unicidades

On missing a town and my mom, and music.  People often ask me if I miss Porto Alegre. The best answer to the question is that I don't really think about it anymore. My mom died and what followed was a complete hiatus between my life and the life we used to have. That life is now preserved by my memories that sometimes flash thru my mind at various parts of my days. Sometimes while I am dancing, sometimes when I am driving, or when while I am listening to music. Music has always been my way to connect to things, places and people. Don't think that will ever change.  Janine by Nada Skaf Last night I went out dancing and the place was beautiful, but with not that many people to dance with. I sat there  listening to tango and the DJ played this very beautiful segment that brings out in me all my South-Americanism.  It brings out the streets of Porto Alegre, the red sunsets, my walks from the University to my first job, my mom, Brazilian Music, the most ...

I have been told he is recovering. He was extubated and is talking. Maybe it was the love from his spouse that saved him. Maybe it was just his body that reacted and recovered. Maybe it was a miracle? Maybe it was the medicine he was given. Maybe it was just not his time to leave the party. Not yet. Maybe it was the care that he received from his doctors.  Life and its mysteries. Love and its pending affairs. The inequality of it all. We tasted new flavors on Friday night. New textures. The lights outside were screaming at us that we had to live. We had to free ourselves. That was what I heard. I heard life saying come and live. She enticed me. Let me show you a few things. Beauty. And I did go and let her take my hand because exploring is something I like. Always have. And I saw Miami under a different light. And, maybe at that point, love didn't make any sense or mattered anymore. I was just carefree. It was warm and late when we left. His eyes on me. His music on my ears. My...

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 do...

Unknown – Botanical Gardens, Vero Beach – June, 2015. My eyes have seen purples and peaches. Evenings filled with warmth and sweetness. Perfume, spring, flowers in the air. My eyes have seen sunsets and sunrises. Empty nights, in which no arms would come and comfort me. Not even mine. My eyes have seen beautiful waters, nice sand, mountains covered in ice and also naked ones. Snow. The cold dry air. My eyes have seen love and hatred, and every color in between. Empathy. Sorrow. Streets full of garbage and people. Rats in New York. Carriages in  Savannah. Babies being carried all over. People making out, people dancing. People arguing. I have seen death. Births. The opposite of love. My eyes have seen Monet's gardens and bridges. The predicable and the unexpected. Opposite lights in the unbearable journey. My eyes have seen blood and pettiness. Security and fear. My eyes have heard stories and have doubted the love it was offered. My eyes have seen laughter for no reason;...

How can anybody be in a storm without aching?

April of 2001  It is always hard to write about us. I'm not sure why. I can't seem to describe who you are. I can't seem to know you in any way. There is something about you that just keeps a distance and I don't like distances. Never have. But that did not happen in April of 2001.  What happened then was. A sound long and deep. Like a bell in the remote distance of a town you once belonged to, but that you no longer know. Not important now. We were important.  We were one sharing a bed and a world full of collided illusions. Black and white dives into mute unrecognizable souls. Two strangers taking showers together amidst a profound and soaring lack of intimacy. We came into each other's lives in a crowd. Our story is nothing, but unique. You were cautious, I was curious. Time has always been conspiring against us.  Until one day, we were both free and at the same place. We danced, the dance floor was empty and full of hope. I noticed some signs, bu...

I went to see apartments this week. I am thinking about renting an apartment close to the beach. I think that would help me heal. I feel like there is a non-healing wound in my soul and maybe the ocean can help. I keep thinking about this studio I saw. The ocean was just a step away. Turquoise and magnificent. A miracle waiting for me.