Some November Night

In the meantime, let’s get away from the world for a while even though I don’t have to go anywhere but next to you to get away. Let’s forget about everything we need to do even though I already do that with you. Let’s never think about what we want to do and just do it.

Talking to you feels so natural. It feels like it’s happened so often before that it’s just second nature. Yet, every time we talk it’s like I’m talking to you for the first time again. Let’s remember all those crazy ambitions we have and talk and talk and talk about them over a dried cottonwood bonfire, under a sky full of shooting stars.

We don’t have to worry about obligations or time. We do with them what we will. Let’s turn the hourglass upside down and give ourselves another eternity to rule the world. Let’s make nonsense of the logical world that we’re living in. Let’s make lively the dead and monotonous world we’re living in. Let’s make pandemonium out of the organized, chaotic world we’re living in.

The world is ours. Time is ours. Everything and nothing is ours so let’s not get caught up in the future or the past and be here. Be here now. Let’s make the most of this beautiful thing.



“I want to forget the world,” she said.

She took in a deep breath. “I want to forget the now, the stress, the everything. I want to stop time. I want to get away for a while,” she admitted, leaning on the driver’s side door.

“So where do you want to go?” he asked her, tentatively, resting his hand over hers and looking at her face. She stared at the ground by her feet.

“Anywhere,” she responded, “Anywhere but here.”

The two of them stood in silence, the headlights of her car piercing through the faintly foggy night. The engine purred quietly and the half moon in the sky cast streaky shadows over both their faces.

After a long moment, she met his eyes, “Anywhere with you.”

A Breath of Youth

How can one person possibly be so special? So eye-catching and so hilarious? So completely idiotic and attractively driven?

My hopes and dreams wish he were the right one, talking about San Diego, California like it’s his hometown.

You ask him where he’s from but he says he’s from everywhere. He’s seen real snow on a real mountain and surfed real waves on a real beach. He’s from a thousand miles away and a thousand strides away.

As superficial as he is, you can’t help but wonder just what his story is, what the rest of it is, at least. Some say they don’t have one–they’re not that special, that unique. But something just magnetizes you to him and you’re completely helpless to the pull, the tug on your sleeve, the tap on your shoulder as he walks by, the beckoning nod he gives you to come nearer. When you serendipitously, per happenstance, accidentally make eye contact, it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time and you can hardly look for longer than a glance before you turn your gaze to the tiles lying beneath your worn out, filthy sneakers.

And it’s not until you’re away from watching, condescending eyes do you realize how pathetically incapable you are of holding a gaze with him, or even acknowledging his youthful existence. Or how much you wish your moral compass would stop being so rigid and float around aimlessly for a little bit, forget about what’s right or wrong, even for a breath of a moment. Sometimes, you realize that when you talk to him, not only do you lose focus, but you lose track of time and perception of reality along with it.

And it’s a wonderful feeling, really. Like a refreshing breath of air.

But there is nothing more terrifying to think that he is younger than you, proving that the world is getting older, you are getting older, and scarier things are waiting for you out there like getting a college degree and life insurance then marrying a suitable man to take care of your children with you when your hair starts losing its luster.

Maybe the people around me are good at not aging very easily, so it feels like we’re frozen in time, stuck at one age. Or maybe the young people around me are altering my perspectives on time. Or maybe my internal clock has been on repeat in the first decade of the second millennium all these years of my life. Or maybe its because the people I’m surrounded by are all older than me, making me always feel like the youngest.

His young face reminds me of what I was not too long ago–a hyperactive and curious child who makes stupid decisions more often than insightful ones and who loves company more than solitude. Spontaneity was one of the best things back when I still had seven-and-a-half hour school days and my GPA never mattered, and he certainly has it. He reminds me of the things I experienced in high school and how idiocy played well into the repertoires of many of my schoolmates’ lives (yet somehow they all turned out okay, all these future rising stars of Broadway, future political leaders of the US Government, future environmentalists of the world and all).

And I don’t know if it’s because gray hairs are peeking through the hair dye of the elders I love, or because it’s now unusual for me to partake in high school traditions, or because I lost the feeling of invincibility I once had, but I’m starting to feel a little… old.

He may not know it, but getting to know him is both a blessing and a curse for all the above.

And the momentary breath of fresh air every now and again would be worth much more than a couple words of my sincerest gratitude.

In The United States

Ten sequential numbers could be something as simple as a representation of newfound friendship.

But they exceed the farthest reaches of the imagination.

It could be the connection between employer and employee, letting them know they’re getting the promotion of a lifetime.

It could be the biweekly calls to your mom and pop’s home from another country, telling about your adventures.

It could be the reminder that you’re on their mind during their busy day.

It could be the midnight birthday call from your lifelong best friend.

It could be the confirmation of a meeting date and location between old friends or business partners.

It could be the news report on how your grandfather is doing in the hospital halfway across the world.

But most of all, it could be the bridge between the gap from Houston, Texas to Kansas City, Kansas. It could bring you good morning and goodnight calls and texts. It could bring you pictures of what life is like up north, or even back in Madrid. It could show them your life down south, where you like to long board and go to Whataburger after long vacations. It could be the sharing of each other’s unique lifestyles based on geography and culture. It could show them your adventures in Pamplona and Barcelona and your tour all around. It could help you reminisc in how badly you both want to fly back, possibly together, next time. It could tell them how you felt when you couldn’t stop smiling at each other while waiting in the long line after your eight-and-a-half hour flight. It could let you share the nostalgia and sentimentality of how you met at the home airport, right after customs, just before TSA.

But without it… How is that supposed to happen?

Love For Yourself

Guilt, regret, depression. Loving and respecting oneself is the most difficult task anyone and everyone has ever faced in their lifetimes, no matter what the belief is. And those three things are some of the most common forms of self-inflicted pain. It’s difficult to overcome them because you’re ultimately the one who needs to apologize and forgive yourself for whatever it is you’re guilty for, whatever you regret doing or not doing, for whatever you’re overthinking and being depressed about.

I find myself at a low point more often than is probably healthy for my own good. But it’s because I, myself, am not perfect and I often find a reason to feel guilty, to regret, to be depressed. It’s almost like there’s an inherent part of me that practically searches for a reason to feel down in the dumps. It sounds pretty terrible, I know.

It takes a lot to forgive myself for not taking a chance that could’ve changed my life. But really, I did more than I already thought I could and I’m pushing myself too far, expecting too much of myself. I remember thinking in that moment, ‘I’d better do this now because otherwise, I’ll regret it.’ So I did it. But for some reason after the fact, I’d completely forgotten the overwhelming amount of courage it took to do it in the first place, yet my mind still leads me to believe that I could’ve done more when, in fact, I’m just thinking too much and depressing myself.

I keep telling myself, ‘you did it. That’s the most you could do and you did great.’ That’s what I resort to when nothing else could possibly convince me to see the bright side of things. Repeating and repeating, a mantra of positivity, an optimistic outlook. But more often than not, I’m beating myself up about how I could have done more.

I can’t simply brush off the regret I have. It’s taking every ounce of effort in me to not view it as regret, but instead as something I’ll use to push myself to do something next time: to not let a good thing, a good chance, slip away. And that is the challenged faced by everyone every single day.

They say the worst critic you’ll ever meet is yourself.

But the only person who can love and appreciate you more than anyone else in the entire universe is also yourself.