my moment

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It is that unexpected overwhelming moment in which your mind clears out, in which the mist evaporates, and in which you are certain… My time has come.

How many times I heard your tone as a prelude to a farewell; and for how many.

The object of its meaning always changed. As people left, drifted away, they left me with my dreams behind, my soul begging for a chance, crippled, sleepless, trapped.

But now I heard it again and it overwhelmed me, it reminded me of the feelings, but it feels different. As people left, drifted away, left me behind, I was forever changed, and so were they.

It is that moment in which your insides shrink in an involuntary movement, your eyes close, your face changes color and a tear runs out down your face.

That moment, an unexpected moment of an announced redemption; long overdue, long desired and that feels just right.

The last day of normality.

The last day of normality.

I am not sure who to blame for this unexpected thought; maybe it is the inheritance of the Mexican culture that I was raised with, or maybe just my ability to bore myself if something is not cooking in my head; But I often think of things of death. What is true though is that I have always seen death with a relative sense of normality, as part of life itself.

Brushing my teeth, as I look up into the mirror, wet with cold water trying to get me more awake at the awe hours of the morning, the thought crosses my head: “What if today, was the last normal day of my life”.

Well I must confess that my thought was more like: “What if today was the last day of my life”; but then I started thinking that for those who are badly sick, truly hurt, or stuck in situations in which life is unequivocally extinguishing out of the lives, this thought may not apply; instead, I thought, “What if today was the last normal day of my life”?; A life that either ends or one that takes an unexpected turn towards the path of death; all of this while I brush my teeth vigorously.

As I proceeded to place my naked behind on the toilet to do my morning duties, I thought: “How is this moment different, from the morning rituals of those who for example died in the subway terrorists attacks in Madrid, or that one person that unexpectedly got struck by a car as he or she was going to work by bicycle (to enjoy the fresh air of that particular morning)"?

I contemplate my hands, as they lay quietly in both sides of my legs. I can see them moving, tingling with as much life as anyone can have at 5:25 in the morning. I notice how my feet feel, I perform a self-reflection at one of the most insignificant and overseen moments of my life; I see myself, and inside, I see what I was doing of life at that particular moment.

And the true of the fact is that some people would die again to have one of those moments back in their hands, holding a sense of normality or for that matter, life itself.

As I stepped into the shower and let the water go through my body, I made the first (semi-conscious) choice of my day: What type of soap should I choose today? Would it be a mixture of Goat-milk and oatmeal, coconut oil, or the Shea butter bar? All sitting lined up for my convenience and pleasure; And then it hit me, this is what my life demands, the every-day, almost involuntary choices that I can make, because I have life, and because it is not threatened.

What if today was the last day of my life as I know it? Will I notice that I chose to wear my black shoes instead of the brown ones? Will it have made a difference if I had not skipped breakfast? Would I have said or done something different if I had known this was it? Or even more; in the end, does it really matter?

Rediscoveries.

I sometimes fear of writing when I am far away from the chance of filing my thoughts.
But sometimes, I can’t help it, and the desire burns just as an itch in a hot summer afternoon
When that “sometimes” happens, I usually find a way to diverge the urge and mask the feeling;
As it is easier to ignore the “sometimes” than to honor its need for words and creation.

Recently I played the tourist guide role to my parents on their recent visit to Nova Scotia
While doing this, and unexpectedly, I re-discovered my town, my life, and my scars in a different way.
While I was not looking to do a trip down memory lane, my parent’s interest in my life caused just that;
While trying to bring back the moments of stories, people who are gone came back and took my hand.

These flashlights took me over to “Sam The Record Man” store on Barrington; now a destroyed building.
They took me to “C’est si bon” and its flamenco nights; now converted into a Yoga studio.
They got me back to cheap steak night at “Your father’s mustache” and the image of German enthusiasts.
They transported me back to “Pizza Corner” on cold winter slippery nights, and their smell of fried food.

It was like having a series of Déjà vu’s of the past; filled with emotion, with sense, and nostalgia.
Meeting points like the entrance to the Public Gardens, Park Lane or the Public Library came alive again,
Walking paths in old cemeteries, footprints of time in the old walk boards of the waterfront, all mine.
And mixed with reality of today, I greeted my past with cheerful stories, and some hidden tears.

Then I understood… This is my Halifax, my story, my life, and I think my parents got it too.
As I drove my parents to the airport, there was silence in the car for most of the way;
I could have assumed it was due to the ridiculously early time of their flight to get them back home,
But I think it was more because deep inside, they saw my roots here, and knew I was never coming back.

This is the first time I see myself this way, in my skin after the life I chose; rediscovered.

Just like blood

What I like, is what I have already seen
I never expected to make it this way, it was life
Am I the one to blame? Perhaps…
But the “who” I am now, is what I chose to be

The mistakes, the shadows…
The shinning victories, the love…
This is all my inheritance to life
The simple verses of my thoughts

When you walk forward, you create
When you create, you unfold
Unfolding my possibilities brought me pain
But the pain made me a man, killing the poet

The poet brought me pleasure
The pleasure brought me freedom
The freedom brought me love
And the love trapped my soul

After the war was fought, I took a moment…
I thought about the battles, the combats
And chose to contemplate my graveyard
Shutting myself down, to alleviate the sorrows

But then I forgot, that as everyone knows,
After every storm, the calm awaits
But I kept my eyes shut, the hope was gone
I left my inspiration locked, inside the rock

And the lights got shut down
The curtains drown
As the flame slowly froze
But my hope, was kept alive…

… And now, it’s time to write.

For T.

And just a random second

Today I saw you

Hidden behind the shadows of nostalgic memories
Triggered by the sudden smell of what seemed long lost
But that revives in moments hanging inert in plain air.

Today I felt you

Living still, in the self that gives me life,
Finding corners in my spirit, finding it hard to survive.
but impossible to fade, only morphing with the age.

Today I heard you

Inside the cheery thoughts of hope, that once I felt
Making my head lay high, remembering your voice
A sound so strange, that I almost forgot.

Today I touched you

As I let you in once more, for just a second
And invited what’s left inside for a casual conversation,
of the usual forgotten topics, many times lost in translation.

It was the moment, a swing of air, a sudden echo
What I fear, made my mind turn in your direction
And just like that, I say farewell to this memento.
Bringing back life, in slow pace, second by second.

The sincerity of a dream

I stand in air, looking back to what seems like yesterday
Locked inside the gates of my blind visions, lost memories.

Taken from the pieces on the ground, that lay sparse around.
Making you stand, be born, be the basic element of life

And then I sense the raw thoughts of your mind, flirting around
Making me desire more, like the thirst of lust or lack of faith

I see myself beneath, basic, terrene, just a piece among the chaos
Bringing my heart forward, and covering it in ice, inert.

And why you ask? Because of justice, because it was simply right
And like that, I handed myself in, for the inner, complex side.

I stand on earth, looking down to what seems like today
Locked inside the deal from life, the one that is fair

Taken from the walls around my soul that stand strong.
Making you kneel, exist, and be the basic form or life

And then I sense the urgent thoughts of your mind, holding me
Making me desire, like the thirst of inspiration and lack of luck

I see myself inside, locked, immobile, just a standing piece
Bringing my present self forward, and giving it another chance.

And why you ask? Because of hope, because it is simply necessary
And like that, I will hand in myself, the dreaming scarce side.

I stand on hope, looking up to what seems like tomorrow
Locked inside the fantasies, those that don’t exist.

And then I sense the beating heart of inspiration, calling me
Making me dream, like the thirst for freedom, for myself.

I see myself above, complete, real, just like I need to be
Bringing my spirit forward, and finally letting go.

And why you ask? Because I have to, because of who I am
And like that, I take the hand of time, and the dream slowly fades.

Leaving my borrowed life behind

It’s time to move on, I thought. My mind giving me cross references that made my heart ache with mixed sensations. I had left that morning to a new life, excited, scared and obligated by the circumstances. I was a half immigrant, with one foot in, but still chained by the incredible toughness of a system.

Nostalgia and fear, they all were there and sat next to my mind as co-pilots on the ride to a new life, one that was given as a pity loan, in which I was the object of a deal that I had very little to say for.

I didn’t have time to apply a judging thought to the series of events; I was merely existing, in silence, with very little hope.

I borrowed a wore-out smile, a tiny sample of dignity, and carried with me a bag full of old and tight clothes, filling the space with the unavoidable sense of fear; fear of the unknown and the uncertain.

My new life was set up in the shape of a fruit basket, lying in the breakfast bar of an empty kitchen, and that meant the world to me. It was a clear sign of hope, as I have taken to give fruit baskets to people in some sort of disgrace.

My steps were cautious; I had learned too well to never give a step without proper inspection. Just like a street cat in a new home, skepticism was my biggest shield, I wanted it to be truth, I wanted it to be right.

And the new life began, split like the heart of a war criminal, I had a life left behind far away, and a new reality, consistent of an environment that I couldn’t grasp, an office filled with strangers that passed by a back door at a rapid rate, slamming the big, noisy metal doors as they went through and the feeling of being the only dark grain in a full bag of white rice.

Step by step, what should have been a process of adaptation became a new way of survival, a new set of rules, in which I had to respond to a series of expectations that were part of that broken deal; filled with secrets in which I had very little input. I realized that my life was still wrecked in two parts and there was an obvious winner.

Then freedom came, in the shape of an e-mail, then a passport, after that a piece of paper that three weeks later would translate in a small two by three-point-five inches card, step by step, like a survivor in a disaster area making his way through the rubble. I could barely content myself, just to realize that I still had the moral commitment to my “redeemers”, or so I thought.

The light was shinning right into my eyes and after such a long time of darkness, I was blinded for a while; feeling lost, without direction, the warm stream of emotions raced throughout my system, giving me back the freedom which I still evaded feeling for the fear that it was a dream, a fantasy. I was ready to fly, to explore, but then fear came, cornered and trapped me.

I was the one to blame I thought; the guilt translated in insecurities, which echoed in my non-fructuous efforts to escape the state of mind, the overwhelming thought of coming back to earth as a full person, as a rightful human being.

And life happened… I was forced to take back the curse of life, the one I had been assigned as what I wanted to think was my destiny. With so little hope, so few expectations; but hungry of living, of seeing, of harvesting all the promises left by the sacrifices.

Half broken is how I felt. The memories of my life were misting with the bitter pictures of those who held me back; the ones that once made promises and held me captive of their selfish existence. Unable to scream, to run, I was a slave of the circumstances.

A mental picture of the loss of dignity; Printed in the back of my head, while I saw too many planes flight away with my own dreams on board, and half my heart left to be stepped down by that new acquired sense of quilt. I chose to suffer, because I was still blinded by the stream of light, the price of freedom, the recuperation of myself.

What is fair? I thought bitterly, why am I still here? I told to myself in a desperate plea for redemption. Then I saw it, clearly and shiny, life is not fair; I had to gain it back, and return this borrowed one to the circumstances.

The choice then was mine, for the longest time I felt able to show some of my feelings. I slapped in the face those who for so long showed me coward sympathy, I terminated the unfair contract that was signed with two hands tied up in a string of emotional distress, and decided to fear the unknown, the uncertain landscape of possibilities, still half-broken, still afraid.

And this is how I leave my borrowed life. I take with me my old tight clothes, but I leave behind the fear of a half immigrant, the lack of dignity; I take with me the uncertainty of the future, but I leave behind the slavering strings of circumstances; I move on, leaving my borrowed life behind, to look back at a dream, that was a nightmare, to learn more lessons.

Old grown-up enemy

You are back, inside and settled. And just like in the last time, I sense your unequivocal presence, making home in the core of my guts, misting my ideas with your usual salutations.

Uninvited just like always, you take command, and choose to make the important decisions of the unexpected moments. I have no choice but to fear you, and to have a chat of pledge with my visions.

You have found the keys again, and settled; I tried to hide, to forget, to ignore, but I am human too, and I am vulnerable to you, just like anybody else who has tasted life and seen it all. I have learned to nourish you right inside my soul.

In a sharp feeling sense, you kick in, I feel sick, dizzy and temperamental. I have no patience not even for my casual thoughts, those that I get to use once in a while to feel special, and here you are.

Time rolls back, as I know a new change is in order, and you wait here, patiently, ready to charge, just like before.

You are “Anxiety” and I detest you.

Looking up.

Three hours, one hundred and eighty minutes, ten thousand and eight hundred seconds, and then I am there. I find loneliness, or familiarity, I sense coldness, or anticipation, I see hope, or regrets.

During the course of the journey, I often times dream, I listen to myself, and usually try to imagine with vivid images from my mind what would it be if… I had chosen different things.

There is nothing else I can do; I need to waste the time, with no more expectations than just keeping awake, alert and conscious.

I see the fields run vigorously in my eyes, giving me the perspective of being stationary in the quick vortex of my head, just when I feel I am getting lost and scared, the well defined chaos in which my ideas transform thanks to the mix of boredom, and tiredness take over, and just like that I hear myself.

I usually have music on, I pretend there’s nothing else to look forward than just the stories that are told by the sounds I hear. When the contemporary violins of “Bond” come in, I imagine it is me who plays energetically to the rhythm of the Romanian Rhapsody, and I have an audience who appreciates and admires with envy my unequivocal talent. Suddenly I have to join, and start singing the chorus of songs that I can’t even sing. If the music got muted, I would sound like a howling dog.

Then I start thinking too much… the one quality I can get to hate. I begin looking for answers to questions I shouldn’t be asking in the first place. I can sense that there’s nothing else in my spirit than the pure sensation of someone who looks at a plane go away with his desires inside, and he has been left behind.

I am here… present, going back and forward between my freedom and my jail. I can see and hate myself for hating. I punish my feelings, until I find self resignation.

I am here… left behind as I see the world turn and disappear right through the vision of my window.

I lost you and I longed for you

I lost you and I longed you, like a season running out of sight
Missed and needed, but soon forgotten,
Taken by the mist of nightmares from my mind.

I lost you in a shock, that followed another, and I couldn’t recognize
I was blind and sedated, softly bleeding from inside
You were gone out of my system, too quickly to react.

I lost you even in memories, you were simply far away
My head built you in the name of hope,
But sadly enough, you had truly left

I lost you and you’ve come back, I had to let you go
You were the high price I paid
But today you knock my door.

I found you again old friend, how I missed you
You my forgotten ally, my released prison
You are now with me, my dignity, my freedom.

SDIH(3/11/2008)

The Figures in my mind

Lost, inside myself are the shapes of the past
Those that translate into memories, erased from the bottom of my soul.

Found, inside myself are the new rules of my heart
Those that are now shielded, smarter and ready to talk

Dead, inside myself is my wishful set of hopes
Those that once near killed me, that filled my innocence with holes

Alive, inside myself are my real expectations
Those that are made of adult desires, like morgages or affection.

past, inside myself is the time I spent
That that made me vulnerable, in which love tried to pretend.

Now, inside myself are my hungry ideas
Those that were asleep, waiting for winter to end.

Inside myself is me
the one who once dreamed, once feared, once cried, once hoped...
The who now acts, now demands, now escapes, now fights...
the one who will...

SDIH (2008)

Last Night

Last night, I stopped believing in simplicity. The whole concept of independence became a mere stranger and in serious risk of extinction. Let me explain:

I realized that no matter how small, isolated, or simple events seem to be, they are usually not. They have a reason, and many times, they just happen to be part of either a cycle or a chain of events that lead to something and nothing at the same time.

When you believe that the series of events have finally gotten you somewhere, you then open your eyes, and realize you have just climbed another step on the staircase rather than reaching the level, you just set foot on a whole new fly of steps.

What I figured, is that no matter how insignificant something seems to be, I firmly believe that life and the universe, are somehow interconnected and anything that happens has some sort of co-dependence with the set of rules and lines that shape one’s life.

I suddenly realized of how much we tend to miss because we are so used to not paying attention to the string of life, to those events that appear to be insignificant, but that are so pure and so crucial for the curse of our lives.

Then the mist of confusion appears, because we are so obsessed with the huge signs that we can’t see the set of events that are showing us the options that we have for a successful life.

Last night, I moved to a whole new year, and I realized that the one that just passed, will never come back; except for the eventual dreams, fears, traumas and thought that will cross my mind once in a while.

Today am an evolved version of myself. Today I have understood one simple rule… that turned out to be truly complicated. Today, I changed.

SDIH (2008)

Who am I

I am a little bit the reflection of where I come from; a culture, a bunch of free smiles, laughs, hugs, tons of kisses, people that looks at your eyes when they speak, people who dances and smiles just for the sick of it, we just don't seem to pay too much attention on how much we cry, smile, laugh or curse at all... and at some point... I am that.

I try to understand why I am unable to accept a different perspective.

The sound of my culture buffers every single place of my heart and mind, a different flavour, a more spiced way of living.

Different concepts then seem to have a very well defined shape, but they just don't seem to make any sense to me while the rest feel completely identified with them.

Space, perhaps the biggest treassure of some.. while for me it hasn't been locked since I don't know when... Feelings that are so hidden, that hurt, and that stress of always making sure you dont step over them .... that is the most frustrating part of all.

Life is all about how you decide to live it, some .. think it is better to watch every step they take.. and perhaps, those are the ones that always make it to be very old... I wouldn't mind that much loosing it all at once... I have gotten so much so far anyway.

SDIH (2006)

Life as it is

sometimes a story, can reflect the inside of one person. Not even the facts transform, but perhaps get enriched by the reflection of that person´s mind, their love and their abbility to imagine.

How many times have we told the right story, the real facts?, when would it be much better to have put our minds in that simple state, where things are just the way we want them to be like?

When did I loose the power of making my creativity lead my actions and perhaps create the stories... making them real... giving them power and life, and even some people may not think it is the right thing to do... Who are they to tell?

What is the difference between understanding life and living life?, that those who want to understand, most of the times get more lost and end up living up the facts...while those who dare to live... can see beyond, and can make a simple story.. the greatest adventure of their life.

There is no difference between saying what you want, or saying what it was, if at the end... you get through the right message and give life a chance to show how fantastic it really is.

SDIH (2005)

Art and life...

Deceived perspective from surreal dreams
Mindless thoughts of bizarre streams
Classic concepts in contemporary minds
Life in art, art in life…

Concentrating the ideas, hidden from the rules
Structuring the reason, away from the truth
Finding neutral answers from unasked questions
Building up the rules for inadequate creations

Arts in life, lives in Art…
Concepts that merge, Merging that blasts
Blasting that grows, Growing that lasts
Last of the knowledge, knowing your art.

Art needs life, to start, to expand
Life needs art, to taste, to rise
Living is the story, art the storyline
Art is the resulting of a divine life.

SDIH (2004)