Saturday, February 14, 2015

i am clearly the greatest kisser in the history of the universe

I’m not sure how I feel about Valentine’s Day. I know I didn’t use to like it when I was a teenager. But then again, I didn’t use to like anything but crappy punk-ish music when I was teenager. It’s a tough holiday to like; you don’t get a number of days off so you can travel and/or see your family; you don’t get to dress up in a costume and get drunk on either cheap vodka or cheap candy. Nope. Valentine’s instead carries a lot of insecurities and more red than I’m comfortable with.

I have a few updates, but not about my life. That would imply I have some sort of social life, which we all know would terrify my very introverted self. One of my roommate is sleeping with a guy in our building. He is 12 years older than her, and is in a relationship with a clueless woman. Another roommate (let’s call her Roomie2) recently broke up with her boyfriend, or better said, he broke up with her. I’ve been a witness to various stages of grief, including “but I love him” and “but I hate him”. There’s also this friend, whom via WhatsApp came out to me. I’m sure this chanting about living in a more tolerant world is not as convincing when you’re one of the faces of the movement. Last and least, 50 Shades of Grey is out today, and I won’t be watching it… Okay, I will watch it eventually, who am I kidding, but I won’t be paying for it.

It’s hard to put all these subjects into a single short entry, and I’m already sensing how I’m digging myself into a hole. I can blab 2000 words about a can of tuna if I feel like it, let alone love conundrums (is “conundrum” a cool word? My first language is not English so I get my vocabulary from YouTube videos). Even though, I have built this blog out of my ability to write entries which could be summarized in a couple of sentences, but I don’t see the point of doing it right now. Instead, I will actually write the reader’s digest version:

“You should be free to like/love/sleep with whoever you want. Actually, no, I changed my mind. Roomie number 1/Anastasia Steele/50 Shades fans: not Him; He is an asshole. And sometimes the person you want to like/love/sleep with doesn’t want to like/love/sleep with you back, and I don’t have much to say other than: that sucks and I’m sorry. You will be okay, but I’m still sorry.”

My feelings on Valentine’s Day are complicated because the feeling it celebrates is a complicated one. I understand when people say they do not like it, and would rather avoid it. Maybe it’s a reminder that you can’t be with the person you want because they don’t want to be with you, or because a third group of people (who should fuck off) doesn’t want you to. Maybe it’s a day a dickhead pretends to love someone who they’ve been cheating on the rest of the year. It is a day in which Hollywood glamorizes an abusive relationship.  

Let me tell you about my Valentine’s Day, because I can’t speak from anyone’s perspective but my own. I’m home alone for the weekend, no Roomie1, no Roomie2. There is brownie in the fridge. I have no plans for tonight other than finishing this post and wait for my boyfriend to get online. It is sort of sad that I have a wonderful guy who wants to spend this day with me, but can’t because he’s 1151.47 km away.  But he was 1151.47 km away yesterday too, and that’s okay. The good outweighs the bad, and I wouldn’t be in this relationship if it didn’t.

Valentine’s Day, just like life, is whatever you want to make of it. If people want to be depressed about their current situation, I guess all I can say is that I hope their situation changes by 12AM. 

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

we are all going

It was the dawn of January 1st. I have this terrible habit of checking Facebook on my phone before going to sleep. A Facebook-friend of mine changed his profile picture to an old one of him with a girl, another Facebook-friend. Not very interesting; I keep scrolling. Still January 1st. I have this terrible habit of checking Facebook on my phone when I wake up. This same Facebook-friend girl is tagged in a bunch of pictures: clubbing and touring across Europe. Good for her; I keep scrolling. I get out of bed, prepare myself a cup of coffee and some cereal. I have this not-so-bad-but-not-fantastic habit of checking Facebook while I have breakfast. More pictures of this girl: at a cafĂ©, on the underground, in a classroom full of people, wearing those white coats doctors use. Then I’m wondering how is it possible for this girl to be doing so much in so little time. It took me a minute to find out she’s not doing anything at all. She’s dead.

We weren't close. Facebook added a new shade to human relationships and now I can call her a Facebook-friend, instead of just someone I knew. We went to the same high school back in Mexico and we hung out with the same group of guys. Well... She hung out with them, I was more of a recurrent character. She was nice, though, and I'm not someone who romanticizes a person for being dead.

I know how this is going to sound, and I wish there was a more tactful way of saying it. She's my first Facebook-friend who dies. The amount of accounts belonging to dead people is growing at a constant rate, I'm pretty much aware of that. I'm also aware people like using those accounts as some sort of memorial. But I'm not used to finding condolences on my Home Page every time I log in.

Something caught my attention: the messages were mostly cheerful, some of them even had smilies on them. A few comforted themselves by knowing she's in a better place; others explain her early and unexpected death by saying God needs certain people by His side; and there are ones who filled their void with the idea of a new angel who will look out for them.

Death is best excuse to learn other's religious beliefs, and sometimes your own. In case you don't know, Mexicans are very religious. I'm not. For no other reason but because I'm just not. The idea of a god seems as improbable as a Santa visiting every house in one night; and just as unfair, bringing the rich kids PlayStations and the poor ones Pet rocks. There was a point in my life where I would bother to back up my argument, but I don't care all that much now. Also, I’m conscious of what a tiny insignificant being I am in this immense universe, and I'm not so naive to think I understand anything completely.

I have to admit that I am jealous. And if my logic could permit it - maybe, I think- I would choose to believe too.

See, the way I deal with my mortality is by trying to not think about it, and then thinking about it all the time. Like when I'm on a long bus drive, tired and bored out of my mind, and I consider the possibility of the bus crashing. Everything I hoped for and every plan I had is over, and the only thing that's left is the shell of what made me be me. So I look out the window and contemplate whatever is on the other side, sometimes it's so dark I only get to see my own reflection, but that's alright. I just want to feel that I'm there, that I'm here now. Because other than the memories that's all we really have: the heres and the nows.

But living constantly in the here and the now can be a lot of pressure. And as beautiful as that ideology can be (written by a more talented writer, preferably) it does nothing to explain why this 25 year old girl had to die on her way to work. She won't know what it's like to get married, or have children, or pay a mortgage, or whatever adults do that I don't know because I'm 24 myself. It would be a lot more comforting to think that she traded all that for bouncing on a cloud with great Wi-Fi signal, where she reads all those comments on her Facebook page.

Maybe it's just the jealousy talking, but I really don’t want those comments on my own Facebook page. I know it doesn't matter, because I would be dead and wouldn't be aware of social media or anything at all; the living ones would be aware, and their feelings matter more than the hypothetical ones of the dead. But if I could have it my way, they would get themselves alone with their own thoughts for just one minute. And they would think about how unfair death can be, but how imminent and permanent it always is... Then, keep scrolling.