Proust had an elephant's memory.

The time has come when real becomes blurred.  It is when you forget street names, when you can’t smell the bakery shop down the alley, when you can’t remember which bus takes you where, when you are afraid that you may never go back to this past that is also your life.

It is when there’s no one there to remember you, when migration and new jobs take away your friends, You, any clue of me.  The old apartment is already occupied by new persons who ignore how much you loved the carpet there, how the stove got that stain (and they might never know that is impossible to fry tacos in an electric stove) and how much I loved to see you asleep.

And anyways there’s still this contradiction.  In the late hours of the day, in the first hours of a Sunday I wonder how are you doing, I try to “feel” you and know if you are fine but I know that I’ve missed hard moments, when you probably needed someone, although… I don’t want to know how better you are doing without me and how less you miss me every day.

I still remember these dreams where I could perfectly see one house after the other through the bus window in my way to work, the trees in the street walking towards your work place, the garlic smell in the Russian Hall, the cold in your nose when you came back home, my Proustian memories are gone.

I hope this blog reaches you well, even when WHEN is the question that internet might never answer. 

De mi lengua pervertida.

No sé porque siempre que estoy borracho y enamorado acabo hablando en inglés. Supongo que tiene que ver con el hecho de que acabo viendo en todos a esa persona que de otro modo no me hubiera entendido. Al final creo que lo más justo para mi es decir lo que siento justo como lo siento, en inglés, árabe, español o con dibujos al final del cuaderno. Pero no deja de ser raro. Cuando pienso en mi presente lo hago en español, lo cual hasta ahora es una buena señal, aunque también caótica. Lo que quiero decir es que no soy bipolar, ni chicano, ni prefiero un idioma sobre otro.


Me encanta pensar que es turno de hablar de alguien y decirle Te amo y que me entienda, dedicarle una canción, un poema, o mejor aún que no hayan palabras, que sean silencios y miradas lo que nos comuniquen.


Y para ser honestos, hay alguien, que veo a diario, nos hablamos y escribimos diario. Pero estoy socialmente imposibilitado a decirle qué pasa por mi mente y a veces por mis entrañas. Trabajamos juntos y creo que no podría decirle nada, porque tengo esta teoría que si él siente o percibe algo y me corresponde, me dirá algo o sencillamente las cosas fluirán entre los dos.


Así que aquí estoy, deambulando entre mi pasado y mi presente, tratando de encontrar respuestas o bien una válvula de escape para esta olla exprés.


Si pudiera darles un consejo además de no comer cheetos y fanta azul sería nunca se enamoren de alguien de su trabajo (sobre todo en esos trabajos aburridos, protocolarios, diplomáticos y menguantes de la personalidad) porque no tienen salida, no podrán externar sus sentimientos, ni callarlos sin afectar su rutina, ni si quiera platicar de una manera adulta acerca de esas mariposas que sienten al verlo. Huyan, y si no queda otra salida, escriban, o vayan al psicólogo o cambien de trabajo.

Lost in translation. (Or the incomprehensible deep side of my mind)

There I was.  Sat in the airplane couch waiting to get out to Vancouver.

After 9 months of a hard relationship, hard as starting from scratch a new life, do not have a job and try to build a bridge between my culture and his, my language and his, my past and our present, we broke up.  I still don’t regret, is just there were many things that haven´t been said and need to come out.

As I am a Spanish native speaker my first challenge was that sometimes languages didn’t fit.  Have you ever heard a song that make you feel the exact same way you love one person?  It happened to me although he would not understand it and translations would made it sound stupid or too passionate or too fool.

Other times saying I love you was not enough, because Te amo sounded deeper and more real.

What I am trying to do now is match this feelings, say what I feel in a way he understands, even when this blog is not meant to be read by him.

It is about learning to read me more.

About the title.

Cheezies and Blue Fanta was my first dinner with Kristian, my ex boyfriend.  My choice seems to have left a funny impression on him.  So just make sure you don't mix these two ingredients, they may be potentially chaotic.