I think about my father

And his smile, and his impact

20 years and I still miss him

20 years and I remember

On his last birthday I bought him a pair of slippers and diabetic socks without seams

He and I ate fish crackers and seaweed squares

We watched a shitty movie

My uncle and his girlfriend have him a pajama set for the cold mornings

Winters were way colder then

He held my hand and kissed my head

20 years ago

I think about my father

Often, if not every day 

Not everyday, not anymore

I have some bad days where I don't invoke his memory 

I have some terrible days where I rage against injustice and violence, and I want to study law and I feel like his daughter 

I have some good days where I don't recall his absence 

I have some great days where I can appreciate his wisdom and his humor in the little things

20 years ago

Would he laugh at this?

What would he say about that?

What would my father do?

I can't be sure

It's been 20 years

And still, often,

I think about my father.

 Con tu tráfico infinito 

Y tu clima todo pinche raro

Con cada casa colonial

y parque gentrificado 

Amo tus árboles y tus edificios altísimos

y cómo puedo encontrar la

Latino desde casi cualquier punto

Amo vivir entre millones

Incógnita y sin importancia

Amo el anonimato y como me proteges

Entre multitudes secretas

Amo tus escondites y todos tus lugares

que me acogen como si me conocieran

Una vez leí

Que las ciudades como las personas

Tienen personalidad y espíriru

Y tú eres una bestia enorme

Que tiene mejores cosas de qué preocuparse 

Que de mí y mi andar

Y mi romantizar

Los cientos de luces por las noches

Tu extensión enorme al aterrizar en casa

Y el que aquí todo se puede

 

Sometimes I fear

to be seen as fake

in the real world out here

as trying too hard

when I am giving

when I am sharing

when I want to bring out a smile

and a compliment 

or a gift

I fear that it doesn't translate

from the deepness of my care

but from the wanting of something else

from wanting to take 

but it isn't

and sometimes, when I do bring

when I do share

I do so with so much fear

and then I see

the happiness behind

the smiles and the care

reflected back

and I breathe.

 

I am drunk.

Writing comes easy to me when drunk. As if things just turned clear. As if the anxiety got blocked from all the booze in my system, and I did not have to overthink every single thought.

We rode an uber home and I felt so happy. So happy and full of joy and not scared at all. 

I started thinking how I hadn't been this happy in a long time, but while looking out the window, and really considering, I've never in my life been this happy before.

For so long, scared has been the default. It's a constant awaiting something going off and the shit hitting the fan again. It's a worry that never stops; will I be safe this time? Who is the next one to leave me? When will this happiness end?

But right now, I don't fear.

Right now, I'm completely and utterly happy.

Life is better than ever. I have the friends I never thought I would surround myself with and the way they care for me shows to a level I can't deny, I'm living in my favorite place in the world, I am amused every time I look out the subway's window and stare right at the buildings that touch the sky. I am loved and love the guy that sometimes I swear I produced from a dream. I am getting married. 

I am so absolutely happy and not scared one single bit. It's actually weird putting the wall down. I am ok. I am just fine.

Maybe the Cornelia Street is just about to hit.

Maybe not.

Maybe I've been surviving, and I'm just turning towards the side of actually living.

 

I was never afraid when my father was around
as short and skinny and sick as he got
I somehow knew that if he was next to me
absolutely nothing bad would ever happen.

The man summoned a strength that I still don't quite get
he was the bravest and smartest man ever
and I keep comparing every other one to him.
My father would've done it differently.
My dad would best your man, anyday, anytime.

Only time I was ever afraid next to my father
was when I was 10 years old and he had fainted in a steam room
he was deep in his disease by that point,
what we thought were diabetes consequences
but were probably result from a hidden and undiagnosed lymphoma.

The first time I summoned my father's strength 
it was to get him out of the steaming room
I pulled him out through the floor and screamed for help
in an empty gymnasium.

Security guards came running,
uncle Noé took him to the hospital,
I visited a couple days later.
I felt completly alone.

But I have summoned this particular strength
time and time again when needed
for my mother, for myself,
for the underdog kid in a class.

I think I am a small but strong person,
I'm not afraid when my dad's strenght is pulled
he is with me when I'm fighting
and if he is near I can't fear.

 

if there was one thing I am thankful for 

is that after all

you made it easy

pulling of the bandaid is less painful

if the bandaid doesn't stick well to begin with

you make it easier to leave behind

when you're too much of a coward to come up and face me

thank you for not even trying

thanks for being a full ass wuss

chin chin

 

    I'm truly doing my best. Working on myself, I'm back in school, absolutely in love, taking care of myself and my body, respecting me and my boundaries, exploring my pleasures.

    And yet, it still rocks the boat how much she's unwilling to step up and be my mother. And I know it's not my fault, I know I'm not to blame. No matter how hard I try to be PerfectDaughter.com I cannot. No matter how much I break my back trying to make you proud, I can't push you to be what I need. And it's still incredibly hard.

    "Look at me!", I seem to shout from rooftops, "Look at how much I can do!", while saying yes to every responsibility that comes my way, do it perfectly, if I can't ace it why even bother? I need to do it nicely, I need to make it pretty, the shinniest, the most natural, look at me, barely any effort, look mom, no hands.

    How long will it take me to get to a point where I no longer care? Where I know what's going to happen and I just go with it. I feel like I did one bad daughter thing in my life and she keeps bringing it back to haunt me. Sorry I didn't inform you my boyfriend had moved in with me when I was 20 a week after he had done so. Sorry it apparently was the worst treason you could possibly stand.

    I don't feel like tossing rocks back your way. I've done that enough. Telling you how you've hurt me only makes you feel bad and I feel like I'm the bad one. For reminding you. For being a living memory of your faults. For surviving it and not shutting the fuck up, "Let it go, Loretta" you say, "it's been so many years already."

   I'm getting older, I've got more on my shoulders
But I'm getting better at admitting when I'm wrong
I'm happier than ever, at least that's my endeavor
To keep myself together and prioritize my pleasure
'Cause to be honest, I just wish that what I promise
Would depend on what I'm given (not on his permission)
(Wasn't my decision) to be abused.

    It's going to take some time, I guess, until I feel like I can say this. Like I can express it somewhere else that is not an online blog that nobody reads, and my pillow at night, stained forever with mascara from my wet eyelashes. It's waterproof mascara season. 

    Spring break is about not breaking myself.