernier recontre à le petit café en face de la gare.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Eh bon ca fait... 5 cafés et 6 cafés au lait 15 euro SVP</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1554793963593678988.post-22841084257019111092009-03-08T16:32:00.000-07:002009-03-08T21:07:39.504-07:00Confessionary Dialogues with Xiuhtecuhtli<div style="text-align: justify;">Shouldn't you start by explaining why are you opening this blog, Mariele? After all this time you are randomly opening something like this, unexpected, inexplicable, unimaginable. Is it that suddenly you want to prove yourself that you can still write - non-academic products I mean-; or is it that your ever-present, never-ending, and daily increasing nostalgia is finally finding an emergency exit, a telephone in the elevator, a hidden stairwell, a medium to scape and perhaps, only perhaps, it will never come back... ¿Explicar qué?, ¿con qué proposito y para quién?... Cut the academic discourse, Mariele, this is not an other essay... Me pasé más de 18 años de mi vida explicando, tratando de hacerme entender, justificandome, buscando una falsa satisfacción a través de mi acreditación; y al pensar que lo tenía que hacer creí que estaba bien y era lo necesario por hacer... See?? You and your nostalgia, Mariele, your best friend for years and the indestructible enemy for many others. Explaining yourself, that's part of your nature, the one that they constructed in you, the one that is necessary to survive. You don't even know why you are doing it, do you? Does it kill you that you can't control it, that you can't "explain" it? How ironic, Mariele, how ironic... Ironía ¡ya va! si esto ni ha empezado, a esto llamarle ironía es llamarle obra maestra a un trabajo recién empezado. <br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Ironicamente yo escribía lo non-academic en español, all those amazing feelings with aztec, rather mestizo, sounds and colors that marked my daily life in all those <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">gringo</span> notebooks from many shopping trips. Because there was no word in any language that could let me express what I was feeling without taking away its non-sense. Y lo académico se escribe en Inglés porque cuál es el término político yo ya no lo sé. Ahora todos esos conceptos de políticas y teorías resuenan en Inglés todos esos que llenan la libretita que le compré al <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">jipi</span> de Coyoacan con el tatuaje de la serpiente en el lado derecho del cuello. The entire world debería hablar Spanglish (¿por qué no se llama espanglés?). "Pero si el español es tu lengua materna" "Yo me sigo impresionando de tu inglés" "At the end of the day we will always be ESL" <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Bienvenue à Montpellier.</span></div><div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I guess I just needed to start writing again, one friend inspired me, an other support me, tú me empujaste y se que ahí estas leyendome queriendome entender. You will be there, no doubt, decoding my broken imperfect espanglés may Quetzalcoátl help you because I barely understand myself, to be honest I really don't care my thoughts have always been a mess. Mi crisis económica me lleva a no más libretitas gringas ni mas cuadernitos jipis... Yes, Mariele, here you are further explaining yourself...</div></div></div>Marielehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09029943390139238822noreply@blogger.com2