Tips for Single Ladies.

Circa 1938.

A man expects you to keep your dignity

That one is my favorite. Next time I go out on a dinner date, I’ll make sure not to be too familiar with the waiter. Ha!

 

Marcy.

The bell rang, time for class. Marcela and I walked side by side making our ways to our respective periods. She to Math, me to Freshman Biology. As we walked the halls my eyes caught his, piercing and chocolate brown. I felt tingles go down my spine.

“I wonder who he is.” I thought out loud.

“Cesar, he’s in my Math class. He plays basketball, football too, so we’ll be seeing a lot of him.” Marcela and I were JV cheerleaders; it was our first year cheering in high school. I absolutely loved it, Marcy tolerated it. In a moment of weakness she had agreed to join our middle school’s cheerleading squad with me, and now a year later, was sticking it out. She has always been a loyal friend.

I threw a side look and said “Don’t go open your big mouth and tell him I asked about him, I know how you operate.” She gave me her best whatever-do-you-mean glance and waved as she found her class…

Sitting comfortably at our picnic table, Marcy walked towards me, lunch in hand. Just before taking a seat she informed me, “Oops, so I slipped and told Cesar about you.”

Oh no. My stomach was in knots. “What did you say?!” Teenage squeak revealing my anxiety.

“That you want to have his babies.” My horrified look must have made feel guilty because she immediately corrected herself. “Kidding! I told him my best friend’s birthday party is this weekend, and that he should come because it’s going to be great…and that your name is Carol…and that you think he’s cute.” No she didn’t. My cheeks were officially tomato red.

“Marcy! I’m so embarrassed, what’s he going to think?” Do you remember being 13? You know, back when someone knowing you thought they’re cute made you blush? Oh innocence!

“Speaking of el rey de Roma, he’s about to walk by.” El rey de Roma is the Spanish expression for “speak of the devil”, loosely translated it means “to speak of the King of Rome”. I always wondered why Rome, but I digress.

His chocolate eyes stared right at me, and his luscious lips curled into a smile. I was in trouble and I knew it, completely smitten without even exchanging a word. That should have been my first clue; I was in way over my head. The next four years would confirm that.

I smiled back, hints of pink greeting my face. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Marcy is part of most of my memories; she’s more of a sister than a friend. To say that I love her is putting my affections for this woman lightly — she is of the upmost importance to me. I can’t wait to give her a big hug this Sunday and thank her, once again, for being one of my rocks.

For looking out and sometimes taking action for me, when I’m too stubborn or shy to take a risk.

And yes, even for embarrasing me. She definitely keeps things interesting!

Horizon.

After yet another sleepless night, my blaring alarm reminds me it’s time to rise and shine. Rise I do, shine not so much. My usual routine of walking Rocco, showering, breakfast, to work ensues and so does the start of a typical Monday morning…

Reports, media buys, plans and online games consume my day; I’m thankful for the full plate. A friend calls me at work, convinces me to apply to be part of an adventure, I hit send. If it pans out it’s going to be grand, thinking about it makes me giddy and I just can’t wait to hear from them. Please, please call me back soon!

I look up and it’s already past five, I dash out the door – running late already! I get Rocco & meet Erin at the lake, where we proceed to walk and talk for a few miles; it’s good to catch up. A wife now, Erin’s been super busy with her new life; I’m so glad we can carve out a few moments together.

The night is beautiful; the weather in Florida is finally enjoyable! The air has tinges of coolness and the wind picks up at night, greeting and caressing your face as you walk by. The smell of the corner Chinese place greets my nose and I can’t resist it, I cave in and buy fried rice. I’ve been eating like crap lately and my hips are starting to notice. Part of me is annoyed; part of me doesn’t care since I had lost some weight the past few months. I make a mental note to start watching what I eat tomorrow while munching on an egg roll.

Sun roof open, I look up at the sky and notice the full moon – it’s spectacular tonight. I get home and decide to sit outside for a while, call my besties and proceed to laugh for hours. Two of them are hanging out, we reminisce about middle school as they shop, makes me feel like I’m almost there. We get off the phone, I find our middle school yearbook, continue to laugh at how “fashionable” we were. These women have been in my life for 17 years, the magnitude of that isn’t taken lightly. I’m very lucky to have them in my life.

I pop Garden State in the TV; something about this movie soothes me tonight. After I finish watching it I turn off the lights, get in bed, and for the first time in months somewhat pray. I don’t talk to Him, I don’t ask for anything, all I say is “Thank You for today.” Not much, but progress for He and I as of late.

Good things are in the horizon, it’s only a matter of time.

Ilusiones.

If you’ve never read Richard Bach I recommend him, he’s got a beautiful way with words. You can easily get lost in his pages for hours on end; somehow he manages to make you feel enlightened, lighter. Here’s how I discovered Bach…

The last time I visited Colombia I was a teenager. I spent three weeks visiting my aunt in Cali, drinking a lot of coffee, playing card games and talking on the front porch. On a scorching summer night my aunt gave me a gift, a book she claimed changed her life. The book, Ilusiones by Richard Bach (Illusions in English), was beat up and torn; she found it at an old book shop and had read it to the ground. Tia Silvia gave me a warning: ”It’s a beautiful book, but you should be a little older when you read it to truly appreciate it. Put it in a safe place and pick it up a few years from now, when you’re a woman.”

And so it was, many years passed and Ilusiones remained on my shelf, untouched. Fast forward to last January, I was sitting on a Panamanian beach with my Tio Nano when he brought the book up. We were talking about the world, how everything is intricately connected and nothing is a coincidence. “I think you should read Ilusiones, have you heard of it? The book addresses these very things and is brilliant,” my uncle said. I told him I owned the book, that Tia Silvia gave it to me many years ago, told me to wait till I was older to read it. “What are you waiting for then Nina? You’re older. Read the book when you get back to the States. You have to read it!”

As soon as I got back I read it and loved it. My aunt’s a writter, and throughout the entire book, she wrote the most breathtaking stanzas about life! Her words mixed with Bach’s gave me new perspective then and opened up my eyes to things I hadn’t seen.  It was a beautiful thing. This week, while feeling restless after not being able to sleep, I glanced at my shelf and Ilusiones caught my eye. I picked up the book and began reading, and just like last time, I felt lighter after putting it down. It was a little breath of fresh air in a very stifled room; I have a feeling I will read this book again and again. Just like my aunt, I’ve highlighted, written and underlined many of its words — some of the quotes in it are so beautiful. Here’s one I love:

“A soul mate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we’re pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we’re safe in our own paradise. Our soul mate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we’re two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we’ve found the right person. Our soul mate is the one who makes life come to life.”

- Richard Bach

I plan to someday pass this book down, along with my aunt’s and my thoughts/insight on it, to someone I love. When I do, I’ll explain that although the book is kind of out there, if you keep an open mind, it’ll plant its roots in you. I don’t necessarily agree with everything Shimoneda (the main character) claims, but I do love his exquisite view of the world. I’m curious to see if it reads the same in English as it does in its Spanish translation, as Bach is American and the book was originally written in English.  I hope it’s equally if not more beautiful than its translation. I also want to read Jonathan Livingston Seagull — has anyone read it? I’ve heard great things about it.

All that being said, I’m not writing this to give a book review. I’m writing this because life’s timing struck me this week. How this little book came into my life, how it resurfaced — how time seems to warp and repeat itself. “All in due time” right?

So Dear Time, can you do me a favor? Carry me through this season and bring me to a new one where I can find appreciation, peace of mind and happiness. I’d love it if you threw in someone who made life come to life too. Just saying.

The Why.

I once heard that in the end the “why” doesn’t really matter. That despite the circumstances, your circumstances, the why is irrelevant. What is relevant is the now: this is where you are. It doesn’t matter why you got here, what matters is you’re here. Now what are you going to do?

Perhaps you’ll pack all your belongings and move out of your home, resigned to a divorce and shared custody of your child. Alone again, the world around you closing in, becoming smaller. All you want to do is scream louder. This is not how you wanted things to play out but alas, here’s your shitty hand. “We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.” Pausch was right. Damn that Pausch.

Maybe you’ll become skeptical of everything and everyone, choosing to close yourself in, a la Fort Knox. It’s not how you envisioned living out your life, yet it seems to be the only way to escape the fires and floods currently shaping you. Someday there may be more pleasant ground…maybe. Leave tomorrow to tomorrow though. Today dear friend, today you stand in a river of mourning (for insert blank here), wet and heavy with heartache, legs ready to give out. No one will know that as long as you are Fort Knox though. Tuck all those emotions away, put on a happy face (you’ve gotten good at fake happy anyway), and say “bring up the walls!”

Geez, how did we get here? Why did we get here? I don’t think I’ll ever understand it — how some get through unscathed while others are left caked in blood. How burning lips and wondering hands turn into cold shoulders and vacant stares. It really is heartbreaking isn’t it? That’s the thing about our minds, they always come back to the why, we want to know why.

In the end, the why doesn’t really matter though. Or so I’ve heard.

Pouty.

Why so pouty?

Don’t be so sad hun, I’m here for you. Book a ticket to Orlando and let me wipe that pout right off your face.

Hurry!

Dandelion.

Make a wish

“Oh look, a Dandelion! If you pick one of these up, make a wish and blow it’s supposed to come true. I love these.” I said as I bent down to pick up the weed. I closed my eyes, made a wish and blew – its petals flew away from me, carried by my breath, taking my wish to the earth. I secretly made a note to pick up one with you by the time I left (there were several growing on the side of the house), and make a wish with you. I never got around to doing that.

“Stay still; let me get your eyelash.” I told you as I brushed it off your cheek. I placed the long eyelash on my pointing finger, asked you to meet me with yours. “If we press on this eyelash, make a wish, and let go, whoever’s finger the eyelash is on gets their wish.” I said while you flashed me a quizzical look. Nevertheless you obliged, met my finger, made a wish and let go – the eyelash stayed on mine. “Yes!” I said with the enthusiasm of a little girl trapped in a 20-something body. I smiled, blew on your eyelash and willed my wish to come true.

“I have a gift for you.” I told you as I reached for it in my purse. “It’s a wishing necklace. You are to make a wish while putting the necklace on, and can’t take it off until the right time. Once your wish is ready to come true, the brown string necklace will lose its color and you’ll know it’s time. Then you can take it off, save the wishbone, wait for your wish. I got one for me too.” You smiled, “I love it. Let’s make a wish at the airport before we board the flight to London” you declared. And so, at the JFK terminal, we made our wishes and put the necklaces on. Neither of our necklaces changed color, both broke. We wondered what that meant but figured the breaking would still make the wish come true. Or so we hoped.

11:11 p.m. Ooh, I get to make a wish. What is it with us Hispanics and wishing traditions? I thought as I made the same wish I make every time. Hey, if I keep making it maybe someday it’ll come true right? I thought as I drove past a yellow light & kissed my car’s headboard. And as I threw a penny in a fountain. And as I saw the first star in the night sky.

And so it goes, a lifetime of wishing the same wish, over and over again. I will admit, out of all of these, the Dandelion is my favorite. There’s something so beautiful about this flower’s death: instead of decaying to the ground it becomes a beautiful weed that stands, waiting to for a wish to scatter it to its surroundings — spreading hope, even in death.

That wish, the one I’ve made for years, still hasn’t come true (I still have the wishbone). But I haven’t lost hope – my heart is still convinced someday it’ll happen. And when it does, I’ll have to find another wish to make. But not today.

Today I search for a Dandelion.

I love this.

Ashes.

I wondered what it’d be like to watch you get ready in the mornings, brushing your teeth, shuffling into your shoes.

I wondered what it ’d be like to have you with me for a weekend. How much we’d joke and laugh; how it’d be to have you once again by my side.

I wondered what you’d say if we talked. If our conversation would be easy as it was before or if we’d be totally different now that time has taken its toll.

I wondered how it would feel to kiss you, to see the way your face looked right afterwards. How it’d be like to have you hold me again.

Every time I wondered, I thought only about how you’d feel. If you’d feel something, anything; if you’d enjoy being with me. I never once thought about how I’d feel… and then I saw you.

And I no longer wondered what this and that would be like, because it no longer mattered. I didn’t care.

There’s a Spanish saying that goes “donde hubo fuego cenizas quedan” — where there was once fire ashes remain. I once believed this saying, now I can honestly say I don’t. In this fire, our fire, there are no ashes left. They were carried by the wind, the many days, the last words uttered and never said.

The flames are dead and no amount of wood or fuel can awaken them again. I don’t wonder about you anymore.

I recently found a forgotten notebook with thoughts and memories tucked away, from a while back, this is one of the ramblings it contained. Reading this notebook, reliving all those emotions, has been mind blowing: so much has changed this past year. Yet so much is the same –

I’m still the girl trying to put out a fire.

Sere Nere.

Lugging 35 pounds of luggage in cold rain down cobblestone streets is not my idea of fun. Especially after a long flight and bus ride to get to said streets. We were tired, grouchy, freezing…and lost. Great.

We had been looking for the hostel for over an hour now with no luck. “Let’s Google map this” Viv says and calls Debbie who’s in NYC (thank goodness for international cell phones). We wake Debbie up at an ungodly hour and she proves to be a trooper, gets us to the hostel. Great, finally, a warm shower and no more backpacks…or so we thought. We were greatly mistaken.

Hostel FAIL

You see, we got there in the middle of the Italian version of siesta and well, the hostel keeper was nowhere to be found. We knocked until our pruny fingers could no longer stand, stood on the side of the street, looking like upset tourists hating life. We both looked at each other in dispair and decided we might as well eat. There was a restaurant right across from the hostel so we made our way to a table, luggage and all, and got our first taste of Italian cuisine…we ate for 4 hours. I kid you not; this was the slowest meal I’ve ever had in my life. We weren’t complaining though, we had cheap Tuscan wine (cheaper than water), were starting to get dry, and my seafood pasta was to die for. Throughout the meal we called the hostel repeatedly and finally got an answer, right around the end of our meal. We thanked our gracious waiter, picked up our drenched bags, crossed the street and got the keys to our room.

We were happy to discover it was actually nice, got ready and began exploring the city. A block from our place we saw the Duomo and knew then and there that it was going to be okay. We were going to like Florence.

El Duomo

Like was an understatement – we loved Florenced. LOVED.  The food was to divine. The people were the nicest we had encountered on the trip (as Viv would soon discover when she accidentally landed a 60-year old man who couldn’t get enough of her). The art, oh the art, made my heart skip a gazillion beats.

Size matters

Yea, yea, I couldn’t resist. It was tiny, really. But I digress… I saw DaVinci’s, Donatello’s, Michaelangelos, even Galileo’s stomping grounds; It was, by far, the most romantic place I’ve ever visited (Paris included). There was something in the Tuscan air that made you come alive, made you see beauty in the most common of things in life. It slowed you down, made you take a breath and be glad you were alive, in this beautiful city, tucked in the gorgeous Tuscan countryside. La dolce vita.

Bella Firenze!

Sometimes, when I’m having a bad day, I think of Florence. My visit there started off in the gutter but slowly picked up to be one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. Anytime something reminds me of Firenze (as the Italians call it) my face lights up. This morning it was Sere Nere coming on my iTunes. Tiziano Ferro reminds me of Italy, I listened to him and Eros Ramazzoti practically non-stop while in bella Italia. As soon as this song came on I blasted it, began to sing the words and lit up.

Today is a great day.