Perfect?

Last night everything was perfect. My blood pressure fell and I felt my body totally worn out-it was a chilly night. I guess my anorexic era is charging me the bills. I couldn't stop trembling. As I moved around the place I bent. I didn't want to eat. It was perfect. You were the only one missing and everything would have been totally perfect. If you had been there to hold me in your arms everything would have been totally perfect.

Empty

La naturaleza del vacío puede parecer bastante sospechosa. Recuerdo que, durante mis días de estudiante, escribí un ensayo sobre los vacíos en Julius Caesar, cuyo argumento consistió en un análisis de las numerosas omisiones y elipsis en la obra, las cuales sugerían la creación de escenas alternativas, actuaciones en backstage que provocaban saltos en las secuencias de las acciones. Supongo que al profesor no le pareció tan mala la idea, pues pasé su asignatura, pero eso ya es historia (no obstante, es gratificante recordar esas pequeñas victorias secretas). En síntesis, el vacío ofrece numerosas posibilidades gracias a su enorme potencial. En él pueden relegarse las cosas que, aparentemente, no son tan necesarias. Pero, si éstas se mandan al olvido es porque, si no las ven, entonces alguien (dependiendo de su nivel de perspicacia) va a preguntar por ellas. Esto produce efectos contundentes. Pero para descubrirlos uno debe ver lo obvio, lo que siempre está ahí y que uno olvida. La mejor forma de esconder algo es poniéndolo a la vista de todos--o en este caso, ocultando lo obvio, pues casi nadie se da cuenta de que se ha ido, pues dan por hecho que siempre va a estar ahí.

Sin embargo, la naturaleza del vacío puede incluso parecer contradictoria. Ya dije que el vacío es enorme y, lejos del campo literario, puede adquirir formas no tan agradables. Los bizantinos sentían una terrible fobia por él, de ahí que sus catedrales estuvieran abundantemente decoradas, sin perder jamás el buen gusto y el estilo (cosa que el arte religioso Hispanoamericano del siglo XVI jamás ha logrado alcanzar). (El vacío) Siempre ha sido sinónimo de molestia; hasta podría confundirse con la necesidad. No obstante, al cubrir algunas necesidades (llenar vacíos) surgen otras nuevas (más vacíos): cuando se compra una computadora surge la necesidad de conseguir otros aditamentos para poder explotar su potencial (conexión a internet, tarjetas de memoria, discos duros externos, antivirus, actualizaciones, etc). Esto ha logrado echar a andar las economías (desde la más fuerte hasta la más miserable) de todo el mundo desde hace mucho tiempo. El vacío, por lo tanto, provoca numerosas reacciones. Más bien mueve al mundo.

¿Cómo es que algo que no existe provoque tantas cosas? Una de las interrogantes de mi ensayo fue "si el vacío no existe, entonces, ¿cómo es que puede contener otras realidades?" Si no existe, entonces nadie debió haberse molestado en bautizarlo. Pero, el punto es que el vacío sí existe. Siempre está ahí para recordarle a uno que jamás podrá satisfacer sus necesidades, sin importar el tipo de éstas, a menos que uno logre alcanzar un estado zen totalmente ortodoxo. Pero eso es casi imposible. El vacío es un acompañante por defecto. Normalmente es endógeno (desde la más simple sensación de hambre hasta cualquier procedimiento quirúrgico cuya terminación sea "ectomía"), y otras veces es tan endógeno que se manifiesta y se convierte en una carga que crece con el paso del tiempo y termina por hundir en la miseria al infeliz que lo lleve en el corazón. A pesar de que el vacío está adentro, éste logra desdoblarse al exterior para hacer sentir que, de un momento a otro, aplastará al portador de inmediato o, si no sucede ipso facto, su peso lo hará desmoronarse con el paso del tiempo.

¿Cómo es que algo tan abstracto puede ser tan pesado?

Valentine

Practically, I shouldn't need to tell you what I feel for you. Yet, since you are way too far from my reach I must let you know how I feel. Whether you hear of this or not doesn't matter. I have to tell you this, anyway. In the end I would say to you that I would never see myself beside anybody else.

No matter how long we could have remained together, I would say to you that I love you above all. If you were by my side, this day would not be enough for me show you what I feel for you, how I have longed for your return. I would try to prove what you mean to me every day. I'd try my best not to neglect you, for you would be a quite precious thing.

I know I will never be able to compensate you for how I let you go and how I disappointed you in the past. I'd do anything to repair the whole damage. In the meantime I can't do much but giving you this. I wish I could make everything up with these flowers.

Nourishment?

Algo raro sucede. Mi apetito desaparece con los días. Ya no ceno como antes solía hacerlo. Ha sido un cambio gradual, y no es causa de vanidad, exactamente. Todas las noches solía cenar un bollo con leche; tiempo después se redujo a dos veces por semana para finalizar en cero. Quedo satisfecho con menos comida desde hace algunas semanas y no me siento mal (quizá en algunos años el cuerpo me pase la factura). Comienzo a creer que mi lento desapego a la comida proviene de factores psicológicos/emocionales. En otras palabras, la comida ya no me produce el mismo placer de antes. Prácticamente podría comer cualquier cosa. Todo menos cualquier tipo de carne. Se entiende que tampoco consumo aves, pescados, mariscos, gusanos, insectos, etc., pues tampoco son vegetales (aunque existen posers que se autonombran vegetearianos, aún si consumen abiertamente carne blanca, la cual sigue siendo carne). Cualquier cosa que haya volado, corrido, nadado, trepado un árbol, se haya arrastrado por la tierra, o que haya utilizado cualquier forma de desplazamiento motriz, no debería comerse. Aún si esta carne ha sido sometida a diversos procesos de conservación, sigue siendo carne de algún animal muerto, i.e. carroña.

Tal vez mi divorcio gastronómico sea una especie de preparación para algo de mayor fondo, algo inevitable que está por venir. No lo sé. Sólo como porque tengo que hacerlo. Dormir me da mayor felicidad.

Homework

Esta semana ha sido muy pesada: regreso al CELE, tesina, sincronizar el Ipod. La creación de playlists puede ser una labor muy ardua, pero tiene que hacerse. Si todo sale bien terminaré en una semana. Aquél que inventó el concepto de audio portátil ya debe estar en el cielo. Cualquier forma para aislarse de lo que no nos gusta o no nos interesa. Yeah!

Waving at You

In the end of the day I stand still. I shut my eyes and try to wipe away everything around me. I try to make up a world in which I can get rid of anything I want from my memory but, instead, I want to bring back the images your stare left me. Yet I can't. I know it is not feasible anymore. I could withhold your appearance but sometimes I can't grasp it at all. I break down and don't want to hear about anything in the world. Its loudness muffles my thoughts now and then, and sometimes I manage to forget the things I want to. But none of the outer spirits could ever uproot you from my heart. I still remember your slight movements, your longing eyes, your possibly sweet smile, the shape and the colours of your attire that enhanced the inner beauty I found in you.

Perhaps I wasn't so accustomed to find precious things in my way. Perhaps I wasn't ready for your arrival back then. I don't probably deserved to have you. I don't know why but I could but just see how you moved out of my sight. It's clear I lost you to a series of stupid fears that overwhelmed me. I let you go and down and I haven't forgiven myself since then. You never disappointed me but I did. As I realized of the fact I had lost you my vision was covered by a crystal-like but grayish film that casts a shadow over everything it reaches. I lost the taste of the rainbow from then on. I've been waiting for the end of this sorrow to come but it always stands me up. In the meantime I try to suppress the anxiety so that I can cope with solitude. I attempt to fight the noise in my soul by retreating into more noise not to tell the difference anymore. I cannot bear seeing you are not there. I have missed you for quite a long time. No matter how damn hard I try to stand tall my heart crumbles because of your departure. I just let my best years go by for I can't find some way to enjoy them. Winter came too soon to stay. I cannot bear seeing how your eyes beckon from the distance of log since faded loss. In the moment I finally found you I let you slip through my hands. I felt the true meaning of pain.

The days grow longer as winter reaches its end. In a matter of time the sun will shine even brighter and everything will be the same. I will try to keep on with my life the best as I can. Maybe I will pretend to be fine and reach some goals. These achievements will bring momentarily glory and then the crude hangover will leave a bitter trail of emptiness. Finally they will become a tasteless pill I'll have to swallow. But I won't give you up again. I have lost the chance to be by our side. Last year I tried to say good-bye to you but it was too hard for me. I won't lose the memory you have left me. I have wished to run a million miles away and start all over, but I know I will never dare to see you going out again. Maybe you are out there and will never return to my life, but you managed to engrave a drawing that will never leave me. If I let you down before, my heart will never do it.

Spindrift

A few minutes before dusk I go. My head is throbbing due to endless seclusion and hours of labour. There is no one to meet. There was no reason to stay, though. it is just a matter of chances and obstacles. Off I go, anyway.

I can't help but thinking about such deal for a little while. I walk on and waited for something to happen. I don't hope to run into somebody, and there is no way for something so would happen. I just feel certain need to go and forget about the boredom of the lately days. This stroll is meant to last only a short while. Street noises muffle my thoughts as I see all passers-by go their way, though I don't bother to pay enough attention to them. At my eyes they are just part of a dull city landscape, a colorful shadowplay far too barren to bear expectations, if any. Everything has become so strange and yet so boring. It seems there is nothing worthy enough to attach oneself to. By now I can't think of anyone I want to relate myself with. Everyone is boring. Lack results in numbness, after all. Caring too much about certain things leads to stop caring. Material goods mean nothing to me, since the needs of the moment cannot be satisfied by them.

Somehow, I hover down the pavement, waiting for someone whom I lost after a short while. Maybe I just go out to find out if I could ever meet her, wishing for it to happen--if I stay at home, my chances to see her again become more remote. I know I can't totally rely on an image of hers anymore. She lives now in the deepest part of my memory, so that she is far beyond my reach. I don't find her. I have no helm to do so. In demi-comatose spirits, I just make my way back to my shelter. I navigate under the dim lamplights of the empty streets and ponder about nonsense. Sometimes I can't easily accept that nothing in life is forced to have a purpose, either good or bad. Life in itself conceals no meaning, it is just a glitsch and then you die. I cannot bear this pointlessness, this grayish solitude. Everyday I want to see her. Everyday I lose her. Everyday I have nowhere to go, no one to rely on.

Your image is the only thing that seems to be left for me. Every night, before I fall asleep, I try to make an illusory embodiment from such mirage in whom I can pour all the feelings I have to keep for myself.