Telling Stories

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I wake up to the business of life. The street is serene and green. My small birds come to visit as always and I now have a cat. He purrs and meows to get my attention. He's soft and gray and somehow he brings me joy. Lots of it. 

I also wake up to the business of life. I have done another modeling shoot and this time I had an entire collection of dresses to pick from. My days have been so busy that my body aches more than the usual. I suspect the pain has to do with the pain of being alive. I thought of my mom last night. I was listening to this beautiful tango song that talks about visiting a grave while it rains. This idea that we can go and visit someone we love after their departure makes me want to cry. When I want to visit my mom, I drive to the beach. I haven't been there in a while. Somehow I know I have to go. I miss her so much. On Christmas evening, I  had a dream and she hugged me so tight it felt so real. I woke up so happy. I wish I could have hugged her more. I wish she had taught me how.

I was writing to a friend and I told him that it seems like I was born to dance tango. I can't sing it. I am not talented like my mom was or my aunts who were singers and remind me of the great voices from that tango era. I can't sing it, but I can dance to it and the feeling I get from dancing a tango is so colorful and light like watercolor in an invisible fabric. It feels like a river embracing your body. Then I close my eyes and my body doesn't belong to me anymore. I am all music. 

It seems like this time it is going to happen. I will perform for the first time. 

I also started sewing, on top of baking my own sun dried tomatoes, taking care of Edwin, The Cat and working on my part-time job. Next week I have a sewing class with this haute couture seamstress who has a sewing school in Wonderland. 

I like it when the sky is pale blue and my apartment resembles a painting. I see Edwin on top of my futon and his perfect ears embellish the view. He faces the window in the patio and he makes me smile. I wonder if he misses his other family or the outdoors. He has this sad meow of someone who longs to be somewhere else. I relate to it. My eyes follow his quietude and I just stare at him as if. I don't know if have recovered from my post-traumatic syndrome disorder, but  at least I am being more pro-active and I am making things happen. Or they are just happening. Maybe life is just like a river. You can't control its moves.

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