unicidades

At the age of 47. You are gone. I can't believe it.  R.I.P Claudio Solorzano Los Angeles 11/19/1965 - Miami 10/18/2013

I have been wanting to write again for a long time, but I haven't had time. Nor have I had any ideas. Life is sweet sometimes. I am glad to be home. I love my apartment.  California was an adventure. I had two interviews in one day. It was a very short trip. I got there on Sunday night and I flew back on Wednesday am. in a way, it was like a dream. My hotel was this lodge that look scary. Close to the highway. Close to a bar that opens in the morning. In front of a gas station. California has a flair. You breath cool over there. The mountains. The coffee shops. The restaurants and the architecture. It snows sometimes and you see the snow from far away. You never forget that. You never forget the place where you learned English. California means a lot to me. I was happy there. I was young and naive back then. I was more of an immigrant. I was more hopeful and not so tired. There are thousands of things I wasn't when I lived in California. And yet, I was so much.  Thi...

I am flying to Santa Monica for a job interview in a few days. I am very excited about it.

In today's session with my new psychologist, we discussed my family upbringing and my relationship with my father. Or shall I say my lack of one? Even though it was very hard to tell her about these first few weeks that my dad's been in town and last night's events, I think at the end we finished the session very positively, focusing on the future. She asked me to pick one word that defined how I felt regarding my upbringing and I gave her the word worthless. I know that's why I related so well to The Elegance of The Hedgehog. I am the hedgehog. I feel like the concierge, even though I am not the concierge.  The truth of the matter is: I grew up thinking I was never adequate or good enough. At school, I was the ugly duckling. At home, I was invisible; if not invisible I was treated like a messy girl who never did anything right. My childhood has scarred me in many unimaginable ways. I know my mom loved me and she didn't know better. Neither did my dad. But my ...

I have been thinking about the types of tango dancers I have seen/met/observed/taken classes with and I decided to make a brief list that will, hopefully, be expanded. The Clueless - has no idea what tango dancing or tango music is about. The Detached - doesn't like to dance in close embrace The Inconsiderate - Doesn't shower before the milonga The Clown - Tries to show off, (but) dances off music The Teacher - Corrects the woman in public and tries to teach her on the dance floor The Social Butterfly - Goes to milongas only to socialize and doesn't respect the codes The Perfectionist - Technically good, but lacks emotion

to become a more upbeat person.

The Seahorse and The Kitten an e-mail reminded me of how frail life is. I saw this little boy strolling by and his hair was straight, disheveled by the wind. I am becoming used to not missing things anymore. music is my enchanted place. Baltimore was fun. I love to look at buildings and photograph them. It's hard for me to decide what I want to be. A writer, a photographer, an artist, a dancer. Being myself is hard enough. Or not so much, depending on the day you ask me. I bite deeply into a fig. I want a lover. A husband. I want to be deeply in love, like honey in my skin. I want to know that a person is right for me. I understand Fado so well. My dad is visiting and we are once again strangers. Your photography i(n)(s) my house. Boxes of jewelry. New makeup. My dreams on hold. My trip to Europe was canceled. I can't decide if I should be happy or sad. Try to understand me. You were wearing an impeccable white shirt. Your unforgivable cold and distant attitude. I gav...