What is real tango?

-
J & K - La Pituca Performance - By David Lee
August 05, 2011

I am not sure what real tango is. After things start to acquire different meanings to each and everyone, those things can pretty much be anything. Real tango means *to me* the connection between two people and a tango song. A real embrace. That's what I thought we had. That was my downfall. Last Sunday, I went to a milonga I don't usually go to, hoping not to see you. Or maybe if I am really honest with myself, I'd have to say that I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you dancing with other women and not panic and not cry and not leave the room. After I heard you saying that you will not stop dancing because of any woman in this world (which is a valid statement and wise decision) and saying that you don't need anybody, that any woman can connect with you and follow you, I came to realize that I was the one adding meaning to us. I was the one staying in an unhealthy relationship because of this twisted notion that our tango meant so much. I made sacrifices. I swallowed my pride so many times to be next to you. Now I realize that we may have been in many senses, including tango, holding each other from growing and evolving. I always insisted that we had to dance with other people, obviously, according to the situation. Then I saw you dancing and dancing and dancing and I danced as well. I felt like I was dying. But I didn't die and I am not going to die. I will stay strong. When the salsa break came, I got my bags and left to someone's house. I was held. I was held all night long. And my eyes were teary because inside of me someone is dead. Not sure I will love again. Not sure I will find my real tango.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To Someone

-
Image
The architecture of the city is plural and restless. Your voice comes and goes. The sky was pale blue today. White here and there. Clouds. Whispers.  Our dialog is more vivid now. I still see how intense your eyes are. You come and go from me. But I know you never really leave. At least, that is the illusion that keeps me - going? I see patterns. They make sense. Like you made sense a while ago. I can't reason with Love, can I? Love, this palpable, irrational measurement of attachment and desire.  I don't know if you are the same anymore. The same I knew.  Did I ever know you? It doesn't matter because you fit like a symptom fits a disease. You fit my fantasy. My fantasy was so concrete and so tangible. I play us in my head. If I had. If you had. But history doesn't rewrite itself.  I can't walk down the street to try and find you.   Unchanged sea. Under the same sheltering sky. I love you.
Read more

Writing

-
Unresolved pain. Nostalgia. Fire. Vivid dreams at night. Immense love.  I read the other day something an old friend once told me. Go back to what you were good at when you were a child. That's where your natural talent is. I go back, and so many things come up. So many interests. Infinite curiosity. I loved words when I was a child. But I also loved animals and nature. I also loved music and poetry. The beach made me go without sleep. I also loved to dance. I remember attracting people's comments while dancing at parties. Not because I was good but because I did my own thing.  I also liked cooking and baking from an early age. Books were also my private world.  But who am I now, forty years later?  I listen to Riccardo Cocciante, and my heart fills with raw emotion. How can someone be so good and write the most beautiful songs? I need to understand Italian better, but what I know and feel with his songs is beyond anything material.  The power of art has to move...
Read more

Letting you go

-
Sunday Afternoon by Rachael Yamagata. I know it's the right thing to do, but the right thing to do hurts like crazy. I see your presence in my apartment. I see ghosts of you. Messages that I don't want to read. It hit me hard this time. Tuesday morning, I am sitting by the window. It rains. I feel guilty and the wind blows slowly drops of blood. Maybe that's a sign. Someone said: if you like him that much, fight for him. I fought for you. I had you in my hands. I gave you so many opportunities. I gave you so much more than you deserved. It's getting cold. You slapped my face. I cried in your arms. I cried myself to sleep. I couldn't talk anymore. My projects are on hold. I can barely work. I write and I write and the pain doesn't go away.
Read more