We are all "that girl" or the prevalence of similar problems among females

One of the things that make me cringe a bit is the fact that I will never be a serious writer, or well, a memoirist or a novelist. Whenever I come back to my dusty old blog and revisit some of the stories that have been left in the backburner, all I can think of is, why did I leave it for so long? The answer to this question is that I somehow relegate or simply prioritize other things before writing [a big proof of that is the one full year it took me to publish my master's research article]. The willingness to write again came to me just a few days ago, when I finished reading Lena Durham's "Not that kind of girl" and besides the obvious - identifying myself with the bunch of "very prevalent" health issues, such as endometriosis and therapy - I was dying of envy because this chick is in her twenties and she has written, directed and furthermore, made herself famous publishing something that I feel so familiar with. Not only she has done it in a way that I consider as somehow intellectual, but damn! She has good memory and attention to details! I could never remember with such a careful detail those incidents from my childhood, teen years, etc that have brought me to where I am today, neither I would have all the myriad of fancy words to describe them (not even in Spanish, dear friends). And above all, how would I be able to organize my chapters? [if I were to write a semi-memoir/girly novel].

The one thing I remember very well is that once, I dreamed about writing, and I do have a love of books, nevertheless, whenever people ask me about my favorites and what kind of books have influenced me, I just put this ? on my face. I know [just like Lena], I started asking my dad for very weird things since I was a child. I know that he would treat me like a little adult [except for love/relationships/boys matters], fuck! I just remembered (thanks to a bus poster) that I read King Lear when I was like 12! Yeah, just after reading the diary of Anne Frank, and all because it was sitting there in my house and I was looking for something to read. Not only that, but I remember myself telling my dad that it reminded me a bit of his side of the family (tough I know). Anyways, books have been a part of me and I've been a part of my books. I even used to come up with my own dialogues, stories among characters I would invent for my drawings [and no, I don't remember exactly what that would be about], a blurry memory is that, sometimes I would talk to myself. One time, my dad told me I could be a writer and I was ecstatic :D

Now, I realize that just like Lena, I tend to be self involved and always turn things into my own story but maybe most of us do. And by most, I am not referring to women only, to those girls who were not the popular ones in school, I am talking about these very prevalent issues that one can be identified with because, well just because they are there and they are part of our lives.

Just like this post, I have ideas, how I could expand my anecdotes into post entries, how I could set up a collection on them. Maybe even better, making a combination of my diary entries with this place, just making it a backup to my memories, just in case, one day I decide to write.

Jacarandas

There's this street nearby my apartment with a lot of Jacarandas, it is actually one of my favorite places to walk by. Jacarandas are interesting to me, not only because they remind me of Tepoztlan (another favorite place of mine) but because one can not appreciate how beautiful they are until they're in bloom. They can be unnoticeable, like skinny branches with random leaves and then once spring comes they transform into this awesome display of purple. Not that I am trying to make any analogies here, or I guess I could... Whenever I think about the things I really love about LA that has to be one of the most important and memorable, all those streets with Jacarandas on the side. And it is that from time to time I can get obsessed with little things, like the presence of a tree, the amount of light or the bricks of the buildings. Somehow it's the little details that can make me feel more at ease, as if I were home. Which by the way keeps changing a lot these days.
Even though I have a love/hate relationship with changes, I tend to embrace some of them, such as changing places to call home and while doing this I discover little things about my own personality specially when I am alone (completely and utterly alone just like right now).

Entonces es nostalgia?

Porque si no, no entiendo como llamarle a eso que de repente ocurre unos que otros momentos. Y no, no es que quiera revivir algún episodio de esos... Según mi borrador, empece a escribir este post en 2012 y lo había dejado de lado por un buen rato. El punto original era sobre esa linea entre la nostalgia y echar de menos (si es que la hay). Sin embargo, hoy en la mañana tuve uno de esos momentos donde me estaba clavando en pensar sobre las cosas que hubieran sido distintas (no recuerdos, porque no pasaron), las cosas que serian iguales, pero sobre todo pensando en pensar y en como me puedo obsesionar con ciertos pensamientos. De repente sale a la superficie ese resentimiento que le tengo a una persona y que definitivamente no me gusta. 

No quiero tener resentimientos, no me gusta el rencor, ni mucho menos amargarme los días pensando en aquellas circunstancias/personas que no me aportan nada. Afortunadamente, creo que he aprendido mucho, sobre todo de personas que lastime siendo egoísta e hipócrita. Esas personas a las que definitivamente les tengo nostalgia, les tengo recuerdos (nada de escenarios hipotéticos) y que de alguna manera tengo que recordar cada vez que me siento como hoy. 

How often do you practice those things you preach?

Over the last few months I've been obsessed with these words: "kindness, compassion, forgiveness, acceptance, peace and love". I heard them during my practice one day when I was particularly extremely sad, and oh man! did they make a difference!
But it all seemed forgotten when I started holding on to this grudge, anger, sadness and bitterness about something that I have no stake at, nor can I do anything to change. So when I woke up this morning, I started thinking about my hypocrisy, how do I even dare to talk to other people about letting it go and love those around you? Well while I do acknowledge that I was wrong, I also noticed remembered that the kindness must be applied to one self too.

soundtrack

The perks (pains) of being (nice) a bitch

I can't even remember what was this about in the first place. Anyways, as I am sitting here in my bedroom thinking it's probably not a good idea to vent about my issues right now, I will just say this, I don't care!
Y'all got issues, don't you? I know we do, I know I do... Yes I might have said too many times how I think I'm doing better and getting over mine. BS! I'm not going anywhere, or maybe it is just one of those times when I'm having a meltdown. I remember how I thought about so many things that would make sense in this post while I was in the shower or just working but somehow I've forgotten most of it. Yeah, try to remember what you thought about last week after a few beers and then you tell me.
And by you, who am I talking to? I know whenever I do something like writing here, my words go somewhere where people are reading and probably thinking what the fuck.
But that doesn't matter because I'm trying to be nice. I came to realize that I am passive aggressive, yeah pretty obvious the title now isn't it? [Lately] I try to be nice when what I really want is to be a bitch, oh no! there are some things that are not really that cool mister, NOT COOL! Do you even know what a feeling is like? My guess is that you don't, if you do, you do (passive aggressive alert), for what I care is that you broke my heart (sort of) and now I just need some time off. In the mean time I'll keep pretending.

Let go 2

“Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.” – C. S. Lewis

Pues resulta que estaba platicando con una amiga que precisamente fue la que me enseño a sentirme feliz por esa persona que fue parte de mi vida (cuento largo, pero que la verdad termino bien) y me di cuenta que era momento de avanzar. Ese paso que sigue, ese que muchas veces no quieres dar, pero que es necesario. Sentirse feliz por la persona que alguna vez amaste y ahora es parte de la vida de alguien mas, en mi caso no es facil,  pero asi es la vida. Soltar, dejar ir, pasar a lo que sigue. De otra forma, estamos atrapados en un laberinto sin salida. Gracias a mi amiga, gracias a mi vida que me da nuevos comienzos, cosas bonitas, personas bonitas [suspiros, muchos, y los que me faltan]. Quizá es el momento que debía llegar, quizas eres tu esa persona que completa mis momentos, mientras lo descubro y te descubro...

yeah yeah yeah yeah

I get this bittersweet moment when I think about last Thursday, without going into details, I can admit that I make the worst decisions ever. But that is not the main point here, my whining about the consequence is. As it turns out, I can't deal with the consequences of my poor decision making process and I usually end up with the results kicking me in the ass. Even if this result is not common to ALL my decisions in life, it is to some of the most crucial (emotionally/relationship wise).

As a result of this "thinking" I started wondering, how many of you out there share this feeling, how many of you own your shit and keep yourselves together? How do you know if what you are doing is what you really want. Beyond that, if you've faced a time when you made a crucial decision, did you whine about your consequences just like me?

What if we were given absolute power on the things we want to get, would the consequences of our actions be so overwhelming for our simple selves to handle? Would the decisions we'd make then define us? Up to this moment, I haven't really thought that far. I'm just here wondering my what if's, thinking about why I've been making the decisions I made and some trivial things, such as what to make for dinner.

50 years y sin embargo siempre volvemos...

I believe there is a surgeon general report for drinking too and yet I am writing under the influence (WUI?). However, that isn't my point, what I wanted to write about is how we get engaged in all those sweet delicious self-destructing habits. Yeah, we know smoking is bad but some people still do it (I'm not going to say that I don't because I've been weak lately... just don't tell my fellow public health professionals). Even though we acknowledge that something is bad for us, we insist on doing it and my ideas are not clear as to why it happens. It could be SM, it could be that we just love how we feel while doing those guilty "pleasures". Now that I say we "love", como dice Shakira "siempre volvemos a amar" y es que amar es una de esas cosas que hacemos una y otra vez aunque duela.
Before I get into the whole english-spanish blah blah blah, I gotta say that I'm guilty as charge of whatever the case I am trying to build here. I somehow end up in the weirdest/worst/most painful situations ever. If you'd ask me why, I could not come up with a straight answer. Maybe it is just that love is just like smoking. No, let me take that back, it is not love what is wrong, it's all about the choices we make regarding love. Ok! not us, but myself. I make horrible choices and that is a fact (don't ask). Anyways, doing certain things out of "love" can be a rough path if you ask me but somehow they're addictive, you can't stop (ask me again). I just want to pretend I am one of those MadMen guys and pretend I don't know the consequences.
So happy 50th surgeon general report on smoking :)