My Mom used to read to me The Canterville Ghost and other Oscar Wilde's short stories every night before going to bed. She is not an avid reader, but she loved to read Wilde over and over again. We lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a red brick building, just the two of us. As an only child I grew up experimenting with insects, writing stories and drawing. I spent all afternoons doing homework and reading while my Mother cooked and kept our apartment tidy. She always tried to make me feel we were a bigger family, trying to make up for the void left after my father's death. Now we live hundreds of miles apart, but I guess we are as close as we used to be.
Pepa's mother died today. She lost the battle to cancer.

The old Greek lady who lives downstairs greeted Maria and me this morning while doing her usual incense burning ritual. I’m not familiar to Orthodox Greek traditions, but I love to be around people that follow strict routines with such a passion. She speaks no English; she just repeats “good morning” (pronounced as “goo monin”) twice with a smile before leaving the incense holder by the front door. I’m not so sure people living in Manhattan get this kind of experiences each morning. They have a doorman.

Tomorrow I’ll travel to Mexico City. I haven’t been there in quite a long time and a part of me feels nervous. I’ve been listening to old songs for a week, recounting the last 10 years and trying to picture a timeline of important events and people. Where I started compared to where I am today. Where is everyone that influenced me or whom I influenced? Many things have changed, and surely they will keep doing so. Are we all taking the right decisions?

8:14 PM
I look around my bedroom and I suddenly realize I’m living in part the life I wanted: listening to good Canadian jazz, surrounded by art (which I brought from different countries) and getting a light breeze from my window. A few days ago Catherine was complaining about how different her reality was from what she had expected. Most of her friends are now married and living in the nicest neighborhoods, or single but working their dreamlike jobs. She is living with her Russian (divorcee) boyfriend and working as an executive assistant at an international finance firm. For many people her situation sounds perfect, living in New York with her steady boyfriend and a job that pays the rent; but for her it’s very hard to conciliate her expectations with the fact that times are hard both financially and for finding the man that will fulfill most of her desires.

3:53 AM
We just got home from Rosa’s good-bye party; she is moving back to Madrid in a week. The celebration started at Yucca Bar on Avenue A, and ended up at the Speak Easy of Avenue C. I haven't been at that place for years. We danced for hours, a mix of salsa and African rhythms, until our feet were in pain. Oscar is not home yet, his good friends from Montreal are in town and they must be at gay bar in Midtown Manhattan.

4:01 AM
Too tired to be inspired.

My longtime friend appears to be in love with me. He didn’t said so directly, but he didn’t leave any room for doubts. In the past we always said “I love you” to each other, and that is true, as I love a few of my friends. But, how could I have known he had a special crush for me? Ironically knowing so breaks my heart as this means things won’t go back to our old ways, at least for a long time.


I’m drinking a glass of cold South American Sauvignon Blanc while sitting on my bed and thinking about my US working visa. I need to renew it before November, and I’m a little worried since my boss hasn't approved it yet. For the first time in four years I begin to wonder if he is considering firing me. In any case, I just prepared a list with the reasons on “why I’m a great candidate to keep the position.” Hopefully it won’t be necessary.

Today has been a tough day at work and I'm not done yet. Being a manager is not easy when you need to solve a conflict between different cultures and opposite ways of working. Definitely this is a learning experience that hopefully could be translated to other aspects of my life. Did I ever mention that I wanted to be a politician? Well, I don’t have the necessary skills.

Last night I bought my ticket to Rome. I will be there in October. I’m planning to visit Natalia and then travel to Florence, where my aunt Pili lives. She moved there at 18, after falling in love with an Italian leftist. As a kid I saw her and my cousin Stefania once a year during summer vacation, and was always excited to learn about their different way of living (and sense of style). I haven’t seen Pili for more than 16 years. For all I’ve heard she was very similar to my father, two aspirant communists against the rest of their posh siblings. I’m not a socialist, as most of the children born to Marxist parents. I’m influenced by their sense of justice, but it has mixed with existentialism, individualism, consumerism, (lots of other – isms) and certainly confusion.

While we are waiting to rinse off a facial masque I light up the hookah. Neither Oscar nor Maria wanted to smoke with me, so I'm afraid I'll have to finish it up all by myself. Today is a hot summer Sunday and we don't feel like going out, but just staying home and getting organized for the coming week. The windows are open, but the air is static, no breeze is coming in, just the noise of the air conditioners. I feel fine and calm. Today I felt inspired by two interviews I read; the first one, with Daniel Barenboim on his West-Eastern Divan Workshop where he uses music as a way to generate dialogue in the Middle East. The second, with Lars von Trier on how he managed to write and direct a movie to avoid depression. Maria, Oscar and me are now on our third facial treatment, drinking orange-peach juice waiting for the cucumber masque to dry. Maria is inpatient and wants to peel it off; Oscar keeps his hands busy by posting a new Facebook status through his Blackberry. We remain quiet as the tobacco slowly burns down filling the air with a sweet peachy smell.

I’m at my kitchen waiting for the Verizon technician to come and fix my Internet connection. I eat toast with sauco and awaymanto jelly, straight from the Amazonian Peru, and bought at Lima’s airport duty free store. As whenever I return from a trip, I keep the momentum going by eating and drinking everything I brought while away. This time I’ve been drinking coca leaves tea and eating coca leaves covered with chocolate, feeling a kind of stupid thrill for consuming something quasi illegal.

I need to make an important decision soon. How can you know something for certain? Does absolute certainty actually exists? As for today, I just know that I’m hoping for a good and relaxing weekend: gypsy music tonight, brunch and pampering sessions tomorrow, and moules frites on Sunday.

Last night we smoked Hookah for two hours by the fireplace, it was very cold outside and smoking seemed like a nice way to warm up after walking across town to get to the bar. Tonight is our last in Cusco as tomorrow Javier and I leave for Lima.  The past week has been beautiful visiting Machu Picchu and driving to Cusco at night watching the moon being reflected in the Andean snow.