Que entre estas paredes y los lugares que voy, se esconden historias, que deben ser contadas, pero a su vez guardadas en el más profundo de los silencios, y difundirlas en símbolos llamados letras.
Ana, Quisiera que estuvieras aquí. Quisiera tener tus fuerzas. Mi cuerpo lo siente todo, pero a la vez no siente nada. Todo lo que ayudé a construir, las memorias, lo que di, cabe en una caja de 180cm3 tirada en la marquesina de lo que un día consideré un bello lugar.
Tenías razón al decir que crecer duele. La decepción hace que me duelan hasta los huesos. Siempre fui muy sentimental o emocional, demasiado para manejar. Mi voz empezó a callar. Se me olvidó el momento en que dejé de cantar por no molestar, aún cuando eso es parte de mi identidad. No puedo identificar el momento en el que comencé a perderme en él. En qué momento se convirtió en mi prioridad cuando yo no era la suya.
No sé en qué momento empezó a verme a mí, a mi libertad y felicidad con asco. Se le olvidó que le gusté siendo libre, feliz y bailando. Siempre supe que alguien que te quiere verdaderamente, jamás le darías asco, ni odiaría tu libertad, ni quisiera verte triste. Mucho menos se alegraría de tu tristeza. Admito que muchas veces tuve memoria selectiva, pero eso tristemente escuchar la palabra asco de su boca me hizo tocar fondo.
Me duele Ana, me duele. Quisiera que estés aquí. Quisiera ser fuerte como tú lo fuiste. Si me duelen hasta los huesos es porque siento mucho. Porque di mucho, porque quise mucho. No está mal sentir. Mal es suprimir lo que sentimos por miedo a qué dirán los demás. Horriblemente mal está escoger callar, ignorar y despreciar como forma de castigo a quienes te quieren cuando dicen algo que te molesta.
Me duele Ana, pero aprendí. Ahora sé que todo puede empezar como un cuento de hadas y terminar en tragedia. Mi sexto sentido me dirigió a él y me dijo el principio del final, así que empiezo a dudar. Aprendí que no importa cuantas lunas haya pasado despierto explorando cuerpos nuevos lo hace en el predilecto ni un experto. En su mente experiencia era equivalente a madurez. Se le olvidó que la madurez va más allá que la experiencia. ¿De qué vale tener 1000 experiencias si no aprendes ni de la mitad de una?
Ana, aprendí que los CV y los resumés se entregan a quienes te ofrecen trabajo, no a quien dice por ti sentir algo.
Le agradezco lo que me dió y las ocaciones en que me ayudó. Los buenos recuerdos me hacen olvidar por un momento lo malo. Hace mucho aprendí que no debo perder el sueño esperando una disculpa. Y cuando llega, ya es muy tarde.
Sé que es mejor así Ana. Al fin y al cabo, fuiste fuerte porque sufriste tanto. Con el tiempo ya no dolerá y dejará de ser en lo primero que pienso cuando despierto. Poco a poco, paso a paso, día a día. Ya no será tanto el llanto. Pronto volverá a ser un extraño.
Un extraño al que esperaba algún día poder decirle te amo.
**La violencia va más allá de los golpes. Las palabras y acciones pueden dejar heridas igual o más profundas. Si estás en una relación así, reconoce las señales, busca ayuda y trata de salir lo más pronto posible. Sobre todo, reconoce tu valor y nunca olvides que hay mucha gente que te ama y quiere lo mejor para ti. **
I never imagined to be standing here, in the sympathy
section of the greeting card aisle. I’ve spent 5 minutes reading postcards and none
of them seem to fit your loss. There is no greeting card that can describe
sympathy over the pain of loosing what could have been but never was. As if your
grief is not real or legitimate and you should carry on.
You might think there is no other choice but to mourn on
your own. Those around do not understand and perhaps don’t want to do so. People
measure love based on how many hugs and kisses are given, or how many wonderful
moments have been shared. You never got to do that, yet you loved. Unconditionally.
Since the moment you knew, you just loved. That love grew every day and every
heartbeat. It was a gift suddenly taken away by fate.
Silence is preferred in this kind of loss. Not for those who
lose, but everyone that surrounds them. It’s a reminder of disappointment and how
we cannot control everything in our lives. We fear the unknown and failing. It’s
frightening and heartbreaking to have to hopes and dreams shattered and picking
up the pieces is exhausting. It can be an unbearable pain. The kind of pain
that makes you think that feeling hopeful, dreaming and loving again is
impossible.
I may never share your loss, but I do understand and have
felt disappointment. I can help you break the silence. I will listen to you
when it seems it’s just you and your echo. I will try my best to help you pick
up the pieces and remind you to not be scared to try again. Because I know of the immense love you like to
share, and how you deserve to bring life to this world.
“Cookie cutter” greeting cards may not exist to describe sympathy
over the loss of a loved unborn. So, I
write my own.
With all my love and sympathy,
N
**If you read this post and want to write, “I am sorry”,
please don’t. However, if you know someone who has been or is going through
this case, support them. Call them or text them to tell a joke and brighten their
day a little bit. Have empathy and try to understand their grieving process. But
most of all, be open to listen whenever it is necessary.
Yo tenía 16 años cuando supe que llegarías al
mundo. Recuerdo muy bien el enterarme de la noticia. Tu mamá nos reunió a todos
en la sala y nos dijo que estabas en camino. Lamento decirte que su cara no era
de felicidad. No porque tú te estabas formando en su vientre, eso la llenaba de
una felicidad que nunca había experimentado en su vida. Ella temía sobre cómo
reaccionarían papá y mamá. Tenía mucha razón al estar asustada. Mamá no paraba
de llorar y gritar de la rabia. Papá se encerró en su despacho y no nos habló
por una semana.
“¿Cómo es posible que mi hija fuese tan
ingenua y se dejara embarazar antes de estar casada? Tenías toda una vida por
delante y la echaste a perder por andar de caliente. ¿Y ahora dime Alondra,
quién te va a querer? ¿Quién va a querer casarse con una mujer usada?”- Esas
fueron las palabras de aliento de tu abuela a su hija de 18 años.
Yo, sentada en el sofá no sabía qué sentir. Nunca
imaginé ser tía tan joven, pero aún así me llenaba de ilusión. No puedo negar
que estaba confundida. Todo lo que había pensado de mi hermana cambió en un
abrir y cerrar de ojos. Tenía más experiencia de lo que se puede pensar de una
chica de familia estrictamente evangélica. Seguro lo hizo por rebeldía. Me
preguntaba por qué no pudo aguantar hasta el matrimonio como decía papá y mamá.
“¡Te tienes que casar, y eso es ya! Hablaré con
el pastor de la iglesia, le explicaré. Seguro él entenderá…”- continuó mamá
después de 10 minutos llenos de reclamos. Obviamente, tu mamá nunca aceptó
casarse, ya sabes cómo es. Tampoco es como si hiciera falta.
Domingo tras domingo pude sentir cómo nos
miraba la gente en la iglesia. Los rumores crecían cada vez más como la barriga
de tu mamá. Mamá se sentía avergonzada, pero más avergonzada se sentía mi
hermana. No se sentía avergonzada de ti. Se sentía avergonzada de causar tanto
revuelo, de cometer un crimen social de tal magnitud hacia tu abuela. Solamente
se sentía avergonzada por eso. No por las miradas ni por los cuchicheos de la
gente, mucho menos por cómo la congregación la segregó como si estuviese en cuarentena
con una enfermedad sumamente contagiosa. Nadie sabía de todo el esfuerzo que
ella hacía para poder brindarte un buen futuro. Preferían juzgarla y tacharla
de pecadora.
En la escuela bíblica era imposible escaparse
del tema de la sexualidad. Nos recalcaban el esperar, el guardarnos para el
hombre que Dios tiene para nosotras. Tenemos que ser modestas, no vanidosas, y no
atraer la atención a nuestro físico. Eso nos da puntos para entrar al reino de
los cielos. Una vez casadas, tienes que estar sometida a tu marido, porque el
hombre es la cabeza de la familia. Te dicen que si un hombre te quiere de
verdad va a saber esperar. Que hay controlar las hormonas porque no te puedes dejar
llevar por los deseos de la carne. Los deseos de la carne no son de Dios y tenemos
que reprimirlos por eso hay que estar de rodillas orando.
No sabes cuantas cosas escuché sobre lo que
era y lo no era apropiado para una mujer. Pero nunca escuché sobre lo que un
hombre debía hacer, más allá de respetar a una mujer. Tampoco te puedes imaginar
lo que vi. Los chicos eran lobos vestidos de ovejas, como cualquier otro hombre
fuera de la santidad de la iglesia.
Todo esto eran consejos, pero nadie te dice
qué es lo correcto cuando lo “malo” parece ser bueno. Tan y tan bueno como bajado
del mismo cielo.
Fue entonces cuando me di cuenta de muchas
cosas. ¿Por qué tengo que ser yo la sumisa? ¿A caso solo debo aspirar a tener
un hombre a mi lado? ¿No debo tener sexo antes del matrimonio para poder llevar
un vestido blanco en mi boda y no ir al infierno? ¿Por qué se dice que el
hombre es superior a la mujer?¡Por favor, que alguien me explique cómo un pene
entre las piernas te da más valor y te acerca más a Dios! Pero, sobre todo,
cómo puede ser que mi valor como mujer y persona es inversamente proporcional a
la cantidad de hombres con las que yo esté. ¿Por qué querer tener intimidad con
alguien a quien amas es un pecado? ¿Por qué ese placer es exclusivo para los
que estén consagrados en matrimonio? ¿Cómo todo el mundo tiene más autoridad
sobre el cuerpo de una mujer que la propia mujer?
Se me hacía tan extraño e injusto, hasta que
vi patrones por todos lados. Mi amiga Sara ya pensaba en casarse con Miguel el
hijo del hermano Carlos. Se conocían desde niños y él ha sido su único novio.
Recuerdo que ella quería salir con Juan el de la escuela, pero sus papás jamás
querrían alguien que no fuese de la iglesia. Sara y Miguel llevan 3 meses y se
quieren casar tan pronto Sara cumpla los 18 en 6 meses. Y así hay muchas de las que puedo contar,
empezando por mamá.
La actitud de la gente cambió cuando se
comenzó a notar más la barriguita. Todos eran una dulzura con tu mamá. Preguntaban
por si venías bien, si serías niña o niño. Planificaron una fiesta para
recibirte. Tu abuela estaba un poco más tranquila y tenía ansias de conocerte.
Siempre preguntaron por ti y tu bienestar, pero quien te llevaba en su vientre
siempre sería recordada y cuestionada de su reputación.
Nueve meses después de la conversación familiar
en la sala, llegaste tú. Nos cambiaste la vida a todos y la llenaste de alegría.
¿Cómo algo tan bonito puede ser fruto de algo que dicen ser pecado? Amar y ser
amada, querida Antonella, jamás va a ser un pecado. El valor más grande no es
el que te den los demás, si no el que de des tú misma. Tú no eres pecado... eres
y siempre serás una bendición.
Se supone que ya
te debí olvidar. Se supone que no deba recordar. Se supone que no sienta. Se
supone que no quiera acercarme una vez más.
Se supone que te
odie, Se supone que no me importes. Se suponen tantas cosas, que mi mente se
alborota. Se supone que no me haga ilusiones.
Se supone que no
te puedo querer como antes. Se supone que ya nada puede ser igual. Se supone
que al fondo te debo guardar rencor y que nunca te pueda perdonar.
Se supone que el
tiempo me ayudara a alejarme. Se supone que hace mucho me debí distraer con
alguien. Se supone que no llore. Se supone que no pueda alegrarme al verte. Se
supone que no pueda expresarme.
Se supone que
todo siga normal, con la esperanza de que hay más peces en el agua. Se supone
que no oiga al corazón, si no a la razón. Se supone que la razón no tenga
dudas.
Se supone que no
te sueñe ni recuerde. Se supone que no te extrañe. Se supone que no te debo
dedicar cartas ni canciones. Se supone que no me desvele por pensarte. Se
supone que debo borrarte.
Se supone, se
supone, se supone.
Me he cansado de
suponer, no sabes cuánto. Y de tanto suponer es mejor ignorarlo que tratar de
intentarlo.
"Too many of us stay walled because we are afraid of being hurt. We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all"
-Eleanor Roosevelt
“You are, by far, the most confusing person I’ve met. And I
know I’m confusing”, said Lucas with a puzzled look on his face. “How come you
say you like that guy, when all you do is avoid him. I thought you detested him”.
Apparently, I’ve been doing everything wrong. So, I took a
shot of tequila hoping that it would help me forget that I just admitted to
someone that I am attracted to James. It’s true, I am “complicated”. More so, I
tend to overthink situations which turns out to be unhealthy. Anxiety reveals
itself like a casual friend. And here is the situation that is giving me a
headache and left me the bitter taste of cheap tequila at a college town bar: “I
am interested but, I don’t want to show it”.
“Ame, you know that that is completely counterproductive,
right?” Lucas continued arguing about my incredible lack of flirting skills.
And it hurts me to say that he is correct.
As the tequila sets in, all I think is about James and every
single detail about what I’m doing wrong. He is twelve steps away from me.
Every. Single. Day. Yet, I’m so afraid to approach him. Let’s say it’s a
mixture of not wanting to look desperate and preventing feeding his ego. It seems
like he has a big one (THE PUN IS NOT INTENDED, but take it as you will).
I’m not going to lie, James is cute. Well, he is H-O-T, in all
caps. I might be exaggerating a bit too much. However, I think he knows he is
hot and believes it. That’s the problem. It comes out as being cocky. For that
reason, I’ve created a set of strategies to help me forget that I’m attracted
to him. These include: ignoring him, being a tad bitchy, and overall act as if
I don’t care about him at all.
“He does seem kind of a douche. Very immature. I don’t think
he wants anything serious”. Wow! I think Lucas is reading my mind. Even though
I think the same, part of me feels awful for thinking that way.
Yes, I think he might be a player. Yes, he sometimes looks
too mysterious, borderline sketchy. Who knows?! May he has a one night stand
every Thursday or Friday. Perhaps the whole weekend… Why not the whole week?! Maybe
he has an STD. Maybe he is an alcoholic. Maybe he is gay? Maybe…
STOP THE NONSENSE! How can I be so quick to judge a guy that
I don’t even give myself the chance to know? I fill my mind with so many
possibilities that lead me to think that he might be a bad guy instead of
getting off my chair, walk those twelve steps, and engage in a casual conversation. That should be the normal adult thing to do.
What if he thinks I’m flirting and I make a fool of myself? “Oh,
Dear God! There you go again! You need to stop giving a damn about what other
people think of you!”. Once again, Lucas is right. I’ve got to admit he has real
a talent for pep talks.
So, I promise myself to solve this conundrum that I’ve easily
given up to. Why is my fear of rejection so big that prevents me from walking
such a short distance? I should never let fear take over. I wonder how many
opportunities I’ve missed due to my self-doubt and assuming things that are not
real. Building up a wall does not prevent me from being interested. All it does
is create more interest to know what’s on the other side. I don’t know if would
ever like to bear his children. All I want is to give myself the opportunity of
knowing him as a friend. Perhaps having a chat over coffee, or the water
fountain. Until then, he will just be
the interesting guy twelves steps behind me.
As a millennial, I grew up
watching the quick development of new technologies. Many memories from
childhood and adolescence involve a computer. I remember being 8 and using my
grandfather’s computer, connecting to the internet, and hearing that awful
noise while doing so, getting annoyed when someone called, and annoying other people
because I was on the internet… yes, I was hooked.
One of the highlights of my
relationship with the internet was making my first e-mail. I was in school in
grade 6 and everyone was talking about this “MSN messenger” thing. So, as a naïve
pre-teen I obviously wanted to be “in” and try it out. Also, it was such a
revolutionary concept. I didn’t have to call my friends to their home phone, I
could just write to them and they would instantly read it. It skipped that
awkward step of asking their parents if you could talk to them. By the way, if you are now that age, NEVER
skip that step and always ask permission to use the internet. Respect the
elders! But those were the early days. No one knew how powerful the internet
was. It was a strange land and at the same time it opened the door to many
possibilities and new opportunities. Even for me.
If I could describe myself back
then, I would say that overall I was shy. And due to that “shyness” I took
advantage of those new technologies such as MSN to connect with people without
feeling odd. It offered a way of communicating without necessarily showing your
face (trust me, everybody had issues during puberty, so please don’t judge).
Therefore, besides being able to stay in contact with your friends, you could
also make new ones. Moreover, it gave me the freedom to talk to the people I
was afraid to talk to, like a crush.
When I was 12 I had this HUGE
crush on my friend. We both played the saxophone in a band and sat next to each
other on every practice and gig. He was the person I talked the most to, and he
was so darn cute. I must give kudos to my 12-year-old self because I had great
taste in men. Long story short, that
crush lasted for about 4 years. I never told him despite our long conversations
on MSN and me being all “psycho” writing his name and mine backwards in my user
name. Hearts included. I thought I was edgy and cool but… no.
Later on, came other social media platforms like MySpace, a“space”
where you had a profile with music and you could personalize it... Oh my
goodness, those were the days! You basically had a website for blatant narcissism.
Choosing the perfect background song and your top 8 friends seemed like the
hardest decision of your life. By then I was about 14 and had my first
boyfriend. Our relationship, like other teenage relationships, was only puppy
love. And yes, social media sort of played an important role in our relationship.
Messenger conversations until 2 am, secret phone calls, love messages on our
MySpace profiles, etcetera, etcetera. Social media helped us connect. It also
helped him take a decision without facing the aftermath. Yes, after one year
and some months as couple we broke up. Did I mention that he did this through
messenger?
So, there I was, my first heartbreak. What was left was a profile
filled with photos of us and messages of “love” (and some really cool Converse
shoes that he gave me for my birthday). I was devastated and broke into tiny pieces
all the letters he sent me. I needed a cleanse. A physical, mental, and digital
cleanse. I erased him from every single social media platform. Sounds super
dramatic, but it was hurtful to get detached. He became nonexistent.
Little did I know that that wasn’t
the last time I would have to recur to that cleanse. Social media was a way to
boost my confidence. Now I realized that I learned how to “flirt” thanks to it.
However, all that effort was in vain, since in real life I would be overwhelmed
with shyness.
Today we have Facebook.
Stalker-book. Friends-who-are-not-real-friends-book. Frenemies-book.
Hey-What-Happened-To-You-After-Highschool-book. Yeah, we have all been there
and done that. You know that if you accept that friend request you are giving
that person access to your “life”. Not really, but you do allow them to stalk
you. But don’t worry, you clearly know that even without accepting the friend
request, they will find you, and they will… creep on you. The continuous
haunting has been enhanced by smartphones, apps and notifications. In a blink
of an eye, we have let technology become part of us, even to do one of the most
human things: TALK.
We live in a day and age where we
depend, perhaps too much, on technology. We seek immediate satisfaction. Don’t
get me wrong, there are numerous benefits of technology even in a social
aspect. That does not change the fact that it has altered the way we
communicate with each other. Yes, it has created bridges for strangers from all
around the world to meet. Nevertheless, in our real life it might create
invisible walls. And this brings me to Tinder.
Tinder, the “App of the hour”. Want to meet someone new within your selected
range of attractiveness? Have some real need for a blind date and perhaps a one-night-stand
with a stranger? Swipe right if you like a guy. Swipe left if you think is a
disgrace for humanity. Swipe up if you think his sexiness is supernatural. Easy, right? Download it now and join millions of others
who love the thrill of the Russian roulette of STDs, unsolicited dick pics, walks
of shame and regret!
I know, I know. I’m exaggerating.
Not everybody uses Tinder for those purposes. Some do it just for fun and to
know people outside their social circle. But for me, it doesn’t work. Maybe I’m
an old lady trapped in the body of a millennial girl. Tinder and other dating
apps cut out one of the most exciting parts of a relationship: the chase. Oh come,
on, you know you want it. Deep down you want that guy (or girl, depending what
you are in to) to fight for it, to see how the relationship grows step-by-step
from a friendship or feud to something else. Personally, as a shy person, I
find it terrifying to meet a stranger with the idea of having a chance of being
involved in a romantic relationship. Maybe you might think is the most
effective way of getting to know someone. Honestly, I see it as a sign of laziness
and a way to avoid rejection.
We are all afraid of rejection. We want to abstain from the
pain of being told “NO”. That answer has the potential to destroy you
emotionally. Have I been friend-zoned? Am
I ugly? Am I good enough? Will I ever find “the one”? No one wants to deal with
heartbreak. Nevertheless, rejection is part of life and we must accept it.
Somehow it makes you grow. But these apps do help avoid the uncomfortable part
of getting notice. At the end of the
day, they do not save you from a possible bad relationship.
For all I know, technology and social media will continue to
be part of our lives. Although nowadays is essential, we should not let it be
the primary pathway for our relationship. Human contact should continue to be
primordial. My advice: use it at your own risk. If you are curious Tinder or
any other dating app, definitely give it a try! But first unplug, log out, and
look around. Shake a hand, introduce yourself to a stranger, look in someone’s
eyes and smile. Do not limit yourself even if you are shy. Use technology
wisely and be aware of your humanity… which includes your flaws.
So, click send, make eye contact, and wink.
(Don't be a creep though)
"Wasting My Young Years"- London Grammar
If you have similar experiences and/or quarter-life conundrums, please leave a comment below.
I woke up at 5:45 am with a sudden urge to call him. To hear
his voice… to calm the screaming voices on my mind. I’ve turned into a ghost,
present yet invisible. It’s for the best, it’s for the best. Sleepless nights…
it’s for the best. Sobbing until I fall asleep… it’s for the best. “Save
yourself…” he said, “it’s for the best”.
That phrase is a dim that won’t fade away. It has become my
unconditional company, an unwanted friend. Among my constant pain and noise, I
wonder if he also wakes up at 5:45 am with a sudden urge to call me. My heart
would like to believe he wakes up too. That he thinks of me… constantly. That I
am an endless song in his head. NO! To him I am not a song, and never was, and
maybe I will never be.
It’s “maybe” that keeps me awake, just to remind me that
there is no hope. He killed all hope. Yet, hope grows amidst the stormy night
where the wind roars and shakes the car where we last talked.
I’ll try to fall asleep at 6:20 am. “It’s for the best… it’s
for the best”.
Don’t call! …It’s for the best.
Don’t cry! …It’s for the best!
It’s his loss! …It’s for the best!
BUT I LOVE HIM!
Sometimes “it’s for the best” it’s not a good reason.
