Here are your GIF-infused 2018 Resolutions!!!!!

HELLO, 2018 ENTHUSIASTS! How do I know you are a 2018-enthusiast, you ask? Well, you are a person who is alive in this year. That pretty much means you qualify. Anyway, since it is imperative that I avoid doing any real work this evening, let me flood you with a slew of nonsensical New Year's resolutions.

NUMBER THE FIRST: Buying a piano.

Spending a thousand dollars on an electronic piano (otherwise known as an expesive-ass keyboard) will ensure that I discipline myself enough to practice my scales every day. "C-dawg, you can't not practice tonight... you spent bloody ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS on this gadget!". It will work just as well as my 18-month membership to Gold's Gym! I mean, have you seen my muscles?!?!?!?

NUMBER THE SECOND: Beach body!!

Let me clarify: I do have a beached body. I would like a beach body. I will accomplish this by finally turning up at the gym two months before my 18-month contract expires, eating industrial amounts of protein, and then complaining that society is too focused on unattainable beauty standards that objectify women.

NUMERO TRES: Finding the positive everywhere.

That should be easy, right? Everyone is obviously doing it! I see it on all of your social media accounts, ya'll. You guys are turning herpes into beautiful unique stripes, like those of a majestic Bengal tiger, and diarrhea into organic fuel and eco-friendly flower food. I want to be like that. I want to leave this God-forsaken world where all these refugees drown and Donald Trump tweets at 3 in the morning and go hang out in gorgeous wheat fields and white-sanded beaches that are riddled with inspirational  #wordporn. I hereby declare that every time I am drowning in paper work at 6pm on a Friday night at a school where they turn off the A/C after 5, I will play some Tina Turner and dance around the room, praising life for a fulfilling job. 

FOUR OR WHATEVER: Be more compassionate and kind.

When another student asks me "what do you mean a verb?" or exclaims in disbelief as did the previous ten students that walked in before him, "we have a test today??!!" I will not clench my fists. I will not clench my jaw. I will not clench my arsehole. I will smile and nod and tell myself softly, "they are just little. This one just turned 16 last week". I will then levitate to my desk and do yoga for five minutes while they obediently do their warm ups. I will go home at 2:45 every day to meditate for two hours and will my head follicles to resurrect and produce lusciously thick Indian hair. 

FIVER: Open my heart and date!

Michael Phelps will have nothing on me because I will turn dating into an Olympic sport! I will finally listen to everyone around me and ditch my ridiculously impossible standards, loosen up, and be the little dainty lady I was always meant to be. It will be like being a newborn baby all over again, except with boobs and a moderate laugh. The creepers of the internet never had it so good! 

SIX: Lock it down, fam!

From the pool of men I meet after marathon-dating, I will choose the one who showers most often and marry that sucker. My momma ain't turning younger. She needs grandkids! Plus, someone has to pay for that ridiculously expensive piano I just bought!

LUCKY NUMBER SEVEN: Buy a house!!

I will stop worrying about crippling debt and a 30-year commitment to pay off ridiculous amount of money and just YOLO this shenanigans. There will be shutters, a picket fence, mold hidden behind the walls. I will not chicken out like the last time I was about to buy a house (oh yeah, I almost bought a house, ya'll... but I chicken out...not gonna happen again). This house will literally become the inspiration for me to go to work every morning and to never let my clean yet creepy husband touch me after the second kid (we are Catholic, people. That's how things work). I'll be living the dream.

So, 2018, I am coming for you! All of you, brace yourselves. I have clearly lost my GD mind. 

-Cris

Gratitude

Oh, hi there. Fancy meeting you here! So, Thanksgiving was yesterday and I have been thinking about writing something along the lines of being thankful. This week, however, I started reading Dorothy Cummings’ brilliant book, The Closet Is All Mine. In it, she talks about being single and how we really should embrace it. You know, standard thing I would read. In one chapter, however, she talks about man-hating and how irrational that is.  Then she goes on to talk about the great men in her life. So I though, you know what? I want to express my gratitude to the men in my life that have made up for the countless ones that were horrible (exes and nice guys included). Moreover, as I was writing these snippets, I realized that the presence in my life of these men are what makes me embrace my “pickiness”.

The reason why I am picky:

When Hurricane Rita hit Houston, thousands of people found themselves stranded in the congested freeways trying to run away. That night as the hurricane made landfall on the coast, my dad took our family van and drove to I-45, which is about 10 minutes away from my parents’ home. He parked the van on the side of the road and walked up to people waiting for the storm inside their vehicles, asking them if they would want to leave their cars behind and go to a shelter. For several hours, he took many people to our parish for shelter.

***

My grandparents were married for over fifty years. In the last years of her life, my grandmother suffered from different ailments and was, with reason, cranky at times. My grandfather retired and learned how to cook, clean, and to help her around the house. A Mexican man bred in the old-school gender binary, he never once hesitated to take on the role of homemaker. Moreover, he constantly teased grandma and tried to make her laugh, even when this would back fire and make her even crankier. He was with her every day of the 60-day hospital stay before she passed.

***

My brother has a way of lighting up a room whenever he walks in. People are drawn to him for conversation, advice, or simply a good laugh. It wasn’t always like that. There was a time of his life when darkness clouded his mind. But when he found himself semi-buried in the thick mud of his sin and depression, he took God’s hand and let himself be pulled out of that. God blessed him with a keen sense of kindness and compassion for those who suffer. He sometimes goes door to door on the streets of Detroit asking people if they have a need for prayer or conversation.

***

My friend Raja lost his mother last year, unexpectedly. The first time we spoke about this tragic event, I realized the profound emotional wound that his mother’s passing had had on him. It was as if the beautiful light of his soul had been blown out. I realized how deep and enormous his love for his mother was. He was incredibly distraught and he didn’t attempt to hide it. But it didn’t stop there. His fervent adoration for his mother became his sole motor. From the pain of this loss he drew strength to carry on. He couldn’t disappoint her. He couldn’t give up. Everything he did had to be done to honor her memory.

***

I grew up living next door to my mom’s sister and her family. Since my immediate family was not inclined to sport-playing, watching, or anything remotely having to do with sports, I often found myself next door at my tia’s house. Her husband, my Tio Roge, taught me many things about soccer and would even take me to watch our favorite team play at the stadium, or to his own soccer matches. He never once questioned my desire to play, watch and learn, or told me that it “wasn’t for girls”, or discouraged me in any way, even when other people in the family raised their eyebrows in disapproval.

***

When I was in Poland in 2016, I made the terrible mistake of having a horribly heavy backpack on our unfortunate 20-mile walk. About six or seven miles in, I knew I wasn’t going to make it because my feet were completely blistered from the previous days and my bag was easily thirty pounds or extra weight. One of the guys in our pilgrimage group, Daniel, could see the pain in my face, and, without asking me, took my backpack away from me and threw it over his back-- for the next 12 miles or so. This person wasn’t really my friend. He was just an acquaintance I had met during the pilgrimage. Once we got to the site where we were resting for the night, he fell to his knees with exhaustion and I embraced him as we both cried for a long time, overwhelmed with emotions.

***

When my friend Michael confessed to me that he liked my friend Elisabeth, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if she liked him back, or if he would be able to ask her out, or how anything would work out (they were both introverts and quite shy people in general). Somehow, he managed to do it. Three years later, they are married. Michael is not precisely the most openly effusive of people. But when he is around her, ah... When he talks about her, his face lights up. When he looks at her, everyone else disappears. He is warm, sweet, proud. Watching how he loves her is endearing. Seeing them together is like basking in the glory of the sun shining when it’s cold outside.




These are a few of the men in my life. They are kind and brave to love. They make this world better in their own small way. I love these men, and will continue to hope that, if God's will for me is marriage, I may find someone with a heart shaped similarly to theirs. 

Fa-la-la-la-NO

I suppose you are expecting a Christmas blog (plus the blog I promised like five months ago about the rest of my summer vacation--which I honestly do not remember very well), but instead, you are getting an angry post!

I was at JCPenney Christmas shopping (that's my store--do not judge me) and I noticed a man who kept staring at me from the other side of the shoe aisle. I knew that he was going to talk to me because his gaze was fixed on me, so I tried my best to pretend like he wasn't there (naturally). Then, of course, because men are men, he can no longer contain himself:

"Hey, how are you?"

I look up. I can see a familiar face, but I am having a hard time thinking of who this is. High school? Yes. Friend? Definitely not. Name? No clue.

"Oh hi, I hadn't recognized you!"

He comes around to shake my hand. I see his eyes traveling up and down my body. Then he says, in an animated voice:

"Wow! You got fat!"

You wish.

No, I did not punch anyone. But I think my facial expression did enough for me, because the dude tried to correct himself by saying "well, you've got a fuller figure". He then proceeded to ask me if I had children, then if I had a husband. For both of those answers in the negative, he rebutted with an almost-reproachful "But why?"

So let's break it down:

1. Insult her body.
2. Question her womanhood by being outraged that she has no children.
3. Question her adequacy as a female by being outraged that she has no husband.

And people think I'm going to end up alone. Pshhhh. This guy is a winner in that category.

Or is he? Because, chances are, there is someone, out there, pining away for this asshole. Willing to surrender her heart, her intimacy, her blood, sweat, and tears, for a man like this.

Well, I suppose I am not just writing this to let you know how my day went today. So here's my two cents. Absolutely not suitable for work. Pardon my french. Sorry, mom.


To you, oh high school guy who's name I can't even recall,

First off, go **** yourself.

Secondly, I feel truly sorry for you. I feel sorry that you didn't have anyone to teach you better. I feel sorry that women are to you just a body to produce children and be bound to a man. I feel sorry that you even considered that you had a shot at speaking to me (because, let's face it, a random man does not ask a random woman if she is married and has children for no reason) and that something was going to come out of it. I feel sorry for you as I recall your panicked face in my mind when you realized that you had screwed up your chance with me (as if you ever had one-- 15 years ago or now).

But above all, I feel sorry that you are so wrapped up in your assumptions of what a woman is that you will never be able to love one properly or make her happy. Because, whichever woman falls for you (if there is ever one) will only be an attractive body, or the bearer of a child, or a wife to satisfy your needs. She won't be worth to you anything else. You won't see her for who she is, beyond motherhood and marriage. You will not understand her. You will not support her. You will take, and take, and take.

Perhaps I'm wrong for assuming these things. But it is just so mind-boggling to me that you had the nerve to speak to a strange woman you barely know the way you did. So I can only assume that once you get to know a woman, it only gets worse. Could I safely assume that you suddenly become a vindicator of the rights of women the moment one of us earns your respect or affection?

Well, if that is the case, I still feel sorry for you. Because you shouldn't need to love a woman in order to respect her. You should just... well, shit, respect her! But what do you know? You were brought up in ignorance, in violence, in lewdness. You've grown up in a culture that teaches you not to feel, that tells you it's okay to use people, that throws pornographic images at you and orders you to knock yourself out. You were bred in the dark, pestilent bosom of sexism. Even worse, you were knit in the fiber of selfishness.

So I feel sorry for you. You are pathetic in your blindness. You are a laughingstock in your lack of respect. You are a caricature of what a man ought to be. But don't feel bad. You are most definitely not alone.

I mean, I am acutely single for a reason. The bad ones literally make me want to become a hermit. The "good" ones are riddled with insecurities, self-doubt, and the self-righteous pretentiousness of thinking that they are the best thing that could happen to you.

Which brings me to  my next point...

Dear men,

Yes, it's me again. I'm aware that we do not get along very well, mostly because you all insist on being assholes, but hear me out...

STOP BEING ASSHOLES!

It's the future already-- why am I having to tell you this??? Like, we are past the Back to the Future year. What are ya'll doing, seriously? I'm going to give you the advice (lecture) I give my male students, who are riddled by hormones and sex-crazed:

"If you wouldn't say it to your mom/sister, don't say it to her."

or

"If you wouldn't like it said to your future daughter, don't say it."

It's really bloody simple.

The moment you treat a woman like she's a) an object, b) a baby maker (also an object), or c) your own personal source of marital pleasure, you blew it. She's officially too good for you. She's out of your league.

To the good guys who feel constantly victimized by women who only "want the bad guys": grow an actual pair. Love yourselves enough to be brave to fight for the women you love and brave to retreat when said women do not want anything to do with you. Your "goody-goodyness" doesn't entitle you to anything. Again, we are not a trophy. The moment you feel like you deserve a woman, she's already too good for you. She;s out of your league.

To the few men doing what they're supposed to: I'm not going to congratulate you because it's your job. But well done. Don't get cocky.

Dear women,

Stop. Enabling. These. Assholes.

You are worth so much more than objectification. You deserve to be an absolutely adored wife. You deserve to be a proud mother. You deserve someone who practically has a meltdown over the fact that you've given them the greatest gift there is: unconditional love, a family, and offspring. Anything less than that is settling.

Of course no one is perfect. But they have to at least try. For you. Because they love you. Because you are so damn beautiful, and smart, and sweet, and fierce, and amazing. Do not settle. Even if it means renouncing to your dreams of being a wife and a mother. Do not settle.

And that is perfectly okay. 

Dear world,

I am a fat woman. I have a back roll. I have stretchmarks not caused by pregnancy. I have arms that flop like wings. I have thighs that rub until they bleed. I have a triple chin. Sometimes I have to unbutton my pants after a big meal.

I am so FUCKING beautiful.

My legs are so mightily strong.
My arms are a fortress.
My face is the sun.
My eyes sparkle like redwood in the flames.
My hair rages like a sea of waves.
My mouth's small but my voice roars.
My hands are regal and rough.
My shape is heavenly, forged in bronze.

Add to that is the fact, as all of you know, that I am incredibly funny: I make my supervisor spit her drink. I make my principal break character and go from dead-pan face to a meltdown of laughter. I make my best friend snort. Most importantly, I make myself laugh, and even laugh again when I remember what I did later on.

I am literally brilliant, the love child of two people with crazy high IQs. I, thankfully, inherited the emotional intelligence of my mother. And her charm. I suppose that also comes with the comical awkwardness courtesy of me dad. *Eye roll*

I am a force to be reckoned with. Stubborn to no end. Determined to death. Dedicated to the core. Passionate in every fiber of my being. I might be shot down (now more than ever, it feels), but I carry on, running, walking, or crawling (this last one seems like the means of moving around, so to speak, in the last couple years). Who knows, I might secretly be a gorilla or something.

I am kind. I mean, maybe not to jerk-faces who call me fat in public. But I try to give of myself. I try to remind myself to love others. I put my heart on the line for people I consider my friends. Once someone accepts me in their life, and I them, I take them up in the figurative arms of my soul, and cradle them, and then put them to sleep, "sh-sh, there, there, baby love", and then keep them in my heart forever. I swear I am not drunk. This is the best metaphor I could come up with. Creepy and stalker-ish. Hilar!

I am honest. I am a hard-worker. I am sincere. I am a nurturer. I am a fighter. I crave justice. I am brave. I am independent. I am self-sufficient. I am compassionate. I am empathetic. I am hella loyal. I'm an awesome cook. I'm a pretty decent dancer. I am creative. I am crafty. I am musical. I am a fairly good writer. I try to live up to a moral code. I am horribly flawed. I fall short all the time. I am riddled with fear and anxiety most of the time.

But I love myself.

It is so hard to love one's self.

It's easy to do it when a petty asshole calls you names in a department store because you don't give a shit about him and he is nothing to you and will always be nothing. It's easy to love yourself when you are fighting trolls on the internet because you know there's something terribly wrong with their own self-esteem.

But it's hard to love yourself when that one person you look up to tells you you'd be so pretty if you lost weight; or when the people you care about say that you're a little bigger than last year; or when the man you love with all of your heart, who says he loves you just the way you are, who swears he adores you with all your imperfections, suddenly decides that you're not what he wants and walks away, or stops fighting for you.

Yet, you have to love yourself. Because it's what God wants. Because it is your duty.  Because you have to lead by example. Because, sometimes,  you have no choice because if you don't then you'll sink in a sea of despair. You have to love yourself, even when you look shattered, when you have to donate your beautiful clothes away because they no longer fit, or when you look at high school pictures and realized you've let yourself go. You've got to do it despite the nights of utter sadness, the comfort eating, the anxiety attacks, the thinning hair due to stress. You've got to do it because you're worth it. If God thought you were worth creating, then you are most definitely worth loving. Especially being loved by yourself.

And by God, you are so phenomenal and out of this world, that if someone could comprehend what you are, the thing that you embody, they would hold onto you and never let go of you, a beautiful, bright, mighty supernova.

So  you're going to say that if no one sees that greatness in you, why should you believe me? Well, if they can't see it in themselves, if they don't see God's likeness and image in their own face, how will they see it in yours? Moreover... if you don't see it in yourself, how can they see the blinding shine if you cover it up with self-loathing?

Well, I'll tell you this: even if no one ever does see it, it doesn't mean it's not there. Sometimes the sun shines so bright that people shield away from it. That doesn't make the sun less powerful. It just shows how weak people are.

So dear former classmate,

1. Insult her body.     Love God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. 
2. Question her womanhood by being outraged that she has no children.   Love Thy Neighbor
3. Question her adequacy as a female by being outraged that she has no husband.   As Yourself.

OLE!!!!!!!!!!!

Hi friends and haters alike!

On behalf of #TeamMexicanGeordie (me), I'd like to thank you for being here today, on this memorable occasion, in which your eyes shall feast on the beautiful words flowing out of my nonsensical brain AND also feast on my booty-licious body, because--hear, hear!--there's a VIDEO at the end of this post.

Now, don't be a jackass and skip to the video. I know you want to see my face, but listen to what I have to say!!

Honestly, it has been so long since my vacation that I don't remember much. And I didn't take any notes, so...

But let me see what I can conjure up.

Ah, yes, let's start at the beginning, which also happens to be the most interesting part.

Ugh, it's so tacky...

I arrived to Spain in a state of mind that I can only described as the most incongruent, contradicting, and heart-breakingly fragile. I had been wanting to go to Spain for such a long time, so it was a dream come true in that respect, but at the same time the fact that this was a change of plans in my original itinerary would never leave my mind. I was keenly aware of the "should haves" and the "would haves" and it was at times such a sharp pain that it left me breathless. Nevertheless, I had spent hundreds of dollars changing my trip, so I had to make the most of it, and Spain seemed like the perfect destination to distract myself from what was not to be.

Anyway, cryptic as shit, but I'm sure most of you have figured out things have happened in my life in the past few months... and I rather not talk about some of the crippling, debilitating effects of--let's move on.

I HATE to ask strangers for photos... worst part of traveling alone!

MADRID

1. Intensely gorgeous.
Small, clean, and with beautiful architecture. Everywhere you look you see a beautiful building. La Puerta de Alcala. The Royal Palace. The Prado. El Parque del Retiro. I MEAN CAN IT BE ANY MORE BEAUTIFUL? I got to take a night bus-tour of the city and enjoy its cultured buoyancy and powerful majesty. There were several points during the three days when I told myself this was my goal city to live.

2. Feeling of safety.
I was walking alone well after midnight, roaming around like thousands of other people, enjoying a pleasant summer night (the temperature really does drop a ton... but the days are horribly hot and dry). I didn't feel in danger at any moment, and I saw many families out with their children strolling around.

3. FOOD GALORE.
You really can't go wrong. There's food for everyone. I found me a fantastic taqueria one night, and the night after I had Subway. I mean, YOU CANNOT LOSE (weight).

4. No sleep for you.
Between jetlag and anxiety, my sleeping schedule was shattered. I was going to sleep at 4am and waking up at 9... and if I decided to stay in bed, it was a lost day because...

5. HOLY HEAT, BATMAN!
I'm talking well over 40 degrees Celsius (that's well over 100, America!). I was melting like delicious yet sticky chocolate Popsicle under the dry Madrid sun. I had to come to the hotel room every day from 4-6 to just shield myself from the radiations (and I totally did not wear sunblock the first couple days so I was a nice crispy toast color by day three... not to mention with the most bizarre tan lines in the world, including a perfect circle in the middle of my chest caused by a combination of camera straps and the shirt I was wearing that day. I don't know... don't ask me how.

BONUS: WROTE A POEM ABOUT MYSELF:

Caught the ocean in my hair,
Gumption for the ages,
Freckle constellations,
Lava in my veins.
Crystal joints, shifty knees,
Samson-with-hair strong,
Pearly whites, hips don't lie,
Honest to the core.
Story-telling eyes,
Voice made to speak aloud,
Piano hands, football feet,
Nuclear-hot heartbeat.
Unquenchable, unfathomable,
Unending 'spite the storm,
My heart's still afire,
And You. Will. Get. Burned.


AVILA

1. St Teresa everything!!
I mean, isn't that self-explanatory? Museum, church, another museum, convent. Guess what, though? St Teresa's relics... NOT THERE! #KILLME

2. Death by exposure to heat.
This was the hottest day. 45 degrees. Pretty sure I was delusional as I waited outside one of the museums for them to come back from lunch.

yikes... gory!

3. Beautiful Medieval town!
I climbed up to the tower and walked on the city walls, beholding the red roofs and stone houses.

ZARAGOZA

1. Our Lady of the Pillar
Need I say more? Walked through the Door of Mercy, got confession, communion, AND got to kiss the pillar where Our Lady first appeared to St James. First Marian apparition in Church history. Catholic Universe implosion! The priest I confessed with was holy and gentle, and he knew exactly what I felt and what to say in response. It was like having a personal face-to-face with the Man Upstairs Himself! God's mercy at work!!!

2. Food poisoning
Just when I had finally gotten over my jetlag. Three days of torture courtesy of a Tapas Buffet. THAT'S why I always look for Subway.

BARCELONA

1. Crappy hostel.
Broken AC, LOUD PIPES running water at all ours of the night, tiny-ass bed, shared bathroom.
SPEAKING OF SHARING A BATHROOM. So one day my jeans got soaked, and they were fairly new, so they dyed my legs and bum dark blue. Then my body dyed the toilet seat dark blue. Then I panicked and thought of ways to fake my own death but I figured, 'Hey, it's a shared bathroom... no one has to know it was my tainted butt that did this." I regret nothing.

2. MASSIVE PLACE
This city is huge. Unless Donald Trump's hands. ANYWAY, it's big like London so you have to use transportation to get around, or else you end up walking a marathon, like I did. Why do I always do this to myself? Sigh...

At least I got to see a lot of the city, even the uninteresting parts!

3. SANGRIA!
Met some whinny Americans (from California and Florida.. DUH) and they bought me some sangria, which honestly I had never tried before. The stuff is delicious and quite cheap. I drank it like Kool Aid. I stuck with the Americans for a few hours and then we parted ways amicably.

4. ALTITUDE
Having the privilege to see the city from above was just priceless. I went up to mount Tibidabo and made myself nauseated with the height. I also went to Montjuic, where I paid 8 euros for a Cable Car trip down (instead of having done it going UP, so I didn't half-die on the climb... well, you live, you learn).

This is Tibidabo

5. I LOVE BEACHES!
As a beach-lover, I had to make my way to La Barceloneta, the main beach of Barcelona. On the last night of my stay in Spain, I walked to the beach and decided to take a dip... fully clothed! Besides almost drowning and looking ridiculous, I'd say it went pretty well.

There's a moment I do want to share...

After getting into the Mediterranean fully clothed, I came out and sat on the sand to try to dry. As the night began to fall, I started shivering because the temperature after sunset was quite cool and I was drenched. I knew there was a way to stop shaking so violently: I could just take off my shirt. But I kept thinking "HOW? I CAN'T DO THAT... I'm not like... well.. I don't look like someone who should take off their shirt in public..." So I sat there, trembling, cursing because I had not just brought a bathing suit and a towel.

But then, I started to think. Well, first, I started remembering what the last few months had been. Then I started thinking about who I was, and the poem I had written a couple days before. And I asked myself... "who? Who says you can't take off your t-shirt? You're at the beach. That's what people do at the beach." Of course, one is prone to think that flabby bellies with stretch marks are not what beach-goers want to see. But then, for just a moment, I thought...

"Who the hell cares?"

Who cares if I sit at this beach in my jeans and sports bra? Who cares if I have three levels of rolls of fat? Who is going to come tell me to cover up? Or laugh at me? Or scoff at my grossness? No one.

Not a single person. Because they won't dare. Because I am going to sit here, and breathe the salty breeze, and look straight ahead at the Mediterranean, and smile, and push my shoulders out, and keep my chin up, and none of these people will dare to break me because they can't. Because the only one telling me to cover up and to hide my embarrassment of a body is me. It's that high-pitched voice of the insecurities passed on to you generation from generation, the immature comments of your high school friends, the rude remarks of annoying older women who don't know any better. But I have the power to drown that voice. I have the power to punch that voice in the face, so to speak. And hear my own, my very own voice tell me, "Who the hell cares? You are who you are and you're cold and you need to take this shirt off and don't give a fudge about the teens over there. No, they are not laughing at you. They're smoking pot, they're laughing at everything. No, that lady didn't look at you, don't mind her. Sit here. Feel the breeze. Breathe. Enjoy not shivering to death."

I sat there, God knows for how long, and watched the waves come and go. And I felt like I was almost gazing at myself from outside my body. And I told myself that, even if he'd gone, even if he'd taken my poetry, my secrets, my dreams, and my favorite songs, he hadn't managed to take me completely. I told myself that I still had me, broken and raw, but alive and breathing. I told myself that if everyone else failed, I'd still love me. Always and forever. I'll love me even after everyone else is gone.


Thank you, España. You were exactly what I needed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnfOT34X5bc&feature=youtu.be

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnfOT34X5bc&feature=youtu.be

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnfOT34X5bc&feature=youtu.be

GUESS WHO IS BACK?

Howdy.

I can't really say that it has been ages because that would be saying the same thing I say in every other blog post. So I won't say it...

This post was going to be about something else. I'm sure you are all dying to know about the summer (or are you? I'm not entirely sure anyone is still reading these...), but that's just going to have to wait until another time because... the thing is...

I almost (sorta) died today.

I was driving home this afternoon when I had to stop at a traffic light. I was the first car in the row of cars waiting for green. It was hot and I was a little distracted with picking a song to listen to (the car was, after all, not in motion). Before choosing a song I instinctively looked up as the light was switching to green, so I let go of the brake and stepped gently on the accelerator.

It all happened so fast.

As I was going under the metal structure of the traffic lights, I noticed a blue object from the corner of my left eye. It was a car going at full speed, coming out of nowhere. It didn't really register though. I didn't react quickly enough. I just kept my hands on the steering and continued stepping on the gas pedal.

My lack of reaction saved me.

From my rear-view mirror I saw the blue car crumple like paper into a white SUV that was right behind me, a mere 10 yards away. There was a loud boom that rippled through the air as pieces of debris floated around. The small car, going at full speed, managed to push the SUV a good 10 yards off the side of the road, then proceeded to give a full 360-degree-spin-around.

I watched the whole thing as my car moved away from the collision slowly, my mind unable to react. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. People immediately got out of their cars to go help. I kept driving until I lost sight of them.

Then my soul came back into my body. I started shaking, blinking, breathing heavily, cursing, crying. I thought about pulling over on the side of the road. I started slowing down. There was nowhere to stop. Just go home, I told myself. Get home. I picked up the phone. I called my best friend. Crying, cursing, shaking, breathlessness.

Nothing had actually happened to me. Yet...

Yet it was going to. It would have. It was going to be me. A second, maybe two, made the difference.

Why them and not me?

It was a strange reality-check, considering the things I was (and have been) thinking: If I were to go tomorrow, what would I leave behind? What would have been the purpose of my life? And constantly feeling like the answers to those questions were disappointing and frustratingly unsatisfying.

But those questions, they've always been around. When I was a little girl, I mean LITTLE, I would go every day up to my mother's room to check if she was breathing during her nap. I would stand there and watch her chest rise and fall and breathe with relief because I didn't have to think about "what will I do now?" Mortality has always had a terrifying grip of me. Probably in part due to my vivid imagination and also because of my natural disposition to pessimism.

So I think about these things. What would happen if tomorrow I'm not here? It's silly and I'm sure people wonder that all the time then quickly dismiss the thought, as if it was bad to think about it or as if it was actually inviting Death in. But I dwell on things, so I dwell on this, and most of the time it brings me incredibly low.

But today, faced with the fact that this car would have hit right on my driver door and would have probably crushed me to death, my mind started racing with these questions:

If it was over right now, what would your legacy be?

The initial response is a dry "nothing". I wasted my talents in an unfulfilling career. My writing never amounted to much. I wasn't a particularly benevolent person, nor a good daughter, sister, teacher. I didn't do anything remarkable. I complained a lot. I cursed waaay too much. I felt sad the majority of the time.

But there was a flash of lightning, a light bulb turned on in the dense dark. I had no success according to the world. Heck, I had no success according to God (I am far, far, FAR away from being close to my saintly role models). The only thing I did sort of right was... to love.

I've loved.
I've loved until my bones have ached and my joints have snapped.
I've loved until my heart has sank on the ground.
I've loved until it's broken my soul and has made me questioned if I'm wrong.
I've loved because I'm sick, insane, incorrigibly stubborn.
I've loved with the rage and the fire and the storm.
I've loved with all the tenderness and care and meticulousness of a poem.
I've loved ephemeral like the stars and mighty like a meteor shower.
I've loved in all seasons and in every hour.
I've loved intensely and fiercely and silently and pathetically.
I've loved against exhaustion, reason, indifference and practicality.
I've loved until the wound gushes no more blood.
I've loved until numbness has dried up the flood.
I've loved with stomping feet and held up fists and fits of laughs.
I've loved with sunshine in my eye but also well into the night.
I've loved so hard, so rash, so tough, so fast, so natural
That I've yet to stop and think twice before I'm quickly falling down.

That's all I've done in my life. I've loved sports with the intensity worthy of a stroke (if anything that's always been the way I imagined I'd go). I've loved football like one loves one's first love (forever). I've loved my mother until wishing to go first so I don't have to live without her. I've love food like couples love in rom-coms. I've loved this world: with its colors and its textures and its shades of wrong. I've loved seeing and hearing and touching and tasting in every place I go.

But most importantly, I've loved people. People who have been all sorts of vicious and cruel and selfish. People who are loyal and kind and lovely. Both sorts of people who are easy to love. I've loved them all imperfectly and tragically so. I wish I would have loved them like my God expected me to do.

My blood, they've gotten the worst from me.
My friends, the best there is.
And men... ah yes, men...
If I was going Home today it would be to meet the only one of them worth anything to me (but Purgatory might be a scale for an indefinite period of time).

And I'd go finally having fallen in love with myself. At long last. Despite the deterioration of age, of stress, of heartbreak and tiredness. I'd watch my body from above and behold its lovely form one last time, and be sorry to see it so torn apart in that crash. Because the scales in my eyes have fallen off, and I've beheld the beauty of creation. Who I am, who I've been, it's all a masterpiece. It took me long enough to figure that out.

So what if life's been rubbish (which it hasn't)? What if life has been a waste of time (which it hasn't)? I've loved, and I've been loved beyond anything I could ever deserve. By you, and you, and you. In an equally imperfect, beautiful way. So I thank you, and farewell.

Except... I'm not dead.

God decided today was not the day. Instead, today is the day I say:

   I
Love
 You

I'm not going anywhere.

-Cris

THE UNITED KINGDOM: RELOADED! A history of my travels told with Miranda GIFs

OI! WELCOME BACK! Apologies, it's been a solid two months without a blog entry. I would love to tell you that it was because I was extremely busy planning my wedding, but the truth is I was lazy and--let's face it, only five people still read this thing (thanks guys!).

Where did we leave off? Ah yes, it was my birthday and I was being a complete downer, eh? But just in case you were wondering, I was able to recharge my joy batteries during 25 fantastic days in my favorite side of the world! That's right, I WENT HOME, BABYYYYY!!!!

But let's start at the beginning, shall we? I think the trip was eventful enough to actually write more than one blog entry, but let's see how much I can milk this cow.


1. Canada, eh?

the afternoon of Sunday, June 7th, 2015, I got on an AirCanada flight to Toronto. You may call me cheap, but I choose to call it economical. It was a very tight flight with no TV screens, so I was left to my thoughts and delirious excitement about going back to the UK and seeing all my favorite-est people in the universe.

Toronto airport was lovely and I am now a Tim Horton's Coffee convert. Who can even think about Starbucks now? Tim Horton's is every Catholic man's fantasy: the hotter, humbler, more modest sister of Starbucks. Starbucks definitely has a superiority complex.

Turns out, however, not everything Canadians make is beautifully perfect. AirCanada is crap, ya'll. Their planes are crammed and they make you download an app on your device to be able to watch anything instead of having screens like other normal airplanes. Of course, I missed the part where they instructed us which app to download, so I literally was stuck on an intercontinental flight with no movies-- torture, basically, since I just cannot sleep in planes for more than 30 minutes at a time.

2. Dublin meh-ness

With red eyes and bags under my eyes, I arrived in Dublin and was received by Autumnal weather. After an encounter with a very nasty bus driver (who I dared to call a jerk to his face) and much idle walking with my two HUGE suitcases (don't judge me, you know I can't help it), I finally managed to find my hostel. They made me wait for an hour and a half to let me into the room, but I was so exhausted and sweaty (TMI) that I just decided to stay there waiting for my room instead of trying to get adventurous and finding food.

After a nice shower and some Subway, I dared to venture out into the streets of Dublin, only to quickly change my mind. Don't get me wrong, it's not that Dublin is not a charming little city. But I was SO. TIRED. And jet-lagged. So, I am ashamed to say, I did the awfully touristy thing and bought me a ticket to one of those hop-on-and-off tour buses that takes you around the city.

I am sorry, but those things are WONDERFUL. You cover a lot of ground, you can get off whenever you want to and go do your thing and then just get back on later, you have a vantage view point for the majority of the trip,  and you've got a person explaining to you all the ins and outs of the city. TOUR BUSES, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE??

I saw the Guinness factory, the Old Jameson Distillery, and Trinity College, and a bunch of other nice buildings I honestly don't remember. Then, I went and had a huge three course dinner, eventually making my way back to the hostel for the night. Feeling tired really blurs your perspective. I really thought I did not like being in cold, rainy Ireland. Luckily, that changed the next day, when I arrived to.... *drumroll*

3. SUNNY GALWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!

You guys, the place is a dream. Big enough to be called a city but small enough to stroll around in a day. Quaint and clean yet packed with booze and yummy food! Did I mention live music in every other pub? Even the sun likes Galway better than Dublin.

Now, my hotel was quite out of the way, about four miles away from the city centre (which means it was in a totally different town). But I stayed in the world's best B&B, so Anne, my lovely hostess, actually gave me a lift into town. And made me tea. And gave me brochures. And booked a cab for me. JUST ALL THE THINGS!

Music, fish and chips, drinks, the works. Oh, you know what else? MEN.

I guess this is when I tell you about the Claddagh ring.

Months ago, the Claddagh ring was brought to my attention by my friend Iris. Little did I know that it was a symbol originated in Galway. So when I saw a jewelry shop with a big painting of the ring on the wall, I couldn't resist. I went in and entered the realm of the Claddagh magic.

According to what I understood, the Claddagh ring symbolizes loyalty, friendship, and love. It is customary for women who are married/taken to wear the ring with the heart pointing inwards, while ladies who are looking for luuuuuurve wear it pointing outwards, to draw in "the one".

I honestly bought the ring because I think it's really pretty; little did I know of its power. After buying the ring, I went into a restaurant to eat, and as I came out of it, sighing with satisfaction and smelly fish breath, a man approached me.

"So, good fish and chips?"
"Yeah, fantastic!"
"What's your name?"

Just like that. We chatted casually as we walked up the street, and after a few minutes he asked if he could buy me a drink. Yep. Just like that. I politely declined, since I'm pretty sure he was my dad's age (although I gotta admit he was not bad-looking... we just reached a whole new level of 'eww', huh?).

Oh my gosh, this ring works!
Don't be silly, that's just a funny coincidence. 

Except it wasn't. The next day, I met a couple guys at a tour of the Cliffs of Moher. I spent the whole day hanging out with them. One of them kept winking at me. From then, it was just a series of cat-callers, kiss-blowers, starers, smilers, plain ole' creeps. What. the actual. f****?

Look, I'm not saying the ring has magic. All I'm saying is that I am suddenly super irresistible and very confident. Especially to Irish men. Clearly, I've been wasting my time with a bunch of non-Irish men my entire life. Now it's only a matter of finding a somewhat sober Irishman with acceptable teeth.

But it didn't stop there. It went on. In Durham. At the Lake District. In Scotland. In FREAKING LAFAYETTE, LOUISIANA. Everywhere (except in Texas, apparently). I'm quickly collecting binders of men around here.

4. THE CLIFFS OF MOHER

Also known as The Most Beautiful Place on Earth. Seriously, there are no words to describe the Cliffs. Dumbfounded. Awe-struck. Fangirling. There really isn't much to say. Just look at this place:

5. Day of Madness: Galway -- Dublin -- Manchester

Took a train from Galway to Dublin.
Took a bus from Dublin's train station to Dublin Airport.
Took a flight from Dublin to Manchester. I almost lose my life because I looked at a wrong screen and I thought the flight was leaving so I ran and ran and suddenly discovered that running with luggage practically makes me asthmatic. Turns out I had plenty of time. Fool.
Took the metro from Manchester Airport to the city centre.
Took a million years to find my hotel. I hadn't had food all day. But they have burgers. Delicious burgers.

Then, I waited and waited for someone I was supposed to meet up with. Waited and waited. AND WAITED. After hours of waiting (I waited, ya'll), I decided to dust myself off and take my pretty dress out for a walk, for a night in town. By a night in town I mean I went to the nearest Tesco to buy comfort food to bring back to the hotel so that I could watch the Women's World Cup. I bleeping hate this stupid city forever. #notbitter

Oh, here's a "Things that Only Happen To Me" moment:
Turns out, my hotel had been going through some "renovations", and it seems that they might have forgotten to actually finish some of the walls...

This meant that the walls of my room did not go all the way up to my ceiling, the same ceiling I was sharing with several other tenants. It was a matter of hours before I realized there was a beast sleeping next to me... because I could hear every single thing that was happening in the room next to mine. And it was not pretty. Burping. Growling. Hardcore snoring. GROWLINGOMGWTFISGOINGON!!!! The guy was GRUMPY, slamming drawers, windows, the door. I was actually scared for my life. Then on the other side there was someone else, also snoring. Oh, did I mention there was a drunken homeless man shouting "OI MATE!" outside my window for what felt like hours? Yeah, I had almost no sleep that night.

But it's totally fine, ya'll, because the next day I was Durham-bound. And that, my friends, is enough for me.

***TO BE CONTINUED***

Part V

She turned around and looked at the house—the house she loved, the house that had nourished her when her heart had been torn and bleeding. She opened the gate, got in, and closed it without hesitation. Then she looked up at him, his mouth half-open as if he were about to say something else. She held his gaze for a few seconds then started locking the gate. When the lock clicked, she looked up again and there he was, in disbelief. But there was nothing else to say. She slowly turned around and started toward the house. Her first instinct was to look at the living room window to see if anyone had been watching, but there was no one there. This seemed to be the longest walk of her life. Who would have thought? She was walking away from all that she had ever wanted at one point in her life—from the boyish smile, the brown curls, the veiny hands. She opened the door, stepped inside, and looked back. He was still there, with defeated shoulders and glistening eyes. Life seemed to be going in slow-motion, with so many possibilities opening up like endless scrolls in front of her.

It felt like it was just yesterday. They were dancing under the dimmed lights of the elegantly decorated party room in the Marriott. She had on a beautiful shimmering dress and dangling crystal earrings. She felt like a million bucks. His hands were around her waist and he kept bringing her closer and closer to him. Her knees were rattling violently and her breath was quick and shallow. He brought his mouth close to her ear and started whispering the things she never thought she would hear. Her imagination was quick—she could see her future, their future. There would be baking sessions, visits to the Museum of Fine Arts, dense conversations about Kafka and Byron and Edward Said until they would fall asleep sometime after 2 AM.  She had let the wind of his whispers tickle her ear and her heart had thundered in her rib cage.

Suddenly, one word had changed it all. Suddenly, she had woken up from the beautiful, momentary dream. Suddenly, she had realized he would never be for her. So she had walked away, leaving him there on the dancefloor, with a puzzled look and defeated shoulders. She had been blind, but now she could see, even if tears were flooding her eyes. She kept walking, not knowing exactly where to go, but feeling the urge to get out of that stifling place. She had always thought that had been the longest walk of her life…until now.

She closed the door and walked through the small foyer in a few seconds. She was walking past the living room and caught something from the corner of her eye which made her stop. It was her husband. He was sitting with her back to her, watching the Christmas tree. She stared at his broad shoulders, his strong neck, and his perfectly groomed black hair.

That night, she had walked out into the hotel gardens and felt her burning cheeks being cooled by the surprisingly fresh May night. Her head was pounding, her blood boiling, her heart yelling. Her voice had choked inside of her, as the walls of her throat seemed to have closed up. There was agony blazing inside her, but not a sound would come out. She had walked across the garden, feeling her heart was about to burst. Suddenly, there was a cry, a sob, faint and deep. But it wasn’t hers. It wasn’t her voice that had finally escaped its trap of misery. She listened. Yes, a low cry—so, so low and desperate. She had followed the sound and, turning a corner, had found its source: a man, with his waiter uniform, huddled in a corner, trembling in sobs, covering his face with his hands. She stood there in front of him, watching him, feeling her own pain subsiding at the sight of such a man weeping with such anguish. After a few moments, he had felt a presence, which propelled him to quickly look up with reddened eyes.

“Cathy!” he had cried, jumping to his feet and wiping the tears off his face. It was a moonless night and she was still very shaken, so it had taken her a moment to recognize him.

“Cathy, are you okay?” he had asked, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Santi—no… Alex, right?”

“Whatever is left of him, yes,” he had replied, forcing a smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… to intrude—”

“No… it’s fine. I should be working…” he sniffled and again wiped his dry face with the back of his hand. “Cathy, can I help you with anything?”

“I’m fine.” She had said it so resolutely that he had just stared at her and nodded. 

“Okay…” he blurted awkwardly and started walking away. She didn’t like him, but he had seemed so distressed that she had considered trying to help him. Before she knew it, she was speaking again.

“Alex…”

“Yeah?”

“I know we’re not exactly friends—”

“As far as I can see, we only have each other right now.”

Alex must have felt her presence behind him, for he looked back and saw her lingering on the living room threshold. She saw him place her angelic nephew, who was fast asleep, on the sofa and stare at her inquiringly. On the worst day of her life, she had found this man she once thought she hated crying inconsolably in a corner of a hotel garden, wearing a waiter uniform. On the worst day of her life, she had found another aching, bleeding heart howling with grief. On the worst day of her life, she had decided not walk away but to place her arm around the broad shoulders of a man weakened by the sorrow of his dying mother. That night, he had looked at her face with those lovely green eyes and told her that Santiago was an idiot and that she the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even if eyeliner was running down her cheeks in little droplets. With the music blaring in the distance, he had asked her to dance one song with him and had even managed to crack a couple jokes to make her smile. All while his mother was lying in a hospital bed with a shaven head and a mutilated body.  He, who had been nothing to her and who had no duty toward her, had done this. He who was standing in front of her right now. He was looking at her with a mix of worry and fear. But what had he to fear? Didn't he know? It was true that she hadn't always loved him, and he certainly had done a lot of pleading before she had even considered giving him a chance, but after all they had gone through--then it dawned of her: he had seen her from the window. He had probably seen Santiago leaning in and raising her hand up to his chest. Yet there was no reproach, no accusation. He was waiting on her to speak.

She remembered the first time she had met his mother. Alex, his dad, and his two brothers were throwing her what would be her last birthday party. Only close friends of the family had been invited, so she had been very nervous--after all, Alex was just her friend back then. But Angela had received her as if she had always been part of the family: she had embraced her with her feeble arms and kissed her cheek. She had the same glistening green eyes as her son, though made larger by the thinness of her face and the shades of gray surrounding them. But her most vivid memory of Angela was her voice. It was soothing and powerful and kind all at once, like oak leaves rustling with a gentle wind in a warm April morning. Cathy had taken a liking to her immediately. 

"I'm glad to meet the famous Cathy at last!"

"Me? Famous?"

"Yes--at least around here. I hear my son was quite the stereotype of a spoiled teenage football player around you in high school," she nudged and winked at her." But God made sure to straighten him up and force him to become a man." She had said this with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "He's got a good heart, I promise."

"I know he does."

"Do you?" she asked with a playful smile. Cathy had just blushed profusely.

"I wish I'd be here to see it," she sighed. "I don't have much time left, I'm afraid. So I'll be watching from up there," she looked up. "But if there's anything I can say to help my son a bit is this: he's got a really good heart. You see those big beautiful eyes? They're nowhere as big or as beautiful as his heart. You keep that in  mind, okay?" She had.


She continued looking at him until she could no longer contain a dimpled smile. On the worst day of her life, she had found him. He was hers—her sleek black hair, her plump lips, her broad shoulders, her massive hands, her freckled back, her pretty eyes. Her husband—hers. She jumped into his arms.

“‘I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life!’”, she recited, marking each pause with a kiss.

“‘And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death’”, he responded, smiling.

“That night I thought I was helping you, but in reality you rescued me—no, it’s true, stop shaking your head!” she stroked his face. “I felt invisible and then you came along and even though you were going through hell you looked at me like you’re doing right now and you saw me—you saw me when I thought no one did.”

“Well, that was not hard to do!”

“The thing is… I don’t need anyone else to see me as long as you do.” He held her tighter and looked at her with misty and smiley eyes. She kissed him.

“Anyway, I was going to wait until midnight to give you your gift—but I don’t think I can wait any longer!” She rushed to get the tiny box with the gold wrapping paper and oversized red bow that was under the Christmas three. She placed it in his hands and waited restlessly as he carefully opened it and unfolded the rest of their lives in front of her. There would be movie nights every Friday, sleepless nights, arguments about which was the best football league in Europe, runs to the pediatrician,canoeing trips, sand castles, vanilla ice cream, Disneyland, summer barbecues, late night talks about angels, demons, and the Virgin Mary. There would be laughter and whispers and two pairs of eyes glowing in the dark. She watched him as he stared down at the tiny pair of mint-colored, knitted socks.

“Merry Christmas and happy birthday, Daddy.”

                                                   ********************************

Should have a title for this thing by now.... but here's PART IV

He parked the car a couple blocks away, thinking he could use a walk in the sobering December chill. Each step brought with it a different flashback, which was as thrilling as it was confusing. Many things in his memory seemed to have fused together, making it hard for him to distinguish the whos, wheres, and whens. But when one pleasant memory fluttered in the back of his head, he made sure to bring it forth, contemplate it, and savor it slowly. Suddenly he was transported to that glorious night: the lights dimmed across the dance floor, the bass slow and smooth, his hands around her waist and his head hanging low to meet hers. They moved to the rhythm of the ballad and basked in each other’s presence in delicious silence. What was the occasion? That was irrelevant. The important thing was that they had been there together and everything seemed possible when her hands were around his neck. He had danced with his eyes closed and had listened solemnly to her when she broke the silence to tell him all the things he had longed to hear from her. His heart was pounding and his lip quivering, so it took him a while to compose himself enough to be able to tell her how much he had missed her and how he still loved her. Then something had happened—he wasn’t sure what. All he knew was that she had walked away from him and had vanished behind the other couples dancing before he could do anything about it. That was the last time he ever saw her.

What was he doing, then? He was walking to Cathy’s house for God knows what while thinking about her. Why was he going to see Cathy? What was he going to say to her? He hadn’t seen her in a good three years—he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her. What if she had moved away? No, surely she wouldn’t have left without saying good-bye. But how could she have said good-bye? He had made sure to burn his bridges and no one who had meant anything to him once knew how to contact him.

He kept walking, trying not to despair at the thought of potentially not finding Cathy. He was sure that he needed to see her—that’s all he knew for now. There was something about Cathy that he loved: she had clarity of thought. He could lay before her the most complicated existential crisis and she could untangle it in front of him and give him a solution—if only he’d listen. Sometimes he thought her overly practical, but it seemed that ultimately everything that she said was prophetic and everything she suggested would have been the best course of action, if only he would have followed the advice. All these things were flying through his mind until he suddenly looked up and saw a figure crossing the street hurriedly. When he recognized her, he stopped abruptly for a brief moment as if to gather courage. He saw the woman cross the street again and struggle with the gate. He approached her and ended up lurking behind her.

He had startled her, so he took a step back and greeted her softly. He could see the shadow of confusion on her face and then the lightbulb going off when she finally realized who he was. He looked at her and smiled as her knitted brow relaxed.

“Santi! Oh my God!”

Next thing he knew she was throwing her arms around him. It was a bit of a shock, being hugged like this, hearing his own name again. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him like this. She was so warm and soft and smelled like lavender, just as he remembered her. He closed his eyes for a second and let that scent transport him back to the many times he had spent right here, just outside her house, telling her about his woes, drinking the delicious hot chocolate that only she knew how to make, feeling the sleeve of her cozy red sweater around his shoulders as she consoled him and encouraged him to move on. She had always been there for him. She could have helped him forget—he knew that now.

“Look at you… you look…”

“Like death?”

“I was going to say skinny and cold, but I guess that will do,” she chuckled as she rubbed his arm lovingly.

“You look so beautiful,” he blurted out without thinking. His remark made her blush profusely and look away with embarrassment. He was quite in awe of her glowing face, with its freckles and dimples and sparkly eyes and perfect smile. He started wondering if he had ever noticed how radiant she was or if she had just changed too much. But he knew it had been him—he hadn’t noticed, he hadn’t even tried.

 “What are you doing here?”

“I—I was in the neighborhood and I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas.”

“Yeah? That’s… weird. I mean, I haven’t seen you in God knows how long. How are you?”

“Well… I don’t know… fine,” he tried to force a smile. She noticed and looked at him with her bright hazel eyes filled with worry.

“Are you… hungry? Would you like to join—”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he snapped, annoyed at the suggestion that he had come to beg for food. No matter how much he had been through or all the things he had done, he was too proud to beg anyone for anything. “I just wanted to see you. I miss you.”

“Oh, Santi…”

“I don’t really have anyone to talk to anymore.”

“What happened with your girlfriend?”

“Who?”

“Oh… Mikaela?”

“She… she’s not my girlfriend… well, I can’t talk to her. She’s not doing too well…”

“Neither are you, by the looks of it.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Why are you here?”

He fixed his eyes, which were glistening with tears, on hers. There were no words, no explanations, no excuses to be made. He didn’t dare to ask. He could only plead with his eyes. She knew him so well, and he knew that would be enough for her to understand that he needed help. She was looking back at him and he could see her eyes welling up. She still loved him—he could see it. If only she would give him a chance! He came closer to her and leaned in, slowing bringing his forehead to almost touch hers. She was utterly still.

“You’re a mess.”

“But if only I could be around you… I know I would get better. I would try harder. I would get my act together—you would help me.” She remained still and he whispered to her, “you’re good for me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I know I can do better if you’re with me. I could finally forget…”

“Forget? You are still planning on doing that?” her voice rose with indignation and she drew back. She calmed herself by taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry—yes, I’m still trying to let go. It’s not easy.”

“Well, we’ve all done it, moving on. She is married. She has a kid. What are you waiting on?”

“It’s not so easy!” he cried with frustration, “after all we went through, after all the things that were said and promised. Even a couple years ago—at that party, when I thought it was all lost—I  saw her at that party. She told me she cared for me… that she loved me. Then she just went and married that guy, when in reality she still loved me? How am I supposed to get over that so easily? I’ve tried. Mickey—Mikaela—tried to help me, but it didn’t work. But Mickey—she’s too weak, she ended up worse than me. I need someone strong, who can help me, who can push me to be the best version of myself… Cathy…”

“I can’t fix you, Santiago. Only you can do that—”

“But I’m not asking you to fix me… Just—when I’m with you, I’m better. I know I didn’t treat you right, I took you for granted, I was awful… but if you give me a chance—”

“I will not.” She said it decisively, but with tranquility and gentleness. She was frank and serious, looking at him without embarrassment, yet she was not cruel, bitter, or resentful. He was rendered speechless.

“For years, I waited for you to realize… but you have a habit of refusing to see the truth that’s right before you—whether it’s the fact that Danielle moved on or that I was crazy about you.” His heart jumped inside him and he felt hopeful for a brief moment. She stopped and looked down momentarily as if to gain courage.

“Yeah, I was—and you knew it. Danielle told you she did not love you. It couldn’t have been clearer. But you decided to spend your time getting stoned out of your mind and ruining your life and using unrequited love as an excuse for all that.”

Being accused in such a manner was, truthfully, a small pleasure. If she was bothering to give him a lecture, then she probably still cared. It was good to be held accountable—he knew he needed someone to do that for him. He was glad he had come here, even if her words did hurt and if he was desperate to make things up to her.

“That party you’re talking about? For God’s sake—that was my graduation party, when I finished my degree.  You showed up there, drunk or high or something, thinking she would be there because her brother was graduating in my class. But she wasn’t there, she had already moved to Paris.”

His heart stopped. His eyes widened. His mind suddenly seemed to explode, unfolding before him a vivid recollection: it was Cathy he had slow-danced with; it was Cathy who had put her hands around his neck and had whispered to him that this was like a dream come true and that she had waited for this moment for such a long time; it was Cathy who had heard him pour his heart out; and it was Cathy who had walked away and vanished in the crowd.

“I did think you seemed a bit tipsy, but didn’t realize how bad it was until you called me Danielle,” he could scarcely bear to look at her. “You called me Danielle.”

“I…”

 “I left you in the middle of the dance floor by yourself. That was the last time we saw each other. And here you are, asking me to give you a chance? I did. It was one chance. You missed it.”

“I am so sorry, Cathy.”

“I know you are.”

“Please, forgive me… please…” he took her hand and raised it to his chest. He inhaled that lavender scent and closed his eyes, pleading with her. She withdrew her hand.

“I have forgiven you, but that’s all I can do for you.” He could see pity in her eyes. “I used to think that you were the worst thing that had happened to me. But I made up my mind to not let you break me like Danielle had broken you. I resolved to be happy no matter what.  But in order for me to do that, I had to forgive you--for my own sake. Ironically, it is because of you that I can say that I’m as happy as I never thought I could be”, she smiled at him. After some moments of silence, she added, “what you are looking for is not here, Santi.”

“What do you think I’m looking for?”

“Love. In the truest sense of the word.”

“Well, I thought I would find that here.”

“It’s Christmas. Go home, Santi.”

“Home?"

“Yes, home.”  

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