The things I haven't been writing

Somehow, before it was easy for me to sit down and write. Before this crazy job I now have, I was under the impression I "had the time". These days, not having time became convenient. The perfect excuse not to feel, not to think, not to free myself in the hard work that writing is. It is easier for me just let things pass me by. Somehow, the inspiration is also gone. I see beauty, and yet, cannot translate it into words anymore. Is that what corporate America is doing to me? Or is it that I got tired of not being popular and ended up equating that with not being good. I have lost people in the process. I have lost myself. I have lost tango and I have lost hope. I have lost pictures that I wanted to share, and I acquired a taste for immediate gratification. Writing has to happen now. A photograph has to be shared now. A thought has to be fresh or else it's rotten and it's not worth of any consideration. But if writing is about telling stories and sharing, then why does everything has to happen in this very same second? It was while learning about my dad's precarious conditions that I became aware that writing is my connection to the world. Someone once said that I write the way I dance tango. I am not sure that's an accurate portrayal, but I definitely put my heart and soul on both. My dad is 63 years-old and very frail. Not sure he will make it thru the winter in Brazil. When I learned about his conditions, I started dreading the idea that I might be repeating what he did with his life. I have felt sorry for his fortune all my life. But I also resent him and his lack of love. Not his fault, I know. But who else to blame? Some things started to click, late at night. Some dreams I had felt so real. I excluded you from my life. I planned a trip to Spain. I have plans and I have ambitions. Have no desire to go to Brazil. Somehow a part of me denies having a father. The truth is that it was only chance that I was born his daughter and it happens that chance made me have an unloving father. Could I have had worse luck? Yes, definitely. Nobody can argue that. Someone asked me today: are you the kind of person who sees the glass half-empty or half-full? I am neither. I struggle with words when I am around you. I have felt uninspired by what our society is producing. By what our digital era is doing to people. Enchantment is gone. His words still come back to me from time to time: there's a big whole world out there kid. Yes, there is. And this unshakable feeling that I have missed out on it all my life is just getting on my nerves. It's been like that for a long time. I am a late bloomer. An odd person. A loner of sorts. He kissed me and somehow it was not as good as the first time. I am not ready for him. Don't think I will ever be. Fennel cake. A glass of champagne. Splurging. I enjoy life much more when you are not around. Your so called "love" smothers me. It imprisons me. Somehow you recreated the feelings my dad has shown me. I am not sure how. It's a creepy coincidence, I guess. Some people might say it's a lesson that I have to learn. I am not sure what to believe anymore. You were here and then all of a sudden you weren't anymore. You wanted me and you never showed it. Our lives revolved around cycles of unhappiness. We stumbled upon unhappiness time and time again. I remember us in that room that night. We said, we don't need any of this to be together. And that was true. And now for a moment I miss what is left of you. The plans that we never made. I recall now thinking about being pregnant. How urgent it would be to be yours. And your fear. I have to let it all out. 'Cause I have suppressed it for so long. And it was killing me inside. Like a cancer.