Chiaroscuro Sans Nom

Je chante, je chante

et je pense à toi... un peu plus fort.

Merci j'ai recommencé à rêver.

tu vois? renaissance.

demain je danse.

Of Home and Other Demons

The papalotls 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...

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.

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 papalotls 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.

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.

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...

A white papalotl 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.

Yolihuani et sa bicyclette

Maybe 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.

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.

J'ai vu tes fleurs et je ne savais pas ou j'etais.

C'est un reve, je m'ai dit meme

C'etait quoi cette connerie et la byciclette?

Je ne l'avais pas compris a ce moment

Pardon, je l'ai compris trop tard.

Comme tout la vie, merci.

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.

Joyeux Anniversaire

Years 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.

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.

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.

8, 760 hours

I 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.

CRONICA QUASI-DETALLADA

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.

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?

Hour 5: Please refer to the post "The Culture of Magical Realism"

Hour 89: Las Madres de Plaza de Mayo. As minutes pass by I wait for the next subte, Plaza Italia, 10 cuadras, 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 porteño life.

149: Joyeux anniversaire, ni idea que hubiera hecho esos tres meses sin vos, perdon si no estuve despues.

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.

2160: Tears, tears, emptiness, confusion, restlessness, broken dreams, empty horizons. Welcome to Toronto, Bienvenue à Toronto.

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.

DEAD HOURS

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. I LOVE CANADA 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...

REENCUENTRO, RENAISSANCE Y POTENCIAL DESPEDIDA

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.

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.

8, 759: One year, one year... I think the storm has passed... or might have found a new umbrella.

AMANECER

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.

Thank you, Si lo rompe lo paga

I 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.

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.

... 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.

... 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.

... I can see that you are very attached with your family, Maria, and it is important, it is hard(er?) when you are away...

... 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.

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.

Old empires

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.

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,  

where are your gods? mine by now just go and get drunk out of the blood of

the less-fitted survivors of global capitalism and neoliberal North America.

We are so similar and yet you seem like you don't want to see it, 

you want your pain to be unique, incomparable, exclusive, 

remarkable, rare, indivisible et héroïque.

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. 

Can each one go back to our smuggled heroine?

Technicolor walls become obstacles between us

they were built while we slept, in silence, secretly, obscurely.

Your schizophrenia will make you think I betrayed you by building them

my paranoia will make me believe that someone is trying to break us.

They were built by our own gods, and our fellow followers, 

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.

Why did you have to take over my nightmares too?

Subtitles and (emo) Latin Pop

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. 

Quizá no fue coincidencia encontrarme contigo, tal vez esto lo hizo el destino.... ''Maybe it wasn't a coincidence running into you, maybe it was destiny...''

If it wasn't a coincidence why you've been like following me for several days like, are you a psycho or something? 

Quiero dormirme de nuevo en tu pecho... ''I want to sleep again on your chest...''

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?

Sabes que estoy colgando en tus manos, así que no me dejes caer... ''You know you hold my heart in your hands, so don't let me fall...''

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...

 

Te envio poemas de mi puño y letra... ''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.

Y así me recuerdes y me tengas presente; cuidado, cuidado, que mi corazon esta colgando en tus manos... ''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...

No perderé la esperanza de hablar contigo....

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?...

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...

Why do you keep on doing that? like... you know I don't speak Mexican!!!!

Sorry I am being (E)stupid... 

You like it when I shake it?

Shawty on a mission, what your name is?

What, you want me naked?

If you like this position, you can tape it on your video phone....

Meeting with Tezcatlipoca

I have played your game and I am satisfied

In the masquerade of eternal night

I did not take off the pink mask,

you said the night would lead me to the waltz.

I played the game as we agreed:

I dance across the land wearing the black high-hills

you let me look through the black mirror

I am your feet, you become the light.

I am not what you think I am,

I knew I had to moderate my opinions from the start

you were not going to tolerate my blasphemies

I anticipated you wouldn't play otherwise.

Let it be clear; this was a 'fair' game

it was inherently based on reciprocity

I used you, you used me

there were no hidden promises nor unfulfilled expectations.

After four years your feet were swollen

after 52 months my eyes were blinded

the black light merged with the rocky floor

I was frustrated and you were bored.

We sat down together on the red couch

and gave up in order to make voodoo dolls

I joked about my dreams of changing the world

you laughed about your idea of selling my soul.

I confessed that I do envy them for having what I gave up

you suggested that I should cut the crap between us

when our contract is over it would be only me and the sun

wake up Mariele, your essay still has to be done before dawn. 

El Porvenir de mis Recuerdos

Suddenly the fog appears, invading the leave-less threes. 

 Last Farsi class, research for that big essay,

$30,000 short for the "project of my life", presentation on the last class

I did not even know there was going to be a final exam.

Do you tell people the truth of how did things happen if this is going to ruin their memories?

 Am I romanticizing my memories as an excuse to get back to you?

Is your memory blurring the decisions we are taking?

When did we stop memorizing each other's words and started focus on something else?

 This once self-imposed Alzheimer took control over my memories

at first I was sure it was me who was classifying the ones I wanted to see,

your eyes, their voice, their smiles, the napkin, that subway line, the train ride, 

her face, our stars, my two books and the purple shoes.

It all ended when I started to over-analyse what do those memories mean

I alienated so many memories so they would not hurt, so I would not miss you 

and somehow here I am not only forgetting them but also myself.

The oppressed rising up against the oppressor, 

the oppressor managing to silence the oppressed... 

we all know how does the story end. 

"You must a very bright person" No, I am just bored. 

Toma de fotos, incesantes flashes, sillas vacias, y una esquina sin retorno

Movimiento transnacional de personas con constante nostalgia de lo que alguna vez llamaron hogar.. et ca se passe comment si je suis une SDF?

where is my plane ticket? I don't like this electronic excuse!

Jugar sobre el tablero del cosmpolitanismo tiene sus complicaciones

¿soy yo la que lo veo muy tarde? ó ¿simplemente me olvidé de tomarlo en cuenta?

 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.

11% out of the 200 Years of Solitude were well lived.

What do I do with the other percent that will take more in the years to come?

Do I get my USB to save the memories I need to narrate the story once again?

Oh yeah... I should just upload them that way you do not need to see my face. 

"Félicitations, Maria" For what? I was just doing my job.

Keys 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. 

Why did you call me? You asked, and I realized I truly had no problem with being up front.

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). 

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. 

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 am 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.

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, tu sais? 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... she 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. 

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" 

With that the door went into flames, one less chain remains, I am only 11 months away...

Merci.

The Buenos Aires Posts

The Culture of Magical Realism (June 8th, 2009)

"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.

I was born and raised in Mexico, that was my 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 mestizos in case a Canadian asks. Inside us, I don't think we have ever fitted in the Mexican stereotype.

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.

Contradictions.... that is my culture, a culture of Realismo Magico, for how can it be Magical and yet remain Real?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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

Getting (more) lost. (June 11th, 2009)

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... rien. 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.
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 latinoamericana. I tried the US, tried Europe. Je suis toujours une étrangere Where ever I am in Latin America I feel safe, I feel that I belong North to South.América Latina es mi patria" She tells me, I wanted to cry too.
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.
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" "No te acomodés el vestido, negra, asi te va re bien" "¡Qué guapa que sos!" 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.
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?
"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. "Your 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 my people than I do? I feel at home here... and at the same time I do not.
Bueno acá en la América Latina al final todos nos vamos a joder ¿viste? -Emiliano's mom said.

Carrefour? (July 3rd, 2009)

So what are you cooking tonight Mariele? The owner of thecarniceria, 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. 

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. 

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.

People from Buenos Aires are called Porteños. 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 Porteños 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. ¡Vaya Fiesta!... I don't understand how people do it. I guess I will have to learn or drink (more) coffee at La Havana -an Argentine coffee chain and more Alfajores to have more energy... Maybe I should eat less Mexican hot sauce and more chimichurri...

A SDF Trying to Build a Home (July 19th, 2009)

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.

He asked me where did I lived. Je suis une SDF, I said. I did not say it in Spanish or in English ni vagabunda 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 my room. My 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 my room. I could have dance to Lebanese music on a park or started singing tango in the Subte, 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 my room to enjoy it, I was enjoying it from the beginning.

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.

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, notmy 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.

Words on the field trip to Pampa del Indio (August 10th, 2009)

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

So I will remember how it felt (Septemeber 1st, 2009)

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.
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. I can't leave!! 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,
laugh, memorize every single corner, every smell, every sound from the street... I
wish I could stop time and make this last minutes perpetual.

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
It has come to an end, this time I don't only feel it, ahora ya lo sé. 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.

El Sótano de los Espíritus

No pensé que pensaras eso y al no pensarlo asumí que conocia lo que querías.

No creí que alguna vez creiste en mi y al creerlo intenté probarte algo que nunca fue requerido.

No quise que me quisieras y al no quererte permití que me dejaras de extrañar.

No esperé que me esperaras y al desesperarme te deje de buscar para nunca reencontrarte.

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. 

Encuentros y despedidas, esperas y angustias, sueños y desvelos.

Sentí tu aliento soplar sobre mi espalda 

quize tocar tu pelo para confirmar que a mi lado estabas

desperte y vi las paredes rojas junto a la cama vacia

mi cabeza baja y el nudo en la garganta.

Culpé al dios en el que no creo,

maldije mis decisiones y tus desenfrenos

tire la toalla para caerme de boca sobre el hielo

y de pronto apareciste, como siempre sonriendo.

Que bueno que dentro de las platicas monotonas

de hijos, plata, noviazgos, dietas, vocaciones y sortilegios

no hay más de dos minutos para el sótano de los recuerdos

para explorar el sótano de los espíritus con alma de murcielago.

Irrelevant...

...and now I cry... took me fucking 6 weeks.

...and now I cry... in front of a total stranger, 

time went by while I kept on going

verbal diarrhoea or endless music?

how the fuck would I know?

My hearth is not longer broken nor ripped its just static

I became what I did not want to, what I promised you I will never be

I am on the floor, please do not show up randomly

I broke my promise, I AM INDIFERENT.

I imagined it in so many ways, so much different; 

I need you so much and I've been trying to find you for so long

in the process of finding you I've lost myself on the way

waking up in unscented beds, 

no clothes, no smile, no pleasure, no love,

no hate, no regret, no shame, not a single feeling.

You told me I should be excited, 

I told you I was, I lied, 

she said what you used to say "I am exceptional"

I was wrong, you lied.

I am not scared because I have no direction,

because my motivation is gone,

because I am too weak to talk

and too arrogant to write about it

who said that it is wrong to be both? 

what the fuck is wrong anyways? I should maybe shut up.

I JUST FEEL LIKE I DON'T CARE ANYMORE

I have so many things to tell you and you are so far away,

what was I thinking when I decided not to stay?

Should I wait another 6 weeks until you see me crying?

should I keep on pretending I am just stressed?

who do I tell about my nightmares, my sleepless nights, my constant body-pain ?

where do I find the strength to concentrate once again?

how can I articulate that I am just looking for a way out?

IT DOESN'T MATTER THIS IS THE LIFE YOU CHOSE

DON'T BE MISLED YOU WERE ALWAYS BY YOURSELF

"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.

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?

A date with the pavement

Light... no control... the floor... restrained tears...

FEAR, HELPLESSNESS, SHAME, SELF-COMPASSION

pain... loneliness... stupidity... life-long flash-backs...

my photo, your canvas, her picture, our movie, his book.

Are you ok?, she says... thick Canadian accent

I... I am not sure, I say with my thick "Latin" accent

I did not look at her, I will never remember her face,

your voice is still in my head.

I did not accept her help, rode my bike once again

pain, tears, anger, self-blame, clumsiness, 

What the fuck am I doing with my life?

I pretended to ask myself, 

waiting to hear a "you've done everything right" 

one of those kinds of answers that are full of shit

The water from the shower mixes up with my salty tears

the pain is there, it will remain here

I like the physical pain better, it hurts 

but at least I know it will go away.

Big-time reality check:

The reality struck you right on your face, Mariele

your elbow protected you from the pavement

but whether you like it or not

it was the pavement what made you feel alive again.

Find Me

Phonecall at 5am... what time zone am I in again?

tears that don't stop; the weakness that has always been there

your mind, your heart, your hands, 

my feet, my stomach, my airless lungs.

Can't breath, can't think, maybe I should not speak.

No money to escape, "responsibilities" to fulfill, 

a long-expired unofficial promise that keeps me here.

My dried sentiments are exploding, absent thoughts, non-existent words.

HOW THE FUCK DID I END UP BEING HERE?

I cannot see you and it is obvious that I cannot see myself. 

My clumsiness made me lose my Auryn,

I have no army to fight The nothing

there is no Atreju, no Fuchur... just The nothing. 

I cannot hear the oracle and I can't wake up from this Ende-like reality

that has invaded my destroyed dreams.

I should sleep to see if someone rebuilds the hope

that we shared for so long; but I have been long gone;

do you remember how long ago?

Je suis perdue, tu n'arrives pas 

c'est quoi ton histoire?

3am international call

foreign nostalgia

domestic romanticism 

internationally-displaced love.

Plesse do not stop time

The 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... everyone thinks they have more reasons to own those tears, even you... 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 YOU did.  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.... 

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.

No es una cuestión de borrachera

Quisiera que no me molestara estar callada
excuse ME; yo NO puedo estar contenta sintiendome ausente
si yo me saboteo sola que sea mi problema
si sos vos a quien le gusta estropear mi vida
no me importa que tanto entiendas mi dilema
aquí habrá más que una pelea.
Yo vine acá por mi ¿viste?
y sacrifique el tiempo con la gente
que en verdad me importa
que en verdad tengo que darle bola
mis hermanas sin tener la misma sangre
its not that I think I am so much better
I just don't care if you are so much less
who am I to judge your decissions?
I am not judging, I am not, I will not,
I am just trying to survive in this agony
that I did not choose
but you do not care
whether I got here by myself or not
you just need those words... those acts... those...
caprichos así lo digo yo en español
la perseverancia es una cosa, es no aceptar un no
y trabajar por un sí
I know you will not understand what I mean.
Tu sólo DEBES tener todo
tenemos personalidades muy fuertes dijiste
NO if I had it you... you would be fine
y mi puto hígado no estaría lleno de bilis
and I could give you the self esstem you so fucking need
pero no la tengo, ni la tendré, así que mi hígado se llenará
de bilis mientras tu buscas tus mil y unas noches
para que despiertes sin saber dónde perdiste todo
yo perdí lo mío el día que TÚ lo arruinaste....
ojalá aún funcione para que la pueda recuperar
disculpá pero yo no me lleno de 5 mill y tres noches
yo no, yo me llenó de una canción de reggeaton, de leer un blog,
de la arena del desierto, de discusiones coherentes...
de más que amistad, me lleno de saber que no soy
tan como tú me dijiste.... no one is terrified of me
me gusta al menos mentirme que respetan tal cual soy.
Can you see yourself? you said
No, no puedo no tengo un espejo enfrente de mi....
mis espejos los dejé colgados en Canadá.

El Reino de Tláloc es un Matriarcado

Simpre decía que no quería tener hijos

mi excusa justificaba el miedo al posible fracaso

mis multiples sueños no estaban para lugares fijos

y las familias 'disfuncionales' comprobaban my egoismo

Cuando escogí este camino que piso

por el que seguidamente me caigo, corro y maldigo

no te pregunté si estabas de acuerdo, no pregunte qué sentías

te enseñe un papel con cifras y presupuestos

lleno de sueños que mataban todos los sentimientos.

Como toda la vida me apoyaste sin jugar al antagonismo

y como es de costumbre yo lo justifique con mis 'logros',

con comparaciones innecesarias donde es en verdad todo narcisimo 

No tardé mucho para regresar derrotada, perdida y la cabeza baja.

No soy yo la hija pródiga, no soy yo la futura celebridad, no.

Sé que no hable por varios años, se que guarde todo

y aunque pretendo saber tu inquietud

no tengo la menor idea de tu preocupación

Yo viví en mi mundo de polly pockets, el barco de vapor, barbies

contradecido por la incomprención por parte de las amistades, 

la clase superficial y normativa, la escuela marista, el materialismo mexicano, 

todos casi siempre vencidos por la familia perfecta

De pronto decidí encerrarme en Camus, Fuentes, Allende y García Márquez

mis plumas, mis cuadernos,

 mis realidades paralelas en las historias de mi cabeza.

Si no hubiera sido por tu apoyo, que yo creí incompredido... 

esas altas y bajas me hubieran consumido, 

si no hubiera sido el deseo por tu ejemplo a sobrepasar...

nunca hubiera tenido el coraje para hacer lo que estoy haciendo.

No se si llamarlo adolescencia, pero viendolo hoy conscientemente años después,

yo soy feliz, no por lo material, no por un novio, 

no por un lugar en su 'so(u)ciedad'

porque tu me diste un arma que la gente nunca tiene, 

siempre podemos regresar a casa, sin ninguna pregunta, sin ningun juicio.

podemos regresar sabiendo que nos equivocamos,

para que nos abraces y comenzar de nuevo.

Yo por fín he sobrepasado lo que mi lenguaje político me permite llamarle

'casi una década de terrorismo psicológico' que hoy lo veo y doy gracias de haber salido

no lo pude hacer sin ti, sin tu apoyo,

sin tu progresismo, sin tu gran capacidad de entendimiento;

pudiste adoptar la actitud de las vecinas, 

de las mamas maristas,  de los padres de familia

gracias por no hacerlo, gracias por enseñarme eso,

 si soy algo feminista tu me enseñaste a serlo

Yo no quería tener hijos, 

me daba miedo que vivieran 

las 'tristezas y las injusticias'

de este mundo. 

Yo no quería que mis hijos vieran

como fui yo y soy parte del elítismo discriminanción y explotación

como dejé que el mundo siguiera contaminandose

cómo puedo ser tan hipocrita y tan inconsistente.

Y de pronto te ví a ti cuidando a Ella

a la arquitecta de todo este progreso, de toda esta emanticipación

y aún hoy me salen lagrimas de recordarlo, 

sin embargo no tengo palabras para describirlo.

Como tú, yo no pude tener un mejor ejemplo maternal

como tú al final del día solo hay una mujer en quién confiar

como tú yo tengo un alto estadard que superar.

para mi también tienes un lugar difícil de explicar.

Y quizá fue ahí, en ese momento, cuando me sequé las lagrimas

que entendí, quiero tener hijos, no por ser mamá,

sino para que en verdad tengan lo que tuve yo

para que me escuchen diciendo que te voy a 'cuidar'

sabiendo que eres tú la que siempre me a cuidado a mi.

On est toutes la Malinche

Stop pretending, it fucking took you one comment.

Don't lie, deep inside you know it was a matter of stupid pride

like always, you say you don't care but sure you do

I recognize that predictable face,

that arrogant smile, there is no humility

no... it is you, it is me and my never-obsolete self-preservation laws

You are starting to feel something else don't you?

You felt it that night

No breakfast? No movie? No coffee?

Je te téléphone quand je finis

11 heures le soir... rien

you know you are walking around because you are mad.

That is why you are running

you are feeling, you can't concentrate, you need that edge

Same feeling every time, toujours la même histoire

Paris... tu es vraiment hypocrite!

Buenos Aires... siempre lo más fácil

Mexico... no, simplemente no.

Otra vez ese vacio en el estómago

El sol ya entra por la ventana del sótano,

tú sigues aquí Mariele, sentada en la misma mesa de la biblioteca

sin leer, sin concentrarte, sin hablar,

con solo ganas de tomar todos los libros...

¡todos!, tirarlos al piso correr entre ellos y

de pronto del piso tomar uno que diga

"Toma de Decisiones 101."

Una hora entera ha pasado sin que si quiera saques tu libro

piensas en él... como cada vez que escribes...

sientes un escalofrio... ¡Vete Mariele, empaca y como siempre vete!

Si sentiste de nuevo esa insatisfacción,

hace ya 7 (¡mierda 7!) años que encontraste la solución.

Time is passing and you cannot write 

You look across your room, see those green hills?

 those were the ones you were wearing,

when you gave him that good-bye kiss

now look to the floor, 

you didn't think those red bulls were here for so long

It was like that, lying on your naked mattress,

for who cares? is not like you need the red sheets 

Air France, Toronto-Paris, Confirm your flight

green hills, empty red bulls, no red sheets. 

Then you looked at that wall of yours,

pictures of your past, most of my real friends are not even there,

you look to the other one, maybe it was your obsession with art.

What the fuck Mariele just decide!

it doesn't matter if in January you said 'never again'

just take a decision and that's your closure.

Alo, c'est quoi la Malinche?

And you smile, you just smile full of happiness

La Maliché... C'est pas facile a comprendre

Alors tu veux prendre un verre et comme ca tu m'explique? 

Your Air France session has expired please log-in again

I'm sorry I have to finish writing my essay

yeah Mariele exactly the one you have not even started

  

Suspiras... como si más aire te fuera a ayudar,

an other hour has passed

quisieras ser el angel azul de la pintura de Chagall

'I'm going to start making decisions that you might not like'

he smiled, 'I think you've been doing that for quite a while'

¿Qué decidiste?, podemos irnos a Grecia por dos semanas

Alors tu pars en Argentine?

We should go to Dominican for a week

Tu sabes que quieres, quieres sentarte a ver caricaturas

todos los tomos de Charlie Hebdo,

leer a Marquez, leer Fuentes uno que otro cuento de Cortazar

quieres estar haciendo nada para pensar en todo

1am el espejo... I don't want to end like that

el boleto más barato, ahí vas...