A six words worth facebook status

I wrote 50k words in 30d.
Then I wrote a six-word memoir:
"There is never a happy ending"
I got a comment on it.
It's from someone I don't know.
In more than 6 it said:
"So sad and jaded for one so young and somewhat pretty".
The stranger's net name is Spaceghost.
Curiosity on his comment I felt.
I went to check his memoirs.
Spaceghost had written just one memoir: 
"Dad, I miss you! Love Lucifer"
I'd make it a facebook status. 
But the story was too long.
Finally I decided to solve it.
I'd make another six word memoir:

"Jaded? Young? Always.
But...Somewhat pretty?!"

 

Amaranth Celosia

If I was to become a flower, I’d choose to be a mixture of an Amaranth with a Celosia:

Amaranth because it avoids itself from vanishing;

And Celosia because, although simple, needs moisture from the ground where it lays.

Seriously?

I have met a naughty Zwarte Piet today.
He neglected to give me a balloon.
He said they were for kids only.
It must have been my wrinkle.
#@&%!
...and then they talk about discrimination?


-Chiqui. Aging.

5 minutos inside una multitasking

Me desayuné con chocolates belgas artesanales traídos de Brujas mientras esperaba que se cocieran las arepas. ¿Cuán internacional puede ser eso? ¡Qué mezcla de sabores! Me puse a escuchar música mientras leía Re-tweets de @Calle13Oficial. Que si el gobierno, que si el concierto que quién jala más y quien chupa menos. De pronto se me prendió el cerebro. Tengo que ir a buscar la cartera de mi hermana putativa de Bélgica en Utrecht. Nunca he ido a Utrecht. ¡Qué fastidio! tengo de salir de la casa. No soporto a Ricardo Arjona. A ese sí que deberían censurarle las canciones. Es un quejón. Se queja más que camión de cochino, como diría mi hermano Fer. Extraño a mí hermano Fer. Quizá un día de estos me visite. Está haciendo frío. Tengo que escribir en la novela. Tengo que escribir la novela. Está sonando Michael Bublé. Él es mi novio, pero no lo sabe. Sí, Thom Yorke también es mi novio, y sí lo sabe lo que pasa es que no se ha dado cuenta. ¿Qué?! ¿Selena en mi iTunes? Dios, esto es lo que realmente se conoce como un shuffle shame. Debería borrar las canciones que están repetidas porque “no se encuentra su ubicación”. Las arepas necesitan ser volteadas “…I could fall in love with you…” ¿podría? Creo que me estoy volviendo loca, ayer soñé que un viejo amigo me pedía disculpas por haber despreciado y olvidado mi desinteresada amistad. Yo sólo le dije que no quería hablar del tema y que estaba todo olvidado ya. Enseguida hice una broma al respecto y ambos reímos. Lo más cómico fue que me desperté con una sonrisa. ¿Qué es esto? ¿Una especie de Diario? Yo nunca llevé un diario. El mundo está perdido. Todo es culpa de la gripe porcina. ¿O de México? Los mexicanos son buenos cuates pero a veces se pasan de brutos. Si no cambio esta canción me va a dar algo. ¿Quién metió esta canción en mi computadora? Patético. “You can go your own way!” Me encanta Fleetwood Mac.

Damn! ¡Las arepas!

Lección de vida.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Dicen que el ser humano aprende por repetición.

¿Será que algún día aprendo a decir que NO?

Tram Etiquette

I've always wondered why I didn't become a teacher.

I used to like helping my friends study when I was at school; then at the university; later enjoyed giving out explanations to some of my colleagues at work; and some other times I liked helping out friends with advices on their own life. I even started teaching my parents (don't tell me you didn't have to instruct them on how to turn on the computer more than once) and, I got to be honest, strangers too.

I thought that the satisfaction of watching some of my 'students' succeed was rewarding enough and then I started to speculate on why I couldn't give such good advices for myself too. The answer, I did not succeed to find it yet, lies in the fact that maybe I'm not just as good teacher material as I thought I was or perhaps that I just like a bit of failure once in a while; but the truth is that I never stopped trying to teach anything [and I mean anything I know and don’t know] to whomever I ran into.

A couple of rainy days ago, after missing some trains, some phone calls and particularly missing an umbrella inside of my purse, I was coming back from work (to what I would later call a shopping assault) when this scene reminded me once again why I didn't master my abilities to educate others.

As some of you may know, the streets of Amsterdam’s centre are ruled by mad bikers and trams. You could either get stroked by a crazy tram driver or, if you are less lucky, be ran over by a skilled someone reading the news paper, while talking on the phone while holding an umbrella all while riding a bicycle (in that order).

So, since my luck level had already turned the red light on, I decided to take a ride inside of the tram to avoid getting killed that day. Little I knew about the new student I was going to meet.

“Sir, I’d like to go to the Dam, please”

“Sit down then; first stop it is” - he grumped

“He must be going thru a wet hair day too” – I thought.

I sat down very close to the door so that I didn’t have to disturb the bunch of people when coming out on the first stop. Three minutes had passed when I started listening to the thousands of sentences the conductor yells thru the microphone to explain that the next stop is simply Dam. I stand up very close to the door and start preparing for a cold shower outside when I dare (oh why, oh why?) to ask the guy if he could possibly let me out of it.

“You have to exit thru the back door” he says

“Sir but there is no one standing outside and it’s pouring”

“I’m sorry; this door is just to get in”

My mother always taught me to be polite, no matter the situation and that is what I thought I had to do. No mattered what.

With the shame of having to walk to the back door before everybody’s eyes (including mine) and already feeling the cold spell of rain from outside I was wishing that the karma police could get him when it just hit me: It was time to give a 360 turn to the day.

Soaking from head to toe, I realized that the street light was giving a red for him and I decided it was time for another lesson. I walked to the front and knocked on the door; the conductor starts shaking his hands and showing me the back door, then I reply with the same gestures showing the front one and my desire to get in.

Annoyed by my persistence, he made the ‘great effort’ of pushing the little red button and opened the front door. By this time, a couple of smiling Dutch were standing by the window to get the first row on what was about to happen.

“So, are you getting in or not?” – yelled the conductor at me.

“Oh no sir, I just forgot something”

“This isn’t lost and found miss”

“Don’t worry sir, I just forgot to say ‘Thank you’”

If it wasn’t for the street light turning green again I don’t know if I would be telling this story, since I think I even heard the gnarling of his teeth. I couldn’t help but smiling while waving goodbye. I think I forgot my hate towards the rain by that time, it just made me feel like Macaulay Culkin in ‘Home Alone’. I’m pretty sure my mom would be proud of me.

The satisfaction of giving another lesson lighted up my rainy day but then the failure on teaching my credit card to remain inside of my purse was another reason to keep the wondering away.

Enjoy the Autumn,

Chiqui.

To whom it may concern

This is the first time I'm going to post a song lyric here. maybe because I had never found one that I would feel so identified with. not that I haven't listened to a lot of songs though. not that I pay attention to lyrics all the time anyways.

"people fear what they don't know", right?

I just know I'm a gypsy and I'm realizing that settling has become my only fear...and that I've also stolen a lot of stuff too.

So here it goes:

Gypsy (performed by Shakira)

A. Ghost/Shakira/I. Dench/C. Sturken/E. Rogers

Broke my heart on the road

Spend the weekends sewing the pieces back on

Crayons and dolls pass me by

Walking gets too boring when you learn how to fly

Not the homecoming kind

Take the top off and who knows what you might find

Won't confess all my sins

You can bet all trying but you can't always win

'Cause I'm a gypsy are you coming with me?

I might steal your clothes and wear them if they fit me

Never made agreements just like a gypsy

And I won't back down 'cause life's already bit me

And I won't cry I'm too young to die if you're going to quit me

'Cause I'm a gypsy

I can't hide what I've done

Scars remind me of just how far that I've come

To whom it may concern

Only run with scissors when you want to get hurt

'Cause I'm a gypsy are you coming with me?

I might steal your clothes and wear them if they fit me

Never made agreements just like a gypsy

And I won't back down 'cause life's already bit me

And I won't cry I'm too young to die if you're going to quit me

'Cause I'm a gypsy

And I say

Hey you you're no fool if you say no

Ain't it just the way life goes

People fear what they don't know

Come along for the ride

Coma along for the ride

'Cause I'm a gypsy are you coming with me?

I might steal your clothes and wear them if they fit me

Never made agreements just like a gypsy

And I won't back down 'cause life's already bit me

And I won't cry I'm too young to die if you're going to quit me

'Cause I'm a gypsy

Un Kg de Lunes en Oferta

Andreína se fue volando en una nube hacia tierras más calientes, pues aquello de que las aves migran hacia el Sur cuando llega el invierno a ella le parece que es un virus de gripe B que se también les contagia a las nubes.

Con dos fuertes giros en su débil y cansado brazo derecho lanzó una soga de esas que utilizan los gauchos de la pampa y luego de ciento treinta y ocho intentos logró ensartarla como una aguja de coser zapatos; y a la cuenta del un, dos, tres pegó un salto de rana y se fue, dejando a su sombra de testigo, para contarle al mundo lo que le había sucedido y el porqué del inesperado y repentino viaje nubístico hacia el Sur.

"Son cosas del deporte" dijo la Sombra de Andreína. "La pobrecilla se vio contra la pared en tres y dos…" - continuó - "…y en lugar de suspender juego por lluvia prefirió botarse de jonrón y salir fuera del parque".

La Sombra de Andreína añadió que la ausencia de la escritora terminaría cuando supiera qué hacer con el vuelto inexacto que Xin Tao, el chino del abasto de la esquina de abajo, le dio al comprar un tercio de docena de huevos chimbos, una alcancía de cochinito dorada, 5 pitos extensibles de Fresita y las Tortugas Ninja, dos Papaupas de cambur y tutti-frutti; y tres Barriletes especiales (de esos que tienen chocolate).

Todo aquel asunto de la desaparición, entonces, fue aclarado por la Sombra y sin siquiera terminar la rueda de prensa, con un doble chasqueo de dedos, se evaporó en frente de toda la multitud convirtiéndose en una gota de vapor plateada y brillante como una escarcha que se tomó de las plumas de una paloma despeinada y, al son de Wilfrido, silbó:

"volveréeee, vooolveré…"

La multitud comenzó a bailar su merenguito con salero, pimentero y sin cesar y al finalizar la canción ya todos habían olvidado el negocio de la sombra y las nubes, el invierno y las palomas, el vuelto del chino y el tres-y-dos. Antes de volver a su faena en el abastico de la vida decidieron esperar, sentaditos por si alguna otra oferta aparecía en el pasillo 3, a que cayera la tarde de un lunes pesadote, como diez costillas de rinoceronte, que todavía estaba bien alto mostrando en su torso de mediodía las marcas de las sábanas de un fin de semana agitado como una licuadora Oster del ‘56.

Maylin Yung, la cajera gordita antipaticona de los labios prominentes y las uñas largas y rojas, luego de despedir amablemente a Joao, el hijo del panadero del frente que siempre le guardaba dos litros de leche de contrabando, gritó a todo gañote "Quién es el plóximo?!" y Don Periñón, el viejito bigotudo de las alpargatas azules, se enfiló para anunciar la historia de un martes que no habría de llegar a tiempo por la cola que se formó en la Panamericana al abrirse la puerta trasera de un camión de toros capados.

Entre toros es-capados y las ofertas del 3x2 en champú equino en el pasillo de perfumería, me puse a soñar y desperté nuevamente en medio de una selva de cables sin radio ni novela y haciendo tiempo para ver si la rana echaba pelos me puse a contar estrellas, llegando a la conclusión de que es mejor descansar el fin de semana que pasar las horas de un lunes aguardando a que acabe la función de un interlocutor, para mí algo desconocido, que dice llamarse Procrastinación.

FIN.

---

Que tengan un buen feliz comienzo de semana!

Chiqui.

Amor en espiral

La verdad, la naturaleza y la ciencia de la luna se han juntado en complicidad para hacerme recordarte. Una y otra vez. Una y otra vez más.

Cuando no puedo inhalar otro aire que no respire a tu masculinidad, es entonces cuando prefiero ahogarme entre tu sombra y asfixiarme en tu recuerdo.

En ese momento no quiero imaginar otro espacio más abierto que el que existe entre tus brazos en simbiosis junto a los míos; y que la distancia más larga fuese la que ha de separarme de tus labios.

Los fósiles de tus versos sobre Gauguin, Baudelaire y un tal Dvorak se han unido a los vestigios de tus risas sobre copas y a tus historias sobre pueblos lejanos del más allá. Juntos viajan desde mi oreja izquierda hasta mi meñique derecho y no consiguen dejarme ir.

De ociosos pentagramas y níveas hojas se han llenado las lágrimas que suda mi pequeño y cansado corazón. Mis pupilas se han secado y mi sonrisa consiguió un nueve a cinco del cual se ha aburrido por convicción.

El otro día creí sentir tu piel. Fue un sueño dulce con un amargo despertar. Quise cerrar los ojos para volver a fantasear sobre instintos luminosos y crear excusas para verte, para escucharte hablar sobre tus planes y proyectos para luego reír por no prestarte atención.

Despertar. Otro día más. Nadar entre en un tren de gente sin movimiento ni destino. Girar en un espiral sin fin que alguna gente suele llamar rutina y que yo prefiero llamar soledad.

Entre los témpanos de mi lecho y los ecos de una ciudad en alborada me sentí una criatura mágica entre la órbita de tus reminiscencias. Lejos de tu cuerpo pero cerca de tu imaginación.

Como la miel a la abeja me profesé forzada a inmortalizarte en mi memoria como el más adicto poeta maldito que alguna vez decidió enfrentarse a declamar frente a una sirena sin voz.

Qui-est-ce-ton Mark

I hear through your eyes.

I feel through your voice.

With your hands I can see

wait....how is it that I can speak?

In the middle of Know-where

I searched everywhere and I couldn’t find you. I really looked. I truly did.

I looked up to the sky and the clouds were higher than usual, so high that I even thought to be seeing the outer space flashing thru them.

I faced down to the ground and all the seeds started to shake. I felt the warm heart of the Earth breathing under the sticky soles of my shoes; and you were still not there.

I turned my head left and then right. And then slowly I started to spin around until I stopped to stare into the Far East; and all I could see was just another lemon tree.

I gazed into the Wild Wild West and yet no news but flying leafs and dusty whistling roads that didn’t show me your face.

I looked all over again. North, South, East, West and in between. I rolled, I jumped, I blinked and waived and still no sign of you.

I couldn’t even find my own way.

I sat down and cried.

It must be true what people say: lovers are always lost.

Philosophical Friday

So, after a couple of Friday morning emails back and fwd with a remote guy...

Guy (G): "What did you do to the weather? It was supposed to be cloudy."

Me (M): "I brought my Friday mood today."

G: "Explain a bit"

M: "I'm just happy. It smells like weekend everywhere."

G: "Going to any party?"

M: "Maybe some salsa."

G: "I would join but sometimes my feet don't do the things I want."

M: (ah, the double left-feeted type) "Oh, I understand. Well, you can always drink."

G: "Well, there is always a first time for everything. Don't judge before you have done it"

M: "Ah, you wanna go philosophical? Alright."

G: "Yes, I always go philosophical on Fridays. I call it the Friday's mood. Wanna join?"

M: "I would but I'm dealing with a win-win situation."

G: "Explain more about that win-win situation"

M: "I'm having a fight with myself."

G: "Ha-ha. And what is the fight about?"

M: "Two beer or not to beer."

G: "Ah, that is a simple question"

The End.

Enjoy your weekend my amigos!

These Are My Twisted Words...too

Since I’ve been writing a lot in the past month I will keep it short…NOT.

My reply to the people that have asked me where I have been and what I have been doing is this:

“I’ve become an aunt of two beautiful baby boys, also the proud auntie of a lovely puppy, rejected an elephant, kissed a toad, moved from office, finished a project at work, visited the vampires and wrote a novel of more than 50,000 words in one month, i.e. 30 days. Now, what have you done?”

Someone told me that numbers were not important, that it was more the substance what mattered. I’d like to believe that but since I’m an engineer and a geek, numbers are very important to me. So on my way to work I wrote this person a letter and it goes like this:

“Dear friend,

I’ve been 25 for 2 times and to some people that doesn’t mean 50 but 26. I am a 36; a 38 and sometimes a 42. I hang out with 27, 44 and 30 too. I feel 25 and 36.5 but I’m definitely sure that I am 155; although some people say that 100 suit me good. In some places I am 5 and 1; and in some others 16088758. Right now I’m heading 33 but I wish to be at 4, and to be honest I am inside 167 on the 18 at 910. I’ve worn 248 and 243 but at the end I decided to go natural and stay at 003. I’ve used 212 but now I’m on #5 and I like it. Maybe in 12 I’ll be back to 2011 after 14 times here and there. It’s now 848 and I need some food.

Goodbye my friend. I know you don’t like numbers but it’s good to know that I can count on you.

Luv,

Chiqui”

A Size Matter...

An early morning conversation with some Customs Officer.

I-

-Officer (O): Ma’am, I have to ask you some security questions. OK?

- Me (A) (tired, sleepy, paused): OK

-O: Whose luggage is this?

-A: Mine

-O: How many suitcases did you check?

-A: One

-O: Just one?

-A: Just One

-O: Where did you pack them?

-A: At home

-O: Which is, where?

-A: Haarlem

-O: Haaaaaaalem, mmm. Who packed for you?

-A: I did.

-O: Did someone help you?

-A: Unfortunately not. (Giggles)

II-

-O: Where do you work?

-A: Hoofddorp

-O: Where in Hoofddorp?

-A: Centrum (smile)

-O: Seriosly. Which company?

-A: Bluewater Energy Services

-O: What do you do there?

-A: (wanting to say: el ridículo) I’m a Process Engineer.

-O: Where did you study that Ma’am?

-A: Caracas – Venezuela

-O: Where in Caracas?

-A: (here we go again) Universidad Simón Bolívar. Valle de Sartenejas. Municipio Baruta. Estado Miranda. Venezuela.

-O: Where else, right?

-A: (???) Do you know it?

-O: My wife is Venezuelan.

-A: From Universidad Simón Bolívar?

-O: From San Juan de los Morros.

-A: (¿?) Hmm. (Smile)

-O: Where you goin’?...hmm. Miami, I see.

-A: First New York, then Miami.

-O: Staying with friends? Business or pleasure?

-A: JUST pleasure. Yes; I’m staying with friends in NYC and with family in Me-ah-me

-O: Any electronic devices?

-A: Yes, my mobile.

-O: Nothing else?

-A: No. No laptop. No nothing.

-O: So… You’ll meet your family in Miami…

-A: Yeah.

-O: …and you’ll take pictures, right?

-A: (??) um-hmm

-O: No camera?

-A: I got my mobile. No camera. My camera is broken. I’ll buy a new one.

-O: right. The crisis.

-A: (??)

-O: Wait a moment, please.

III-

He goes and talks to the other guy/officer and shows my passport and residence permit card. Both smile.

Then, he returns, gives me the card back and:

-O: Nice picture.

-A: Thank you. I think so too.

-O: Here you go. (Passport and boarding pass)

-A: Thank you.

-O: How did you find this job here, Miss?

-A: Long story short…Toevallig (Just casually, in Dutch).

-O: Oh, je spreekt Nederlands (you speak Dutch). How come?

-A: I lived in Belgium before. Now I live here.

-O: I see…

IV-

By the time I was awake enough to realize I was already set free, this guy starts speaking in a very clear Venezuelan Spanish to me:

-O: Are you a model in your free time?

-A: (free time? Does that exist anyway?) No. (I smiled)

-O: Awh. What a pity, what a waste!

-A: HA-HA-HA. Have you seen my height?

-O: It’s not size what matters. It’s the quality what counts.

-A: (smiling). Who am I to contradict a customs officer?

-O: You’re wise. Have a great flight and come back soon.

-A: Thanks.

Pocket Aces

You're just a joker.
You came uninvited to this party.

After all the couples; after all the trios; and after having a full house, it was necessary to make a flush. A Royal Flush.

...and you were so afraid of getting out of this game with a dirty straight,
that you played all your diamonds and forgot that I am one of a kind, cuz I've always been, and I'll always be... The Queen of Hearts.

Dare me!

This time I was an Engineer trapped in the body of a Writer... and I enjoyed it!

This is the Aoka Mizu...it means Blue Water in Japanese...

and... locally called as the POC

So... I am the POA for the POB of the POC

and I didn't leave...now...