Something new...

The numbers on his wristwatch wiggled with each second, and he thought he heard the ticking as a heartbeat. It would wear off soon enough. He would just close his eyes and make the world around him stop its noodly dancing. He leaned against the red brick wall and felt the cutting winter chill stroking his face.

The best part of it all was always this: closing his eyes and being transported to that cool April day at the park, with her hair fluttering in the breeze and her eyes sparkling with sunshine. It had been just yesterday, hadn't it?  All he had ever wanted in life encapsulated in one single moment: her wide, mischievous white smile; the marble skin; the aquiline nose he adored; her strong fingers intertwined with his. The seemingly shy eyes with their feathery lashes. He knew there was fire in them and made it his life's goal to be consumed by it. That certainly happened, as his current state proved, but back then, just yesterday, he hadn't understood what he was wishing for. Back then, just yesterday, the backbone of the future was healthy and steadfast. Back then, just yesterday, she perfectly mimed the language of love and he lit up like a human torch.

"Let's get out of here."

Had it really been that long?

"Tito, let's go... it's getting really cold, man."

"Okay." He opened his eyes slowly and realized dusk had been replaced with a full moon.

"You're gonna have to help me with her, though. She's gone," his friend said, pointing at a figure laying down in the middle of the football field. Gradually, he came to his feet and started walking towards her, steadying himself by using his friend almost like a cane.

"What did you give her, Ralph?

Ralph's reply was cut short by her cackle. They walked on until they got to the middle of the field. He looked down at her and saw his guilt reflected on her haggard face--he had done this to her, just like it had been done unto him.

"Dammit, Tito, why are you so damn tall? You look like a goddamned giant from here! Come on, let's watch the colors in the sky... isn't it called Aurora something?"

"Come on, Roma, get up." It sounded ridiculous, no matter how many times he said her "name". "No Aurora Borealis in this part of the world."

"What's that?" grunted Ralph as he tried to lift her up. He didn't feel like explaining the concept. Putting an arm around each of their necks, she was dragged across the astro-turf field and the school parking lot. Her oily hair complimented the stale smell of cigarettes and sweat emanating from her. It made his stomach turn. He started wondering if he smelled like that to normal people. As they reached the car, she pulled him down by the neck and kissed him, making him shudder. But he had done this to her, so what could he do? Just timidly close his mouth shut and wait for her to pull away.

With her on the back seat, he asked Ralph to drive because he was still a bit too dizzy. Ralph turned up the radio and started rapping along. He hated it.

"Turn it down, man."
"Where do I take you two?"
"Not to the same place..." he looked back at her. She was sleeping. "Let's drop her off at her mom's. Then I'll take you home."
"Nah, take me to my parents'... it's Christmas Eve, I gotta pay them a visit," Ralph chuckled.
He looked at Ralph in disbelief, "okay".

It was hard for him to take that drive to her mom's house, but he knew she had nowhere else to go now and that he definitely didn't want to be around her right now. But the dread of driving by his own parents' house invaded him, even though he swore he didn't care what they thought. They knew his car, what if they were outside on the driveway, just coming home from church or something? They would see a stranger driving the car and himself on the passenger side, unshaven and gaunt.

"What time is it, anyway?"
"8:35"

His parents would still be at church. It was safe.

The streets hadn't changed much: neatly manicured lawns, American flags, inviting porches, jolly Christmas lights mocking him. Before he knew it his house had come and vanished before his eyes and he had only caught a blurry glance of his mother's rosebushes and the silhouette of the robust Christmas tree visible from the living room window. A tingling sensation ran through his body along with the sinking of his heart. For a second he was sorry Ralph had been driving so fast through the neighborhood.

"Hey, slow down... this is a quiet subdivision..."

The pavement was smooth and the mailboxes shiny under the moonlight... nothing like where he lived now--or stayed, rather. He wouldn't call it living. He started remembering all those Christmas Eve feasts: glazed turkey, spicy tamales, golden brown apple pies. Back then, just yesterday.

"When was the last time you saw your parents, T?"
"I--"
"Where we going? Take me home!"
"We're taking you to your mom's, Roma."
"No... take me to my apartment."
"You don't have an apartment anymore, remember? They kicked you out on Monday."
"Don't you fucking take me to my mother's house!"
"You have nowhere else to go", he said, not even looking back at her, but he could feel her eyes drilling the back of his head.
"Fine. Give me a lighter."

He searched his pockets to no avail and then thought he might have put a lighter in the glove box, so he opened it carelessly, causing all its contents to spill on his lap and on the car floor. He hurried to shove things back into the compartment but stopped when he found a CD case that caught his attention.

"Pull over here, Ralph, I will walk. It's only half a block."
"No, lemme take you--"
"I said pull over, dammit! I don't want her to see me with him. She hates him." It always made him feel better to know that Roma's mother hated him. It was like paying his dues for what he had done to her.

Roma fumbled out of the car and shut the door with all her might. She knocked on his window and he rolled it down unwillingly. He knew she was about to make him pay for not wanting to take her with him.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you... She had her baby. They're really happy. It was a girl. They named her Sasha. What kind of name is that?" she scoffed.
"Go home, Mickey."
"That's not my name."
"Mickey, please..."
She showered him with profanity and kicked one of the car wheels. He saw he walking away sloppily. Who was she? It couldn't possibly be the girl with the frizzy brown hair and the braces who had just yesterday promised him she would help him forget. This woman with her unkempt black bob and her stale scent had dived into the abyss to try to rescue him only to find herself even deeper in darkness. At least he could still afford to pay a raggedy room in the bad side of town. She had nothing left. She had left everything behind to follow him, even her own name. He had dragged her down with him in his quest for revenge against himself and now she was broken beyond repair, just like him. And, despite of it all, she still loved him--he was well aware of that. Or was it love? Did love cause you to lose yourself? Did it throw you in a whirlwind of self-destruction? What was that thing his mom used to say about love-- "it endures all things"?  So this must be love. And what his mother felt for his elusive, neglectful, workoholic father was love. And what he felt once must have been so, too.

"Man, ya'll with your high school drama. It's been like five years..."
"Are we almost at your parents'?" he replied impatiently.

Yes, he had loved. So purely and so deeply. He had never been the kind of person to inspire pity: majestically tall and strong, with the air of confidence of an Olympian and a smile worth a million bucks. A star athlete, a star student. He could have chosen any girl. But she was his Delilah. She shaved off his mane, leaving him blinded and weak. He hated her because she had always known what she wanted and how to achieve it, and what she wanted had never been him. He hated her because she was happy and probably had a nice white house with blue shutters or whatever and a lovely marriage that made people sigh and now she had this baby that probably had her hazel eyes and feathery lashes. He always thought he'd go find her once he got really messed up and force her to look at him and tell her it was all her fault, but she had moved away to France because her big-shot husband had gotten a job there. So she had broken him beyond repair and he couldn't even flaunt that on her face.

"All right, man... do you think you'll be okay to drive?"
"Yeah."
"Cool..."
"Hey Ralph," he broke as he walked around the car to get behind the steering wheel, "what's your real name, man?"
"Why do you care?"
"Because... because you're my friend."
"My name is Ralph. That's all you need to know. I don't go around asking you questions, do I?"
"But I've known you for like three years--"
"Get home, Tito. Merry Christmas."

Before he drove off, he looked down to where he had put that CD case that had caught his attention and, taking it up, he read: "Enjoy! -C". Suddenly, he knew exactly where to go.


******************************TO BE CONTINUED***********************************

5 Things that never happened while I lived in England

1. I didn't get a bonnet.

I know, shocking! It is with a heavy heart that I must confess to you that I was just never able to find one. Maybe I didn't look hard enough. But, knowing the size of my giant head, do you really think I would have been able to find one not made for a dainty English woman? I shop for hats in the men's section.... I would have had to find a shop catering to men with a thing for cross-dressing as 19th century ladies...

My dreams of being Elizabeth Bennet were thus crushed by my lack of bonnet. How I longed to feel that soft, silky ribbon tightly tied around my face, choking me lovingly. How I yearned for my head to be warmly wrapped in fabric, straw, or potentially whale bones (according to Wikipedia) as I walked miles and miles every day--like a beehive buzzing in a beautifully humid Texas summer day. How my poor pale face suffered from being exposed to the cruel British sun--and by cruel I mean nonexistent. Point being: no bonnet, no Bennet. That, sirs, is the reality.



2. Fell in love with British food.

NOT. As a national from the fattest country in the world, you know that is impossible. I'm sorry, Brits... your Yorkshire pudding has got nothing on our bolillo and Sunday roasts pale in comparison to our typical guisados. Once you go Mexican food, you never go back [to English food]. That saying doesn't quite work....

Anyway, sorry Brits. You've got the green grass, and the sheep, and the manners,  and the literature, and the music, and the healthcare system and the hot princes.... but you can't have it all. Food's not your thing. But I appreciate the effort!


3. I didn't get into Doctor Who.

 I'm sorry, I just can't. The premise of the whole thing just sounds utterly ridiculous to me. THERE, I SAID IT ***cue to 80% of my readership leaving this blog never to return***. I just don't get what's so great about it.

Pardon me, I am probably just not creative and imaginative enough to get into it. I'm too simple-minded for it (as I was told once by a not-very-nice person). And while we're at it, I guess I should tell you that nope, I'm still not interested in reading Harry Potter even though they filmed bits of the movie in Durham Cathedral and Castle. If that didn't convince me, I don't think anything would... unless I had a chance to date Daniel Radcliffe... nah, I take that back. Now if Bradley Cooper would have been cast as Harry........




4.  I didn't go to a football match.

This one kills me a little inside. Not once. Not even a Newcastle United match. Not even when Man U was in town and they beat the hell out of Newcastle. Nothing. The closest I got to a professional footballer was taking selfies with a cardboard cutout of David Beckham at the National Football Museum in Manchester. It was just very hard to get tickets for the good games-- and God knows I had no intention of going to see Crystal Palace play, pfff.

Am I a bad football fan? Have I failed the fandom? Yes, yes I have. My mum would be so proud #notatomboyanymore #wellnotthatmuchanyway



5. I didn't date a British guy.

Now, that's a shocker, eh? I supposed this would should be called "I didn't date a guy", period. Of any sort. Or a woman, either (in case you were wondering). Just didn't date. I had to live with five men, remember? Was there a need to add another needy man-child to the equation???

Now, the fact that I was in England for a whole year and I didn't go on a single date seems to be the most puzzling thing ever, judging by people's reactions when I got back:

"Sooooo.... did you meet someone?? *nudge nudge*
NOPE

"What do you mean? There were no guys?"
Oh, about 50% of the population, roughly.


"Well, but you didn't even like someone?"
Sure! Too many to count.


"Did you go out, did you meet people?"
Yep--it's called making friends.


"So there wasn't ONE SINGLE ELIGIBLE BACHELOR?"
Does the fact that I didn't go on a single date answer your question?


"Well, you'll make a great nun!"
Yep, Sr. Marie Clarence has got nothing on me.

Amen.

Random stuff, part 2.

1. Acronyms are idiotic. They are confusing and it takes longer to explain them than to just say the words. I just felt like I had to get that out there.

2. The comforting thought of being a national of the World's fattest country living in the World's second fattest country. Who can blame me? I got both Nature AND Nurture against me!!!!

3. Eaves-dropping at its worst:

    Man: have you seen her? She must have been walking around here. She's small and has dark hair.

    Me: Oh, you lost your dog?

    Man: No... my girlfriend. 

Man: she's small, has dark hair. A nice body. Fake boobs.

4. Drinking tea with milk and sugar makes you a douchy snob if you're not in the UK, or so I hear. I'm sorry that I'm better than you and I have traveled the world (sort of) and I appreciate that tea doesn't give me putrid breath like coffee seems to do to everyone else. What's that you say? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of my sipping my delicious Early Grey from my delicate fine-china teacup while listening to Chopin on my 1920s gramophone. Besides, the Countess Dowager was telling me the funniest story about how her silly late-husband shot one of the servants accidentally once.

5. People working in the restaurant industry win heaven by martyrdom of the customer service type.

Man: hello, I'm calling because I found you online and I'm looking for a place to eat. What kind of burgers do you have?

Me: OH, I DON'T KNOW, THE KIND WITH THE DEAD COW AND THE BREAD AND THE FATTY CHEESE THAT WILL BLOCK YOUR ARTERIES?

Me (what I actually said): what do you mean what kind of burgers, sir? 

Man: yeah, what kind? I'm looking for something to eat. Are your burgers good?

Me: SURELY NOT SIR, THEY ARE A MOUTHFUL OF HORSE SHIT.

Me (what I actually said): Yes, they are good. We have cheeseburgers, and bacon burgers, and barbecue burgers...

Man: but how good are they? If I'm going to drive all the way to your restaurant I need to know if it's worth it. I need you to make me want to.

Me: MAKE YOU WANT TO WHAT? I DIDN'T REALIZE THIS WAS A SEX HOTLINE. 

Me (what I actually said): Well, they are good burgers, we've been here for 30+ years, I don't know what else you want me to say...

Man: well, I'm just looking for something good and exotic.

Me: THIS IS A CLASSIC AMERICAN FOOD RESTAURANT, NOT A THAI MASSAGE PARLOUR. 

Me (what I actually said): well, we sell burgers, sir, it doesn't get any less exotic than that....

Man: okay.Thanks. *HANGS UP*

Random stuff, part 1.

    On this day, January 6th, 2015,  mother cooked a side dish of liver and onions because my grandfather is visiting. I thought it was noteworthy enough for this blog, since mother despises the dish and never makes it for us. But, liver is coincidentally my favourite meat. Its rubbery yet soft texture; its bizarre meaty-yet-earthy flavour. I know you just said "eww, how could you?" but I don't care. Judge me all you want. I still have more iron and hemoglobin in my bloodstream than you.

Father enjoys liver and onions, too. He is also left-handed. That is another trait I seem to have inherited from him (along with my general eccentricity and tendency for ill-timed jokes). Today during dinner there were six people sitting at table; four of them left-handed. How is that statistically possible at all? Consider this: three of the four people are not related by blood at all. I am the only link between all of them.

Only 10% of the world's population is left-handed? Not at this table. Here, right-handed people are as  under-represented as everyone  else  in the American Congress.

What else do we know about lefties?

From: http://leftyfretz.com/25-facts-about-left-handed-people/

• More likely to have allergies---- FALSE. It is a truth universally acknowledged that allergies are a #firstworldprob caused by the need to complain of those who live comfortably.
  
• More prone to migraines---- TRUE. Who wouldn't be when you have to live in a world where everything ever made was for a righty? Scissors, notebooks, peelers, can openers, guitars.
  
• More likely to be insomniacs--- FALSE. Mother is right-handed and the biggest insomniac I know. So is my sister, Lucinda Marie (Okay, that's not her name... but I found this name in a list of rich people names where her name was also noted).
  
• Three times more likely to become alcoholics--- TRUE. As is the case with all minorities. We're a minority! Think of Native Americans. Think of the Irish. When I think of left-handed people the Irish always come to mind. But when I think of alcoholics, the Russians come to mind.... I wonder what's their percentage of left-handed people...
  
• More likely to be on extreme poles of the intelligence scale--- FALSE. Because we're all f***** brilliant. Just looking around this table. Not saying we're great at making life-choices... but the book-smart part of it is there.
  
• More likely to suffer stuttering and dyslexia---TRUE. Like when I'm asked "how are you?" and I respond "fyood" or "gooll" or "fyell" or "wool/weld/wood" or in short any combination of good, fine, and well. I have a feeling this is a result of awkwardness, not left-handedness.
  
• Twice as likely to be man---THAT'S NOT WHAT YOUR MUM SAYS. BUUUURNNN. But, really, that's not what the three females around the table indicated, as far as I know (though I suppose I should only speak for myself--- *BRB*--- yep, it's still all there, still a woman). Now, if they mean man in the sense of Captain Shang... then I'm totally one.
  
• Better at 3D perception and thinking--- WELL, LOADED STATEMENT. 3D movies make me super nauseated. Better at thinking? About what?
  
• Better at multi-tasking---FO SHO. If not, how do you explain my taking my online classes while I'm writing this blog AND  listening to a Catholic talk AND to Taylor Swift? Wait, what was this blog about and what is a lesson plan?
  
• Live on average 9 years less than right-handed people--- GREAT. It's not enough to be discriminated with stationary and musical instruments. We also have to die. Isn't it enough that you are the majority of the population, righties? Why can't you just live and let live? Well at least we've got the Jesuits and the Illuminati... (of the seven last US Presidents, four were left-handed). WE'RE GONNA GET YOU BACK.
  
• 39% more likely to be homosexual. OHHH. The Spanish saying "he swings the bat to the other side" finally makes so. much. sense. Well, sadly the gayfties (LOL) were not represented at all in our little gathering.
  
• Make especially good baseball players, tennis players, swimmers, etc--- TRUE. Because we are just amazing at sports.
  
• More likely to pursue creative careers---BOY, AIN'T THAT THE TRUTH. Like I said previously, the intelligence is there, but the life choices? Not so much.
  
• Left-handed college graduates go on to become 26% richer than right handed graduates-- FALSE. Read bullet-point above. This is a direct contradiction. Take it from the three left-handed teachers sitting at table today. Although---if we are more likely to be gay.... then I guess it does makes sense, eh? #fabulous #diva
  
• Left-handed people are the best lovers--- TRUE. I know because I made that up.

Ah, what a great day to debunk myths about our leftiness. To think that this post was supposed to be a bunch of random stuff! And look, now it's turned into this madness! Don't blame me... I'm just left-handed. I think I deserve a handicapped parking permit. 

PEACE!

All my unrealistic 2015 resolutions!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, MY DEARS!

2015, the number itself makes me shudder. I was born in the 80's, ya'll. Where did the last three decades go?!?!?!

But okay, if time must pass and if we are one more year closer to death (thanks Jesus Villegas for the upbeat remark), we should make the best of it. After all those beautifully stereotypical Facebook updates about 2014 and the challenging and exciting 2015 dawning on us (I swear I must be Grumpy Cat... I don't understand how people are so happy all the time-- look at my reflection of the past year), I decided to do some soul-searching and come up with some things that I need to change or improve in my life. Being the narcissist that I am, I felt the need to share that with you all.

1. The eternal and ever charming: WEIGHT LOSS.

 

I know, I know. It's one of those things we all have to do---except if you have a freakishly fast metabolism and you can eat a kilo of deep-fried cheesecake without gaining a gram (you have no idea how I loathe you if that's the case). I figured that if I can lose ONE pound every week of 2015, then I'll lose a whole 10 pounds (let's face it, this resolution will only last about 10 weeks.... tops).

Why am I doing this, you ask? No, despite the pressure exerted by every single adult female in my extended family, it is not to get a boyfriend. I want to be able to run again (not fat-run... also known to normal people as slow jogging), to chest the football (as opposed to boobing it), to be able to see my toes (how long has that red nail polish been on them toenails?), and to smile naturally without getting a triple chin. 

The only problem is that I can't do any drastic exercise routine like CrossFit because 1)I don't want to turn into a douche and 2) My body is too broken for that. Every time I start working out, I eventually get injured after a couple weeks. So, if you know of any workout that won't hurt my knee, big toe, hip, back, or neck, let me know. Oh, and I can't do swimming, because my arm comes out of its socket.

Now let me get to my second ration of flan.

2. The hopeful and life-changing: WRITE MORE.

I have been pretty bad at keeping up with this blog ever since I came back from Durham (which would explain to you all the vlogs--- I really didn't feel like writing!). But it seems that at least a couple people get a kick out of my self-centereness, so I mean to keep rambling in the written form! The idea is to at least publish something once a week, even if brief and rambly and GIF-less (you wouldn't believe how long it takes me to find the appropriate gifs).

I also need to start thinking about more "formal" writing projects... but I think the biggest obstacle for me is not so much lack of creativity as is lack of confidence. I doubt my abilities as a writer greatly and in fact revising my writing is one of the most straight up horrible things for me:

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME, THAT IS GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT?"

" UGH, CLICHE, CLICHE, CLICHE, CLICHE, CLICHE, CLICHE."

"PREDICTABLE. PREDICTABLE."

"NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO."

"I CAN'T WRITE... I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A DOCTOR!"
"I AM TERRIFIED OF BLOOD AND GUTS... I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A STRIPPER!!!"

" I AM TOO FAT TO BE A STRIPPERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!" 

(This is how resolution number one came about)

So, this will be a matter of just letting go and writing, reminding myself there's Stephanie Meyer and that idiot who wrote Fifty Shades of Lame out there, making millions...

3. That one boring thing you studied: READ MORE!

I must admit that when I studied Literature I wasn't in it for the reading. WHAT? I know, shocking. I like analyzing books, but for some reason the part where you actually have to read the books? Not so much. Or maybe it's just that I've grown tired of so. much. reading. But  I have decided that I will track how many books I read in the year and I want to read at least 15. Not very ambitious, it seems, but it's definitely more books that I read in all of last year... and I was doing an M.A. in literature....

I want to read Les Miserables. Some C.S. Lewis. Chesterton. and a whole lot of Catholic books. I hope work and writing will give me enough time. Because...

4. Newsflash: BE A GREAT TEACHER!

If you know me, you know I don't do half-assed things. I go 100%, all the way in (yiiiikessssthat'swhatshesaidsorrynotsorryI'mgrossIknow). So, now that the teaching gig is on, I want to really do this right. I am terrified, I have no teaching game... but I am going to do my best!

Hopefully this is a thing for me... if not, then I'll go down in flames, and I'll take all those bratty kids down too! Just kidding, it's going to be okay.... worst-case scenario I quit at the end of the school year (Note to self: pessimism is not a good trait). Hopefully I won't lose the last remnants of my sanity... 

5. Mission Impossible: Worry Less.

I am a worrier, a walking nerve-ending, Edvard Munch's Scream. I worry so much about things that I worry about my worrying:

"If I am worried maybe it's just my gut telling me things will go terribly wrong".

"If I don't worry it must be because I don't care--how dare I not caring!!!!!"

"Why am I not worried? SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG WITH ME!"

You get the picture. I love to worry for free. 

I know I have to really trust that God will get me through and that whatever he has for me is good--not life-ending. I need to let go at times and understand that I don't have to have it together at all times and that I won't have control of everything all the time. I need to just enjoy the ride. And all that Pinterest bullcrap.

I will try. I will. It's part of my faith journey and I know I have to at least try... but chances are I won't be able to stop worrying. It's what I do! The best thing I could do would be to trust God in the midst of my worry--but stop worrying all together? 

Please keep me all up in yo prayers, cuz. I need all the help I can get. Don't believe in God Almighty? Send me pictures of cute puppies, then. That helps too.

6. The forever idealistic LEARN TO DO SOMETHING NEW.

Play guitar, knit, become a gamer. You get it. Pushing myself to do something new and getting good at it. What pastime will I pick up? I have not the slightest idea.

So this resolution is kind of a lie.... let's just be honest.

7. Eat, Pray, Love. Minus the first one. 

That's self-explanatory. Harassing God even for longer periods of time until I can figure out what on earth it is I'm supposed to be doing o'er here?! Love more? Yes, I don't mean love in the sense of creepy Filipino guy:

but in the "universal love for all people" type of way. Sigh, you know, the harder stuff. Am I being kind of ridiculous and cliche with this resolution? Yes. I'll stop now.

So, happy new year, ya'll. May it be whatever you want it to be. God-willing I'll be around to make sarcastic comments and judgmental remarks for you.

xx Cris