The Broken Mirror: Falling into the Hole

Lately, I've been dreaming a lot. I'm the type of person who claims to not dream. Realistically, I know that I do. We all do. I typically don't remember my dreams though. Not because I don't want to or because I don't care, but just because I'm not sensitive enough to be in tune with my inner desires, insecurities and feelings. I figure that if I don't acknowledge them, they don't exist. It's like Muay Thai, when you are partnered with some one you know can break your pretty nose, and they come straight to your face with a jab or a hook or a cross and, although you block, you still shut your eyes, believing that if you don't see it, you won't feel it. Well, dreaming for me is also like that. I know it happens, but I'm not really trying to discover what it means. My mind is already always in overdrive, always working, analyzing, questioning, wondering, dreaming, dreaming...But, when I dream and remember how I felt, the smells, the tastes, the visuals, it leads me to wonder what is the cause of this awakening.

My dreams are vivid, realistic fantasies tightly weaved with feelings of doom, confusion, exhaustion, fear, sadness and innocence gone wrong. My dreams are dark, perplexing, conflicting. They are magical realism at its finest. Don't get me wrong, my dreams are awesomely creative, haunting, other worldly. But they are also disturbing. I question my sanity once I wake up, my lucidity "Oh my God, I'm crackin' up/Get a grip Marshall". That's an exaggeration, but I'm Nicoya, that's how we roll, turn a kitty cat into a liger.

My dreams pull me apart from every direction; they dissect my unconscious. Awake, I dissect them. I pull the scenes apart, and like a puzzle, put them back together, never really sure where in my world they fit. I share them with the wise, hoping to see the light, to get some guidance in my life. Sometimes I feel like a lost soul, unsure as to what my purpose in life is. Other times I know I am a free spirit, with my impulses and dreams as my guide. The freedom excites me, makes me feel whole, but it also scares me. Not knowing what I want, where I want to go, and moving through the world blindfolded makes me want to run and hide, curl up into the tiniest of balls and stay in the fetal position until it's safe to come up for air, until I am sure of myself and the world, of my path, of my fears, of my doubts, until I no longer question. But accepting and conforming to the guidelines of society scares me even more. The realistic possibility of being a drone suffocates me. It's almost like looking into a broken mirror, the shattered glass distorting your image, never really letting you know which of the many yous reflected on its surface is the true you. That's dreaming for me. That's what it feels like. In my dreams, I'm in Alice's world. I've followed the white rabbit into the hole, where I've fallen and continue to fall until I wake up.

Dreaming Awake

Everyday
I grow tired
My eyes won't shut
My mind won't stop
Working, wearing me out
I want it to stop
I want to decipher the meaning
These dreams haunt me
They tease me
They reveal, prophesize
But never disclose their truth
Hidden in my unconsciousness
Deep, deep inside
Fighting to come out
Battling to be released
Awareness and oblivion struggle
Ignorance and knowledge clash
Fear of acceptance
Acceptance of fear
Living asleep
Dreaming awake

Kissing a Thug

Long week. Friday night. Stress release necessary. What to do? Hit the town with your bff. Get to your favorite dance spot before 10 - saves you $10 (during recession, every little bit helps). Get stamped, use the restroom, leave. How about a snack and refreshing glass of sangria at Radio Havana Club Social? All subversives welcome, Big Brother isn't watching. Small hole in the wall, pay attention to the preppies trying to belong, to the odd-looking fella checking you out, smiling at you while rubbing his girl's thigh. Drink. Drink the thirst quenching beverage of the Gods that will have your head spinning shortly. Pay. Exit. Stop by the other place - you know the one. It's the place you go to when you make it after 10 pm and don't feel like paying. Your exotic-looking friend with the booming laugh will let you in, he always does. See him tonight. Say hi. Be surprised. A one-woman man, that's news to you. Too bad. He had potential. You've switched roles. Good girl gone bad, bad boy gone good. Smirk. Wave and move on. The night is young and you want to maximize the use of your stamped wrist. Re-enter your spot. Go to the bar. Chocolate cake shot , yum. Dance. Try to feel the music. It's not there yet. Watch your friend have another drink. You both have plans tonight. Hers is to get trashed. Yours to kiss a hot guy. Nothing here, except for one bouncer. Don't go there. You like this place too much. Leave. There's another place that's always fun. On your walk there, tell your best friend "if his status ain't hood" in regards of the guy you will kiss. You speak in jest. But sometimes, you have to be careful what you wish for. Some days, the stars align in your favor and without knowing, your wish comes true, making you wish you had really asked for what you truly wanted. This new place is poppin'. Music is loud. You and your friend are feeling the music, the atmosphere. Cute thug alert. He's there with a couple of girls. You don't care. You're there to have fun. He approaches you both. For some reason, you lie and say its your birthday. Another chocolate cake shot, his treat. You dance, talk, smile. He buys you and your friend another drink - another chocolate cake shot, it is after all, your birthday. You decide to go back to the first place. He comes. More drinks. His drink of choice is Henessy. He's gansta - half Italian, half Boriqua, full New Yorker. You dance, talk, and smile. Dance, talk, smile. Dance. Talk. Smile. Kiss... The night is over. He promises to return to see you next week,he's leaving back to Brooklyn tomorrow. He promises to take care of you, "I gotchu", he says. You don't care if he does or doesn't. You got got you wanted. You kissed a thug.

The Anguish of the Lost

Are we ever really sure about what it is we want from life? At 26, I'm having a "middle-life" crisis if you will. Or maybe that's not the best way to describe it. All I know, is that I am currently in a place where I don't know what it is I want from life. Actually, it's more of not being where I thought I would be, should be, by now both professionally and personally.

If you had asked me 5 years ago where I would want to be right now, I would have said in grad school working towards a phd in literature and in love. 10 years ago I would have replied that I would be finishing law school and engaged - back then I knew I'd be married at 28. That seems like the perfect age - by 28 one would imagine being relatively financially stable and ready to commit professionally and emotionally. However, both options appear to be completely impossible right now. For one, I work in the insurance industry. There's nothing wrong with that, it is just that insurance is neither law nor literature. As for the love, I haven't even had a boyfriend. Again, not that big of a deal, but when I get thinking about how none of the aspirations I had for myself are feasable, it becomes a source of consternation -it makes me feel almost like a failure and really question myself and my life - what am I doing with it? where am I going? what do I want? and, is everything I lack a direct result of who I am?

Other times I wonder if I only believe I want those things because society has conditioned me to associate professional success and love and marriage with happiness - the "white-picket fence" syndrome. I honestly do think that not everyone wants or needs those things to be happy, but when you're constantly bombarded by these ideals, you begin to want them for yourself, assuming that once possessed inner peace, self satisfaction and purpose are found. I know people who have those things and still aren't happy, they still question their decisions, their career choice, did they marry the right person. Does this ever end? I don't want to be that, but am I cursed to be forever dissatisfied?

I know I want those things - a good job, a family, love. But what if none of those things are for me? It scares me to think like that, but I also don't want to be the forever optimist awaiting something that will never come. Life is not a fairy tale, good things don't come for those who wait, and nice people DO finish last.

I think about what I have done and I feel I have not accomplished anything. I also think about what kind of person I am and again, being the way I am hasn't led me anywhere special, it hasn't enlightened me, it hasn't filled me with clarity, joy or meaning. It's frustrating. I am constantly reminded that I am kind, intelligent, generous, witty, attractive woman, but does any of that matter? Where has it gotten me? Sometimes, certain people reproach me for being "blessed" with all these qualities and it bothers me because I think, if they're right, if indeed I am all those things, why is my life so meaningless?

In the past few months, I decided to get out of my comfort zone, be a normal single woman in her 20's and enjoy life. Of course this means going out every weekend, dancing, doing some drinking and having fun. Sure, it's been fun but not effortless. That world isn't me. It doesn't make me happy. I don't find any comfort in it, instead I find emptiness; it saddens me. But what is it that I'm supposed to be doing then? I wish someone would come down and just tell me what to do. Tell me how to be happy and satisfied. Tell me how to fill this void that just expands as I age.

I want the simple things in life, it doesn't take much to please me. But sometimes those little things are the ones that are the hardest to find, the ones we wait a lifetime for and may never come. The only option is to continue waiting, an hoping, that whatever it is will come. In the meantime, I need this suffocating feeling of drowning in oblivion to vanish...

The Frog Prince

Once upon a time last week, I met a young, good-looking hippie - Bryan (with a Y he said, stemming from British nobility). Bryan pan-handles in front of the Starbucks around the corner from my office. I was on my break, on my way to meet a friend for lunch. Like many others roaming the San Francisco streets, Bryan also flaunted a double-sided cardboard sign. The side facing me said, "I bet you a dollar you're reading this sign. " I thought it was clever and saw some humor in it. However, I was NOT gonna give homeboy a dollar - hells to the NO! So, when I walked past him and smiled and he asked me if I read the sign, I said "Nope. " He asked me to please read it, again I said, "Nope." He asked me why, I said I just didn't feel like it (and I always do what I want). He laughed and said, "fair enough."

Since I was meeting my friend outside of Starbucks (or so I thought), I stayed talking with him. We talked for a bit. He said it was his birthday (January 5th). I wished him a happy birthday and asked his age. He said 27. Instant bond! I'm turning 27 in 3 months and it's always nice to meet a fellow ager. I said I hoped 27 treated him well, because that's what I also wanted for myself since 26 and 2009 weren't exactly the high times of my life. He said that no, 27 was our rock star year and promised it would be amazing. I had NO idea why it would be our rock star year and he went on to explain that many of musics' greatest died at 27, including Janis Joplin and Kurt Cobain. Works for me (the rock star year part, not the dying at 27 bit)! My rock star year on an even number year - awesome! I'm partial to even numbers but have the misfortune to be all odd digits - 3/25/1983. Kinda sucks. But at least I'm an Aries. I look forward to even number ages and even number years, though I will never be an even age on an even year. Oh well...

Anyways, we talked some more about ages, we discussed my zodiac sign and its awesomeness, he told me how he had a twin brother and how he is no longer here. He also has a sister who shares their birthday, but he doesn't like sharing their special date with her. He's from New Mexico but prefers San Francisco, where he and his twin hitch-hiked to for the first time at 13. We talked a lot. He also got me to read the sign. I laughed and said I'd check for a dollar. He said no, he couldn't take anything from me, that we had a normal conversation. I did offer to get him a birthday treat (cookie or cake). I love sweets, they're not cheese or bread, but still damn good. I felt like it was getting late and finally realized my friend had been waiting for me inside Starbucks - ooopps... The gift of gab, I'm telling you.

I said my good-byes and off to lunch I went. On my way back, I stopped for some birthday cake - triple chocolate something. It was good. We talked some more and he said that his birthday would be wonderful if he could take me to dinner. I accepted.

He pulled out his blackberry and gave his number. This is where it gets complicated. I returned to the office and related my encounter to my coworkers. However, they weren't as unsuspecting as me. I heard everything from "How do you know it was his birthday? Did you check his i.d.?" to "Oh, I bet poor Maria gave him her whole paycheck!" Then I started thinking - am I too trusting? But, why would he lie about his birthday or everything else he said? He didn't get anything from me, he didn't want anything from me. I gave him my friendship and he gave me his, but did he have ulterior motives? I didn't, so why would he? What do I have that he could possibly want? I gave him a slice of cake - for his birthday! I like cake on my birthday. Okay, I like cake everyday, but still...

After a back and forth with a trusted friend who said that although "it's important that you see good in people but perhaps more important that you operate with the understanding that there are people with ill intentions and don't let your desire to see good jeopardize your safety. I'm not sure it's a good idea you go to dinner with this guy when you don't know really who he is or what his deal is. Besides, if he's hanging out on the street, does he have money to pay and what is he up to anyway? Perhaps he's a sweet sage but I'd be cautious," I decided that in the end, it's better safe than sorry. However, I felt guilty for flaking -- did it make me a hypocrite? Would I have maybe NOT listened if he had a different social standing? Or did I only talk to him because he is "safe" in the sense that I could never really give him a chance? Maybe he was my frog prince. Then again, maybe he was just another frog...

Alvarado and I

Perception of being fascinates me. The private self vs. the public persona is so interesting to me. The private self is obviously who we are when we are alone and at the mercy of our thoughts. It is the self that bares it all, without fear of rejection, without any inhibitions, without concern for judgments. The private self is the person we allow ourselves to be with only those we trust the most, those who really know us and accept us without any conditions or expectations. The first time I really began thinking about this, at least that I remember, was senior year of high school when I read Jorge Luis Borges' "Borges and I". I still remember the first line, "The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to." It is true, isn't it? If I were also to write "Alvarado and I" or "Maria and I", I could easily borrow that line. I’m the quiet one, the observant one, the one who assesses, the one who rationalizes, analyzes, schemes and plots. The "other", Alvarado, is the one that executes. She is the one people see, people judge, people criticize and perceive. I laugh at Alvarado and at the way people describe her, as "nice and sweet", and "cute and adorable." She's perky. And it's not that she and I aren't these things, but no one ever sees Alvarado's darker side, the side that I selfishly possess. The cynical, sarcastic me that Alvarado shies away from to not make anyone uncomfortable. She's much more considerate, much more of a pleaser. She's tolerant and accepting. I am more rebellious, rough around the edges and just don't give a damn – I’m free in a way Alvarado has never been. Alvarado is a veneer of good manners, always polite, a goody-two shoe. She's funny; she is sweet and adorable. Her happiness is contagious, she's happy-go-lucky and though she is true to herself, she holds back. She always holds back. It becomes hard to separate her from me. Sometimes I don’t know which is the true me. I guess that in the end, it doesn’t really matter, for like Borges, I also “do not which of us has written this page.”