How to summarize the last month and a half of absence? From exhausting work and meeting with important production companies in Bogota, to visiting the surprisingly great (and masterfully blended) Jeff Koons exhibition in Versailles during my 4-day trip to Paris, and ending with a work trip to Bolivia, where my boss and me met with community radio stations that build their own transmitters. In the meantime Victor came to visit, the usual (love) reassuring trip, Maria Jose and Yoli moved back to Mexico, I discovered David Sedaris and became addicted to drinking kirs. Today, still under the antibiotics effect (to combat the intestinal infection which I got after eating llama in Bolivia) I'm packing to leave for Guadalajara. Well, I'm not actually packing yet, I'm still under my bed cover, listening to NPR and trying to force myself to get out of bed.

I’m eating peanut candy while I wait for Laura to get out of the bathroom. I need to take a shower, a warm one. I have a new script in mind, but it’s missing the main conflict of the story. I pieced together some situations leading to some other situations, but I need to know what is driving the character, or driving me to write it. It is a love story, not a happy one, but still beautiful. Juan writes: Entretemps, j’embrasse ta folie! I say: J’ embrasse la folie des autres, at least for now, or until the new priorities are settled in and we slow the pace.

I'm mad.

We already had a couple of good-bye parties and dinners for Maria Jose, but tonight will be the last time we see her as a New Yorker, at least for now. I guess I’ll never get used to seeing friends leave the city; that’s just the way it is here. I’ve been nostalgic; Fall get’s me in the mood. Last weekend Laura and I went to the coffee shop in Astoria where I met Hara before she moved back to Cyprus, and where we (old friends, most of whom already left) used to spend the nights drinking Shiraz. We were poor freelancers, but somehow it all just felt right. We felt closer to art and creativity than we feel today, even when we had no secure income to pay the rent. Now Pepa is leaving and I guess I will be nostalgic in the years to come about what we did these past few months.

We drove along the Hudson shore and ate pulled pork sandwiches with sweet potato fries.

And we stopped by the river and smell the coldness of the water until the sun sank and we started shivering.

It’s been a while since the last time I wrote. I’ve visited Victor in Mexico, the trees are already red, orange and yellow, and we’ve hosted several dinner parties at our house. Economy is as unpredictable as it was a month ago and Obama seems to be ahead in the presidential race, at least as of this morning. I started wearing my coat, putting salt on my lips after feeling threatened by cold sores and wondering how New York women manage their time. I need to take a time-management course and learn how they look beautiful (having perfectly polished nails, straightened shinny hair, treaded eyebrows and ironed clothes), exercise every morning, work full-time jobs, raise kids, spend time with their husbands, enjoy regular sex, go to therapy, be creative, and above all, don’t get stressed.

I hope that after there is nothing left to greed upon the essence of ourselves remains.  I'm sure beauty will come in new and unexpected ways.

I’ve been having trouble falling asleep. Even last night after a few sakes, and a warm feeling on my stomach it was hard to stop the thinking and start dreaming. I want to be at a big family gathering, have an engaging conversation after sharing dessert and later go home to cuddle while watching a movie.

Today I felt like staying home. Apathetic about meeting new people or about seeing the old and known faces from the Mexican artsy-film world.  I blamed cramps and justified myself for staying home. I read the newspaper; about The Class, the French movie that won at Cannes, and about Warren Buffett and the history of his investments.  The key word Warren says is focus. That is of course if you already know what you want; he wanted money. 

I watched Lisbon Story again last night and as always it made me feel nostalgic of something that hasn't happened yet.

I spent more than $40 for dinner tonight, way more than I was supposed to, and certainly more than what I paid for a meal from Trader Joe’s last week. I have another $40 for the rest of the month and I’m sure I’ll need to dive into my savings account to get through.

I ate a great porchetta sandwich for dinner at Yolanda’s friend/boyfriend new restaurant in the East Village. Now I have to deal with a full stomach and the guilt that my tummy is getting bigger. I like when women look sexy regardless their weight; when they know that sensuality comes from below the skin. I will read a few pages of my book on Mexican politics before going to bed.

Today feels like yesterday, and like the day before yesterday, and the one before. When someone asks me how I’ve been, I can proudly say I’m fine, although I have no news to deliver. Being fine means you are doing much better than most people.

Things do get better, eventually.

Little E is 7 months old. Her mother has been my friend since highschool and the last person I could imagine with a baby. E’s father took all his furniture from their house today, so her mother has to figure out a way to build a (pretty) home for them again.

What if we take a bath together? Do you mean like brother and sister? I’ve seen this movie 30 times, and I still get anxious. Yolanda, Oscar, Laura and I are debating whether we’ll stick with the husband or the lover; 3 of us picked the husband. I had dinner with Maria Jose and after a long conversation we agreed on the necessity of gratitude as part of our emotional survival kit. On a more visceral note, we coincided on the strange pleasure of watching the markets plummeting, and the pictures of Lehman Brothers staff carrying their cardboard boxes outside their Times Square office. Are we getting close to hitting the bottom? We are scarily waiting for the economic crisis to strike us.

We’ve been hanging the mirrors on the walls as a way to capture every bit of light possible. I’ve been trying to convince Marco that art belongs to no one, just to itself, so he will agree to sell me another engraving by Jose Fors. I’ve also been thinking in ways to improve my life at the cubicle. It will be great to have a bit of sunlight, a few plants and birdcages. It will be even greater to take down the walls so I can actually see and talk to Sylvia and Mark. Can’t we just work from Bryant Park?

I'm waiting for Pepe to call so we can meet at the Thai place for dinner. It's the end of the summer and things already feel different. The violence in Bolivia has shifted my travel plans, and gave my work in this country a new meaning. Most likely I'll be there in October launching a 3-year program, and hoping that peace replaces the calm tension.
10:54 PM - We had green curry with chicken, coconut rice and vegetable dumplings, and later we watched a Jean Cocteau's movie from 1930. I want to write a script about silence and film it with my 8mm camera.

"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. You are the guy who'll decide where to go."
- Dr. Seuss -

My trip to Bolivia was put on hold as a result of the political unrest. 

Victor is probably drawing circles on a notepad while talking to his partners on the phone. Meanwhile I watch an illustration of cats living inside oranges while listening to an old song by Sigur Ros which makes me feel good. I had a great Sunday two days ago when I visited the Louise Bourgeois exhibition and bought my first art piece, a print from Jose Fors. I liked Louise’s sense of humor and the way her work matures over time on her recurring list of personal memories and issues. Everybody has issues, but not everyone knows how to make something beautiful out of it. I asked Queta how she thought beauty remained and manifested during or after chaos, she hesitated without giving me an answer.

Mark mentioned my blog had a sad nature. I don’t want to come across as a nostalgic person, so I will try to write differently. (Suddenly I had a strange feeling in my stomach). What should I write about? (Long wait trying to get some ideas). Brandon emailed from London missing New York. I will be traveling to Bolivia in a week. This is boring. I will write my wish list for the weekend: getting a massage, brush my hair, wake up late, have brunch with friends, buy a cool pair of shoes and other autumn/winter clothes, go to a street market, pet a dog, listen to the entire Magic Flute opera, pretend to read the newspaper and walk from the Upper West Side to Chinatown stopping just to eat a vanilla/chocolate cupcake.

Not so long ago I decided I will stay in New York. It was a big decision, especially since it took me 6 years to realize it and to buy a proper bed. For some people I know taking this decision is still unnecessary, as they think they can go back home as soon as they need to (which only helps to keep a peace of mind, but is never a real option).
The summer is almost over and our house already suffered its first transformation. Brandon and Pepe left the same day, Brandon to London and Pepe to his own house a few blocks away from mine. Laura will stay only for September, and Yolanda will come and join us for a couple of months. We can never get bored, but we always feel a little strange sadness when someone leaves.

Do you still miss me and think about me? Do you still consider staying by me? Do you consider me in your plans? Does it matters?
Sent at 10:03 PM
Time passes by, and will keep doing so regardless what we choose.
Sent at 10:05 PM
If we are not careful we will keep living in this transitory order, in which we decided to be but are not fully enjoying
Sent at 10:06 PM
I want to be with you, but I feel how time melts away, and the idea of being together one day is draining with it.
Sent at 10:12 PM on Thursday

I’m stuffing grapes into my mouth while I’m complaining as usual. Maria Jose sent me a text from Ronald Sukenick intended to shut up my whining and bear in mind that there will always be someone more miserable than you, or than me. At the end of the day life if hard, even for us with all our multiple options (or just the idea of having them, which I’m starting to believe that they are as the backdrop of a theater play, great landscapes but unreal). I’m getting my hand into the zip-lock bag to get the green grapes that are way below the red ones. I don’t like red grapes with seeds, although my mother says seeds are good for the skin.

I'm very tired and my arm is swollen. Today I got the Hepatitis A and B vaccines, and Mexico won a bronze medal for synchronized diving at the Olympics. As always it takes me a while to adjust after a trip.

Listening to "Three Days" by Jane's Addiction while Victor gets his haircut a few blocks away. The past week I attended the International Aids Conference in Mexico City, overwhelmed by the amount of seminars, plenaries, workshops and presentations. The one I enjoyed the most was titled "The Writer's Perspective", with some writers disclousure on being HIV positive, and their role as creators and artists to bring something else to the disease besides the scientific, activist or statistic approach. Giving "living with HIV" a sentiment, a reflexion, a condition along with the others that makes us human.

I have two more days left with Victor. We are having breakfast at La Selva, scambled eggs with ham and coffee. I can drink coffee now, the parania has disappeared after years of feeling allergic to caffeine.

Victor and I met Diego by chance while eating at a terrible coffee shop in La Condesa. His girlfriend left him with a broken heart a month ago because she met a Brazilian guy while translating manuscripts in India. We talked for hours about love, fate and decisions, and we walked to a Mezcaleria at Campeche Street to drink beer and Mezcal. Diego said that Mezcal heals the heart, so he had four shots. Arolinne and David -in their "it's complicated" relationship- joined us later while the boom box played "Melina". I love my friends. Victor is now sleeping while I'm writing still wet from the rain. Diego quit his job at the Mexican Federal Governmet Press and will be traveling to the Patagonia to piece himself back together. He will avoid Brazil; at least for now.

the other side of the river

I recently met a couple that have never left Manhattan after living in New York for 2 years. My friend Sol had some Ecuadorian students that haven't left Queens to visit Manhattan after 6 years.   

My Wish

Probably then it will go by a little bit slower.

Does anyone avoid mirrors? I don’t anymore; I always stare at my reflection guiltlessly. I remember the first anti-wrinkle cream I bought about 6 years ago and how ashamed I was for my vanity. Time has passed and now I’m totally in for the high-heels and boots replacing every pair of converse in my closet. I still cannot wear lipstick; my lips are too thin and painting them just makes it evident.

I took this picture 2 ½ years ago at lunch time. The day after I took it I flew to Mexico for the first time after four years. I was very nervous to go home after such a long stay in New York, and I was trying to capture the everyday life that surrounded me back then.

The promise of writing at least once a day is broken, probably it was pretentious, or it means that writing in English takes a lot of energy and stresses me. Still, I will continue trying to write in a language other than Spanish, and will pursue my goal of posting once a day.

I came back from Mexico missing my people, and it took me a couple of days to get into my New York routine. I’ll be flying to Mexico City this coming Friday, happy to visit Victor but a little annoyed that again I will loose my rhythm. Everyone thinks that traveling a lot must be very cool, but for me it sometimes means paying for classes I can never attend, start exercise practices that never succeed, and get sick with all the food, weather and time changes.

My friend Nacho came to visit. We were best friends during high school, when we both smoked pot and enjoyed having long conversations about life at 17. Now we are 30, he is loosing his hair and I’m afraid of hangovers. We don’t talk about the meaning of life anymore; we just discuss the best ways to open a new business and how to take decisions that will lead us to a life where wearing a 3-piece suit, being creative and enjoying the spare time could be fit into the same sentence.

From my old bedroom

I woke up in my old bedroom, filled with pieces of old times and nostalgia. Books covered with dust, postcards and photographs, hand-made crafts, sea shells, paper lamps, christmas lights, fashion and art magazines, video tapes from my old handycam, boxes with complete slideshows, my red wig, flyers from concerts and film festivals, and everything I collected with the intention of feeling outside Guadalajara, and a little bit closer to the rest of the world where "everything" -in my perception- was happening. My mother prepared breakfast while I played mix tapes from the 80´s and 90´s until they got trapped in the tape recorder.

I'm sick at home today.  After taking an afternoon nap I'm ready to watch Raging Bull which I haven't seen before. My friend Victor (Capuchi) came to visit, and while I write this he finishes the designs for his new t-shirts. He is trying to start his own business, and I should be doing the same thing, the problem is I have too many ideas. Too many options and too many choices makes it too hard to decide.  My friend Paula was always overwhelmed by the number of orange juice choices in American supermarkets.  What overwhelms me is digital photography and being able to take hundreds of pictures; I was happier with the limited, but precisely selected 24 images.  

Capuchi is still working on his designs while I'm chasing a fly that is trying to sit on my bed.  I wonder how does a fly's memory works since it can't remember that I almost killed it with the electricity bill while trying numerous times to land on my comforter.  I tried looking for "memory of a fly" on the internet but Wikipedia doesn't know the answer. It sounds like a good name for a play.

Weekend at last; today is hot and sunny after a few rainy and gray weekends. Brandon, Pepe and me are each in our bedrooms enjoying the pleasure of doing nothing. I'm listening to one of the whimsical songs of the Langley School's Music Project from my iPod shuffle while reviewing the New York University bulletin looking for courses to enroll during the fall. I'm pretty amazed by their "life planning" section and the classes they offer under a category that is already predicting people's disenchantment and professional desperation: Mid-Change Career, Testing Yourself, How Losing Your Job Can Be a Good Thing, Self-Promotion for Introverts, Bring it On! Reacting Positively to Negative Situations. Does everyone needs some petting for being unhappy? If there is something to blame, it will be - in my opinion - spending 8 hours a day at the gray windowless cubicle (especially during the summer).

I have 3 roommates this summer: 2 Mexican architects and a 18-year old English boy from Hong Kong that works for the fashion industry.  Last summer Victor and Agatha lived here and the mood in the house was totally different, but Victor got a good job in Mexico City and Agatha moved back to Cyprus.  For a long time I complained about how things change so rapidly in New York, and now I guess I'm getting use to it. People come and go, and I've belonged to so many different circles that I've divided my personality in lots of different pieces.  It's funny how you can share yourself in many ways, all of them authentic. Sometimes I wonder for how long I will live in this house and how many more roommates will move in until I can afford living by myself.  Is Victor coming back any time soon?

I sat down in Central Park after work to watch the sun as it sunk behind the buildings.  I love the summer.

I've been always impressed with the French "cités" where young people speak verlan by inverting syllables in a word. The word verlan is itself an example: verlan = lan ver = l'envers (the inverse).

Tonight is so humid that typing on my computer makes me sweat. 

I need a miracle.

Viva Colombia

Cookies in the shape of President Uribe, the FARC and the paramilitaries - by my friend/artist Roberto Romero

A few months ago I dreamt with rats biting my  feet. After looking for the meaning at a dream's interpreter website I learned that it meant "feeling trap in a rat race".  A month ago I turned 30 and felt accomplished and happy for a while (feeling it took a great deal of bravery getting to this age). But now, I started to get worried about deciding which steps should I follow in order to get to (blank) -this needs to get decided as well-.   I've been reading the Financial Times each morning and I'm enjoying it more than I could have thought. The downside to it is that I now feel anxious about sky-rocketing oil prices and food crisis, adding to the anxiety generated from the lack of personal decisions.  Am I being exaggerated? Probably. Things will happen regardless my worries; besides, not all is bad. Today we walked across Central Park and got to a chamber music concert at the band shell.  The music was beautiful and the park was filled with fireflies. It was neat!

I'm in a very bad mood today. Aggressive and fighting with everyone about stupid things. My hormones are showing its worst face, and I have to deal with the shame of being so rude with anyone with a different opinion than mine. I'm going to keep reading my book before going to bed. To make it worst, my roommate brought home his boyfriend's dog today, and I already started seeing fleas jumping on my comforter. 

My cousin Pepe arrived last night and he will start his official life in New York tomorrow.  I don't know how much time it will take him to feel/become a New Yorker; it took me 3 years (and 6 years to buy a proper bed).  How long it takes before you deserve to claim a city your own?

Today we walked on streets I haven't seen before, east of Chinatown and south of Lower East Side.  Clotheslines hanging from the windows, stinky garbage cans and children with braided hair reminded me of the New York I came looking for. I live in the Greek neighborhood where Orthodox churches burn incense on Sunday mornings and old men gather in coffee shops for long hours.

Laura, Pepe, Brandon and me are listening to Nouvelle Vague in the living room before going to bed. I enjoy having a full house after months of being alone.

(Gracias por el comment Carola. He enviado el anuncio por facebook y aun no estas ahi, pero me alegra mucho que hayas llegado).

I'm tired of long distance relationships and having to be on the phone with nothing to say, just to feel a little bit closer. I get cranky about almost everything, and my boyfriend demands things that just makes it worst (like asking me to call the Financial Times at 12:34 AM on Sunday).

I spent all afternoon (after a 3-hour brunch, doing my laundry and getting a foot massage), going through old pictures and selecting the best ones for my portfolio. I found bits and pieces from my last 6 years in New York (which I'm uploading to Facebook). Sometimes it's necessary to go through old files and measure yourself against what you were, to see more clearly what you've become.

We spent the afternoon at Max and Lily's house a few blocks from my place. 4th of July with only two Americans to celebrate it, in a Greek neighborhood where no one else seemed to be having a party. We grilled hamburgers, eggplants and zucchini in the porch while we hoped for the rain to stay away a little longer. We tried to watch the fireworks from the park by the river, but we ended up walking in circles without seeing any.

I'm now sitting on my bed and I could hear Brandon making funny noises in his bedroom (he is probably watching Lost). V is on Skype as every night - that's the way we manage our relationship lately- and I could hear him cooking artichoke filled tortelloni and playing some Schubert sonatas on his iPod.

My Mom called a few minutes ago. She is sick with Typhoid Fever.

Niloufer, Melissa and me sat at the Met's roof this afternoon while we all had a drink to cope with the hot weather. Niloufer talked about her religion (which name I cannot pronounce), how it started in Persia and how the followers were expelled from Iran to India.  Good words, good thoughts and good deeds are the main principals they follow. 

I sent an email inviting friends to visit my blog; now I feel nervous that someone actually will read it, and that I should be somehow entertaining. 

My desk from the corner of my eye

I'm sitting on my bed with the lights off and the AC on. My boyfriend is talking through Skype about how the economic crisis will hit Mexico soon, and how his sushi was 30% more expensive today than it was a week ago. I'm not tired, I wish I could use all this energy tomorrow morning and exercise. I spend too much time sitting down at my office and then after work I'm tired so I just go back home and turn the computer on. Victor finished talking. He is the perfect guy, he wakes up at 6 AM to do some jogging, then works like 12 hours, reads the newspaper and even irons his shirts. 

So nice outside

I'm at my desk as everyday at work. Weather is so nice outside that I rather be sitting on any bench somewhere, especially since perfect weather days are so few in New York. I feel like walking across Manhattan and then all the way down to Battery Park. I want to see the boats and drink something cool.
I’ll be out soon, need to get back to work…