The go forward

To be happy you have to find variety in repetition; that to go forward you have to come back where you began (Jeffrey Eugenides)

This is something I'm allucinated about. I needed, for many reasons, write a blog about what you just read.

Yet again, I have provided a wonderful entertaining (to myself) with letters to my dear friends and especially Bella. Bella is a breath of fresh air and does not have the God complex that seems to afflict so many of us. She's my "come back home to go forward". If I had to physically come back home I'd never again leave. But honestly not to come back is what finds variety in life. Does that make sense? Probably not.

I found variety in starting over again. Pleasure that assures me to be strong. I've changed houses, homes, lovers, wind, frames, landscape...but no dreams. I've got back home once...to take another look, to see it again, to make it disappear, to watch them carefully, until I understood.

My boyfriend decided to start a blog with good things, so he can find hope and growth. I've decided to find my variety without start all over again. To learn how to deal with repetition...without being bored. Knowing that I have a boyfriend for a year is already a good start. Since I started dating, relationships were never my safe point (and no, it's not because of my latin blood). Lindo is just different. It makes me feel safe in a Land of Strangers. And love even when I don't. I'm struck by how comfort he makes me feel. But I'll write about him later.

I acted as a child, starting at age seven, and this artistic outlet probably helped me survive in places which I felt so out of sync. Before I had no real understanding of the cute, the coy, the bad. I may not be entirely even though I should. I consider everything as cute...having multilingual skills makes it easier.

My mother saw the world as a scary place. But she taught me how to deal with. She took me down to the ghettos at age 10 to understand people's struggle to survive. She bought me sex's manuals (I found out babies don't just pop up out of nowhere at age 6) just in case I needed. And had regularly gynecologist's appointments. She shared with me my first glass of wine at age 15. I hated it. I got drunk for the first time at age 19. And never again. She helped me to be the best math student in class. Of course she was a master in calculus. She couldn't draw or paint but she gave me pencils and paintings when I first asked. She worked her ass out to be an example. I guess I work my ass out now. It worked mom. My dad, in the other hand, made me love books. And be honest with myself. I was a tomboy near him. He'd have to talk me into girly stuff. I loved soccer and play in the streets instead. I had countless barbies that were never touched. And my room had its pink walls covered with my paintings. Now, I don't wear pink...by choice.

At age 13 I asked them for therapy. They stared at me for minutes before the word "No". I guess they knew what they were doing. And of course, there are mothers and fathers, and lovers and children, all trying to figure out how to live in a way that is true to themselves.

I find it embarrassing to talk about how much I love a sentence. Like the first you read. I find unseemly and vulgar to talk about how much I love Lindo. It makes me feel revealed. If anything has slowed me down, it was the fear of being all in. Of being exposed - not in terms of people watch me or what they think of me - but in revealing to myself how much I care. That I care so deeply. That it all matters so much.